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Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 105
🕑 Added 2025-06-13 11:02:00 +0000 UTCLuke peeked through the window, and his heart froze. More orcs were emerging from the trees. These weren’t the mindless, feral kind. These were captains. They came with sharp fangs, towering bodies, thick leather armor, and weapons forged for bloodshed. Blades carved from bone. War axes stained with old gore. Each one looked like a walking execution.
Then came the others: orcish war musicians, wielding crude instruments, horns made from animal bones, drums fashioned from stretched hide and hollowed logs. The sounds began to rise, low and primal, pulsing like a heartbeat from the earth itself. One by one, the rest of the orcs joined in, stomping in rhythm, pounding the dirt in unison until the entire forest echoed with a tribal song of blood and war.
Guttural chants layered over the rhythm, a cacophony of voices vibrating in the air with raw hate.
It wasn’t just a battle. It was a ritual. A siege.
At the center of it all, the orc leader raised his sword high.
[Morvat, the Orc General – Lvl ??]
“The time has come to feast on your blood,” he roared.
The orcs answered with a chorus of rabid, murderous zeal.
I’m screwed!
Luke gripped his kukris tightly, his heartbeat thudding louder than the drums. They were surrounded.
“Luck always had a limit, huh?” he muttered to Charlie. “Since that damn dungeon, we’ve been dancing on a knife’s edge.”
She understood.
“It’s better if you return to my soul, Princess Charlie…”
She shook her head.
Luke smiled. “Thanks for that.”
He glanced back out the window. Morvat stood motionless, waiting. One signal, and the entire wooden cabin would be reduced to splinters. He saw spellcasting captains lining up, magic flickering at their fingertips.
“But the edge is where we always found a way out,” he whispered. “I just have to push through, like I always have.”
He stepped outside and stared down the army.
Morvat raised his hand. Three spears of fire hovered in the air above him.
“Finally! Your head is mine!” he shouted, stepping forward with a sneer. “What are your last words, human?”
The captains lifted their weapons. The silence thickened. They waited for Luke’s answer before the slaughter. Mages readied their spells, hands glowing with lethal power.
Luke tilted his chin up, eyes locked on Morvat. He stepped forward with calm defiance, kukris clenched. Charlie stood at his side.
Then Luke smiled. Slow. Controlled.
“When I cut you down, scream loud,” he said. “I want to hear how far it echoes.”
Morvat’s face shifted. The mockery vanished. His jaw clenched.
“KILL HIM!”
The fire spears launched. Arrows blackened the sky. Magic howled like thunder. The captains surged like a wall of muscle and rage.
And then—
Luke exploded.
A massive burst of black mist erupted from his body, drowning the battlefield in living shadow. Vision disappeared. Sounds dulled. The world was plunged into pure chaos.
Within the darkness, the massacre began.
Luke moved like a phantom. Kukris carving through flesh. Slicing. Vanishing. Reappearing. The mist obeyed his will, wrapping around enemies, disorienting them. He was everywhere and nowhere. A wraith. A demon.
Charlie followed in his wake like a wall of steel, spinning with her Orcslayer sword in hand. Steel and skill merged in brutal harmony, her blade cleaving enemies with precision and force.
Together, they danced in the dark.
Demonic Blade Dance.
Luke locked onto Morvat’s position and shot forward like a living shadow, his feet barely touching the earth. Kukris drawn.
Morvat grinned and raised his massive sword to meet him.
Steel met steel. The ground shook.
Luke and Morvat collided like twin storms of violence.
"AAARGH!" Morvat roared, his voice a brutal echo of war, and a crimson aura detonated around him.
His flesh bulged with monstrous power as jets of flame burst from his skin, volcanic steam erupting from every pore. Luke’s blades cut into the general with surgical precision, exploiting every opening. But then came more fire.
The heat exploded outward in a shockwave. Morvat became an inferno, a walking blaze of muscle and rage.
From above, WHAM. Charlie dropped like a hammer, Iron Fist ablaze as it slammed directly into Morvat’s skull.
But the fog was thinning. The captains surged through the darkness, unrelenting, guided by rage. Steel crashed into steel.
Luke dodged, struck, deflected. Arcs of electricity shattered through the chaos. He grabbed an orc, used him as a shield, then leapt over, slicing through the mage behind. His kukris flew, splitting midair into duplicates. Multiple targets fell. The blades returned, humming with killing intent.
Charlie fought beside him. Spectral chains wrapped around orcs, yanking bodies into killing range. Her blade spun with brutal elegance, finishing what the chains started.
Morvat roared again. He leapt, and the earth shattered. A crater opened where he landed. He was a living siege engine, charging forward with his blade raised high.
Luke met him.
But the blow—CRACK. He was launched like a broken doll, slamming through tents and debris.
Where was Allison? That icy control... it had crippled Morvat once before. Now, her absence was screaming.
Morvat came again, sword high like an executioner’s axe. Luke dodged by inches. The shockwave blasted the ground. Tents tore. Orc bodies flew.
He hit the ground hard. Pain bloomed.
Then came three captains.
WHAM! A spiked club crushed into his ribs.
THUNK! A spear pierced his thigh.
CRACK! A punch from behind shattered his backplate.
BAM! The club again, slamming him into a tree like a baseball bat.
He coughed blood. His mana was nearly gone. Thirty seconds before the black mist vanished.
But he didn’t run.
He moved.
Ducked. Slipped. Fought for every second.
Morvat charged. Charlie intercepted. Sword against sword. Fist against armor. But he was stronger. He sent her flying. Again. And again.
Luke pushed forward.
Captains approached.
Basic Dark Dash.
Surprise.
Slash.
Execution.
