Becoming the Dark Lord - Chapter 80

The orcs pressed forward. Heavy feet trampled over root and stone, following prints too small to be theirs. Human.

Their grunts echoed low and deep between the trees. From the distant ridge, they’d heard it— the unmistakable roar of a Midnight Warden. A hunter had found prey.

And now... the trail led here.

They had already discovered the first bodies—scouts slain near the riverbank. And now another lay face-down in the dirt, throat torn open, blood still fresh.

Unforgivable.

Humans. In their domain. Alive.

The Lord had spoken: no survivors.

Ahead, a shape by the water—

Kneeling. Hunched. Still.

Wrapped in cloth. Cloaked. Hiding…

The leader grunted the signal.

FWOOOM!

Three spears flew.

TCHAK!

Direct hits.

But no cry. No blood. No movement.

Just... pillows. A blanket. A chair.

The cloth fluttered in the wind. Empty.

A trap.

The orc snarled, raising his arm to command again—

And froze.

Something moved.

A blur.

White steel flashed.

SLASH.

The first orc fell.

The second turned just in time to see the blade sweep through his chest—

Frost bloomed. Skin cracked. Flesh crystalized.

He shattered before hitting the ground.

The rest charged. But she met them.

Allison moved like smoke across ice—fluid, sharp, unstoppable.

Each swing ended a life.

Each dodge extended her own.

The orc commander roared, raising his war spear overhead—

But something passed him.

A whisper. A shadow.

SHHNK.

His breath caught. Eyes wide.

A red line opened across his throat.

He collapsed.

The last thing he saw—glowing eyes.

Luke.

Calm. Weapon low. Already gone.

He danced between the remaining orcs like a ghost.

Silent. Ruthless. Efficient.

And then... silence.

The forest held its breath again.

Bodies littered the ground. Twitching. Still bleeding.

Luke exhaled through his teeth, wiping blood from his face.

“Damn it... Still not level 8.”

His body ached. His left arm—gone.

And without it, the Demon Blade Dance meant nothing.

Allison stepped out from the shadows, holding the tarp, chair, and blanket.

“Thanks,” Luke muttered. He dismissed the items back into his storage.

She had set the trap. He’d scouted the kill zone.

Efficient. Smart. But temporary.

“Allison,” he said, eyes scanning the treeline, “more will come. If we stay near the river, they’ll find us.”

She nodded. “They know this terrain like it’s their own skin.”

Luke turned toward the forest. Dark. Unmapped. Unknown.

“Then we go deeper. No more paths.”

Sheathing her sword, Allison exhaled. Mist still clung to the blade—ice magic fading.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Luke said, watching her.

She smirked. “I’m not wasting mana pretending to be someone I’m not anymore.”

Of course.

Her disguise had drained her magic constantly.

Now she was herself. Unbound. Focused.

And more dangerous than ever.

She could meditate. Restore stamina and mana.

Luke… couldn’t. Not yet.

But he’d learned to live with that.

Allison faced the deeper trees.

“We should move.”

***

They were being hunted.

There was no doubt anymore.

The forest wasn’t just dense—it was alive.

Orc patrols moved in organized columns, spears in hand, eyes sharp and trained. But that wasn’t the worst part.

There were traps. Everywhere.

Pits hidden beneath leaves, spikes at the bottom.

Thin cords stretched across roots, tied to suspended logs. Nets. Tripwires. Primitive snares.

These weren’t the actions of savages. These were professionals.

Luke would’ve stepped into one if not for his heightened Perception. But worse—every trap that snapped, even empty, seemed to send a signal.

This wasn’t just hunting. It was surveillance.

A passive skill, maybe—one that alerted nearby orcs the moment a trap was triggered.

This wasn’t wilderness.

A war zone.

They climbed into the high canopy and peered toward the river below.

Allison narrowed her eyes. “Shit…” she whispered.

The entire riverbank was crawling. Dozens of orcs stood like statues—spears aimed at the water, eyes sweeping the trees. And more kept coming. The line stretched out of sight.

“They’re sealing escape routes,” she muttered.

Luke didn’t respond.

Even if the cliffs dropped farther ahead, there was no way to cross. The orcs weren’t patrolling anymore.

They were closing a net.

Trapping them.

Allison exhaled slowly. “We’ll have to go deeper.”

Luke turned his gaze south.

Beyond the trees and fog, jagged mountains rose like black teeth across the horizon.

The Orc Lord’s domain.

He knew it—instinctively.

Even skimming the outer edge would be suicide.

But the forest behind them was locked down.

The river—cut off.

And ahead? Villages. Watchfires. Patrols. Camps. The entire region... alive.

Luke clenched his fist.

One arm. One wounded ally. A growing army behind them.

No options left.

***

Midnight.

The bell had long since rung, its echo still whispering through the trees.

They waited—still, hidden in the canopy.

