[System]
You are a skilled LitRPG progression fantasy author. Write chapters based on the story bible and instructions provided.

## Premise
Becoming the Dark Lord — a LitRPG progression fantasy. Luke jolted awake, his cheek tingling from having fallen asleep with his face on the ground. His mind was a storm, thoughts tangled and scattered. He glanced around, heart pounding. This... wasn’t his house.

## Main Character
Name: Luke | Gender: male (he/him)
Key supporting characters: He, Points, Luke’s

## World & Power System
level-based progression; class system; skills (e.g. Magnetic Return (Rare), Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique), Notice: Approaching First Floor, Basic Blade Handling (Common), Heavy Strike, You have learned a Class Skill, Servant of the Dark Lord, Basic Chameleon Skin (Uncommon)); stats (Perception, Strength, Intelligence, Endurance, Agility, Vitality)
System notification style: "System’s Annual Integration!]"

## Writing Style
third-person limited narration, past tense. Narration-focused (5% dialogue). Fast-paced, short punchy sentences.

[User]
Write Chapter 239: Draconic Exhalation
Target length: ~3500 words
Key events: level-up occurs, dungeon content

[Assistant]
A wanted poster had just been raised. The “photo” was nothing more than a hand-drawn sketch, but this one hit closer to the mark. Sharper details, a clearer resemblance, even his kukris had been sketched in.

They had artists this good all along and only decided to use them now?

His mind spiraled through possibilities. It was deliberate. While he had been gone, they had circulated a crude drawing, vague enough to make him harder to track. But now that he had resurfaced, they had waited, patient and calculated, for him to edge close to the Safe Zone again before unveiling a more accurate portrait.

“This criminal is the one who murdered Angelica,” the man addressing the crowd declared. “He’s extremely dangerous and works with the renegades, or what’s left of them. If you spot him, don’t try to capture him. Just notify our soldiers and you’ll earn the bounty all the same.”

Another stepped forward. “Burn that face into your memory. The new posters will be up across the city square soon.”

Luke lingered in the shadow of a tree, careful not to let the light betray him. If this updated identity spread, he would lose access to the Safe Zone. And with it, his entire plan to keep mapping the fortress and eventually return to the second mechanism would collapse.

“You can go back to work,” Cardon dismissed the gathering.

One by one, people shuffled back to their routines: carpenters hammering away, laborers hauling timber, gatherers plucking fruit, apprentices being drilled in their trades.

A low whistle sounded at Luke’s side.

“One year of easy living in Bastion, no work, no worries. Would you take it, James?” Rhett asked.

“And miss out on your charming commentary? Not a chance,” James muttered, quickening his pace toward another tree.

Luke pressed his palm against the rough bark of one he had bonded with, sending a thought into it. If anything suspicious happens nearby, let me know. Pass the word to your sisters too.

Ever since learning to handle his mana with more precision, he had deepened his grasp of [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya], enough to communicate through thought as long as he maintained contact. His hand became the root, a living bridge. Of course, the only way to hear the tree’s response was by touching it, so he resolved to circle back every twenty minutes.

He returned to chopping wood. The more intelligent trees were the ones that bore fruit, and those were spared. Even when one fell beneath his axe, it wasn’t death. A tree’s life was in its roots, deep beneath the soil, always ready to sprout again. Still, for every trunk he felled, he let a drop of his blood seep into the earth beside it.

[You have befriended a Douglas Fir Tree (Common)]

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 55! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

The tree responded in kind, weaving a bond of friendship through the offering of blood. Luke thanked it quietly, then heaved the log onto his shoulder, feigning struggle as he dragged it across the ground.

“Hey Jack, how do you chop down so many trees so fast?”

Jack looked up with a grin. “Because I’m a lumberjack. My profession helps.”

By lunchtime, Eddie was handing out food to his crew. Luke sat with his back against a tree, letting its presence settle him. If anything hostile stirred nearby, the tree would warn him with a pulse of thought.

Jack sat close by, spooning food into his mouth when a soldier passing through shouted, “Hey, Jack Bean!”

“I’m eating,” Jack muttered without even looking up.

“But are you eating beans?” The soldier nearly cracked, his face straining to contain the laugh.

Jack sighed heavily. “Yes. I’m eating beans.”

The soldier exploded, wheezing laughter, slapping his own legs as he staggered off.

Luke waited until the idiot vanished into the market crowd before asking, “What the hell was that?”

Jack murmured, barely moving his lips, “I’m Jack Bean.”

Luke blinked. “Okay, but… what does that even mean?”

Jack set his spoon down and stared into the void. “When I was a kid, I was the co-host of a children’s show. There were jingles. About beans.”

Luke frowned. “And they recognized you? Just like that? Grown up?”

Jack shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I got arrested for drunk driving. During the interview, some reporter asked if I was ‘Jack Bean.’ I snapped. Told him to shove beans where beans don’t belong.”

Luke blinked slowly. “…You became a meme.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s voice was equal parts sad and resigned. “My parents were splitting up, I was in a spiral… but I took responsibility. Did community service. Volunteered. I changed. I converted.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Converted… like, religiously?”

Jack nodded. “I’m a follower of the Goddess of Kindness.”

“So that’s why you ended up stuck in this tutorial?”

“I wanted to formalize my devotion. So I turned myself in to the system to enter her church properly.” He lifted the necklace around his neck, showing the pendant. “I carved the symbol of the Church of Kindness. It’s our Goddess.”

Luke studied the wooden carving: a woman with pointed ears.

“Dude, that’s Princess Zelda.”

“No, it’s not Princess Zelda. It’s Caelina, Goddess of Kindness.”

Luke squinted again. “Still looks like Princess Zelda to me.”

“You’re wrong,” Jack insisted, staring at the pendant. He hesitated, then exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s the Goddess of Kindness.”

“Pretty sure whoever carved that was a Zelda fan,” Luke muttered.

“I carved it myself. And no, I wasn’t inspired by Zelda.”

Luke paused, deadpan. “So you’re telling me there’s actually a goddess out there who looks like Princess Zelda? Makes sense she’s got so many followers.”

Jack ignored the jab, his expression softening. “Coincidences aside, Caelina is pure and radiant. Her followers’ words were enough to change me.”

“You’re not about to preach that salvation stuff to me, right? Good deeds, eternal light, all that crap?”

Jack smiled. “I believe everyone can be saved, James. Even killers.”

Luke nearly choked on his food, staring at him. He couldn’t tell if Jack had just stumbled onto the truth or if it was simply the blind faith of a zealot who thought salvation was universal.

Rhett dropped down between them, pointing his spoon toward a cluster of workers. “Those damn haulers. They make more coin than us, and all they do is walk crap back and forth to the Safe Zone. Half the time they drag their feet just to stretch it out.”

Jack shook his head. “A transporter has a storage item bound only to them. That makes their service incredibly valuable.”

He watched the group at work. They pressed their rings against the logs, and one by one the heavy trunks vanished into the pocket dimension of their storage items. Without horses, this was how everything moved, timber, water barrels, even supplies. Paying a transporter with a bound item was far easier than wasting an entire day dragging loads across the zone. James, the identity he wore, had no storage item. Which meant he was stuck carrying a plain backpack everywhere, pretending it was the only way he could haul things.

Before sunset he was already back in the city square of the Safe Zone, sitting alone at a tavern table with his journal open. The pages were filled with rough sketches and notes, a record of everything he had done these past days. Each page mapped a different route through Bastion’s fortress, hallways, branching passages, floors carefully separated.

