Becoming the Dark Lord

A week had passed since the conversation with Erza Grimhart. The sun was barely rising, a pale shimmer spreading over the river as the fog crawled across the surface. The wind was sharp, cutting like a thin blade. Morning had only begun, yet the air already carried that silent tension that precedes something inevitable.

Anne rowed with quiet determination, her strokes steady but strained, eyes fixed on the distant outline of the riverbank.

“We’re… almost there… Lord Luke,” she said softly. Her voice, though timid as ever, held a touch more confidence than before. Since she’d started interacting with him, Anne had begun to speak more — not much, but enough for small sparks of will to slip through her hesitation.

Luke, sitting at the bow, glanced over his shoulder. “You know you don’t have to row, right?”

She nodded quickly, her gaze flickering away. “I wanted to.”

The river stretched ahead, a silver ribbon under a pale sky. The rhythmic creak of the oars broke the stillness, blending with the whisper of water and the faint cry of a bird somewhere far off. The Safe Zone was drawing near.

A lot had changed in a week. Since the activation of the second mechanism, the winds had grown colder, and there was a strange pressure in the air, like the world itself had shifted its breathing.

Between the two Safe Zones, a secure route had formed. Boats now crossed daily, and small camps had appeared along the riverbanks, guarded by sentinels who kept watch for anything that moved. The crocodiles that once infested the area were gone, wiped out after days of coordinated hunts by combat groups.

When Luke’s boat finally slid up to the small wooden pier, he saw how solid it looked despite its makeshift nature, built by tired but skilled hands. Anne docked with practiced care.

“We’ve arrived,” she said quietly, setting the oar aside.

Luke stood, scanning the scene before him. The landscape of the second Safe Zone had transformed. Trees had been cleared, opening a path toward the fortress at its center. People moved everywhere, hauling timber, sharpening blades, carrying supplies. The air was alive with the sound of hammers, saws, and voices, a rough symphony of survival and reconstruction.

He and Anne followed the path. The smell of iron and coal thickened as they neared the main forge. Blacksmiths worked in perfect rhythm, sparks scattering across the ground like falling stars. Not far away, a group was training with swords under the stern gaze of instructors. Every movement was sharp, deliberate, relentless.

“Archers!” someone shouted.

The command cut through the noise, and a line of men and women raised their bows in unison. Arrows sliced the air and struck their targets almost simultaneously. Luke noticed that many of them didn’t even possess the Archer class, yet they still trained. There was a shared sense of duty, a quiet urgency. Even those who lacked combat skills were willing to learn. In times like these, any pair of hands could decide whether a group lived or died.

As he watched, Luke’s thoughts drifted to what was coming. The six-hour countdown after the third mechanism’s activation. Most people here seemed ready to fight, but what would happen once they understood what that truly meant? When they realized how little time they actually had?

Maybe the leaders were waiting, choosing the right moment to reveal the truth. Maybe they believed ignorance would buy them strength. Hard to say. But Luke knew one thing for certain: sooner or later, that secret couldn’t stay buried.

Anne walked beside him, and Luke couldn’t help noticing the looks she drew. Passersby stared wide-eyed, some even bowing, convinced they were seeing Erza Grimhart herself. For many, it had to be unsettling to see the face of the Safe Zone’s tyrant now framed by a maid’s uniform.

“Are you going to fight too, Anne?” he asked, mostly to break the silence.

“Yes, Lord Luke.”

“I told you, drop the ‘Lord.’”

She shook her head, her voice gentle but resolute. “I can’t.”

A faint smile crossed his lips.

The walk toward the fortress revealed how much the place had changed. Groups were running laps in coordinated drills. The air carried the rhythm of discipline. What had once been a refuge was becoming a military base.

Luke had built his own training routine that week, with Anne’s help. Together they had designed a plan focused on physical conditioning and reflex work. He had even learned that part of the Maid profession involved bodily analysis and physical support, a skill that made even more sense in Anne’s case since she was also a healer. It was as if she had been created to refine the potential of everyone around her.

