Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke walked through the dark temple. It was absolute darkness, no torches, no light at all, and even his perception felt distorted. The shadows were not empty. They were made of fog, a thick black mist that blurred the path ahead. As he advanced, the fog slowly retreated, peeling away from his steps. Luke conjured black knives and let them float around him as he moved. He opened the system interface, checking a notification.

Dimensional Rift: Temple of the Demon Blacksmith

Ages ago, a blacksmith from the Spectral Demon tribe reached the pinnacle of his craft within his clan. Before vanishing, he left behind four weapons forged by his own hands, scattered throughout this dimension as minor treasures. Each one serves as a key leading toward the hidden temple where his masterpiece rests.

But only one deemed worthy may open the temple. To inherit his legacy, one must answer the riddle the master smith left behind:

“Among the four weapons I created… which one holds my true treasure?”

Treasures Found: 4/4

There were no further hints. Just enter the temple and claim the legacy. Luke drew his kukris. The moment the blades left their sheaths, the fog began to thin, and the corridor slowly lit up as torches ignited on their own along the walls.

The weapon is connected to the temple. That tracks.

The interior was familiar, similar to the other temples he had visited. He already knew how to move through a place like this.

If the pattern holds, the treasure should be where I found the Tsukumogami no Me.

As he walked down the corridor, he noticed the murals carved into the walls. In the other temples, the images always depicted demon-wraiths working at forges. Here, there was only one.

Luke stopped in front of one carving.

“This one doesn’t have the black thread.”

In every other depiction he had seen, the wraiths bore a black thread emerging from their abdomen, connected to a monstrous entity that lingered near them as they forged.

“Behold the Great Demon Blacksmith, the Demonic Apparition,” Luke read aloud as the system translated the unknown language etched into the stone.

“The first of his kind to create a beast.”

As he continued forward, the murals unfolded like a timeline. The wraith battled powerful creatures, harvested parts from their bodies, extracted their cores, and hammered something into existence.

The final carving showed the wraith holding a spherical object. In the next image, he sat upon a throne, other wraiths kneeling before him. Now, a black thread extended from his abdomen, linking him to a beast at his side.

At last, Luke reached the treasure chamber. He pushed the doors open. The room was completely swallowed by black fog, yet a sharp white glow sliced through it from the center.

The legacy.

He stepped toward the glowing object. The door behind him slammed shut. Whispers rose from every direction. The black mist began to churn, twisting and condensing until a figure emerged. It resembled a grim reaper, but beneath the hood was a horned skeleton.

The fog shifted again, birthing more of them, until the chamber was filled with wraithlike figures.

“I’m guessing you didn’t come here to talk,” Luke said calmly.

They answered with a deep, guttural scream and charged, wielding blades formed from condensed mist. Luke struck first. With a spinning motion, he hurled a kukri. The blade hit one of the wraiths and the creature dissolved instantly into fog. Luke pulled the weapon back midair with magnetism and pressed forward.

He deflected their attacks, steel clashing against vaporous blades. The wraiths moved with coordination, spreading out, flanking him, one drawing his focus while another attacked from a blind spot.

Luke cut them down anyway. Every slash tore them apart. Every strike caused another wraith to unravel into mist. When the last wraith fell, it let out a final, hollow scream, reaching for him as it dissolved. The black fog faded with it, thinning until the chamber fell silent once more.

Luke looked around. The damned things resembled Nazgûl.

Or at least what he imagined them to be. They also reminded him, uncomfortably so, of how he himself had looked while using [Wraith Form].

The chamber was now fully visible. The black mist was gone, replaced by torchlight that had ignited along the walls. At the far end stood a throne, and upon it sat a statue, its shape strikingly similar to the carvings he had seen outside.

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“The Demon Blacksmith,” Luke murmured. “Or at least a representation of him.”

Something floated before the demonic statue, glowing softly. Luke approached with caution, eyes never leaving the statue’s hand, which held a chalice as if frozen mid-toast. As he drew closer, the glow dimmed and began to take shape. A hammer formed in midair, suspended as if by an unseen will. A notification appeared the moment he stepped within reach.

**Congratulations! You have successfully reached the legacy of the Demon Blacksmith, the first among the Demonic Wraiths to forge a Core capable of awakening a Spectral Beast. Your achievement has granted you the title of Demon Blacksmith, a path countless smiths across the multiverse beg to attain. And now, you stand before it.**

Another prompt followed immediately.