Below: a patrol. Ten orcs, maybe more. They’d made camp. Posted guards. One orc brought supplies—fresh meat, weapons. They weren’t leaving.

Allison sat cross-legged, eyes closed, meditating—restoring mana.

Luke beside her, breathing slow. Watching. Waiting.

Then their eyes met.

“We don’t have a choice,” he whispered.

She nodded once.

And they dropped—predators from the dark.

Allison’s sword shimmered in the moonlight—SHLACK!

One clean decapitation. Blood splashed against the bark.

Luke landed opposite her. His kukri slashed across an orc’s ribs—then he vanished. A blur in motion.

Orcs with bells—first targets.

One reached—Luke’s blade pierced through his hand, then his skull.

Another dove for the bell.

Luke dashed—appeared behind him. Shoved. The bell hit the ground—

CLANK

—but it didn’t ring out.

The orc turned fast, punched.

Pain shot through Luke’s ribs.

The axe came down—Luke rolled aside. The blade buried in the soil. He slashed low—blood sprayed.

Another orc opened his mouth to shout—SLASH!

Allison’s blade took his head clean off.

Luke twisted. Buried his kukri into another’s throat.

But even dying, the orc clutched him—dragged him down.

They tumbled.

Branches cracked. Stones rolled. Wood snapped.

THUMP—THUMP—CRACK.

Silence.

Luke gasped, caked in mud. Blood on his cheek. Kukri still in hand.

The orc? Dead. Throat wound had done its job mid-fall.

A shadow above.

Allison slid down the slope. Landed light. Breath sharp.

“You alright?” she asked, eyes on his stump.

“Still alive,” Luke muttered, his voice low and hoarse, eyes already scanning the dense forest around them. There was no time to rest. No time to process.

“We need to keep moving.”

They began climbing the slope, boots digging into damp soil, careful not to slip on the moss-covered stones.

Then—

Clink.

Metal. A footstep. Echoing faintly against stone. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

They froze.

Another step. The sound was distant… but unmistakable.

Luke dropped into a crouch. Allison mirrored him, heart pounding.

His eyes widened, voice barely audible. “No way…”

Allison leaned in, whispering: “A Midnight Warden? Here?”

Inside orc territory? No. That wasn’t just strange. It was wrong. It broke rules. Broke logic. Wardens didn’t wander this far. Not this deep.

Then—

The trees thinned. The forest opened, like a curtain parting.

A vast clearing stretched out before them, hidden deep within the Deathwood. The river carved its way through the center like a silver serpent, gliding over moss and stone, its quiet murmurs the only sound.

But neither of them was looking at the water.

They were staring straight ahead.

At ruins—half-swallowed by roots and time. Collapsed homes. Shattered pillars. Worn roads and broken archways.

And at the very heart of it—

A fortress. Tall. Silent. Strangely intact. Unscathed by time. Unnatural in its perfection.

Allison’s breath caught in her throat.

“Bastion,” she whispered.

Luke narrowed his gaze, stepping forward slightly. She was right.

It was almost identical to the Bastion in the Safe Zone—same towering spires, same sloped rooftops, same cold, heavy stone. Like a reflection. Like a twin.

But it wasn’t the structure that held their attention now.

It was what stood in front of it.

A lone figure. Still as a statue. Clad in jet-black armor, polished like obsidian. Massive. Unyielding.

It moved. Slow. Calculated. Each step deliberate.

A Midnight Warden. Patrolling the gates.

Allison’s voice was barely breath. “This… this can’t mean what I think it means…”

But it did.

Luke felt it in his chest like a weight. Heavy. Final.

The theory was true.

If Bartholomew’s Bastion had concealed the first—then this place—this forgotten fortress—held the second.

Luke’s voice came out quiet. Grim. “There’s a mechanism here.”

He didn’t need to explain. She understood. They both did.

But before either could move—

Snap. Branches cracked behind them.

Then—hooves. Thudding. Heavy. Armored.

They spun around—weapons halfway drawn.

Atop the ridge above, emerging from the fog—Orcs. Mounted on thick, monstrous horses. Silhouettes shaped by war and fire. Broad, brutal frames wrapped in spiked armor. Eyes burning with purpose.

The leader rode forward slowly, his presence undeniable. Taller than the others. Heavier. His helmet gleamed—crafted from polished bone. Not just a warrior. A hunter.

He looked down at them, voice cold as steel drawn in the dark:

“Well… seems you’ve found something you weren’t meant to.”

Another orc rode up beside him, his grin vicious.

“You were supposed to keep wandering,” he said, voice slick with mockery. “Never knowing this place even existed.”

The system pinged. Bright. Immediate.

[Kayn, Orc Captain – Lvl 22]

[Drukar, Orc Captain – Lvl 21]

[Morvat, Orc General – Lvl ??]

A single heartbeat passed.

Luke and Allison exchanged a glance.

No escape.

No backup.

No time.

But they’d uncovered the truth.

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