He could have drawn maps inside the second fortress itself, but that would have been reckless. Too much risk of tipping off the Warden Captain about what he was really planning.

“I need a damn shovel,” he muttered, eyes still on the journal.

The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was still a plan. Assassins couldn’t afford impulse; they had to stalk their prey with patience, like a predator in tall grass. That was what he was doing now: waiting, plotting, sharpening the edges of an idea that might just work. His reckless schemes had saved him before. He could only hope this one would too.

***

He stopped at a stall, the one that sold arrows. He had timed it carefully so Oswald would not be around.

“Hello,” he said as he stepped closer.

“Hello. Looking for something?” The man behind the counter did not bother to stand, busy carving a strip of wood with steady hands. A different attendant than last time.

Luke laid a stack of Bastion bills on the counter. The currency worked like dollars. Ten days of labor had earned him five hundred of them.

“How much for uncommon arrows?” he asked, keeping it direct.

“That depends. Are we talking piercing, tearing, barbed? Or maybe something special? I have one with fletching designed for speed, another with a weighted tip to stagger targets.” The man launched into his sales pitch.

Luke exhaled. “I want a good, durable arrow. Simple. Something that can punch through thick leather.”

The vendor pulled a few from his storage item. “Fifteen each.”

“Fifteen?” His chest tightened.

I thought I’d be able to buy a hundred…

“What did you expect?” the man asked flatly. “Every piece here costs labor. A blacksmith forged the tips, someone cut the shafts, and some lunatic risked his life killing a Wild Zone beast just to bring back feathers.”

Luke slid bills across the counter. “I’m not complaining about the price. Just give me everything this covers.”

The vendor counted and placed five arrows on the counter.

“That’s it?”

“Anything above rare is restricted. Only Bastion’s army can purchase it, and even then under supervision. As for arrows, bolts, and throwables, uncommon is the limit, and you are capped at five per week.”

Per week? Bartholomew, you bastard…

“If you want, I can sell you twenty commons.” The man chuckled.

“Who even buys common arrows?”

“Plenty. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have an enchanted quiver. Some poor fool gets robbed out there, or panics and drops theirs running from monsters. And then there are idiots who rolled melee classes and suddenly decide they want to try archery. They do not get starter gear from the system. So yes, commons sell.”

Luke understood now. Losing his quiver would be a nightmare.

“Got your work slip? You do have one, right?” the vendor asked. “We only sell to registered workers.”

“Yeah.” He pulled it from his pack.

It was a stamped sheet from Eddie’s company, listing Luke’s appearance. Older employees even had little hand-drawn portraits added.

“Looks fine.” The man nodded.

Bartholomew’s brand of control. Frightening, but efficient. The Safe Zone’s economy ran on rails because of it. The vendor wrote down the details from Luke’s slip, what he bought, how many, the date, and scrawled his signature on a clipboard.

“Use them well, and hopefully you make it back from the Wild Zone to buy more.”

If you’d just sell me more, I could guarantee I’d come back alive.

Five arrows a week. That limit alone threatened to wreck his plans. He had aimed to stockpile a hundred, not crawl toward the goal over twenty weeks. He would have to make do with less.

Maybe I could get someone else to buy arrows for me… or would that raise suspicion?

As he walked away, the sheer precision of Bartholomew’s system sank in. Limiting powerful weapons kept people too weak to stage a rebellion. And the enchanted quiver? Even spitting out nothing but common arrows, it was priceless.

How the hell did Legolas always have so many?

***

“Is that all?” the vendor asked.

Luke stood at another street stall in the city square. He had expected to blow through his small fortune on arrows, but that plan had already gone down in flames. At least he could work through the rest of his list.

“That’s all.”

“You want the gardening shovel for heavier jobs, or what?”

“The iron one will do,” he said, pointing at it.

“What else you got in that pack?”

He reached toward his bag, then stopped, pulling something from his pocket instead: folded bills marked with the crown sigil.

“Do you take Bastion notes?”

“Of course!” the vendor’s face brightened. “That’ll be twenty-five. I’ll take those over junk any day.”

Which left him with four hundred still tucked away. As he walked down the street, someone called out.

“Hey, James! You sticking around for dinner tonight, or chasing after another woman?” Jack grinned.

“You make me sound like some kind of scoundrel.”

'Wait, you’re not a scoundrel? Wow, plot twist.' Artemis muttered dryly in his head.

Jack smirked. “One or two drinks, and all you’ve got to endure is an hour-long sermon about the Goddess of Kindness.”

He was ready to brush it off, until he glanced to the side and froze. Thiara. The healer from Haven, walking with a large group. His blood went cold. He had always kept his distance from anyone tied to Haven.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said quickly, stepping closer to Jack.

The two of them moved through the bustling street until they stopped at the entrance of a tavern.

“Wait, this is where you’re actually taking me?”

“What, don’t like it? Great service here. Heard some fool even bought the whole place a round the other night.” Jack chuckled.

“I know,” Luke muttered. “I was that fool.”

***

Allison stood inside the command tent with the core members of the Haven, the map spread across the table between them. They were discussing how to deal with the Orc Lord, the creature enthroned at the heart of the village, surrounded by his army.

“There must be at least five hundred of them,” Miriam said grimly.

The rough sketch of the orc settlement lay covered in notes and markings.

“He’s in there, ringed by troops,” Mason pointed out, “but you all know that’s not the real problem, don’t you?”

“The ballistae,” Quinn answered.

Four troublesome structures had been circled on the map, each topped with a massive siege weapon. Medieval military crossbows, fixed in place and deadly accurate.

“Even if we break through the outer guard, we’ll still have to deal with those,” Mason said.

For now they were safe in the forest. The thick line of trees shielded them from the machines’ line of fire. The orc village itself was surrounded by a reinforced palisade. Last time they had scaled it with ropes and ladders, only to abandon most of their equipment when the orc army countered.

“There’s a ballista tower here,” Mason said, tapping the map. “Built directly into the wall. It’s the farthest from the village center, and it faces us head-on.”

“Then we should attack another section,” Quinn suggested.

Allison studied the map carefully. “Archers are the bigger issue. They’re fast, persistent, and once the alarms go off, reinforcements will flood whatever side we hit.”

They had set out seventy strong. Three were already dead from their first strike against the orc village. In all their time surviving together in the dungeon, no one had fallen. And now, in their very first fight outside, three lives were gone.

“Five hundred orcs on average…” Eugene muttered.

“Count higher. Always expect worse,” Gilbert warned.

“A thousand,” Mason said flatly. “Plan for a thousand.”

“They’re weak, though. Most are only level twenty to twenty-five,” Miriam countered. “A few months ago, one of us facing three level twenty-fives would’ve been suicide. But things are different now.”

Different indeed. Most of them were sitting at class level twenty-five to thirty, and profession level twenty to thirty-five. Allison herself was level forty. And she had undergone a class mutation: Draconic Swordsman. That made her far stronger than any average forty, her lineage powers amplifying her ice abilities into something lethal.

“That still averages out to about fifteen orcs each,” Quinn calculated. “Plus the Lord himself.”

“For the plan to work, the core group can’t waste time cutting through grunts,” Mason said. “We’ll need to reach the Orc Lord directly, or at least pull him away before he slaughters more of our people.”

