Becoming the Dark Lord

Peter stood at the dimensional exit base, now completely overtaken by the baron and his forces. Days had passed since their clash with Cassandra. As he walked through the camp, he saw workers hammering metal, forges blazing nonstop, builders and armorers arguing over schematics. Everything was being assembled on-site, piece by piece, then packed into storage items.

Towers fitted with war machines dotted the entire perimeter. The plan was expansion. Once everything was in place, no one would be able to leave unless they allowed it. The dimension would be locked down under their control. Inside the main strategy hall, he found Miles and several members of the Eight Fingers.

“No sign of Henry?” Peter asked.

“Ever since his sister went missing, the guy’s been… off,” muttered Andrew, one of the Fingers.

“It hardly matters. Cassandra’s already been crippled. I have her sword. She’s no threat anymore,” the baron said.

“But the bitch is still alive,” Peter snapped. “I told the kingdom this was an unavoidable event triggered when all the temples were discovered. I don’t know how long I can keep up the lie. There are companies from the kingdom trapped in here. Mercenary groups too.”

“The exit is under our control, Lord Peter,” the baron assured him.

Even so, by now Cassandra should’ve been dead in the original timeline of their plan.

“Our contact in the capital will authorize the next phase soon. Whether she’s alive or dead won’t change the outcome,” the baron added.

“Tie up loose ends,” Peter said.

There could be no witnesses to his betrayal of Cassandra’s side. Risky, yes, but once the duke claimed the king’s throne, everything Peter had done would be buried. No one would dare dig it up.

My uncle will have to choose: rescue his daughter or stay guarding that dying king.

After finishing the briefing, Peter left the hall. His hand drifted to the sword at his hip, the treasured heirloom of the Weiss family, won in a dungeon more than fifty years ago. Cassandra had transformed it into a Spirit Tool, which only made it more valuable in his hands. This coup would elevate his branch of the Weiss bloodline. The main branch would die. A sacrifice he welcomed.

As he walked, he thought back to what Henry had claimed, that he might’ve found the last temple. Originally, they hadn’t cared about the temple treasures. Drawing the patriarch’s attention and getting him to send Cassandra, and by extension Peter, was the real objective. But now Peter found himself curious about what lay inside.

The new king will start his reign with some convenient victories.

But one thing lingered in his mind: who had taken the final treasure? His leading theory was a man named Grass, a Reaper Court client. Miles agreed. Still, at least he’d secured Cassandra’s Spirit Tool for himself. Maybe if he hadn’t wasted so much time delaying her, he could have seized the Forest of Spores temple treasure too, betraying the alchemists in the process.

Didn’t matter. The victory was already his.

Cassandra can’t escape this. She’ll be cornered until she dies.

He’d planned meticulously, covering every angle. Poisoning her wouldn’t work, nobles like them carried antidotes everywhere. Killing her in her sleep was impossible; she was too alert, never dropped her guard, and she outmatched him in combat. The ambush he orchestrated had been the best possible scenario… and even then, she’d survived. No wonder she commanded a city’s forces despite her young age.

It was only a matter of time. Without her sword arm and her Spirit Tool, she was practically useless in battle now.

A sudden, thunderous boom rippled across the battlefield. One blast, then another.

What the hell was that? Peter could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash tear across the sky.

Distant screams echoed. He ran, vaulting over debris.

“Get out of my way!” he barked at a soldier blocking the ladder to one of the towers. He kicked the man aside and climbed quickly. When he reached the top, the sight before him froze his blood.

No. No, this can’t be happening.

His precious towers were being annihilated. One after another, the siege structures burst apart as streaks of light carved down from the heavens and struck with pinpoint accuracy.

Alarms erupted throughout the base.

“How in all hells did this happen!?” he shouted.

Then something even worse caught his eye: a creature soaring overhead unleashed a blast of fire across the field. And more flashes, white streaks cutting the sky, were coming straight toward him. Peter’s panic spiked. He jumped from the tower in desperation, but he wasn’t fast enough. The structure behind him was struck, the shockwave catching him midair and hurling him forward. All around, other towers collapsed under the raining explosions.

