Becoming the Dark Lord [LitRPG]

The three of them crouched near the tree line, breaths shallow, eyes fixed on the edge of the forest ahead. They'd spent the last few hours navigating the mountain ridge, searching desperately for another way through. No luck.

"The forest runs right up to a cliff," Allison muttered, slumping down onto a frozen rock. His voice was tired, edged with frustration.

The sun had already slipped beyond the ice-covered horizon, leaving behind only the dim, silvery glow of a cold night sky.

Luke remained standing, unmoving, his gaze locked on the distant clearing where the Yetis still lingered. Twenty of them, maybe more. Perfectly still. Perfectly alert.

Those weren't scouts. They were the pack.

He narrowed his eyes.

The one we fought must've been a forward scout. When it didn't return, the rest locked down the exit. Now they're waiting.

He turned his gaze to Allison.

They weren't hunting me. They were after him. I just got caught in their net.

"I could handle three at once," Allison muttered, rubbing his arms for warmth. "Maybe five if they're dumb enough to clump together… but that's a pack of twenty."

Luke turned to him, expression unreadable, and tilted his head slightly. "What's your class?"

In response, Allison slowly unsheathed his weapon—a katana, narrow and elegant, its blade catching just enough moonlight to gleam faintly in the dark.

"Swordsman," he said. "My class focuses on high-speed strikes."

Luke watched the weapon, eyes narrowing.

That explains how he managed to draw on me so fast earlier

He glanced at Princess Charlie. Her warrior class was the opposite—built for raw force and brutal pressure.

"And you?" Allison asked.

"Assassin."

Allison nodded slowly. "Makes sense."

In any other situation, Luke would've kept his cards close. But if they were going to work together—survive together—then knowing each other's strengths was essential.

Classes defined group dynamics: mages and archers in the back, fighters up front. Luke had no reason to lie. If they were going to travel together, it made sense to be honest—at least a little.

"I need to get to the wall as soon as possible," Allison said. "I've got reasons. Urgent ones. But we have to be careful. Do you think they'll move if we wait them out?"

Luke had already considered that. He'd watched the way those creatures operated. This wasn't random animal behavior.

It was tactical.

"They won't move," he said flatly. "We killed their scouts. They're waiting. If they do leave, it'll be a small group. The rest will stay behind to hold the exit."

He tapped a finger against the bark of a nearby tree, thinking.

Why aren't they rushing us? They could overwhelm us with numbers… but they haven't. They're not reckless. They're being deliberate.

His thoughts drifted back to when he found Allison—weak, half-frozen, nearly unconscious.

And then it clicked.

They didn't attack him when he first arrived.

They waited.

Waited for him to weaken. For hunger, cold, and fear to wear him down. Then they struck.

Luke's expression darkened.

"They're not guarding that exit because they're scared," he said.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Allison looked up. "Then why?"

"They want us to back off. To retreat deeper into the forest. Let the cold, the hunger, the sleepless nights grind us down until we're too weak to fight back."

He stared into the trees, feeling a chill crawl up his spine—not from fear, but from realization.

That wasn't random instinct.

It was strategy.

He'd seen it before.

That was how predators hunted.

The way they moved…

The way they waited…

Luke could feel it now—this wasn't brute instinct. It was calculated.

Predatory.

They were acting like a pride of lions, singling out the weakest in the herd. Waiting for exhaustion, hunger, and cold to whittle their prey down to nothing before striking. Blocking off the only safe path down the mountain was intentional—they wanted them cornered.

But the Yetis had made one critical mistake.

They weren't the only predators here.

Luke tightened his grip around his kukris.

"Predators, huh?" he muttered. "Fine. Let's see how they handle being hunted."

He glanced at Allison, clad in a rough white cloak made from wolf pelts, then at Charlie.

"I've got a plan," he said. "It's time we hunt some Yetis."

***

Night had fallen.

