Becoming the Dark Lord [LitRPG]

Luke stopped channeling mana into the crystal. The elevator halted.

The system had just notified him of a new skill—one granted by his demonic bloodline. He wasn't sure if he should be excited… or terrified.

"Well, too late now. There's no way to undo it."

He tapped the notification.

[Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]: As heir to the lineage of the Lords of Darkness, you may claim a worthy creature to bear your mark. Upon defeating a target, you may brand it with your demonic blood, subjecting it to your absolute authority. The servant is reborn from its weakness, evolving beyond its natural limits, nurtured by the master's power. The bond between Lord and Servant strengthens with your growing influence, shaping the fate of your legion through conquest and ambition.

Luke blinked at the description, stunned at first—then deeply uneasy.

He wasn't just borrowing power from some dark source. He was the source now. This wasn't just another active skill. The [Unique] tag said it all. This wasn't normal. It wasn't common. He was likely the only one in the entire multiverse who had access to this.

He tried to shake off the feeling and force himself into the cold mindset of an assassin. Pragmatic. Focused.

"Servants, huh? Like... monster allies?"

The moment he spoke, understanding of the skill filled his mind. It wasn't just metaphorical.

To activate it, he had to mark a fallen creature with his own blood. The problem? Monsters were hostile. He'd have to subdue one somehow—without killing it entirely.

Still... it was a tool. Maybe the tool.

"The prisoners… if I have creatures under my command, I could use them to create a distraction."

What had begun as a curse now looked more like a solution.

Luke placed his hand back on the crystal. The elevator began to rise once more. As he ascended, he imagined the possibilities.

If I can turn monsters into servants… then maybe I really can do this.

There were at least fifteen convicts waiting on the first floor. Strong ones. They had time to get stronger, gain classes, level up. And they were likely near the portal statue, guarding it.

Luke would need a diversion.

They're not idiots. They're killers. Even if I manage to slip past one or two… all it takes is a single person seeing me.

He glanced down at the elevator floor. His ride upward. His one shot.

I won't be able to bring many creatures. The elevator is too small. And it only ascends. Once I reach the first floor, I can't come back down.

That means… I need strong ones. High-level monsters. Something that can hold its own even against awakened criminals.

But would the skill allow that? Could I mark any monster? Are there limits?

He couldn't risk waiting until the top to test it. He'd have to find something before reaching the surface. Something dangerous—but controllable.

Then—crack.

A sound like glass snapping under pressure.

Luke flinched and pulled his hand away. A faint spiderweb of fractures had appeared on the surface of the crystal.

"…The hell?"

He stared at it, heart racing. It didn't look like it was going to break—yet.

Is this because I kept stopping?

Probably. The system hadn't warned him about any limits, but clearly, there was one.

Luke placed his hand back on the crystal with a sigh.

***

Luke stopped the elevator. Several hours had passed, and as he ascended, a growing sense of claustrophobia began to settle in. The platform had risen into a narrow tunnel carved into the stone—tight, confined, with barely enough space for him to stand. The view of the environment had vanished, replaced by crude stone walls pressing in on all sides.

It felt like being buried alive.

Eventually, though, the shaft opened into a new chamber. A small room greeted him, complete with a fruit-bearing tree, a pool of clean water trickling from a stone wall like a makeshift waterfall, and a corridor that looked like it led into a dungeon.

Luke didn't explore.

He didn't want to stray far from the elevator. Not now.

Without hesitation, he resumed the climb.

Each hour, the pattern repeated—identical rooms appearing like rest stops: fruit, water, silence. A space to catch his breath. He was grateful for the chance to hydrate and snack, but his eyes stayed glued to the crystal.

It was cracking.

Subtle at first. A web of fractures spreading slowly, like a spider testing the limits of its silk.

Mana use wasn't the problem. The crystal barely consumed any. The real threat was wear. Repeated stops. Time. Luke feared that if it shattered mid-ascent… there wouldn't be a second chance.

***

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He sat with one hand on the crystal, eyes closed, trying to enter a meditative state. The same focus he had once tapped into when refining his assassin mindset.

But now, it wasn't stealth or silence he was chasing.

It was understanding.

These weren't just stat points. They weren't arbitrary numbers on a screen. They changed things. His body. His instincts. His limits.

A soldier who knows he can swing a sword twice before losing breath builds his combat style around that restriction. But what happens when he can strike five times instead of two?

A diver who can last five minutes underwater trains his every movement—every stroke, every breath—with that clock in mind. What if the clock ticks for fifteen minutes instead?

Luke's mind circled the thought.

The system stretched human capacity. But if the diver with triple the time grew careless… he'd still drown. More stamina meant nothing without the mindset to wield it.

That's what Luke was trying to grasp: the meaning of these ten extra points in every attribute. Not just the power—but the responsibility. The way it changed his interaction with the world around him.

Then—

Crack!

A sharp snap pulled him from his trance. The elevator jolted to a stop. Luke's eyes flew open.

"No. No, no, no—"

The crystal was broken. It crumbled like sand beneath his fingers, falling apart grain by grain. A tight knot formed in his chest. The last thing he wanted was to be stranded halfway between layers of the dungeon with no way to ascend.

But then—relief.

He looked around.

He was in another rest chamber. The next floor. Safe… for now.

Still, he cursed under his breath. "Seriously? Now I have to climb the rest of the way on foot?"

He didn't complain further. Anything was better than being stuck inside that narrow tunnel, condemned to die alone in the dark.

[Alert: Elevator Crystal has broken. Seek another crystal somewhere on this dungeon floor.]

The notification faded. Luke took a breath and stepped away from the rest chamber.

"Well… that's good news, right?" he muttered, trying to stay optimistic.

He drew the twin kukris from his inventory. Their curved black blades gleamed under the flickering torchlight.