He crashed through the roof of a wooden hut. His vision flickered out for a moment; he didn’t know how long.

What happened?!

Screams surrounded him, both inside and outside the hut. The entire base looked torn apart, scorch marks and shattered structures everywhere. Peter staggered upright, drinking a healing potion as he ran.

I can’t let anyone important reach the exit rift.

If Cassandra got through the portal now, everything could fall apart. Questions raced in his mind. Was this her doing? Some hidden weapon? A coordinated strike? He drew his sword with one hand, channeling magic through the ring on the other. When he reached the main building, the devastation grew worse. The top floor was destroyed, reduced to jagged ruins.

I was in a meeting there just a few hours ago.

He could have died.

Did Miles die?

If the baron had been killed, it would ruin everything. Even if he was weaker than Peter, his role in the duke’s plan was essential for becoming a Scythe.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

No… Miles isn’t dead. His Rank Skill activates automatically. The bastard must have survived. I’m the one who wouldn’t have, if I’d stayed there.

Then it hit Peter, an overwhelming chill that crawled across his skin. Something was very, very wrong.

What is this feeling?

Slow, deliberate clapping echoed across the ruins, drawing everyone’s attention. Survivors crawled out from the debris, looking toward the source of the sound. A figure stood silhouetted against the sun, details obscured until Peter finally focused and stared in disbelief.

“Congratulations on surviving,” the voice said.

It was the mercenary he’d met in the past. The one who sold antidotes. But now he wore the attire of a professional assassin.

“I’ll be direct,” the assassin said. “I don’t care about your goals or who lives or dies. I just want to leave this place. And I’ve struck a very good deal.”

He stepped forward, calm as ever.

“So I’ll make things simple. Kneel and surrender… or try to fight me and die.”

The gathered soldiers raised their weapons.

“A war is happening outside!” a commander shouted as he appeared. “Reinforcements! Send reinforcements!”

Peter listened to the sounds of battle outside. Everyone did. But those close to the assassin fell silent. That invisible pressure tightened around their throats, a sensation like unseen wires pulling taut.

“You plan to face us?” Peter asked. “You’re just one man, unless you’ve got an army stuffed in your pocket. It means nothing.”

“I am my own army.”

Peter activated several buffs, snapping the surrounding soldiers out of their trance.

“Kill the bastard!” someone shouted.

Shouts rose, courage returning now that they had numbers on their side. The assassin didn’t move. He only smiled.

“Fire!”

Arrows rained down.

A shape erupted beside him, shadows swirling outward and knitting together into a massive serpent. Smoke and darkness wound around the assassin like armor, deflecting every arrow.

“What the hell is that?” someone gasped.

Even Peter froze, bewildered.

“You just made this easier for me,” the assassin said as the serpent uncoiled and settled beside him like a loyal hound.

A beast tamer? He knew a few noble families trained familiars like that. Is it his familiar?

“Kill him!” Peter roared.

Spells flew. More arrows followed. The serpent shrieked, and the assassin leapt from the rooftop. He twisted in the air, weaving between spells, and hit the ground in a blur. The front line tried to retreat. Too slow.

Hands hit the dirt before bodies realized they’d been severed. Screams broke through the battlefield as the assassin wove through soldiers, kukris flashing, deflecting attacks, killing with surgical, dancing precision.

The serpent followed, bound to him by a thin black thread, striking like a guillotine, biting, crushing, swallowing whole.

“Change strategy! Focus fire on the—” a commander shouted before a kukri buried itself in his face and silenced him.

Shit. He’s strong. Too strong.

The serpent slithered past Peter, hunting alongside its master. Peter’s hand tightened around his ring. He hated showing his second class. But today was an exception.

“Lord Peter!” Emma’s voice rang out.

The remaining members of the Red Eight Fingers appeared, breathing hard, bloodstained.

