Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke pushed forward beside Charlie, the biting wind lashing his face as the ground quaked beneath the endless march of the undead. Every fallen creature cleared a fragment of their path, but also reminded him just how endless this war felt. For every corpse that dropped, ten more seemed to take its place.

His bow creaked with each shot, the sharp twang of the string melding with the clash of steel, the guttural roars, and the crackle of spells ripping through the battlefield. Yet, even amid that chaos, Luke’s gaze kept drifting upward, toward the dark fortress looming in the distance. Its black stone walls were now veiled by a relentless snowfall, each flake falling faster and heavier, as if the sky itself wanted to bury them.

Then the air split with a roar, low, thunderous, and primal. Luke froze for an instant, his blood running cold as three towering figures emerged from the curtain of mist. They carried halberds etched with glowing red runes, and their eyes, four burning orbs, flared to life within the fog. They didn’t just look angry. They looked awakened, furious at being disturbed after centuries of slumber.

“If we want to reach the damn Midnight Lord, we’ll have to go through them,” Evangeline said, her voice rough but steady, as the monsters broke into a run.

Mason raised his hands, summoning blazing orbs that lit up the storm around them. Arrows from Erza’s archers streaked through the air, their shafts carved from boar tusks and reinforced with enchantments to hit like sledgehammers. The generals didn’t even slow down.

“Split up!” Allison shouted, her tone sharp and commanding. “Each group takes one!”

The ground shook as the three abominations charged. The one on the right fixed its glowing eyes on Luke.

Every step it took sent up clouds of snow. The red runes on its halberd pulsed like veins, throbbing in rhythm with the monster’s growl, a grotesque heartbeat pounding outside its body.

Before Luke could react, Charlie dashed ahead. Her sword spun in her hand, reshaping into a round shield that met the incoming halberd with a crash that made the air itself shudder. Sparks and shards of ice exploded outward. With her free hand, she pressed her palm against the creature’s chest, her mark flaring to life.

[Mark of Doom (Rare)]: Touch a target to apply an invisible seal that increases damage taken by 10%. Marked enemies become prioritized targets, making it easier to focus them down. Ideal for eliminating high-risk threats quickly. The mark remains until it expires or the target leaves your perception range.

Allison appeared behind her, flipping through the air in a double jump and bringing her katana down in a blinding arc. The impact boomed like thunder as the three of them locked into position, their formation instinctive and tight. It would be three against one. The general roared again, and a shadowy aura poured from its body, thick and suffocating.

[Midnight Warden General (Lvl 80)]

Charlie dismissed her shield, summoning her weapon again as she activated Basic Levitation. For a heartbeat, her body hovered above the snow, frozen in motion, then she dove, her fists blazing with fire. The impact of her Spectral Charge sent shockwaves through the air, slamming into the creature hard enough to drive it backward.

Luke darted forward, drawing both kukris in a fluid motion. His eyes locked on the monster’s glowing chestplate as he triggered his next skill.

[Predator’s Mark (Rare)]: When you mark your prey, your focus locks onto them with unyielding precision. No matter where they run, as long as they remain within your hunting grounds, you will find them. If they slip beyond your perception and they’re bleeding, you can track them more easily, guided by instinct alone. All damage dealt to a marked target is increased, and you gain bonus experience for killing a marked enemy, especially if they are above your class level. Your predatory mark remains until the prey is eliminated or the effect expires.

Allison moved in a blur, the ground freezing beneath her boots, turning into a trail of glimmering frost. Every motion left shards of light behind as she fired iceballs in rapid succession. Luke dodged the bursts, the sharp chill brushing past him with every explosion. He spun his bow around and pulled a handful of rare arrows from his dimensional storage—silver-tipped, gleaming even through the storm.

The monster roared again and charged straight ahead. Charlie reacted instantly, igniting her Flame Aura until her entire body blazed against the darkness. With one hand raised, she unleashed her Spectral Chain, wrapping it around the creature’s arm. Allison seized the opening and struck with her katana, the blade flaring as the Berserker enchantment took hold.

The general’s arm flew off in a clean, burning cut. The roar became a scream.

Luke took advantage of the moment, flinging one of his kukris. The blade spun through the air and sank deep into the creature’s chest. Before the armor could mend, he released an arrow straight into the same wound.

The monster staggered. Charlie pummeled its back, her fists wrapped in flame. Each hit sent sparks scattering across the snow. Luke sprinted around the creature, sliding across the ice, an arrow already notched.

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One of his twenty emergency shots.

[Jormungandr Arrow (Ultra-Rare)]: Forged from fragments of a Jormungandr fang, this arrow retains the serpent’s impossible density and resilience. Its composition grants extreme piercing power, capable of penetrating scales, reinforced hides, and armored plates without fracturing.