"At least I'll get to test the servant ability."

Trying to focus on the upside, he headed down the corridor. The torches along the walls lit up as he walked, guiding him toward a stone door at the end. He had eaten earlier during the elevator ride, so his stamina was full, his senses sharp.

He left his bag behind in the rest room—safer there—and approached the door. Pushing it open, Luke stepped into what looked like the interior of an ancient fortress. Interconnected stone hallways branched in every direction. The place felt abandoned… but not dead.

He moved carefully through the corridors, scanning each passage. Empty rooms. Silent corners.

Until he turned a corner and froze.

Up ahead was what resembled an old dining hall—rows of decaying wooden tables and chairs arranged haphazardly. And seated at them… humanoids. At first, he thought they were people.

[Dead Wanderer – Lvl 6]

[Dead Wanderer – Lvl 5]

[Dead Wanderer – Lvl 5]

Not people. Undead.

Their skin was cracked and dry, brown and shriveled like paper left in the sun. Their eyes were hollow. Their faces sagged into a grotesque parody of human expression. They wore nothing but ragged cloaks and stained robes.

"Grrrr…"

One of them stood—and sprinted toward Luke. He tightened his grip on the kukris and hurled one. The black blade spun through the air, gleaming once as it buried itself in the creature's skull.

[You have slain a Dead Wanderer – Lvl 5]

"No way!"

Luke blinked in disbelief. A single throw—clean kill. Normally, that would have taken multiple throwing knives and a follow-up strike.

The body collapsed over a table.

The others hissed and turned.

"GRRRRAHH!"

They charged.

One wielded a sharp bone as a weapon.

The first lunged. Luke leaned back, dodging the swipe, and slashed low. The kukri tore clean through its arm, severing it at the elbow. The undead recoiled with a dry shriek. Luke backed off, extended his hand—and the kukri on the ground trembled, then shot back into his palm like a loyal hunting falcon. A smile broke across his face.

He stepped forward. Another undead came from behind. Luke pivoted, bringing the kukri around in a tight arc. The blade carved into its neck, through muscle and bone—like slicing through soft fruit.

The one with the bone club attacked. Luke sidestepped, kicked its leg, and hurled a kukri. Mid-air, the blade split.

[You have slain a Dead Wanderer – Lvl 6]

The copy faded into mist after impact. The real kukri embedded in the target's spine. Luke summoned it back with a flick of the wrist, spinning it into his grasp.

Two more surrounded him. He moved between them like smoke. Blades flashed. One slash took a knee out. The next buried halfway into a skull.

The kukris weren't just weapons—they were extensions of him now. And the undead? They weren't enemies. They were test subjects.

Luke was caught off guard. One of the undead lunged from behind, slamming him against the wall. The creature raised a fist and punched—but Luke shifted sideways just in time. He raised a hand on instinct, bracing for a follow-up.

A heavy thud answered instead. The undead dropped to the floor, twitching once before going still. A black kukri jutted out from the back of its skull.

Luke blinked, stunned—then understood.

The magnetic return.

He had called the weapon back mid-combat, placing himself perfectly in the undead's path. The kukri had flown straight into the creature's head, killing it instantly.

"It worked," he whispered.

A grin crept across his face. He could use the magnetic return offensively. Strategically.

"Grrrr…"

Two more Dead Wanderers crawled toward him—both missing legs, dragging their broken bodies across the stone floor.

Luke raised both kukris.

With a flick of his wrists, he hurled them like twin comets.

They spun with deadly speed and struck—both blades burying themselves into the skulls of the crawling undead.

[You have slain a Dead Wanderer – Lvl 5]

[You have slain a Dead Wanderer – Lvl 6]

The kukris spun back through the air, slipping into his hands like loyal beasts returning to their master.

He stared at them for a moment—those twin black blades, curved like devil's fangs, humming with energy.

"We're gonna be good friends," he muttered.

Then turned and vanished into the next corridor.

***

Luke kept moving, weaving his way through what looked like an ancient structure fused into the cavern itself. Some corridors were rough and rocky, while others were carved from stone, well-shaped and deliberate—like a dungeon built by forgotten hands.

He made mental notes of every turn, careful not to lose his path.

More Dead Wanderers appeared from time to time. Luckily, none of them were particularly strong. The kukris worked like a charm—sharp, balanced, and deadly—but he figured their damage scaled with his stats. Still, he was thankful this area didn't spawn higher-level threats.

This whole section of the dungeon… maybe it was just a punishment route. A slow death by exhaustion for cowards who turned back.

The only reason he hadn't tried the servant skill on these undead?

The smell.

They stank worse than rotting meat left in the sun. If he turned one into a servant, he'd have to ride the next elevator jammed into a narrow shaft with a corpse that reeked like an open grave. No thanks.

Luke paused by a heavy door, pressing his ear to the stone. Faint footsteps inside.

He kicked it open with a loud crash. The nearest Dead Wanderer collapsed from the impact. Luke planted a foot on its chest and drove a kukri into its head.

Another hissed and charged at him. Luke didn't flinch. He raised his arm, flicked his wrist, and the second kukri spun through the air like a silent predator. It sliced into the creature's neck and sent it sprawling to the ground.

[You have slain a Dead Wanderer – Lvl 6]

He didn't even blink at the notification.

Over time, he'd trained the system to suppress routine alerts with a mere thought. But this one—this one broke through, and he didn't ignore it.

**[You have reached Level 3! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

[You have acquired a Race Skill]

"A race skill… but I'm a half-demon now. So what the hell does that even mean?"

The system screen hovered in front of him, waiting.

For a second, he hesitated.

Then he shook off the doubt.

He'd need every advantage he could get if he wanted to survive the upper levels—and the prisoners waiting above.