At the forest's edge, a group of Yetis prowled restlessly. Their massive forms shifted in the dark, breath rising in thick clouds of steam against the frozen air. Muscles coiled tight, eyes locked on the tree line. Some gripped boulders the size of barrels, knuckles white, ready to crush anything that dared emerge.

"Grrr…" one snarled, slamming a fist against its chest in rhythmic warning.

Another crouched low, clawed fingers tracing crude shapes in the snow. A stick figure holding a weapon. A small square beside it. The cabin.

Grunts and clicks passed between them, primitive but purposeful. A language of tension and instinct. Plans were forming.

Crunch. Footsteps.

They snapped to attention. Rocks lifted. Eyes sharpened.

But what stepped out of the underbrush wasn't prey. It was one of their own.

No. A human. Draped in a white cloak, blood-spattered and calm, dragging something behind him.

The Yetis stilled as Allison stepped into full view. His face was unreadable. His blade, sheathed. In one smooth motion, he tossed the severed head of a Yeti into the snow at their feet.

Its eyes still open. Its jaw locked mid-scream.

Allison rolled his neck until it cracked.

Then, with a calm that chilled more than the air, he said, "That one was easy. Who's next?"

For a moment, no one moved.

Then came the roar.

"ROOOAAARR!"

The pack exploded into motion.

Allison spun on his heel and bolted, vanishing into the forest like a ghost through smoke. Behind him, the Yetis thundered after him, howling with unrestrained fury. Trees shook under their weight. Some launched themselves into the canopy, tearing through branches to gain speed. Others hurled boulders the size of heads, which shattered against bark and snow in deafening crashes.

Allison ducked low, rolled beneath snapping limbs, and weaved between trunks, his cloak whipping behind him. He didn't slow. He couldn't. He was pulling them exactly where he wanted.

Deeper. Faster.

The trees began to thin. The ground beneath his boots turned from soft snow to packed frost.

The forest opened.

He skidded to a stop.

Ahead was nothing. Just a sheer drop, a black abyss stretching out over the cliff's edge.

Behind him, at least a dozen Yetis, snarling and gaining ground.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

A chorus of howls erupted behind him, savage and deafening. The Yetis surged forward, a stampede of raw fury. Snow flew in every direction under their charge.

BOOM!

The earth shook violently beneath their feet. A thunderous crack echoed through the forest like the sky itself had split in two, followed by the chaotic snapping of branches and the groan of shattering wood.

The Yetis froze. Their instincts screamed.

But it was already too late.

From the ridge above, an avalanche of massive logs burst into view — dozens of them tumbling down the mountain like battering rams. Trees were ripped apart. The slope became a blur of motion and violence.

One Yeti shrieked as a log crashed into its chest, hurling it off the cliff in a sickening arc.

Panic set in. Some tried to leap away. Others tripped over each other in the chaos.

Allison didn't wait. He leapt high into the air, activating his double-jump in mid-flight. His figure soared above the destruction, cloak trailing behind him.

Below, the forest floor became a graveyard. One after another, Yetis were swept away, crushed beneath the weight or launched screaming into the void.

[You have slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[You have slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 9]

[You have slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 9]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[You have slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 9]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 10]

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cliff Yeti – Level 9]

**[Princess Charlie has reached Level 3 – Skeleton (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

[Princess Charlie has unlocked a new Race Skill]

Luke stood on a rocky ledge above the chaos, his breath steady, eyes sharp as he watched the final log crash over the cliffside, dragging a Yeti screaming into the void below.

He let out a quiet chuckle, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Nice work, Princess Charlie," he murmured, not needing to look to know she was near.

His hands moved as if by instinct, reaching into the air—gripping the familiar hilts of his kukris as they blinked into existence from his inventory. He drew them with a soft metallic whisper.

"Now…"

His gaze shifted to the treeline below, where the surviving Yetis had scattered—some limping, others crawling into shadow. The pack was broken. Wounded. Disoriented.

"…our hunt begins."