[You have slain an Orc Captain – Lvl 20]
He pounced like a predator. The next orc punched. Luke blocked with his bracers. Twisted. Ripped across the face. Kicked the jaw. Confusion. Then blood. Twin kukris tore down his body.
[You have slain an Orc Captain – Lvl 21]
Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 22! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)
Damn!
Not the notification he wanted.
THUD. A club slammed into his back. He screamed.
But reflex took over. He spun mid-air and hurled both kukris.
"ROOOOAR!" Morvat was getting closer.
The mist... almost gone.
More captains encircled him.
He jumped.
CRACK! Kicked one in the skull.
Rolled. Dodged blades. Slashed two with pinpoint strikes.
He dove under another. Kukris down. Straight into the orc’s eye.
[You killed an Orc Captain – Lvl 21]
Then—
*[You have reached Level 11! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)*
[An item has been added to your inventory.]
That was the notification Luke had been waiting for. The moment. His wounds healed instantly. Mana surged through his body, not just full, but overflowing. He charged, relentless, straight at Morvat.
THWACK! His fist cracked against the general’s jaw. Charlie came right behind. Luke’s kukris slashed, pierced, spun. He danced around Morvat, striking from every angle, a blur of blades and shadows.
Morvat roared, "AAARGH!" and hurled a flaming punch straight at Luke. But Charlie stepped in front. The blow hit like a meteor.
CRACK! Her entire form collapsed under the force. Fire enveloped her. Bones shattered.
[Your servant Princess Charlie has been slain in combat]
Luke was launched backward by the shockwave, tumbling across the dirt. He barely had time to react. Morvat was already there, flames flaring, aura burning. The sword rose above his head.
"Any last words?" the general snarled.
Luke, bloodied, smiled. "Say hi to my crocodile."
Morvat frowned, confused. Too late.
Luke vanished into a streak of black smoke. Basic Dark Dash activated.
He slipped between the orc’s legs, reappeared behind, and punched him in the back.
THUD! Morvat tumbled forward, right into the pit. Right into the arena. The Crocodile’s Pit.
Shallow water. Mud. Stone.
Luke was gone. Mist form. Vanished.
And then came the sound. That deep, wet growl. He knew it well.
"ROOOOOAR!"
The massive crocodile burst from the water like a nightmare, charging. Morvat saw only teeth.
"AAAHHH!" he screamed, throwing an arm up.
CHOMP. Fangs clamped down hard. Beast versus beast.
More orcs dropped into the arena, rushing to help their general.
"GET THE BOY!!" Morvat roared, caught in the creature’s jaws.
But Luke? He was already gone. Slipping away in black mist, disappearing into the last veil of fog still clinging to the ruined village. A phantom.
He emerged deep in the woods. Away from chaos. Away from death.
He ran.
Basic Dark Dash. Tree to tree. Shadow to shadow. Breath ragged. Heart pounding. Running like a wounded animal, but alive.
It had worked. He’d burned nearly all his mana just to flood the area with darkness, level up, and escape. And it worked.
***
He had been running for an hour. No breaks. No hesitation. Just pure instinct driving him forward through the choking woods, shadow to shadow, step after step, until his body screamed for pause.
Finally, he stopped. High on a branch. The tree was thin, yet massive like all the others in that cursed forest. His lungs pulled in shaky breaths. His body trembled, not just from exhaustion, but from something deeper. The miracle of still being alive.
He raised a kukri and drove it into the wood. Then again. And again. Until he carved a shallow hollow into the trunk, just wide enough.
Shifting form, his body dissolved into mist. He slipped inside. Reformed in the narrow space.
Using the kukris like climbing tools, he stabbed them into the inner bark and pulled himself up, inch by inch. His body was wedged tight between the living walls, feet braced on the blades, arms pressed to his sides.
Hidden deep inside the heart of a tree, surrounded by silence and the breathing of the forest, Luke knew.
He had escaped the impossible.
***
Hours passed. Outside, the sounds never stopped. Heavy footsteps pounded through the undergrowth. Leaves were crushed. Orders barked in guttural screams. Luke listened to it all from within the hollow tree, every sound vibrating through the wood like muffled war drums. They were everywhere. Hundreds of orcs, sweeping through the forest, hunting him.
Then came the voice.
"HUMAN!"
His heart jolted.
Morvat.
"YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD!" The general’s voice thundered through the forest like a living earthquake. "THE ENTIRE RIVER PATH IS UNDER SURVEILLANCE! WE’VE TRIPLED OUR NUMBERS!"
Luke held his breath, still as stone. Morvat’s voice echoed through the trees in harsh snarls and blood-drenched threats. He was moving, shouting as he stalked between trunks and shadows, trying to break his prey mentally before ever laying eyes on him again.
"YOU WON’T ESCAPE THIS FOREST. YOU’RE TRAPPED HERE WITH US! EVERY ELITE ORC IS HUNTING YOU! YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD!"
Then silence.
No voices. No footsteps. Just the whisper of wind through the leaves and the soft hiss of cold rain on bark. They thought he was running. They believed he was desperate.
Inside the tree, sweat trickled down Luke’s temple. His muscles were coiled tight, wound like springs. But slowly, his expression shifted. A darkness crept across his face. Then a smile.
“If all the strongest orcs are out hunting me...” he whispered, eyes locked on nothing, voice barely audible beneath the rain, “then the only ones left in the mountain villages... are the weak.”
His hand tightened around the kukri.
“Perfect.”
He drew a slow, measured breath, the cold light of calculation igniting behind his eyes. “Every village has a base. A stockpile. A chain of support.”
“If I burn them all to the ground... these bastards won’t have anywhere left to return to.”
The smile widened.
“Even if I have to set this entire forest on fire... I’ll make sure they drown in ash.”
<< Chapter 104 | Index | Chapter 106 >>
