Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke sat by the fire, chewing on one of those blue pear-shaped fruits. The orange glow flickered against the damp cave walls, warming his face while, deeper in the shadows, the Mantis’s corpse lay still — finally defeated.

He took another slow bite, tasting the mildly sour flavor, and let the weight on his shoulders start to fade. That constant pressure, the feeling of being hunted... it was gone.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he could breathe.

His fingers reached up, touching the necklace around his neck. The image of the dimensional storage room flickered in his mind, showing his supplies.

“Is it just me... or are some of the fruits missing?” he muttered, frowning.

It was the third time he had noticed. Normally, he never paid attention to small things like that. The necklace always had more than enough stock. One or two missing fruits never mattered.

But here, in this isolated abyss, where every bite of food could mean one more day of survival, it mattered.

Luke tilted the necklace, inspecting it closer, and sighed.

“I’m sure one or two are gone.”

He opened the item description again, reading the details of what had always seemed like just a useful tool.

[Artemis Invention (Unique)

Description: A prototype crafted by Samael, the Inventor.

‘A gift to help you on your journey. Good luck. It was collecting dust in my workshop anyway.’

PS: I am not liable for any discomfort it causes.: Samael

Enchantments:

[Spatial Storage (Rare)]: Grants access to a pocket dimension where items can be stored.

[Artemis]: (???)

Requirement: Soulbound]

Luke narrowed his eyes.

“So the... ‘I am not liable for any discomfort it causes’ is that this thing is defective?” he muttered, suspicious. “Great. A storage item with manufacturing flaws...”

He sat quietly for a moment, thinking. If that turned out to be true, he would seriously need to reconsider where he stored his healing potions. He couldn’t risk losing one mid-fight.

Or maybe... he was just being paranoid.

Shaking the thought away, he opened his system interface and checked the item he had looted from the Mantis boss.

[Mantis Eye Ring (Rare)

Description: Forged from the eye of a Devourer Mantis, which fought a brutal battle against a demon inside a cage sealed in darkness. Trapped with no escape, they fought until only one survived. In the end, the demon’s fangs proved sharper. All that remains of the Mantis is this eye, still pulsing with fury and instinct. A reminder of savage combat and the fragility of monsters.

Bonus: +10 Agility, +10 Perception, +5 Intelligence

Requirement: Level 20+ in Assassin class.]

Luke squinted at the screen.

“That description is... a bit dramatic.”

Still, he tapped Equip. The ring appeared on his finger — a dark band with a faint green fragment at its center, resembling the alien-like pupil of the Mantis.

Princess Charlie, who had been sitting quietly on the other side of the fire, suddenly bounced over with an energy that felt comically out of place in the silence. She sat right next to him — way too close — and started shaking his shoulder, practically vibrating with excitement.

“What now?” Luke asked, confused by the over-the-top reaction.

She pointed to her own ring — a simple one she had worn for a while — then pointed at the ring he had just equipped. Then at him. Then at herself. Then back to the rings again.

Luke blinked. “If you’re trying to say the rings match... yeah, they kind of do.”

But Charlie didn’t stop. She pointed very specifically at his ring finger.

His eyebrow lifted. “...Why do you want me to wear it on my ring finger?”

Charlie shrank back, head tilting down like she had just been caught doing something suspicious.

“...Right,” Luke muttered, looking away with a quiet sigh. “That was... kind of sus.”

***

Luke and Charlie had been walking through that tunnel for hours. Sometimes, the path twisted in tight curves, but little by little, Luke began to notice faint beams of light filtering through cracks in the ceiling. Weak. Almost timid. But still, a clear sign they were getting close to the surface.

The air stopped feeling suffocating. The pitch-black darkness gave way to a dim, muted twilight. At one point, the tunnel felt less like a natural cave and more like the hollow trunk of some colossal tree, long fallen in some ancient disaster. Luke and Charlie even broke a piece of the wooden wall — only to find dirt on the other side. Still, they pushed forward.

Until finally, they reached what seemed like the end.

At the top of the last wall in the tunnel, there was a hole. Unlike the previous openings, it wasn’t directly on the ceiling. It was on the upper corner where the wall met the ceiling. Like an angled window carved out by nature itself.

Luke felt his heartbeat quicken. A rush of energy hit him, forcing him to move. Days had passed inside that claustrophobic underground. Without thinking, he drew his kukris and started climbing.

Charlie returned to her soul form.

The wood made climbing easier, even when his feet slipped or gravity tried to drag him back down. He jammed his blades into the fibers of the trunk, locking himself in place with each move. Thank the gods it wasn’t stone — climbing that would’ve been hell.

