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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 109
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 11:02:02 +0000 UTCPaul sat at the camp, knife in hand, whittling a piece of wood. He was carving a stake—another reinforcement for the palisades surrounding the Haven. Makeshift barriers scattered through the streets, meant to slow down beast attacks. Since the last invasion, many had been destroyed. Now rebuilding them was everyone’s job.
That’s when he noticed Jonathan’s group returning from the hunt. Anna and Cecilia trailed behind, shoulders heavy, eyes exhausted.
“How’d the hunt go?” Paul asked, glancing up.
Cecilia answered with a few quick hand signs, her fingers moving fast.
Anna stepped closer. “She says... same as usual. But...” Her voice softened. “She got sad for a moment. Thought about Johnny.”
“Ah... that guy.” Paul smiled faintly, bittersweet. “Always had a joke. Even in the worst situations.”
Anna simply nodded.
The group had spent the night out. Ever since Bartholomew’s curfew was put in place, hunting runs had become riskier. If night fell while they were out in the Wild Zone, they couldn’t return to the Safe Zone until dawn. The order was strict: only soldiers were allowed outside after dark.
Then Paul noticed her—Allison, walking through the camp, clothes stained with blood.
“She was with you guys?” he asked.
Cecilia shook her head.
“We ran into her on the way back,” Anna explained. “She was out there... alone. In the Wild Zone.”
It had been twenty days since Luke disappeared.
Vanished—without a word, without a trace.
Rumors spread like wildfire. Some said Kruger had killed him after their confrontation during the camp incident. Others weren’t so sure. Even Angelica couldn’t get answers from Bartholomew’s soldiers.
“Any news?” Allison asked, stepping closer.
Anna shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of nights out there, Allison,” Paul said, his tone edged with concern. “It’s dangerous being alone in that place. I bet Luke’s just off exploring again, like he always does. You know how he is—loves getting lost out there.”
“This time... it’s different,” she replied, firm. “Luke always tells me when he’s planning to be out this long.”
“Did you check that hideout of his? The one near the Safe Zone border?” Paul suggested. “I saw him heading that way once.”
“Already checked. Nothing. No sign of him.”
Cecilia signed again, hands moving quickly. Anna translated.
“She says she wants to help look. Thiara’s asked about him too.”
Jonathan stepped up to the group. “So... Luke’s still missing.”
Paul answered quietly. “Still nothing.”
Jonathan sighed. “I owe him. He saved Angelica, after everything. Let me recover a bit—stamina and mana with Meditation. Once I’m good, I’ll start looking. I’ve got contacts... some thieves, old friends from the haven. Maybe they’ve seen something.”
Paul crossed his arms. “Look... when someone’s been missing this long... odds are, they’re dead.”
“Luke doesn’t die that easy,” Allison said. Not hesitation. Not doubt. Just certainty.
Paul stared at her for a moment. Then nodded.
“You just got back from a hunt. You’re exhausted. Let me handle this for now. I’ve got a few friends in Bartholomew’s ranks. Maybe they’ve seen someone matching his description. If not... I’ll ask them to keep an eye out.”
He crossed his arms again, eyes distant.
“If I get anything... we plan something. Smart. No running out there blind,” he said firmly.
The group exchanged looks. Quiet. Resolute.
They understood the plan.
“I’m going to get some rest,” Allison said with a quiet sigh. “But later, I’ll head out before curfew. If you hear anything... let me know. I’ll be in my tent.”
Slowly, the group dispersed, each returning to their own tasks.
Paul lingered for a few moments, watching the camp move around him. Then, quietly, he made his way toward Allison’s tent.
He stopped just outside, facing away from the entrance, as if not wanting to intrude without permission.
“Can I come in?” he asked softly.
The tent flap shifted, and Allison stepped out.
Paul turned—and for a brief moment, just looked at her. No armor. Just simple clothes. Hair down, resting over her shoulders. Such a stark contrast from the fierce warrior everyone knew.
This woman... really is something else.
“Do you need something?” she asked.
Paul carefully forced a concerned look onto his face, sculpting his expression into something empathetic. Gentle. Understanding.
“Look... I know how you must be feeling,” he said, his tone almost brotherly. “I’ve lost people I loved in this place.”
A lie.
“I haven’t lost anyone,” Allison replied firmly. “And I’m sure Luke’s not dead.” She crossed her arms, glancing away for a moment. “I’d be pissed, honestly, if that idiot managed to finish the tutorial without telling me how.”
A small, fleeting smile tugged at her lips... but it faded with a sigh. “Still... maybe I am a little worried.”
“You’ve been going out into the Wild Zone a lot,” Paul said, seizing the moment. He placed a hand on her shoulder—a gesture rehearsed, deliberate. “It’s obvious you’re worried. But... I want you to know you’re not alone in this. I want to help.”
She blinked, surprised.
“The next time you head out there,” he continued, “let me come with you. Having someone at your side... it helps. Especially mentally.”
“You’d do that?” Allison asked.