Of everyone in camp, Mason was the strongest. His profession had already broken past level fifty, granting him immense attributes, and his epic skill only widened the gap. As a blacksmith, he had forged his own gear to near perfection. In a clash with the Orc Lord, he was the only one who could withstand several blows without dying outright.

After him came Allison. She had fought beside the Haven’s elites to bring down the three Midnight Wardens inside the Wall dungeon. Her balance of profession level thirty-six, ice dragon lineage, and advanced skills gave her just enough resilience to endure a few strikes from the Orc Lord. But she knew the truth: depending on the hit, it could still mean instant death.

“If only we had someone with a thief or assassin class, they could handle the ballista crews,” Quinn muttered.

He wasn’t wrong. Stealth classes were tailor-made for this sort of job, their infiltration skills perfect for slipping past lines and silencing threats before they could turn a battle. The four ballistae looming over the village were more than a nuisance, they were a death sentence if left unchecked.

“Should we call for Evangeline’s help?” Gilbert asked. “She’s stronger than any of us.”

“If we leave this spot, there’s a good chance the Orc Lord will send his troops into the forest,” Mason warned.

That was the risk. A massive, game-changing risk.

“The only reason we even made it here is because the path was clear after the Orc General’s death,” Allison said. “If we pull back now, the Orc Lord might relocate or scatter his forces through the woods. Then we’ll never get this close again.”

And sending someone after Evangeline was no better. They were deep inside the forest, far from the Safe Zone. It would take days, and whoever went risked being tracked and cut down before even reaching her. Worse, splitting the group could cripple their defense if the orcs attacked. They were caught in a brutal stalemate: withdraw and lose their shot at the Orc Lord, or face him now, exposed and underprepared.

“We haven’t lost anyone on the way here,” Quinn argued. “The few orcs we did run into, we handled. Pulling back might be the smarter call.”

“That’s only because of what Luke did,” Allison replied. “There’s no guarantee it’ll be easy next time.”

“Still talking about him?” Eugene scoffed.

“The bastard’s a traitor. He killed Angelica just to level up. Not even worth mentioning his name,” Malik snapped.

“And I’d bet he just got lucky taking down the Orc General,” Eugene added. “Then bragged about it to you.”

Allison clicked her tongue. The air around her dropped a few degrees. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Part of it wasn’t even her fault. It was the class skill she had unlocked at level 40, a power that stirred too easily, feeding on her emotions whether she willed it or not.

[Draconic Exhalation (Ultra-Rare)]: The Draconic Swordsman does not need to strike. The very breath of a dragon is enough to declare sovereignty. Empowered by the [Heart of the Ice Dragon], you can exhale a frost-laden mist that rolls outward like a silent curse. The air chills, creeping and merciless. Frost crawls across stone, armor groans as it cracks, lungs seize in the bitter cold. No rage, only inevitability, patient, constant, absolute. Beware: this power is bound to your emotions, for a dragon’s fury is its greatest weapon.

Like a dragon’s snort of vapor, sometimes the frost escaped her without intent, a thin mist curling from her lips when her temper slipped. It wasn’t the full skill, not unless she fed mana into it, but the passive pulse of the [Heart of the Ice Dragon] had left its mark. Her very breath was touched with winter now.

She calmed herself. Luke had his share of guilt, he had fled after confessing to Angelica’s death. But still, hearing them spit venom about him twisted something inside her. He was her friend. One day, she hoped she’d see him again, drag him back by the ear if she had to. But right now, the Orc Lord was the only thing that mattered. His death meant power, gear, and the path to conquering the second fortress.

“I have a plan,” Allison said at last. “Actually… I have a few ideas. But to explain them, I need to go over some of my skills first.”

Strategy wasn’t her strong suit. She wasn’t the kind of leader who lived for war tables and flawless tactics. But with the group’s input, and Mason’s mind for both battle and strategy, they could shape something workable.

“I’ll start with the simplest one: ice.”

And so she began, laying out the combinations and synergies that turned her powers into something far more dangerous than anyone outside their circle would ever expect.

[User]
Write Chapter 240: Orc Lord’s Invasion
Target length: ~3000 words
Key events: dungeon content

[Assistant]
Luke sat inside Doug’s tavern, sharing a table with his lumberjack partner, Jack. A plate of fried potatoes had just been dropped in front of them.

“This place is crawling with Bastion soldiers,” Jack remarked.

“I know…”

Luke’s gaze drifted around the room. If even one of them recognized him as Luke, things could turn ugly fast. The blond hair and eyepatch disguise helped, but now that his new wanted poster, with an actual decent likeness, was making the rounds, he couldn’t afford to be careless. The door creaked open. Another group of Bastion soldiers strode in. And among them… Eleanor.

Luke nearly choked on his water.

“You good?” Jack asked.

“Perfectly fine,” Luke managed, forcing composure. “Think we’ve got time to, uh, head somewhere else?”

Jack chuckled, assuming it was a joke.

“There’s a woman I… know, here,” Luke murmured.

Jack’s grin faded. “Wait. Don’t tell me you… mess around with married women?”

“What? No!” Luke blurted. “I don’t mess around with anyone.”

“Really? Funny, I’ve seen you chatting up plenty of women.”

“I only ever get that far…”

Jack squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

'Because the spy movies you studied jumped straight from flirting to the bedroom, and now you don’t know how to handle the middle part?' Artemis teased inside his head.

Something like that, Luke thought back.

'Or maybe it’s because you’re still a painfully shy virgin. I lean toward that theory.'

Okay. Let’s stick with the first one…

'Both are true.' said Artemis.

Thanks for rubbing it in.

Suddenly, a knife clattered onto the table in front of him. Instinct kicked in, his hand went straight to his holster, ready for a fight, until a familiar voice cut through.

“So, you came back to finish our match?” Eleanor asked, stepping closer with the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

Luke exhaled sharply, relieved but still uneasy under her gaze.

“A… friend dragged me here,” he said.

She glanced sideways. “Oh, Jack Bean? Haven’t seen you in ages. Still hanging around Bastion?”

“No. Quit that job,” Jack replied flatly.

“You two know each other?” Luke asked.

“Everyone in Bastion knows Jack Bean,” Eleanor said, sliding into a chair at their table. “We always figured he’d smash something, curse us out, or pull some wild stunt. But he turned out… surprisingly normal.”

“Internet blew things out of proportion,” Jack muttered.

Then he turned back toward Luke. “And you two?”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… we know each other,” he admitted with an awkward laugh.

“Nice necklace,” Jack said, eyeing the chain around Eleanor’s throat.

“Thanks,” she replied.

“Hey, James, looks a lot like the ones you give other wom—”

His words cut off with a sharp grunt as Luke’s boot connected with his shin under the table. Luke cleared his throat with a forced cough.

“So, how are things around here? Any new challengers for knife throwing?” Luke asked quickly, trying to steer the conversation.

“No,” Eleanor said. “No one else can hit six in a row.”

Jack raised his hand toward the counter. “Doug! Drinks for the table. This is gonna be a long conversation.”

When the drinks arrived, Luke’s attention drifted toward the notice board. A soldier was tacking something up. As soon as the man stepped aside, Luke’s stomach clenched, his new wanted poster stared back at him from the wooden frame. He choked on his drink, covering it with a cough. His eyes swept the tavern. Soldiers everywhere. Too many.

“What’s on your mind?” Jack asked, catching the faraway look in his eyes.

Luke forced a smile. “What do you miss most from Earth?”

Eleanor tilted her head, considering. “The movies, definitely. And, of course, my phone. Shampoo, makeup… Honestly, the list is longer than I’d like to admit.”