“I know. The towers are gone. Cassandra’s army is pushing,” Peter said. “But we need to deal with him. Now. We take him down.”

Peter and the Six scattered across rooftops while below, the assassin and serpent carved through soldiers.

“I’m kneeling! I’m kneeling!” one soldier screamed.

“Yeah, and I never said surrender would save you,” the assassin replied. He grabbed the man by the head and flung him upward. The serpent snapped him from the air.

Peter’s group closed in, hidden among shadows and ruined structures. One mage raised his staff, beginning a cast. Another warrior vaulted from a rooftop, fist encased in stone, and slammed into the serpent’s flank.

Peter fired stone barbs from his hand, each exploding into clouds of dust. The assassin zigzagged through them, relentless, heading straight for him.

Peter smiled and drove Cassandra’s sword into the ground. From that point, stone spikes erupted outward like an avalanche, racing toward the assassin and surrounding him while Peter continued unleashing earth spells from his free hand.

The assassin vaulted aside, flinging a knife into a nearby building. A wire shot from it, yanking him through the air toward Peter, blade ready to strike as he descended.

“Now!” Peter shouted, thrusting his hand forward. A surge of earth magic roared toward the assassin.

He dodged, but too late. A jet of water slammed into him midair, wrapping around him and spinning into a sphere.

“Got him!” Emma yelled.

Andrew raised his wand. Frost spread across the surface of the water sphere, hardening it rapidly. Together, their skills formed a powerful magical prison, one few could break.

The sphere froze solid.

“The bastard really thought he could walk into my base without a plan waiting for him?” Peter said, triumphant.

Nearby, the shadowy serpent clashed with several members of Eight Fingers as soldiers rushed to assist. Then cracks formed across the frozen sphere. It shattered.

Peter barely had time to register the movement. Something blue flickered, an eye, glowing with focus, and the assassin burst free, launching straight at him. Peter tried to counterattack, but the man struck first, a rapid series of blows slamming into him before he could stabilize his stance.

Emma reacted from across the yard, firing a water blast. The assassin twisted aside, and Peter was caught in the splash, thrown back across the ground. Dazed, he saw the assassin turn on Emma and Andrew.

Emma fired water orbs while retreating. “Stay away from me!” she screamed as he closed the distance. He grabbed her arm, twisting it with brutal efficiency, then drove her down, overwhelming her before she could recover.

He leaped toward Andrew next. Andrew fired slicing arcs of compressed air from his wand.

“You bastard!” Andrew shouted.

Before he could reposition, the serpent lunged from behind, dragging him upward as its jaws clamped around him. The assassin dashed past, shredding the arm that held Andrew’s wand, and moved on to the remaining soldiers.

Chaos erupted. Troops fled in every direction, but it didn’t matter. The assassin slipped through them like a shadow, striking with impossible speed. Peter forced himself upright, head spinning. He could barely process what he was seeing. He raised his hand, preparing one last hidden spell… but the assassin was moving too quickly to get a clear target.

This can’t be real. One man couldn’t possibly—

Yet the reality unfolded before him. And the bitter irony struck hard: the ragged little mercenary who once sold stolen alchemist scraps was actually a monster in disguise.

I am Peter Weiss. I will not die here. I will become the next Duke of Lagras. I will kill this wretch myself!

He drank a healing potion, ignoring the pain that still lingered. He wasn’t giving up.

“Congratulations,” a voice said.

Peter recognized it immediately. The baron. Miles and the assassin faced each other.

“My apologies for the delay,” Miles said. “It seems the place I was standing became the target of a rather sudden explosion.” He was clad in full armor, red and black, and held his lance at his side.

“Unfortunately, I arrived too late to save these men,” Miles added.

The assassin said nothing.

“You have my attention,” Miles continued. “How about we settle this with a duel? A proper noble’s challenge. A war fought by only two individuals. Just you and me. No serpent aiding you, and I won’t use my soldiers.”

Peter smiled faintly. He understood. The assassin was as good as finished now.