“Of course. You’re my friend,” Paul said, opening his arms slightly, casual, relaxed. “And besides... I know that place better than anyone. I’ve lived here for eight years. Remember?”
“I... I don’t even know how to thank you, Paul. But... thank you. I’ll take the help.”
The conversation softened after that. A few lighter words. Allison mentioned needing some rest first, and that with a clearer mind, they could head out for the next search later.
They parted on a calm, almost friendly note.
But when Paul turned his back and walked away—the smile on his face shifted. There was no empathy there now. No warmth. Only the quiet gleam of someone who had just tightened one more thread in their web.
Luke was dead. Not by his hands—but in the end, did that really matter?
“Funny how some things solve themselves,” he muttered.
He passed an extinguished campfire, thin curls of heat still rising from the ashes. Now... it was only a matter of time.
Allison would accept Luke’s death soon enough. And when that happened... well—he’d be there. Ready. Waiting. Ready to fill the empty space.
People always look for something... when everything else falls apart.
His gaze wandered for a moment, then sharpened.
The smile returned—quiet. Satisfied.
“Some opportunities... just present themselves.”
Paul felt it deep in his bones. Fate was on his side.
***
Morvat rode out of the forest, mounted atop a black wolf with crimson eyes. He was in a hurry—and for good reason.
The path was familiar, but tension made every step feel heavier. Soon, the destination came into view: the foot of the mountain. The sacred grounds. His master’s domain.
The terrain opened into a vast clearing, surrounded by natural stone walls. At its center rose a primitive capital—a village fortified not by wood or steel, but by sheer will and brutal discipline.
Armored orcs trained, marched, or stood guard. In the heart of this organized chaos, a throne of solid black stone loomed over them all.
And seated there, in absolute command... was him.
The Orc Lord.
Three meters of pure power. His body, sculpted like living steel, was covered in dark tribal tattoos stretching from his shoulders down to his wrists. Armor was barely necessary—his purple-hued skin burned with raw, living magical energy.
A High Orc. The superior form of his race. The very embodiment of strength and dominion.
Morvat dismounted carefully, then dropped to one knee before the throne.
“My Lord...” he began, choosing his words as if stepping on blades. “I’ve come to bring... some rather unpleasant news.”
The Orc Lord’s gaze fell upon him.
Morvat froze. It was like being stared at by a thousand eyes at once.
His mind flooded—every voice in the village speaking at the same time, crashing through his skull like a wave of fury.
“Do you think I don’t know what happens in my own territory?”
Morvat trembled. “N-Never, my Lord...”
The pressure vanished. Silence remained. But not the kind that soothes—the kind that weighs more than screams.
“I-I’ve already sent the mage captains to repair the dam,” he continued. “Other captains are tracking the crocodiles. We’ve used the meat bait again to lure them back.”
No response.
Only the sound—the heavy, deliberate steps of the Orc Lord. Each one made the earth tremble. Steam hissed from his pores, as if his body boiled with barely restrained rage.
He stopped in front of Morvat, his towering shadow swallowing him whole.
Without warning—a massive hand shot down, clamping around Morvat’s face. His skin seared—burning like molten iron.
Morvat clenched his teeth, fighting not to scream.
But the Orc Lord’s eyes... they burned like wildfire.
“BRING ME THAT HUMAN’S HEAD!”
The roar wasn’t his alone.
It erupted from every orc nearby—a chorus of rage that shook the mountain itself.
“I don’t care if he’s alive or dead. Bring me his head.”
And in the blink of an eye—the Orc Lord was seated again, back on the throne, as if nothing had happened.
Morvat gasped for air. “Y-Yes... my Lord.”
He stood with reverence, stepping back—never turning his back on the throne. Any show of disrespect here meant death.
Only once he crossed the edge of the plaza did he dare to turn around. Only then did he breathe.
But something boiled inside him.
I’ll find you, human. You’ll pay for what you did to the dam.
***
The Orc Lord watched as Morvat vanished into the trees.
Without a word, he snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the orcs frozen in place around him stirred back to life. Those under his direct command marched back to the outer walls, resuming their positions as sentinels.
No orders were spoken. None were needed.
From his obsidian throne, the Orc Lord leaned back, his massive frame sinking into the cold stone. His half-lidded eyes glowed with a deep, unnatural violet. One claw idly scratched at his chin, slow and deliberate... as if weighing something distant. Something inevitable.
“No one... reaches the end of the tutorial challenge.”
The words were little more than a growl—low, heavy—
Yet they echoed through the stone, like an ancient decree.
“Such is the command... of the Midnight King.”
He sat in silence for a few moments, perfectly still. As if listening to something beyond the material world.
As if the voices of invisible rules—the laws that governed this cruel game—were whispering directly into his mind.
“Such is the will... of those who watch from above. The silent observers... of this wretched game.”
A slight, twisted smile spread across his monstrous face, exposing rows of sharpened fangs.
“Such is the will... of the gods who watch it all.”
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