“I miss… a person,” Jack said after a pause.

“A lover?” Eleanor teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

“Yeah.” He took a long pull from his mug. “She’s the reason I changed. The reason I became a better man.”

Their eyes shifted to Luke. He was the one who’d asked the question, but now he was trapped in it. Should he answer as James, or as Luke?

“I… miss my little sister,” he said finally. “The whole family, of course, but especially her. I think I hurt her before I came here. She probably thinks I’m dead.”

Silence settled over the table as they drank. The weight of it hung in the air, and Luke realized some memories weren’t meant to be spilled in the middle of a tavern.

“How old is she?” Eleanor asked gently.

“Six.”

Jack reached across and set a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll see her again someday, partner. I swear it on the Goddess of Kindness.” His voice trembled with emotion.

Luke blinked. Was this guy seriously tearing up? What the hell did Doug put in his drink?

“One day, maybe,” Luke muttered. “If Eleanor and the others find the mechanism, she could pull me out of this place.”

Eleanor sipped from her mug, a small smile on her lips. “My job’s to guard the Safe Zone and patrol against invasions. Mechanisms aren’t really my department.”

“Well, the only reason explorers have a Safe Zone to return to is because you’re guarding it,” Luke countered. “Sounds like everyone’s doing their part.”

“That’s… a good way to look at it, James,” Eleanor said.

***

The conversation dragged on for another hour. Luke had been tense at first, but the more the drinks flowed, the easier it became. For once, he silently thanked whoever invented alcohol. In a tavern like this, no one wasted time staring at the notice board.

Luke, I think the real secret is the eyepatch.

'It hides some of that dumb look on your face.'

He stopped glancing at the wall and leaned back into the game.

“I’ve never… been arrested,” Eleanor said.

“Alright, you got me there.” Jack tipped his mug back and drank.

They were playing Never Have I Ever.

Jack scratched his chin, thinking. “I’ve never… walked in on my parents doing that.” He froze mid-thought. “Wait. Actually, I think I did. Damn, that just unlocked a few memories.”

Eleanor grimaced and drank. “Thanks for reminding me of my trauma.”

Both of them turned toward Luke.

“Looks like James never went through that rite of childhood,” Eleanor said. “That moment you realize the world isn’t all black and white.”

“Hold on,” Luke asked, frowning. “You two actually saw your parents…?”

“I came home early from school once,” she replied. “Learned the hard way never to break routine again.”

“One of the reasons my parents got divorced,” Jack muttered, eyes going distant, “was because I caught my dad… but the woman wasn’t my mom.”

Luke and Eleanor exchanged an awkward glance, turning away from him.

This guy’s got a lot of skeletons in the closet.

“For me, parents don’t… do that,” Luke said. “They’re supposed to be sacred figures.”

“And how do you think your little sister exists?” Eleanor teased.

“Storks?” he shot back. “Or maybe when two people love each other, the woman’s belly just magically grows and a baby appears. I prefer to think of it that way.”

She laughed out loud.

“Come on, we live in a world with gods, multiverses, and powers. My theory should be possible somewhere out there.”

“In some corner of reality, sure,” Jack admitted.

Not long after, Luke wrapped things up, saying he had to leave. Jack followed him to the counter as they paid their tab.

“Why’d you want to leave early, man?” Jack asked. “I was already thinking about ways to help you. Only a woman can change a man’s heart. Marriage is the path to happiness, or so says the Goddess of Kindness.”

Luke stopped in the middle of the street and raised a brow. “That sounds like some creepy small-town cult.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Yeah, but the way you said it made it sound more like, ‘Bear children and sacrifice them to me.’”

They kept walking.

“The Goddess of Kindness teaches that everyone should marry, have families, and raise many children.”

“Does the Goddess of Kindness have kids?”

“Caelina is pure. A virgin.”

“Then how the hell is she recommending something she’s never even tried?”

Jack hesitated, then replied, “Because it’s the natural step of love.”

Luke smirked. “I bet she just wants her followers to pump out kids so she’ll have a steady supply of souls from birth. The bigger the families, the bigger her fanbase after the originals die off.”

“That’s not it. The Goddess of Kindness wants to spread love, and children are the living proof of that love.”

They walked on in silence for a while.

“I’ll drive the promiscuity out of your heart with kindness, James,” Jack said solemnly.

'Tell your friend you’re probably even more of a virgin than his goddess.' Artemis whispered in his head.

Luke almost said it out loud, but thought better of it. As they turned the corner, Luke froze. There she was again, Thyara, standing in the middle of the market, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. He stopped and doubled back, keeping to the shadows.

She’s way too close to the inn entrance.

“Something wrong, James?” Jack asked.

Luke kept his eyes on her. “Nothing… just avoiding a woman.”

Better to let him think it was some fling. That would sit easier with Jack than the truth.

Jack leaned forward, peering down the street until he spotted Thyara. “She’s beautiful. Gentle-looking, too. Why not calm your restless heart with her, marry, and raise children?”

“And then I start praying to the Goddess of Kindness and spread her word to my whole family, right?”

“Exactly, James. You understand love well.”

Luke kept his sarcasm to himself. No point explaining.

A man walked up to Thyara, and the two of them set off side by side. Relief washed over Luke. She wasn’t searching for him after all. Maybe she hadn’t seen him earlier.

“I guess we can go,” he said, but when he turned, Jack was staring at him in shock.

“You said you never go after married women!”

“I don’t,” Luke shot back. “And I don’t know if that guy’s her husband or just a boyfriend. That’s not the point. I just didn’t want to be seen.”

Jack exhaled, looking relieved.

Yeah, betrayal and divorce are probably unforgivable sins in his religion.

Then Jack’s face drained of color. “That man… I hope he isn’t her lover. And I really hope you’re not having an affair with her.”

“I’m not. Who is he?”

Jack lowered his voice. “If he is who I think he is, his name’s Mason. He’s… a noble.”

“A noble?”

“Yes. His family serves one of the great houses of the World Government. Back when I worked in Bastion, he lived there.”

Luke glanced toward where Thyara and the man had gone, trailing them at a distance.

“But he’s with someone from the Haven,” Luke pointed out.

“A few months ago, he left Bastion after learning the Haven’s new leader was an heiress from one of those same families. He pledged himself to her. Mason’s the second-in-command of the Haven now. Crossing a noble is dangerous.”

Second-in-command of the Haven? Which meant he was working under Allison…

“So that makes three nobles in this tutorial?” Luke asked.

“I believe so,” Jack said as they walked on. “Though Mason is still technically a servant of nobility, he’s a noble all the same.”

Luke kept following at a measured pace, memorizing the man’s face. Another noble inside the tutorial, he needed to remember every detail.

“I don’t think it’s him…” Jack muttered, squinting. “They’re a bit far away.”

Thyara and her companion stopped.

“No… I know that face. That’s not Mason,” Luke said, pulling back.

It was someone he recognized, one of the old Haven faces. He turned toward the inn, resuming his walk. But before stepping inside, he cast one last look at Bastion’s looming fortress in the distance.

I can’t wait to be done with this damned tutorial.

***

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 56! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

The notification popped up, and Luke nearly burst with joy. Over the past few days he had spoken with countless plants, studied them, cared for them, and of course, tended his daily rounds to his crops, which would soon yield results.

Just four more levels until I hit Race Level 50 and Profession Level 60.