“We’re going to the fortress?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Anne followed him not just as an assistant but as a bodyguard. Luke knew by now that she carried more secrets than she let on. He had discovered, for example, that Anne could reside within Erza’s soul, just as Charlie did with him. It was a kind of spiritual tether between them. But unlike Charlie, Anne could move freely in and out, no permission required.

That wasn’t something either of them had shared with him; he’d learned it by using his Rank skill while he was there, spying. He could even use that same ability on Anne herself. He also discovered Erza’s profession: Seamstress, which explained her thread-based powers.

That was the most information he’d been able to extract. Anything beyond that, even he hadn’t dared to risk.

Few people in Bastion even knew Anne existed. Under Bartholomew’s rule, she had been treated like a living secret, a shadow cast by Erza’s image. When she left the fortress, she wore a mask to hide her face. But Erza had decided those days were over. Anne was meant to be seen.

The moment they crossed the main gate of the fortress, Luke caught the stares, wide eyes, murmured names, the hum of gossip spreading like wildfire. Among the familiar faces, one stood out immediately.

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“Luke, that really you?”

Jack came running toward them, breathless but grinning the same as ever. He looked different, though, hair cropped shorter, posture steadier, eyes clearer. His new healer’s uniform, clean and properly fitted, gave him an almost respectable air. Almost.

“You cut your hair?” Luke asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah. Turns out some people needed a little push to level up their professions.” Jack shrugged, his tone caught somewhere between exhaustion and humor.

Luke ran a hand through his own hair, already long enough to be a nuisance.

“I can cut it for you,” Anne offered softly.

He glanced at her, then decided silently, Not happening.

Jack laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “How’ve you been, man? I heard you were taken hostage. Must’ve been hell being stuck in Bastion.”

“It was very difficult,” Luke answered, his tone overly solemn. “The whole time, I just kept thinking about coming back here.”

A mocking voice echoed in his mind. ‘Liar. You were enjoying the luxuries.’

Artemis. Always there. Always needling him.

Luke coughed into his fist to hide a grin.

“Being stuck near that lunatic Erza must’ve been terrifying,” Jack muttered, then froze. The color drained from his face. “E… E… Erza?”

Anne stood behind Luke, perfectly still, her expression calm and distant. The wind tugged at her black maid dress, and for a moment the air itself seemed to hold its breath around her.

“Relax,” Luke said, patting Jack’s shoulder and nudging him forward. “That’s not Erza. This is Anne, her twin sister. And my bodyguard.”

“Twin sister?” Jack blinked, trying to make sense of it.

“It’s a long story,” Luke replied. “But before you start asking, actually, don’t update me on anything.” He straightened his coat, already walking past. “I’m on vacation.”

***

The hiss of an arrow sliced through the air. A massive wolf let out a guttural snarl, the ground shuddering under its charge. Its crimson eyes gleamed with violent intelligence. Luke knew the type, fast, cunning, built to kill.

Before the creature could reach him, a blur dropped between the trees. Princess Charlie.

She moved like a shadow cutting through mist, one hand lifting. A translucent blue barrier flared into existence before her, and the wolf slammed into it with a brutal crack, sent tumbling backward. Charlie twisted on her heel, her blade following the motion like liquid light.

[Mark of Doom Activated]

The strike carved across the creature’s face.

[Princess Charlie has slain a Dreadfang Wolf — Lvl 55]

The body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Luke lowered his bow, watching her. “Nice work, Charlie.”

She gave a thumbs-up. It had been ten days since Luke arrived in the capital. Charlie was now level fifty-nine in her Class Blood Death Knight.

A scream shattered the stillness. “Help meee!”

Luke recognized that voice instantly. “Jack.”

He sighed. “Of course. That idiot’s managed to get himself into trouble again.”

“Remember when I got kidnapped by bandits while walking with him?” Luke muttered, already starting to run. “Jack’s like a disaster magnet.”

