Becoming the Dark Lord [LitRPG]

A massive board stretched out before Luke, etched into the stone floor like the bones of some ancient giant. He could still see the trapdoors opening, burned into his memory like the afterimage of lightning.

For a split second, he considered making a run for the chest. Or leaping onto one of the statues lining the walls. But his body already knew what his mind refused to accept: that wouldn't work. This challenge didn't play by human logic. No shortcuts. No tricks. No exploits.

If he stepped on the wrong square, the floor would reject him. Simple as that. This wasn't a test of cleverness. It was a test of understanding. He looked down. Alternating tiles: light and dark. He stood on a light square. His breathing picked up. Sweat trickled down his spine.

I thought this was just about grabbing the key!

His gaze shifted toward the throne. The boss sat there—still as a statue, silent as a corpse in regal repose. Luke's chest rose and fell in rapid succession. He glanced back. The barred gate still sealed the exit.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

Panic hit like a storm surge. His thoughts spiraled. Vision narrowed. Breathing turned ragged. And then...

"Pay attention." The voice boomed from all directions at once.

He spun around, startled. The statues. All of them. Mouths open. Eyes locked on him.

"We will speak only once."

Luke forced himself to meet their gaze. They weren't just statues. They were judges. Witnesses. Executioners. The voice, now a chorus, spoke in unison: "I am the most common piece. I always move straight at first... but I can become something greater. What am I?"

His heart froze. A riddle?

"Now make your move." The sound of grinding stone echoed across the temple. Statues turned, pointing toward the chest.

Move? This was a game?

Before he could think any further: "Ten... nine."

The countdown began. The voices grew louder with every beat. "Eight."

The board trembled beneath his feet.

Oh god.

"Seven."

His thoughts were slipping. Board. King's Game. Riddle. Move.

"Six."

He couldn't breathe. His lungs seized.

"Five."

"Four."

His heart pounded like a war drum.

"Three."

"Two."

The riddle spun through his head: "I'm the most common piece. I move straight at first. But I can become something greater." The final number loomed like a blade. In a burst of instinct, Luke jumped two squares forward.

"One."

And all the other tiles dropped. Trapdoors. Darkness. But the square beneath his feet held. Solid. Stable. Everything else slammed shut again. Quiet. Undisturbed. Like nothing had ever happened. Luke stood frozen, staring at the void that could've been his grave. Then, slowly… triumph crept into his mind like a warm wind through a frozen field.

It worked.

He could hardly believe it. The answer had been simple: Pawn. Now he understood how the game worked. He had to solve the riddle, identify the piece it described… and then move to one of the squares that piece could reach, based on his current position.

The name King's Game was the hint. This was a chessboard. The riddle revealed the piece. The move was up to him. The pawn could move two squares forward on its first move. That's what saved him.

The statues stared at him with hollow eyes. "I am a piece that always leaps over others and has a peculiar movement. Who am I?"

Their stone heads turned slowly, pointing once again toward the chest.

"Make your move."

"Ten."

The countdown echoed like the toll of a bell before an execution.

"Nine."

"Eight."

Luke froze. His mind exploded with possibilities. It's the Knight!

The piece that moved in an L-shape. But unlike the Pawn, the Knight had multiple directions. His options multiplied—and he was lost in all of them.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"Seven."

"Six."

The ground vibrated beneath him. Even the square he stood on began to tremble. The trapdoors groaned. Where do I go?!

"Five."

"Four."

Luke looked at the statues, desperate for a clue. They all still pointed toward the chest. He drew in a long breath. Shut the panic down.

"Three."

"Two."

And moved. A jump forward, then a sharp right. He traced the mental L mid-air and landed on the new square.

"One."

Trapdoors slammed open. The abyss stared back at him—cold, silent. Almost... patient. But the square under his feet held firm. So did one other, just one—the only one that followed the same pattern.

I did it.

The Knight could reach up to eight squares depending on position. Luke filtered for the one that advanced him closest to the goal and gambled. Luck stayed with him. His heart didn't. It raced, wild and unchecked.

The statues turned again. "I am a piece that always stays on one color, yet moves freely in one direction. Who am I?"

They pointed.

"Ten."

The floor shook.

"Nine."

"Eight."

Luke looked down. He stood on a dark square.

"Seven."

"Six."

"Five."

No hesitation. He jumped diagonally. Then again. And again. Each step held. He moved like he'd done this a thousand times, skimming along the dark tiles with precision, advancing until the temple wall loomed ahead—the edge of the board.

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

The abyss roared around him as the trapdoors opened once more. But the square beneath him held. Everything else? Gone. He breathed in slowly.

Bishop.

That was the answer. A piece that moved diagonally and stayed on the same color. He had followed the dark path to the edge of the row. Luke looked ahead. If this were a real board, he should've reached the end by now. But there was still half the temple left. He tried to stay calm, though fear twisted his gut—the fear of a single wrong move, of slipping into endless black. Behind him, the squares remained open. There was no going back.