He didn’t really have a choice, though. For now, he kept working as a woodcutter. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was where the dumbest soldiers were stationed, and that made it perfect. He could quietly tag them with his skill, then use their movements to map out Bastion. By listening in, he picked up shift schedules, places they frequented, even details of the odd jobs they ran inside the fortress. Knowing their routes made choosing his targets far easier.

The risk of being recognized was always there, but the disguise, and the sheer banality of the job, seemed to keep suspicion away. Luke forced a grin as he dragged another heavy log across the yard.

There’s no way any of them would imagine the most wanted man here is cutting wood right alongside them.

That was when a sharp whistle cut through the air, snapping everyone’s attention in the same direction. Luke dropped the log and moved with the others, but what he saw made him stop cold. A new batch of soldiers had just arrived, and among them stood Kruger, the Phantom Assassin. And right beside him were the other killers, the ones who wielded the power of shadows.

***

It was the dead of night. Allison’s group was hidden deep in the forest, watching the orc village from the shadows. The strategy, at least the beginning of it, she had learned from Luke.

The first alarms rang out. Orc horns blared from one side of the settlement. Perched high in a tree, Allison scanned the scene. In the distance, a tree was burning, collapsing against the wooden wall of the village and spreading fire across the barricade. Fireballs arced through the air as the soldiers launched their assault. The strike came all at once, hammering that single point.

The orc army roared in response, rushing to meet the attackers. From the rooftops, orcs manned their ballistae, loosing one massive bolt at a time. Deadly. Precise. But the soldiers on the ground held formation, their heavy metal shields absorbing the impact, shields forged through grueling days inside the dungeon.

And hidden in the treeline, waiting for their chance, crouched Allison, Mason, Eugene, Miriam, Gilbert, Quinn, and Malik. They faced the towering ballista nest built into the wall. Between them and that tower stretched nothing but open ground. No trees. No cover.

“It’s now or never,” Quinn muttered.

If they didn’t make their move, the soldiers on the far side would be slaughtered.

“Not yet,” Mason hissed, signaling with his hand.

“You’re insane! They’re going to die out there!”

“Wait for the signal,” Allison ordered, her own nerves taut as wire.

She hated the delay, but they needed the orc focus. Every eye, every arrow, every bolt had to stay locked on the diversion. The orcs couldn’t suspect a trap. They needed to believe this was a reckless, suicidal charge. Only then would every last one of them commit.

“Hold…” Mason’s voice was a growl.

Allison drew in a breath, centering herself. Her focus sank into the steady beat of her heart, into the bloodline power that never slept. It was always there, passive, flowing. But when she let her mana flood her heart, it surged to its peak, sharpening everything.

“If I die tonight…” Eugene whispered beside her, “at least… I’ll be at your side.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t plan on dying tonight.”

The signal came.

The seven of them broke from the trees, sprinting across the open field. Allison dashed with her sword in hand, chaining swordsman dashes one after another. The tower was still too far for her iceball spell, but she could already hear the chaos around them, the guttural cries of orcs, the thunder of ballista bolts slamming into the soldiers’ shields across the village.

Then one of the ballista crews spotted them. The massive weapon groaned as it swung toward their group.

“Now!” Miriam shouted, yanking up a heavy metal shield. Eugene mirrored her, bracing beside her.

Like Mason and Allison, the two of them could channel stamina into objects, reinforcing their shields beyond normal limits. One by one, the others fell in line behind them, a wall of iron and grit. The ballista fired. The bolt screamed through the air, slamming against the shield with brutal force. Metal shrieked, their advance slowed, but it didn’t stop. They pushed forward.

Orc archers crowded the tower, bows rising, arrows nocked. But Allison was already in motion. She surged ahead, her speed unmatched. The ballista realigned, aiming for her, but she didn’t give it the chance.

She leapt. Not just once. Midair, she triggered her double jump, launching higher. At the peak, level with the ballista tower, she thrust out her hand. Dozens of iceballs burst from her palm, each one layered with the frozen power of her [Heart of the Ice Dragon].

They struck all at once. Frost detonated across the tower, blasting the orcs from their posts. Shards of ice and snow cascaded down as the structure cracked and groaned. Below, the rest of the group rammed the wall with everything they had, splintering it apart and tearing a breach wide open. They were in. And now, it was time to kill the Orc Lord.

[User]
Write Chapter 241: Time to Kill the Orc Lord
Target length: ~3400 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Luke studied the situation carefully. He was in his work area as a woodcutter, the forest where his group usually labored. Normally, a few Bastion soldiers patrolled the grounds to protect the workers, but something was off. There were far more soldiers here than there should have been. And worse, Kruger had arrived, flanked by his assassins with shadow powers.

“We’re here for an identity inspection,” one of the soldiers announced.

The chance of it being a trap is high, but if it really were a trap, would they let themselves be seen by me like this?

Luke’s gaze lingered on the assassins. A part of him burned to cut Kruger down right then and there, to slaughter all of them. They were the worst kind of threat in Bastion. His infiltration skills, his stealth, it wasn’t Luke who feared them, but the chaos Kruger could unleash. If he seized the second fortress and pushed toward Haven, assassins like those would become a serious problem.

For days now, while spying on Bastion, Luke had prayed for a chance encounter with Kruger, just to follow him beyond the Safe Zone and finish him. But the Assassin Phantom had never appeared. If he was in Bastion, he hadn’t left once. Luke couldn’t confirm it with absolute certainty, but he’d overheard enough in the tavern to track Bastion’s movements. Someone as conspicuous as Kruger stepping outside would have been noticed.

Then again… there was the other possibility. Kruger might have left in disguise. It would be almost too easy. He always wore a mask; no one outside Bastion knew his face. Stripped of his gear, dressed like anyone else, he could come and go unnoticed. That was what made the assassins so dangerous: their mindset, their caution, their endless patience.

“You know the procedure,” Conrad said firmly. “Confirm the information. Recruits, stick to ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ The faster you answer, the faster we’re done here.”

Luke glanced around. No one seemed alarmed. To them, this was routine.

“Hey, Jack,” he asked casually, “what’s going on?”

“Monthly inspection,” Jack muttered. “Bartholomew sends these guys to every work sector.”

Luke’s eyes shifted to the soldiers carrying ledgers.

“The last thing they want,” Jack added, “is giving work to someone who owes tribute… or to a criminal.”

Luke forced a thin smile. “Those files they’re carrying, they’ve got sketches, don’t they? Debtors… and criminals?”

“Of course.”

Luke’s stare lingered on the soldiers closing in. And the assassins… no doubt they’d be the ones to handle the criminals. He exhaled slowly, sinking into stillness. Readying himself for whatever came next. But deep down, the thought gnawed at him: trap or coincidence?

Shame I didn’t grab more arrows.

If Kruger got close, would he recognize him?

“Name, occupation, class, and time working here,” one soldier demanded.

“Rhett. Woodcutter. Ranger class. I’ve been here for a week,” the man answered.

Luke watched more soldiers spread out across the camp. Even Kruger and his shadows moved among them, grabbing clipboards and speaking with workers.

They’re interviewing too? If they see my picture as Luke… will they recognize me as James?

After the capital. After fighting Ronan. After killing six assassins. His face was etched into their memory by now. If they got anywhere near him, they’d recognize him instantly, and then all hell would break loose.

“Alright, Rhett. Everything checks out,” the soldier said. “Back to work.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

I can pretend I’ve already been interviewed, then turn into mist and hide inside a tree.