[Do you wish to accept entry into the Order of the Demon Blacksmith and change your profession from Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya to Apprentice of the Demon Blacksmith?]

Then a massive warning flared across his vision.

[Warning: By accepting a profession change outside your natural evolutionary path, ALL acquired skills will be permanently lost, along with ALL Attribute Points gained. Returning to your original profession will be impossible.]

Luke stepped back instantly.

Change professions? Not a chance in hell.

He would have to give up everything, including the core skills of Mother Freya’s Path and [Acid Blood Arrow].

Luke stared at the floating hammer.

Joining an Order and abandoning my profession… is this what Azazel wanted me to do?

He stood at the very end of the objective tied to this rift, yet hesitated. Now it made sense why someone as powerful as that daimyo had no interest in the legacy. He probably knew it required entering another Order. That was why he only wanted one of the four tsukumogami.

Luke glanced back at the hammer. Was this the point all along? Or was it simply about acquiring a Spirit Tool?

He hesitated, then stepped closer to the statue.

[Communication Chalice]: This chalice allows direct communion with the Order’s creator, granting the opportunity to personally welcome a new initiate.

Luke backed away from the throne.

That demon loves riddles. I don’t think he actually wants me to join another Order. And even if he did, I’m refusing. I’m not throwing away my profession after all the sacrifice and work I poured into it.

He turned and pushed open the door, leaving the chamber behind. The temple corridors were now fully lit by torches as he walked.

“Maybe I was supposed to bring one of my servants here,” he muttered. “Is that what Azazel wanted? But that would mean Charlie and Angie accepting service under a god.”

The thought lingered. It would certainly be a way to grant them professions.

“I don’t think they’d want that. Not unless I asked. And I don’t want to ask.”

He had chosen Mother Freya’s Path precisely because it was free, unbound by obligations. Entering an Order meant Charlie and Angie would be little more than servants to beings above them in the hierarchy. He would never do that to them.

Luke stopped at the temple’s exit, hand hovering just before the door. Could I even bring one of them in here? Maybe by storing them in my soul and releasing them inside the treasure chamber, but even then, for either of them to receive the profession, they would have to enter the Order.

No. I refuse.

Luke wanted power, but not to the point of making his servants bow to someone else. Maybe it was selfish, but he would not give Angie or Charlie to anyone. That was simply how he felt.

The mere thought of losing the two of them to another person twisted into irritation, then into something sharper.

“Fuck the profession. I’ll handle it the way I always have.”

He turned back down the corridor, studying the murals as he passed them again.

This time, when he saw the Demon Blacksmith forging a core, everything clicked. The Demon Blacksmith had used beasts and his mastery of the forge to create a core capable of awakening a Spectral Beast. The black thread extended from the beast to its owner.

“In the other temples, the wraiths had Spectral Beasts too. Looks like they learned from their master.”

Luke glanced down at his own abdomen.

When I evolved to Rank E, I confirmed that the core of my soul is there. Not physical, but spiritual. That thread the wraiths have is bound to their souls.

When he returned to the treasure chamber, something stood out. Luke ignored the floating hammer and walked straight to the chalice.

[Communication Chalice]: This chalice allows direct communion with the Order’s creator, granting the opportunity to personally welcome a new initiate.

Luke touched the chalice and attempted to activate it.

[Error: Only the blood of an Initiate of the Order or a True Demon can establish a connection.]

So there’s no way to speak with the Demon Blacksmith…

He froze.

“Oh. I think I get what you wanted me to do, Azazel,” he said, a slow smile forming.

Or maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe that demon never intended for him to go this far, only to claim the Spirit Tool.

“Either way, I’m already here. What’s the harm in trying something bold?”

He dragged the edge of a kukri across his palm and let the blood drip into the chalice.

[Establishing connection with the Demon Blacksmith…]

Luke smiled.

“The blood of a True Demon…”

He was one, after all, even as a half-demon.

Black mist began to seep from the shadows of the chamber, flowing toward the statue and sinking into it. Luke stepped back, watching. The statue was swallowed by the fog, and then two red eyes flared to life.

“Who dares disturb me…?” a deep, resonant voice echoed from the stone.

“My name is Luke, Demon Blacksmith. I requested your presence.”

“Hm. Someone bold enough to attempt contact with an ancient demon?” the voice murmured, almost to itself.

The creature rose from its throne.

“You’d better have a good reason, little demon. You are not even my follower,” it said, irritation seeping into its tone.

“I do,” Luke replied calmly. “How do I forge a core to obtain a Spectral Beast?”