When he finally reached the top and pushed his arm through the hole, sunlight hit his skin.

In that instant, he triggered Wraith Form, letting part of his body become mist and slip through the cracks. A breath later, Luke rematerialized on the other side.

The sun burned his skin like an old friend’s embrace. The breeze touched his face with gentle warmth.

“Finally...”

He had made it.

He took a deep breath, scanning his surroundings. He was standing in a valley surrounded by rolling hills covered in dense forest. A hidden place. Isolated. In the distance, mountains rose like walls. Beyond them... the endless expanse of the Wild Zone.

But then...

Luke froze.

He hit the ground, flattening himself against the brush.

“Orcs...” he whispered, narrowing his eyes.

Right below the spot where he had emerged was an orc base. But not just any camp. This was fortified. Stone houses. Crude watchtowers. Reinforced palisades. Black banners fluttered in the wind, marked with tribal symbols.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Luke glanced back toward the mountains, checking if this was the location near the Orc Lord’s domain.

No. Still far from it.

And then, among the orcs moving through the settlement, he saw him.

Luke recognized him instantly.

Morvat!

The Orc General walked with a commanding presence, followed by other captains. All of them were here. This place... this was their base.

Luke backed away slowly, slipping into the undergrowth. The vegetation swallowed him as he sat down, breathing in forced calm, heart still pounding.

“So this is where the main captains live...” he muttered.

His gaze turned back toward the base. The silence of the forest felt like a heavy contrast to the weight of the discovery.

Luke opened his system interface.

Name: Luke

Level: 11

Rank: F

Class: [Demonic Assassin (Lvl 24)]

Race: Half-Demon

Profession: -

Titles: [Dark Lord]

Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]

Health Points (HP): 1100/1100

Mana Points (MP): 743/760

Stamina: 507/560

Soul Fragments: 28/1000

Stats:

Strength: 114

Agility: 115 (165)

Endurance: 36 (56)

Vitality: 110

Perception: 122 (132)

Intelligence: 71 (76)

Free Points: 3

Luke took a deep breath and opened his interface. He thought for a moment, then distributed the points with precision. +1 to Strength, +1 to Endurance, and +1 to Intelligence.

Stats Updated:

Strength: 114 -> 115

Endurance: 36 (56) -> 37 (57)

Intelligence: 71 (76) -> 72 (77)

Mana Points (MP): 743/760 -> 753/770

Free Points: 3 -> 0

Closing the screen, he turned his gaze back toward the base ahead. Nestled between hills and half-hidden by the scattered vegetation, the stone buildings and heavily armed orcs stood like scars against the landscape.

“I’m done running back to the Safe Zone. I’m going to kill the Orc General.”

With that decision made, the following days were dedicated to one thing only. Surveillance.

Luke became part of the forest.

He studied the patrol shifts. Memorized the paths between tents and supply depots. Watched who led, who followed, who hesitated — and who deserved to die first.

Every night was a rehearsal.

Every shadow, a promise.

Every move Morvat made... a countdown.

The plan wasn’t finished.

But the intention was sealed.

And for Luke, intention... was all he needed.

***

Morvat walked through the base, inspecting every batch of timber the orcs hauled in. The sound of logs dragging against dirt and the strain of tight ropes echoed between the stone buildings. The reconstruction of the dam had begun.

The first step had been to raise a barrier closer to the mountain, where the terrain helped contain the flow. Only then could they start rebuilding the main structure. But the real problem wasn’t the wood. It was the crocodiles.

Recapturing them had come at a price. Several orc captains had lost their lives in the process. The strategy was simple but brutal. Lure the beasts with wild boar meat — which they seemed to crave more than anything else — and trap them in deep pits. Pits so deep that not even their sharpened claws could climb out.

Most were recaptured.

Their leather and teeth would become materials to reinforce orc gear. A final use for monsters even they feared.

It had been two weeks since the dam fell. And since then... not a single sign of the human.

Morvat knew exactly what that meant.

The human had escaped.

Used the chaos — the attack, the crocodiles, the dam’s collapse — to disappear without leaving a trace. The plan had been well executed. And Morvat... had been fooled.

The General gritted his teeth. The insult burned more than any wound. That human had dared to walk into the heart of orc territory and toy with him — the chief of security for this entire region.

A quiet fury swelled in his chest every time the memory surfaced.

“Faster,” he growled, his voice loaded with restrained rage.

The orcs securing the logs to the carts hurried. The wood would be taken to the intermediate camp. From there, to the dam.

They were rebuilding.

But Morvat would not forget.

And he would not forgive.

