Becoming the Dark Lord

The cold morning wind blew in from the north, carrying the damp scent of the forest and the distant echo of metal striking metal. The group moved in silence, their steps muffled by the soft earth, until the towers of the checkpoint rose ahead, black against the pale sky. A low wall marked the entry to the Kingdom’s Capital. Even for those who had seen it before, the sight was imposing.

Luke felt his chest tighten. The scene stirred memories he’d thought long buried, his first time passing through those gates, and then the day he left without looking back. Returning now wasn’t nostalgia; it was anxiety. Earth felt closer than ever, yet an invisible thread seemed ready to snap at any moment.

“Identify yourselves!” a voice barked from above, sharp and suspicious. An archer stepped onto the parapet, bow drawn, eyes cold.

“It’s us!” Ronan called back easily, lifting a hand.

Other archers appeared, recognizing the group. The taut hum of bowstrings slackened as arrows dipped. One soldier, sweat-streaked and hollow-eyed, leaned over for a better look.

“Commander, about time you came. Don’t tell me today’s the day you’re crossing over?”

Ronan offered a small smile, though his eyes stayed wary. “Something like that,” he said without elaborating.

The group pressed on. Luke glanced at his companions, Allison, Evangeline, Mason, Jack, Ronan, Princess Charlie. Eleanor would meet them here. As they moved through the makeshift camp, Luke noticed dozens of Bastion armors glinting under the gray light, mingling with the plain clothes of civilians. The place was a mosaic of survival, soldiers, apprentices, and volunteers crammed together, training, trading information, repairing weapons.

Allison stopped beside a young soldier whose armor still bore streaks of rust. “How’s the leveling going?” she asked, gauging the camp’s progress.

“It’s working. We’re using the gate trouble to train new blood,” the boy replied, shifting his bow higher on his shoulder.

“Anything dangerous headed this way?” Mason asked, his tone heavier than he intended.

“No. Same as always,” said the soldier, though his eyes betrayed fatigue.

Undead came daily from the direction of the Capital, shambling up to the defensive line. Low-level archers used them as target practice under heavy cover. It wasn’t just archers, other fighters were testing their skills too. The teams were creeping up in levels while keeping the threat contained. Some hadn’t even reached class level three yet; the urgency was palpable. They needed at least fifteen or twenty to stand a chance in the final war.

Strategies were in motion to close the gap. Civilians were being taught how to awaken professions, and the focus was on squeezing every drop of potential before the decisive day. Free points would be poured into weak attributes, and Allison planned to distribute the Infusion of Strength rune, once exclusive to Haven, to everyone. It was how they’d turn survivors into fighters.

Luke’s gaze swept across the camp. He spotted Cecilia in the distance, correcting archers’ stance and grip, with Eleanor at her side, tracking every detail. Ronan, Mason, and Allison kept walking, but Luke, Evangeline, and Princess Charlie paused to take in the sight.

“Who would’ve thought?” Evangeline said with a crooked smile. “Everyone so fired up to get back to Earth. Two months ago it was all depression and bitterness.”

Luke’s eyes flicked to Ronan speaking with a small group ahead. “And you trust that guy?” he asked quietly.

Evangeline let out a dry laugh. “I don’t even trust you. Why would I trust him?”

“I’m serious,” Luke said, his voice low but firm.

“A big chunk of both Safe Zones is working together. Even the bandits stopped looting. Can you believe that?” she shot back, her eyes still locked on Ronan. “He wants to go back as much as we do. That’s what I’m counting on. But Bartholomew and Kruger… I can feel trouble brewing.”

“So do I,” Luke murmured.

Evangeline folded her arms. “They’re betting on us to fail. But once they see us return victorious… who knows what they’ll try. Still, it’s a handful of them against ninety-five percent of the tutorial. Think they’ll win?”

Luke nodded.

“How long until most of the civilians have solid profession levels?” he asked.

“Let’s be honest. What you’re really asking is how long it’ll take to move two thousand people to the third fortress—tools, weapons, boats, the whole setup,” she replied.

“Something like that,” Luke admitted. “It all ends at once. While they prep resources, they gain experience. By the time we’re ready, everyone levels up.”

“Three months. Maybe with a hard push,” Evangeline estimated.

“Three months?” Luke repeated, a chill creeping up his spine.

“You thought you could wrap up in two days what’s taken eight years to build? No one’s as crazy as you,” she said with a crooked smile. “But don’t worry. I’m one of the most impatient people here. If it were up to me, we’d activate that third mechanism right now.”

***

The camp throbbed with the clang of metal and the low murmur of voices. Amid the drills and shouted orders echoing through makeshift corridors, Luke drifted away from the group. He needed air, space to clear his head. His eyes swept over the training grounds until they snagged on a familiar figure.

A woman paced the perimeter with a bow slung over her shoulder, steps measured and eyes restless. When their gazes met, Luke instinctively turned his head, pretending to study the nearby tents. He wasn’t quick enough.