That was the plan. All he needed was an opening, a single move. Soldiers drifted closer to the workers, and unease coiled in his chest. He wasn’t ready to face Kruger. Not yet. Not without at least five more arrows in his quiver. The Warden Captain came first. Killing him mattered more than anything else. Once the second mechanism was triggered and the fortress handed over to Haven, then he could breathe easier and turn his full attention to Bartholomew.

“Name, job, class, and how long you’ve been here,” one soldier demanded.

Jack stiffened.

“Jack. Woodcutter. My class is… healer. Been working here a month.”

“Healer? What the hell are you doing in a place like this? If I were you, I’d rather be in Bastion.”

“Keep your voice down about my class,” Jack muttered, nervous. “You know that causes trouble…”

The soldier scratched notes on his ledger. “Information checks out. Get back to work.”

From a distance, he spotted Kruger. No clipboard. Just prowling between groups, scanning faces like a wolf among sheep. I must be the unluckiest bastard in this whole camp.

He watched Jack slip into the trees and lowered his head, slipping into stealth to follow, hoping to dodge his own interview. That’s when he felt a hand brush close.

“Name, job, class, and time working here,” a voice said.

He turned, already preparing to strike if the soldier recognized him for what he truly was. But when he saw who it was...

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Eleanor said.

His mind faltered for a moment. Right. Soldier.

“I’m guessing you already know everything about me,” he said lightly, masking the tension.

She gave a soft laugh while flipping open his file. He glanced around. The assassins and Kruger were still moving through the crowd, questioning workers.

“Small world, James,” she murmured.

“Smaller than I’d like,” he replied with a faint smile, keeping one eye on the shadows closing in.

“I already know your name. I still need your job, class, and how long you’ve been here,” she teased.

“Isn’t it all in the file?”

“Procedure says I have to ask,” she said, clearly toying with him.

“Fine. Woodcutter. Archer class. Two weeks on the job.”

She scribbled a few marks, then shut the file. “Looks like everything checks out. You’re free to return to work.”

But behind him, one of the shadow assassins was still conducting interviews. If it came to that, he would be recognized instantly. He needed a diversion.

He improvised.

“Well then, madam,” he said with a grin, “you know everything about me, and I barely know a thing about you. What are you doing out here? I’m the type to believe coincidences are just destiny in disguise.” He willed himself into the mindset of a spy, every word a deliberate mask.

Eleanor smiled faintly. “You already know my name. My class is archer.”

“That explains your aim,” he replied.

She shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

The assassin still lingered behind him. He forced another smile. “I thought you just patrolled the Safe Zone. Didn’t realize you had other duties.”

“Why do you want to know more?” she asked slyly. “Trying to set something up?”

“Maybe. Depends on when you’re free…” He fought to keep his voice steady.

“I told you,” she said, eyes glinting. “My job is keeping the Safe Zone safe. That means I also work with Bastion’s special patrols. Like the ones with me right now.”

With those lunatic assassins?

“You seem like the most normal one,” he said.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” she replied with a small laugh.

She hesitated, her expression shifting. “But honestly, I barely interact with them. My role in the team is more… solitary.”

“And what role is that?” he asked.

“I’m more of a… sniper,” she said.

His throat tightened, forcing out a cough. “Sniper?” He struggled to keep his composure.

“Yes. I’m the best. They always call me for high-risk missions. Though lately, things have been quiet. Aside from that little incident at the barrier.”

“I-Incident at the barrier?”

“Yeah. With that maniac terrorist,” she said casually. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t in real danger… probably. Let’s just say, when I fire an arrow, I always shoot to kill.”

Shoot to kill?!

“Like… right in the heart?” he asked with a shaky laugh.

“Bingo.” Her smile sharpened. “I always prefer a clean shot straight through the heart.”

He scanned the surroundings, and something clicked in his mind.

No way…

'Luke, there’s a good chance she’s the one who almost killed you.' Artemis whispered, then burst into laughter. 'Man, this world is way too small.'

He forced a calm tone. “I imagine your job gets pretty dangerous.”

“Sometimes. Why the sudden interest? Worried about me?” she asked, nudging him playfully.

“Yes… very worried.”

'He’s worried about himself, hahahaha.' Artemis howled inside his head.

“Relax,” she said with a grin. “I can take care of myself.”

Behind them, the assassin finished his interview.

“I’d better get going,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t want to interfere with your work.”

She nodded. “Just be careful not to end up in my sights, James.” She raised her hand, finger cocked like a bowstring, and mimed a shot.

“I hope that day never comes,” he replied.

With that, he slipped away, heading back to his work as if nothing had happened.

***

Evening had finally settled in, and Luke had spent the entire day lost in thought. The coincidence of Eleanor being the same archer who’d once aimed for his heart kept gnawing at him. The possibility that she might also be one of those trying to prevent the mechanisms from being activated made his chest feel heavier. If that were true, then sooner or later, he’d have to kill her.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong, James? You usually leave earlier. Never seen you hang around this late,” Jack asked.

“I think I’m done flirting with women,” Luke replied flatly.

Jack clapped him on the back. “I knew it. The words of the Goddess of Kindness are finally getting through to you.”

Luke just stared at him, exhaling a long sigh. The truth was, he stayed until dusk because he suspected someone might try to set a trap if they’d recognized him. Better to let it all play out at night, in the forest trails, where he could use the cover of darkness to his advantage. If blood was going to be spilled, he wanted the shadows on his side.

So he veered away from the usual route, choosing the longer trail no one bothered with. He wasn’t about to risk walking into an ambush waiting on the main path. No. Tonight he’d set the bait himself.

“You’re not heading back with the others?” Jack asked, catching up.

“Not today,” Luke said.

He glanced toward the city, ignoring the common trail.

I’ve got enough from the map to finish the rest of the plan. Shame it’ll be with just five damn arrows.

Not that arrows mattered much anymore. The old reliable, potions as weapons, would be his real trump card. He still needed a few more levels, but by now his crops had to be fully grown. With luck, that harvest would give him all the experience points he needed. It would be him against the Warden Captain and the other Wardens. Princess Charlie had her own mission. The stronger he was, the better the odds. Luke started down the trail, only for Jack to appear at his side again.

“You really shouldn’t walk with me, Jack,” Luke muttered.

“You know, I’ve been where you are,” Jack began. “I used to live recklessly. No long-term ties, no marriage, nothing but anger weighing me down. Then the words of kindness reached me, and everything changed.”

Luke frowned. “You’re not getting it. This isn’t about that.”

Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, man. I’m here for you. The first step is admitting you need to change, and you’ve already done that. Leave the rest to me.”

Luke shook his head, walking faster. “Jack, I’m a bad person. If you stick with me, you’ll end up hurt.”

“James, believe me, I’ve been where you are. I know exactly how you feel.”

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, idiot. I’m headed down a dangerous trail that might be a trap. You could actually get hurt. I don’t know what’s waiting out there, and if you’re caught in the middle of it, you won’t survive. I’m trying to protect you.”

Jack only smiled and pointed to Luke’s chest. “I can see it. A war raging inside your heart. But don’t walk into that abyss alone. I’ll be there for you.”

“Shit…” Luke muttered. “Listen, idiot, I might be walk—”

That’s when he heard it. Branches snapping, footsteps rushing through the brush.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

A bolt cut through the air. Luke shoved Jack aside just in time.

“I told you, you idiot!”

Figures burst from the treeline, armed with swords, axes, and bows already drawn. Luke reached for his kukris, summoning them from his inventory, then froze when he saw a familiar face.