He slung his bow over his back, drew his kukris, and sprinted toward the sound. The forest opened into a clearing. Jack burst through it, sprinting full tilt with a hatchet in hand and panic painted all over his face.

“Luke! They’re right behind me!”

Five minotaurs thundered after him, each one towering, muscle-bound, and furious, their hooves pounding the earth like war drums. Luke activated his Epic Skill, Demonic Predator Hands.

Heat surged through his veins, and the air grew dense with dark energy. From the pores of his palms, black, viscous blood began to ooze, slithering across his hands and crawling up his forearms like liquid shadow. It thickened and hardened, shaping into clawed, armor-like growths that pulsed with a faint, hungry rhythm as if the darkness itself had taken hold of him.

He hurled one of his kukris. The blade spun through the air, whistling, and sank deep into a minotaur’s chest. Metal met flesh with a wet crunch. Acid hissed through the wound, burning a hole straight through the creature’s torso. It collapsed instantly.

[You have slain a…]

Charlie was already in motion. The remaining four monsters roared and charged, but she met them head-on. A spectral chain snapped from her arm, yanking Jack backward and out of the path of a descending axe.

Her sword shifted mid-swing, metal rippling as it morphed into a shield, catching the crushing blow with a thunderous crack. In the same heartbeat, the shield flowed back into a blade, its edge glowing with light as she struck in one clean, precise motion, a counterattack that split the monster apart before it even realized it was dead.

Luke dove into another one. Even if the kills didn’t earn him experience here, the fight mattered. Physical conditioning. Mana control. Instinct. And honestly, there was no better training than trying to kill monsters that wanted to crush you like insects.

He leapt onto the minotaur, driving his demonic claws straight into the creature’s face. Acid hissed, steam rising as flesh sizzled, the stench of burned meat filling the air. Luke twisted midair and hurled his second kukri. The blade struck another monster square in the chest, sending it staggering backward.

He landed, rolled, and came up in a crouch, ready for the next strike. Light footsteps echoed to his right. A blur darted between the trees, swift, graceful, silent. Anne.

Her dark dress rippled in the wind as she charged forward, wielding half of a massive pair of shears. The blade gleamed with a cold, otherworldly sheen. Her first movement was smooth, almost elegant: she swept the air, and from the arcs of her swing, crimson threads began to spill out, like reality itself was being stitched shut. The minotaur roared and lunged. Anne sidestepped, spinning effortlessly. In one motion, she inverted her grip, plunging the blade downward like a fang. The tip sank into the monster’s chest with a sharp, efficient crack.

The giant staggered. Then, something unnatural happened. Thin red threads began seeping from the wound, not blood, but something alive, pulsating. Anne extended her hand. A single strand of scarlet silk stretched from the creature’s heart to her palm. She gave it a firm tug. The sound tore through the clearing, and the heart ripped free from its cage, flying straight into her grasp.

The beast collapsed.

Luke turned. The other minotaurs were already down. Charlie stood amidst them, calm and steady, her movements precise, effortless, almost casual.

Yeah… I’d rather never be on the receiving end of that skill, Luke thought.

Silence reclaimed the clearing.

Jack stumbled to Luke’s side, panting and drenched in sweat. “I swear… I always get screwed.”

Charlie approached and gave a precise bow.

“Well done, Lady Charlie,” Anne said.

For reasons Luke still didn’t fully grasp, the two understood each other perfectly. Maybe Anne’s analytical mind could interpret even Charlie’s smallest gestures.

System messages appeared before Luke’s eyes, lines of glowing text stacking one after another.

[Princess Charlie has slain a…]

[Princess Charlie has slain a…]

[Princess Charlie has slain a…]

**The [Blood Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 60! (+18 Strength, +10 Intelligence, +8 Endurance, +8 Vitality, +4 Agility, +2 Perception, +10 Free Points)

[Princess Charlie has unlocked a new Class Skill]

Luke let out a small, satisfied smile. “We did it.”