“Well, hello to you too, scumbag.” Her voice cut like a blade.

Luke almost choked on his breath. “H-hi… Zoey. Didn’t even see you…” His hands fluttered uselessly.

She clicked her tongue, glanced away, and kept walking, the rigid carriage of a soldier leaving no room for small talk. He stood frozen, watching her vanish between the tents, a chill crawling up his spine.

“Small world…” he muttered under his breath.

“Scumbag? What did she mean by that?” a voice asked behind him.

Luke spun around. Allison stood there, arms folded, an eyebrow arched in curious suspicion.

“Scumbag? Who said scumbag?” he stammered.

“That woman. She said it right to your face,” she replied calmly, though her eyes were tracking every twitch in his expression.

“She did? Wait… how long have you been standing there?”

“Just walked up. Want to explain?”

Luke opened his mouth but nothing came out. He’d tried to tell that story once before and failed. Some pasts were better left buried.

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Overhead, a raven cawed. “Scumbag! Scumbag!” it mimicked, the tone eerily mocking.

Stupid bird. Luke glanced up and saw Evangeline’s raven circling, clearly enjoying the show. When he lowered his gaze, he noticed he wasn’t only under Allison’s scrutiny. Princess Charlie stood a few paces back, silent as always, her eyes cold and watchful. A knot tightened in his gut.

Double trouble!

Before he could answer, another voice broke in.

“There you are,” Eleanor said, appearing as if out of nowhere. “Didn’t mention it before, but I brought the archers to train in this sector. Some of them… really need it.”

Allison’s stare flicked away from Luke, seizing the interruption. “How bad are they?”

Luke drew a long breath, grateful. Thank you for saving me, Eleanor. You’re no saint, but if you were, I’d be on my knees thanking you right now.

’If she were wearing a maid outfit, you’d already be proposing.’ Artemis teased inside his head.

He ignored the mental jab and focused on the conversation.

“Most of the archers training here are civilians,” Eleanor explained. “Even some with the archer class haven’t loosed an arrow in months. It’s like they’re still level one.”

The four of them moved through the training field, sidestepping sweat-drenched archers and straw targets.

“Got people without the archer class training too?” Luke asked.

“Yes. We’re trying to drill as many as we can. Once they get the skill rune, stamina will help offset their shots,” Eleanor replied in a lower voice.

Even without archer skills, stamina could boost some of the damage. A risky bet, but it made sense.

“And depending how we play it, they don’t even need perfect aim,” Allison added. “If an army comes, the archers fire together. That’s all we need.”

Eleanor nodded. Simple, but effective.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

“Now,” Allison said, spotting Ronan emerging from a tent with a determined look.

“No reinforcements from Bastion? Nobody else?” Eleanor pressed. “I can name a line of people I’d trust to go with us.”

“Just us,” Luke cut in, closing the discussion.

***

They made their way to the shattered remains of the gate. The ground was a tangle of stones, splintered wood, and what was left of barricades. Thick ropes dangled from the walls, used by fighters to rappel down and cut through the undead swarming below. The view was all gray and lifeless. Statues were rare out here, most clustered closer to the city, where the third mechanism still slept.

“Plenty of bodies piled up,” Ronan muttered, scanning the corpses of fallen creatures.

Luke lifted his gaze. The Capital loomed ahead, swallowed in night. Far off, the castle rose like a phantom, its windows glowing faintly with torchlight. It was eerie to picture the Midnight King and the Witch inhabiting that place. Then again, Luke wasn’t even sure if the castle he saw was real or some illusion propped up by the barrier that would only collapse once the third mechanism was triggered.

At the rubble’s edge, archers stood ready. One of them rang a bell, its metallic toll echoing through the trees. Moments later the first shambling corpses appeared and arrows hissed through the air to meet them.

“Where’s your weapon, short stuff?” Evangeline asked Jack.

“Right here,” he said, holding up a wand.

“The other one,” she prodded, half amused.

Jack drew a lumberjack’s axe from his storage. “With enough stamina, I’m practically a warrior.”

“Sure,” she replied, one eyebrow arched. “Keep telling yourself that and we’ll throw you to the front line.”

The path ahead cleared. For everyone else it was uncharted ground, but for Luke it was a return, a strand of nostalgia woven tight with caution.

“Nothing left but to go,” Ronan said. The group moved into the forest.

Silence settled over them. Luke drew a slow breath, stepped ahead, and let his Demonic Perception unfurl like an invisible cloak, sketching the terrain in his mind.

“No torches, no light orbs, nothing,” he ordered. “We don’t want to draw anything nasty.”

Of the group, only Ronan still didn’t know the Beast Lord was dead. They’d kept that secret on purpose; they didn’t trust him enough. Luke kept his eyes fixed forward.