Sliding beneath the creature’s leg, Luke drew the string to its limit, channeling every ounce of stamina into the shot. The arrow struck true—piercing straight through the general’s helmet. The impact was sharp and hollow, followed by the deep thud of a collapsing tower.

[You have slain a Midnight Warden General - Lvl 80]

Luke rolled aside, his body coated in snow and cold sweat. His breath came fast, heart pounding.

Still have nineteen left.

“We need to help the others,” he said, rising. Allison nodded, and they sprinted toward the rest of the group.

As they ran, Luke saw the maids forming a semicircle around another general. They didn’t hesitate. In perfect synchrony, they attacked. Magic shimmered in the air. One maid’s apron came loose and shot forward like a living ribbon, coiling around the monster’s arms. Another hurled an enormous enchanted fork that punched through the creature’s helmet with a hollow clang.

Three more conjured massive sewing needles that pierced the general’s body, pinning it to the frozen ground. The creature writhed, bellowing in fury—but the more it fought, the tighter the glowing threads constricted, binding it like a broken marionette. Anne appeared above, leaping with premeditated grace. Her scissor-blade flashed silver in an arc, plunging into the general’s helmet with surgical precision—like a needle sliding into flesh. She twisted midair, landing lightly, a dancer on snow.

The general convulsed. A thin, shimmering thread connected the wound on its head to Anne’s hand—like she’d stitched its fate to her own. With a sharp tug, the thread went taut. Something gave way. The monster’s brain tore free, yanked out by invisible force, and splattered onto the snow with a wet sound. The body crumpled seconds later, motionless.

Luke watched. It was an Epic Skill from the Maid Marionette profession.

Even amid the chaos, the maids moved with a kind of haunting grace. Anne and the others fought as though choreographed, each strike flowing into the next with precise, almost theatrical beauty. Two generals had already fallen. The war, however, was far from over.

Across the field, Luke spotted Evangeline, Mason, and Erza closing in on the last of the three generals. Jack stood a few paces behind them, his wand raised, bathing their bodies in a faint glow—buffs spreading through the team like a wave of light. Evangeline darted around the giant with impossible agility, her every movement a blur of smoke and shadow. Each breath she exhaled turned to black mist, wrapping the enemy in a suffocating veil.

Mason pressed forward beside her, sword in one hand, flames coiling in the other. His blade burned with a molten bronze hue as he hurled bursts of fire straight into the general’s face, each explosion shaking the ground.

Erza waited for her moment. Then she struck.

Her white scythe cut through the air like part of the storm itself. The blade sank deep into the general’s torso, and the sound that followed was not of flesh but of crystal—sharp and brittle. The weapon shattered, its fragments scattering into glittering dust that clung to the creature’s skin, hardening instantly.

The monster tried to move. Once. Twice. Then stopped. Its flesh had turned to pale porcelain, its body frozen mid-step. The crimson glow of its eyes flickered, then dimmed to nothing. It was the Epic Skill of the Porcelain Reaper class.

Erza leapt, spinning through the air. Her twin karambits traced silver arcs in the snowstorm, slicing faster than the eye could follow. When she landed, the battlefield went silent. The general’s head slid from its shoulders, still encased in porcelain, before the rest of its body splintered apart—shattering like thin ice beneath the morning sun. For a brief moment, the world stopped breathing.

Erza exhaled slowly, wiping the blood from her blades. “How’s everyone’s mana?”

“Still at eighty percent,” Allison replied, stepping closer. “And I’ve got spare potions.” The others nodded in agreement.

Luke took the moment to drink his own mana potions. Out of twenty, he downed seven, the heat burning down his throat before spreading through his chest, his muscles relaxing just slightly.

[Mana Points (MP): 5083 / 5100]

Overhead, two ravens—Evangeline’s familiars—beat their wings and vanished into the blizzard, scouting ahead for the Midnight Lord. Allied soldiers began to move through, crossing the battlefield. They were pushing forward, taking advantage of the gap left by the generals’ fall. The air filled with the synchronized thrum of bowstrings. Arrows soared through the storm like streaks of silver.

Snow fell harder now, blanketing the corpses, dimming the blood, draining the color from everything. The battlefield, once deafening, was hushed—eerily still, almost sacred.

Then a shout tore through the quiet. “More incoming!”

The maids on the front lines pointed toward the horizon. In the distance, the horde was moving again—shapes in the storm, running shadows swallowed by the snow.

Luke lifted his gaze. The cold didn’t matter anymore. The castle still loomed at the edge of the world, darker than before, watching them in silence. Archers formed a perimeter, releasing volleys of enchanted arrows. The tension of strings and the roar of beasts merged into one dreadful rhythm.

And then Luke saw it: glowing text flickering on his interface.

[Estimated Time Until End: 05 hours : 01 minute : 13 seconds]

The clock was still running. It wasn’t just a timer. It was a sentence. As the undead surged once more across the field, a single thought gnawed at the back of Luke’s mind:

What does the Midnight Lord look like?