“Rhett?” he breathed.

Rhett grinned. “Hello, idiots.”

Luke’s eyes swept over the group. These weren’t Bartholomew’s soldiers.

“Oh no. Not again,” Jack groaned.

“What do you mean, again?” Luke snapped.

“I’m about to get kidnapped,” Jack said, raising his hands in surrender.

Rhett smirked. “Exactly. A healer wandering around unprotected? You’re coming with us. You’ll serve us now.”

Not soldiers of Bastion. Bandits.

***

Allison stood in the middle of the battlefield at the orc village, steel clashing all around her. The noise was relentless, deafening. Even though the orcs were weaker than her, their sheer numbers were overwhelming. She and the others from the Haven had formed a defensive circle, but it was like fighting against the earth itself, every time one fell, more seemed to crawl out of the ground.

Two of the ballistae had already been silenced, but the other two kept firing. The orc crews didn’t even hesitate to fire into their own ranks if it meant hitting their enemies. A thunderous explosion shook the air nearby, a fireball, courtesy of Mason. An orc roared, axe swinging toward her with brutal speed. Allison slipped past the blow and spun. Her katana carved clean through its neck.

[You have slain an Orc Villager Lvl 24]

The body froze in place, the skin glowing blue before locking solid into jagged ice. That was the power of her profession skill, further enhanced by her bloodline skill, [Heart of the Ice Dragon]. Every corpse she struck down, she could turn into ice with a thought.

Her eyes flicked to the blade in her hand, the reward from the day she’d slain the Ant Queen.

[General Ant’s Katana (Rare)

Description: Forged from one of the Ant Queen’s limbs, this blade carries the essence of her untamed fury. The creature fell in battle against a princess who bore the same grief of loss. The weapon became the reflection of a shared tragedy, the wrath of two sovereigns, mother and daughter, bound by the same path of vengeance.

[Noble Blood Recognized (Rare)]: The blade sharpens when wielded by one of royal blood.

[Chitinous Carapace (Rare)]: While wielding this katana, the user can temporarily harden their skin like chitin, gaining extra defense in battle.

Requirement: Level 20+ in Swordsman class.]

Another roar tore through the chaos. More orcs surged forward, their bodies piling into the frozen corpses now standing like grotesque statues around her. At least the icy graveyard slowed their advance, turning the dead into makeshift barricades.

“We need to reach the Orc Lord!” Quinn shouted.

They were cut off from the main invasion force. Miriam charged ahead, axe spinning, unleashing a skill that tore a bloody path through the mob. Eugene, Malik, Gilbert, and Mason pressed forward in her wake.

Allison darted after them, weaving through the icebound corpses. She dashed, double-jumped, and landed beside the others. From her vantage in the air, she caught sight of the main Haven force. They’d formed a wider circle, their ranged fighters, archers, mages, crossbowmen, safely at the core. The outer ring bristled with melee classes, each one backed by a shieldbearer, their interlocked walls of iron keeping the horde at bay.

Spells lit the night sky, lightning crackled, barriers flared, spectral arms of mana clawed at the orcs, and enchanted debris hurtled through the air.

“He’s coming!” Miriam’s voice rang out.

Allison saw him. The massive figure rising from his throne, purple skin gleaming like bruised iron. He wasn’t like the others. Not an orc. A High Orc. A breed stronger, faster, more vicious than the rest. His roar rolled over the battlefield as he thundered toward them.

Miriam planted her feet, pouring stamina into her axe. The weapon grew impossibly heavy, dense with the weight of her blacksmith’s skill. With a shout, she hurled it. The axe slammed into the Orc Lord’s chest with a resounding crack.

And still, he kept running. Allison unleashed a barrage of iceballs, each one striking the monster and bursting into shards of snow. Beside her, Gilbert hurled his hand-axes, the enchanted belt around his waist conjuring more with every throw. With a roar of fury, the Orc Lord leapt. They all recognized that move, the same devastating power that had killed one of their own before.

“Scatter!” someone shouted.

The ground shook as the beast landed, flames erupting from his body in a violent shockwave that scorched everything within reach.

Malik raised his wand, chains of mana lashing out to bind the Orc Lord in place. Quinn darted forward, rapier flashing as razor-sharp birds of wind slammed into the creature. Eugene hefted his spear, channeling lightning until the weapon crackled with raw energy, then hurled it with all his strength. The spear hurtled toward the Orc Lord’s face, only for the monster to snatch it from the air, snap Malik’s bindings, and let the electricity dance across his flesh as though it were nothing more than an irritation.

Allison kept firing, iceballs slamming into the beast one after another. Malik wasn’t done. He thrust his wand again, and from the corpses littering the battlefield more chains of mana burst forth, wrapping around the Orc Lord’s limbs and torso. Then Mason moved. He vaulted high, his body glowing faintly with a golden light, bloodline power igniting within him. Both arms blackened, cracked with streaks of burning yellow, transforming into charred stone limbs, his epic blacksmith skill.

He landed hard at the monster’s flank. The others fell back instantly, giving him space. Mason raised his arms and invoked a spell: Fireball.

But it wasn’t one. It was dozens.

Like a living artillery cannon, Mason’s arms spewed fireball after fireball, each exploding in blinding succession. His lineage amplified their destructive power, his epic blacksmithing skill twisting them into something even more devastating. The blasts consumed the battlefield, thunderclaps of fire and smoke tearing the air apart, wave after wave hammering into the Orc Lord.

The sight froze everyone in place. Even his allies, hardened fighters all, could only watch in awe. Mason was the strongest among them, and in that moment, no one could doubt it. Caught completely off guard, the Orc Lord was swallowed by the inferno. The monster’s massive form disappeared in the storm of fire, drowned beneath endless detonations. The final fireball left Mason’s hands, and he collapsed to one knee, mana utterly drained.

“Did we get him?” Malik gasped.

The answer came in the form of a roar. The Orc Lord emerged from the smoke, mangled but very much alive. His flesh was torn open, raw muscle and charred sinew visible beneath the burns. Half his face was blackened, one tusk shattered. Blood poured freely across his body, but his eyes burned hotter than ever. He wore no armor, only crude pants fashioned from bone and iron scraps.

He glared at them all, lips curling into something that might have been a grin.

“Was that it?” the creature growled.

Fear gripped the group. The Orc Lord spread his arms wide, flames licking from his skin. Metal clinked. Chains rattled. As the smoke cleared, they saw him holding a massive iron chain in each hand, spiked balls the size of boulders dangling from their ends.

With a savage roar, he spun them. The whirling weapons tore through the battlefield, smashing debris, wood, structures, and even orcs that stood in his path, reducing everything to rubble without distinction. Allison dodged at the last second, leaping back with a double jump. But when she landed and looked over her shoulder, her heart froze. Malik was there one instant. The next, he was nothing but gore.

When Allison hit the ground again, the Orc Lord stood grinning at them through the carnage. Then, without hesitation, he charged.

[User]
Write Chapter 242: Dragon Blood
Target length: ~3200 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Luke and Jack had been walking through the forest for two hours, a pack of bandits trailing behind them as escorts.

“Caw!” A crow screeched overhead, wings cutting through the night sky. Darkness had fully settled in.

“I just hope wherever you’re dragging us, we get there before midnight,” Luke muttered. “We’re a long way from the Safe Zone. Walking the Wild Zone at night, even in the gray areas, is always a gamble.”