"I am the most powerful piece on the board. I can move across any space. Who am I?"

The ground shook. Random tiles ahead began to open—swallowed whole by bottomless pits. Luke stepped back, almost slipped.

"Make your final move!"

Panic hit.

"Ten."

"Nine."

"Eight."

Luke jumped forward just as the tile behind him collapsed into the void. Trapdoors opened in a sequence, devouring the path like a wave of death moving toward him. He ran.

"Seven."

"Six."

He leaped from one square to the next, trying to keep a straight line. But the gaps formed at random, cutting off every direct path.

"Five."

An entire row opened up in front of him. He jumped—landed wrong. The square buckled beneath his weight. Luke fell. For a moment, there was only darkness. But his hand caught the edge of the next tile. Firm.

"Four."

He tried to pull himself up, but the square started trembling. No. No!

"Three."

He dug deep, pulling with everything he had, pushing with his legs, clawing his way up. The floor collapsed behind him. Luke rolled forward, barely stable, scrambling to his feet.

"Two."

Still more squares to go. No time. No path. But he had one final card to play. Luke activated Assassin's Dash. Wind howled past his ears. Distance became a blur. Sound fell behind him. His body surged forward like a bullet fired from a bow.

"One."

And then... he was there. The final square. Standing before the chest. The last row remained beneath his feet; everything else was gone. The board behind him had become nothing but a yawning abyss.

Luke panted hard, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. He had won. And now the riddle made perfect sense. From the start, he had been a pawn: the weakest, the simplest, the most disposable. But in chess, a pawn that reaches the far end of the board becomes a Queen.

That was the true test—not just to survive, but to evolve. Piece by piece. Move by move. The Queen's movement wasn't just about freedom. It was the reward. The symbol of transformation. And Luke had earned it.

He stood where the Queen belonged. The board vanished. Lines faded. The statues returned to silence, motionless once more. The gate at the entrance lifted. The way out... was open.

[Congratulations! You have completed the second challenge: The King's Game]

A wave of relief crashed through Luke. His legs shook beneath him. But when he looked up... he realized something. He was close. Too close. To the boss. He didn't move. Didn't even breathe deeply. The creature still sat on the throne, hands resting on the hilt of a massive sword embedded in the stone floor. Still. Unmoving. But now, at this distance, Luke could feel it—a black aura, heavy, crippling. It was as if the entire temple bent under its presence.

His hands trembled, but he couldn't hesitate. Slowly, he placed his hand on the chest, opening it carefully, easing the lid so it wouldn't even creak. Inside was the key. Large. Heavy. Real. The symbol of freedom.

And the answer to the question that had haunted him since the beginning: Can someone make it out of here alive? Yes. Now, he had the key.

Luke activated Identify.

[Statue Key (Ancient)
Description: This key is the only way to open the exit of the Forgotten Temple Dungeon.
Enchantments:
[Single Use (Ancient)]: The item will be destroyed after being used.
[Arcane Bind (Ancient)]: If the bearer dies before using it, the key will return to its point of origin.]

He reached out. The moment his fingers touched the object, it dissolved into particles of light.

[An item has been added to your inventory.]

Luke opened his interface immediately. The key was there. But he didn't relax. His eyes locked onto the throne again. The boss... still seated. Still dormant.

Luke moved with care—like a shadow, like a predator in its own domain. Every step was light, calculated, silent. His instincts screamed one command: don't turn your back. He obeyed.

He walked in reverse, never taking his eyes off the throne. The horned figure remained in its frozen posture, both hands resting on the sword, face hidden beneath a shadowed helm. Luke didn't breathe. Didn't blink. Not even once.

He passed the columns, the statues, the altar. And when his feet finally touched the dirt outside the temple... he stopped. Closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Then turned. The boss was still there. Unmoving. He had made it out of the Forgotten Temple.

Inside, Luke wanted to scream, laugh, cry, collapse. But the assassin he had become did not waver. With soft, controlled steps, he followed the path toward the stone ramp leading to the bridge.

I did it.

The thought looped in his mind. I actually did it.

When he reached the edge of the floating island, the familiar path stood ready. But then the sound of stone grinding sliced through the silence like a blade. Luke froze. The bridge retracted, stone blocks sliding back into the island as the way out vanished. A new notification flashed before his eyes:

[Welcome to the third and final challenge: The Duel with the King.]

Something massive hit the ground. The temple shook. And then a roar, guttural, inhuman, ancient, echoed through the forest, across the abyss, vibrating through the air like a living force. Every hair on Luke's body stood on end. The pressure was unreal. The fragile hope blooming in his chest was crushed in a heartbeat.

With a sharp turn, he looked back. The throne was empty. But at the entrance of the temple, he stood there, the boss, standing. Horns curved, a black aura spilling from his body like living smoke. In his hand, a sword the size of a tree. A notification appeared:

[Eighth General of Death (Servant of the Dark Lord) – Level ???]

Luke swallowed hard. The King was awake. And the final test wasn't logic. Wasn't stealth. It was a fight to the death.