***

The forest closed in around them like a tunnel of shadows. With each step, twisted branches shifted under the cold wind, and the smell of damp earth filled the air. Luke led the way, eyes sharp, his demonic perception mapping every hidden detail. They pushed through a patch of low vegetation and emerged at the edge of a wide river. Dark water slid past in a slow current, reflecting the dull glow of the sky. Luke lifted his arm to halt the group.

“This river cuts through the city. We’ll depend on it to move the people. We’ll enter through the Wild Zone to the gate and follow it in,” he explained, pointing at the flow.

No one answered. Every gaze had dropped to the torn-up ground. The earth was sunken, scorched in places, trees uprooted or half-melted. The Beast Lord’s trail was unmistakable.

“The snake,” Ronan said grimly. “It’s killed scouts with acid before.”

He slipped on iron gauntlets, flexing his fingers as if weighing their bite. “Better stay ready.”

Luke turned toward the group, ready to crack a joke, but froze at their expressions. Even knowing the monster was dead, the devastation still stunned them. The ground told the story better than words.

“Relax. The Beast Lord’s holed up in the city,” Luke offered, trying to puncture the tension.

Ronan crouched by the river, tossed a stick into the water, and watched it drift. “Normal,” he said at last.

Luke frowned. “Why?”

“Needed to be sure it’s not tainted with acid. No surprises when we start using boats,” Ronan replied, standing.

They moved along the bank, stepping over stones and roots. Some scribbled quick notes on parchment, charting the route for when they’d have to move thousands of people. The path was narrow, the vegetation dense; even a small noise echoed like an alarm.

Only Luke and the Princess Charlie moved ahead now. They stopped at a dark cave in the middle of the forest, almost hidden behind a curtain of plants.

“This is it,” Luke said without hesitation.

“Wait. You’re just going to walk in there?” someone called from behind.

Luke didn’t answer. Memories rose like a silent tide. He drew a steady breath and stepped into the fissure. The smell of wet stone and moss greeted him like an old friend.

The cave opened into a natural chamber. At the far end, ancient architecture jutted from the rock, worn pillars, slime-slick steps, carvings etched deep into stone. He’d spent months here once. Now it would become the war room for the third fortress.

“This is where I lived,” he said, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. “This is where we plan. This is where we rest and use Meditation.”

Torches flared one by one, casting long, restless shadows. Water trickled down a narrow fall at the back, feeding a shallow pool. Makeshift tables and ancient shelves still lined the space. Some pieces were missing; Luke had tucked them into his storage, but the essentials remained.

Allison drifted through the hall, eyes roaming. “And here I thought you’d been suffering. You’ve got a kitchen and a waterfall.”

Artemis’s voice purred in Luke’s mind. ’Sweet memories. Back then it was just me, you, and Charlie. A little vacation. Now look at you, flirting with death.’

He exhaled. I fed you well so you could relax.

’And how am I supposed to eat in peace with you charging into danger?’ she shot back.

Don’t you stress-eat?

’I eat all the time. But it tastes better somewhere calm, far from battle.’

Luke averted his gaze, focusing instead on the others as they explored the hidden refuge.

***

Ronan moved slowly through the hideout, fingertips grazing the cold stone walls as he studied each corridor. This would become their new base of operations. Every route had to be mapped—the forest trails, the hidden passages. The safety of thousands depended on it.

But the shadow of the Beast Lord still lingered. Ronan stared into the cavern’s emptiness, then glanced at Luke. The boy was fiddling with his system interface while the tall knight at his side stood perfectly still, like a sentinel carved from iron. She felt less like an ally and more like an extension of him.

Every time Ronan drew closer, she turned her helmet toward him, as if tracking his every move. A constant reminder that no one here trusted him. And why should they? If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t trust himself either. Pride didn’t matter. All he wanted was to go home. Five years of his life had already been burned away in this world.

He exhaled and let his gaze sweep over the others: Evangeline, a blur of spear strikes and shadows; Mason, a knight wrapped in fire magic; Eleanor, the bow-wielding support; Jack, healer; Allison, swordswoman with ice magic; Charlie, a tank in gleaming armor. Survivors all, no half-trained civilians, just lethal instruments in human form.

And then there was Luke. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. An ordinary frame, an ordinary face. Nothing about him would draw a second glance in a crowd. But Ronan had fought him before. He knew better. This was a wolf wearing lambskin—cold, calculating, dangerous. One of the few who didn’t flinch at the sight of Kruger.

Most of the time Luke played the part of a normal kid. But sometimes something shifted. Ronan’s instincts—the same ones that had saved him in countless battles—would twitch and stutter, as if sensing a predator hiding in plain sight. In certain moments, looking at Luke felt eerily like staring at Erza Grimhart.

He cleared his throat, shattering the silence. “We need to understand how the snake operates, find its weak points.”

Luke turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “I already killed the Beast Lord.”

The words fell into the cavern like a stone into deep water, and inside Ronan the silence swelled, heavy enough to crush.