***

Morvat stood inside his great cabin, the walls covered with the pelts of beasts he had hunted himself. Each one was a memory of his strength. He was the strongest among the orcs — second only to the Orc Lord. The only General. None could compare. But he knew the truth that burned inside him. The Orc Lord was a High Orc — a superior race. And that was why he had lost.

His gaze locked onto the crude drawing scrawled on one of the walls in blood and charcoal — a throne. The throne that should have been his. Since that defeat, the fury never left him. It simmered. It grew. And that was why he hated intruders so much. Being surpassed by a High Orc — that was fate. But being surpassed by a human... never.

His fists clenched.

“General!” A voice from outside snapped him out of his thoughts.

Morvat rose, eyes burning.

One of the captains was banging on the door. Morvat threw it open with a snarl, impatience boiling over.

“What?!”

The captain barely had to speak. Outside, the glow of fire reflected against the leaves. A tree burned in the distance.

“They found the human. A patrol saw him trying to cross the river. He pulled back and started running. That fire... it’s a distraction. But we’re already putting it out.”

“Putting it out?!” Morvat roared, stepping forward. “The human?! Where is he now?! Why aren’t you hunting him?!”

“One group is in pursuit. Another focused on the fire. We didn’t want another disaster like the dam.”

“Idiots,” Morvat bellowed. “Nothing is more important than killing that human!”

He shoved past the captain, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

“Take me to the last place he was seen. Double the patrols along the river. If he escapes again... all of you will pay for it.”

Without waiting for a reply, he mounted one of the camp’s massive warhorses and rode off.

The hunt had begun again.

***

The orc camp boiled with activity. Morvat had left with a small squad of captains to hunt Luke along the river. The rest stayed behind, guarding the base like a living war machine—disciplined, organized, relentless.

It wasn’t chaos. It was structure. If one scout returned with news, another was already en route to warn Morvat.

They weren’t brainless brutes. Not even close.

But that didn’t matter.

Luke was already there.

Hidden inside a hollow log, silent as the forest itself. Watching. Waiting. Observing the entire camp through a tiny hole he’d carved into the wood with his kukri.

Rain fell steady, washing away dust, muffling footsteps, masking sound. The perfect night.

He slid out of the log in mist form, gaze cutting through the darkness. His body didn’t exist anymore. Only intention did.

First target—the archers.

They lined the towers and perimeter. Perfect positions. Easy kills.

Luke moved between cabins, slipping through gaps, fading in and out of mist. A phantom in the rain.

Each kill was clean. Surgical. Silent. Bodies vanished into his storage necklace before blood even touched the ground.

Climbing the nearest tower, boots slipping against the soaked wood, Luke caught the muffled sound of an orc captain turning—

“What the...?”

The words never finished.

The kukri opened his throat with a single cut. As the body dropped, Luke spun, severing the head clean. One fluid motion.

[You have slain an Orc Captain: Level 21]

He straightened. From atop the tower, the entire camp unfolded below — fires glowing, shadows moving. And now... panic. Screams. Shouts. Running feet. Bells rang, sharp and desperate. But it was too late.

Orcs looked up. There he stood. Alone. A human cloaked in black, fabric billowing in the storm. The clouds split. The full moon broke through, silver light painting the figure in shadow and gleam. And then — he jumped.

The leap was impossible. Insane. The cloak flared midair — wings of a demonic bat. And with him... the knives. Twelve. Twenty-four. Multiplied. Reflected. Dancing in spirals. A rain of steel. Blades sliced through the storm, spinning, screaming, falling like judgment. Orcs fell before they could scream. Bodies hit the ground in rapid succession. Panic became chaos.

“It’s HIM!” — “RING THE BELLS!” — “CAPTU—”

Luke landed in a smooth, perfect descent. The cloak folded back around him like shadows snapping shut. An orc captain charged, brave, desperate.

“YOU’RE GOING TO—”

Luke didn’t even look. A kukri, buried in a corpse ten meters away, snapped through the air — piercing the captain’s skull from behind like a bullet. The orc crumpled, dead before he even realized what had happened.

[You have slain an Orc Captain: Level 21]

Silence. The others froze. Rain hammered the dirt. Thunder rolled. Lightning carved the sky. And there he was. Alone. Hood low. Shadows drowned his face. Only his eyes burned — sharp, inhuman. Embers in the dark. Blood pooled beneath him, catching the lightning, crimson halos reflecting around his boots.

His voice broke the silence — low, calm, terrifying. “You said you were going to kill me...” A step forward. “I’m here.”

The kukris snapped through the air, slamming perfectly into his hands. He raised them, held them like fangs.

“Try.”