“Shut your mouth!” One of them kicked him in the back.

Jack walked a little stiff, tension in every step. “I knew it…”

“This has happened before?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Jack admitted with a curt nod. “It’s common if you’re a healer. You think most of us go to Bastion just for the perks? Out here in the Wild Zone, there’s always the risk of getting snatched by criminals.”

“Got it. You’re too valuable to pass up,” Luke said dryly.

“Quiet down, you two princesses,” Rhett snapped.

Luke didn’t resist, just kept moving as ordered. “So, Rhett, are you the one running this little parade?”

Rhett stayed silent.

“Or maybe your boss is that woman with a fetish for dressing like a ninja?”

“I said shut up!” Rhett snarled, pressing a blade against Luke’s neck.

“Alright, alright…”

Their wrists were bound tightly with rope. Luke didn’t know much about knots, but this one was solid. Eventually, they reached a ruin tucked away in the forest, a rough camp sprawled around it with several tents set up.

“I’d almost prefer a blindfold,” Luke said casually. “People who memorize the route don’t usually get to test their memory twice.”

One of the bandits stiffened. “You memorized the way here?”

Luke blinked innocently. “Memorized? Who said anything about memorizing? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Around a fire sat eight more people, waiting.

“Did you bring the healer?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Rhett answered. “And we’ve got another one for Landon.”

“Don’t say his name, you idiot!” another snapped.

“What’s the big deal? They’re already caught.”

The flap of the largest tent opened, and a man stepped out. Tall, clad in full armor, beard neatly trimmed, clipboard in hand.

“Conrad?” Jack blurted out.

“Hello, Jack.” Conrad’s voice was calm, almost amused. “Who would’ve thought you were a healer all along? Funny, that little detail wasn’t in the files I had access to. If you’d been one of Bastion’s honored soldiers instead of some camp rat, the moment I learned you abandoned your role, you’d already be gone.”

The realization hit. This wasn’t just any bandit. Their leader had been the administrator of the lumber camps.

“Nothing personal,” Conrad continued smoothly. “But you know how it works. A healer out here is worth his weight in gold, especially with Bartholomew hoarding nearly all of them.”

He strode closer, eyes flicking between Luke and Jack.

“Why would you become a bandit?” Jack demanded. “Didn’t you already have a job?”

Conrad’s smile sharpened. “And who said I care about that damned Bastion job? I only enlisted for power. I’m still part of a gang. With the Renegades gone, the board’s been flipped.”

Luke finally broke his silence. “So you’re aiming to take Marshall’s place?”

“Waste my time waging war against Bastion? Hardly. But we’re not fools either. A new tutorial area just opened, and that’s the real gold rush. With a healer in our ranks, patching us up while we carve our way through and grind levels, we’ll be unstoppable.” Conrad’s eyes gleamed. “That’s the key to power.”

He drew a sword and leveled it at Jack. “Why am I wasting time explaining this to you two? It’s simple. You heal us when we need it, and you won’t be harmed. You’ll have food, safety… or, we start cutting off your fingers. One a day. Until you comply. What do you say?”

“F-fine. No one needs to get hurt here,” Jack stammered.

Conrad gestured toward one of the men by the fire. The man’s foot was wrapped in a filthy bandage, clearly wounded. “Start with him. And don’t try anything clever.”

Jack hurried over and knelt, already channeling his healing.

“And what about me?” Luke asked. “I take it things aren’t going to end as neatly in my case.”

“Are you a healer?” Conrad’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“Then you’ll be useful in another way. Our leader will be here in a few days. Even weaklings like you serve a purpose. You’ll make a fine sacrifice for him, worth a chunk of experience.” Conrad pressed the tip of his blade closer.

“Hand over everything in your inventory… or…”

“Or you’ll kill me?” Luke said evenly. “You already said you would.”

Conrad paused, then pulled the blade back with a sigh. “There are two kinds of death. The good ones, and the bad ones. The quick, and the long.” He turned to the others. “Make the little bird sing.”

“Wait!” Jack pleaded. “No one needs to get hurt. I can keep healing everyone, and he can stay here. Once you’re strong enough, you won’t need us anymore. Just let us go then.”

No one bothered to answer him.

Luke was dragged to a tent set apart from the rest. Inside, a stone column, remnant of the ruin, rose from the ground. Shackled to it was a wooden chair stained dark with old blood. The dirt floor was no cleaner, spotted with dried patches of red. On a crude wooden counter sat a box filled with tools, each one more ominous than the last.

“Leave him to me,” said a bald man.

“You sure, Beckett?” one of the others asked.

“Just chain the idiot and get out. You know what comes next.”

Heavy chains wrapped around Luke’s chest and wrists, securing him against the column.

“Out!” Beckett barked, and the others obeyed.

The man inhaled deeply, then let it out slow. A smile crept across his face. “If there’s one thing I truly enjoy… it’s this.” His tone was calm, almost indulgent, as he strolled toward the counter.

He gave a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. Something shifted in the air. Luke felt a pressure, a shimmer of power as a barrier sealed the tent.

“That’s why I chose to be a mage,” Beckett murmured, slapping his palms together. Sparks flared, crackling with raw electricity, like a living defibrillator. “Torture is an art. One reserved for the patient few.”

He stepped closer, looming. “Don’t bother screaming. The barrier keeps your pain all to myself.” His grin widened.

A laugh cut through the tension.

Beckett froze. “What was that?”

“No idea,” Luke replied calmly.

Beckett frowned, rifling through the tools before turning his attention back to Luke. He checked his wrists, tugged at his hands, even pulled off his boots. Then he yanked away the eyepatch. “Huh. So that eye of yours works.”

“I wear it for style,” Luke said flatly.

Beckett rolled his eyes and kept searching.

“You’ve got nothing worth taking,” he muttered. Then he unclasped a necklace from Luke’s neck and held it up. “Except this little trinket.”

He focused, trying to identify it. Nothing. His eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t work. Soulbound, is it?” He glanced at Luke, who remained silent. Beckett chuckled darkly. “Not talking, huh? Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen enough of these. Odds are it’s a storage item.”

He set the necklace down on the counter.

“Not going to tell me to empty the item?” Luke asked.

“No,” Beckett replied. “I’ll confess something. If you handed over all your items right now, it wouldn’t be any fun. So relax, and enjoy the moment with me.”

He grabbed a wooden plank and tapped it against his palm. “Before you cook the meat, you have to tenderize it.”

The plank cracked across Luke’s face. A burst of laughter exploded through the tent.

“What the hell was that?” Beckett snapped.

The laugh didn’t come from Luke—it came from the necklace on the table. A man’s voice, roaring with amusement.

Luke blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah… my item’s a little weird.”

Beckett scowled, snatching the necklace to examine it. His brow furrowed, then he tossed it back onto the counter. “Never seen anything like this.”

He whistled a tune, humming as he pulled tools from the box. He held up a serrated blade, frowned. “This saw’s a little dull, but it’ll do later.” Then he picked up a hammer, hefting it with one hand. “Imagine you’re at a doctor’s appointment.”

The hammer slammed down against Luke’s leg with a sickening crack.

“Hahahaha!” Franky’s voice howled with laughter through the necklace.

“What kind of insane item is this?” Beckett growled.

“He told me to keep quiet, but I can’t help it. This is too funny!” Franky cackled.

Beckett lifted the hammer and saw the head bent, warped by the impact. He turned, glaring at Luke. “Why didn’t you scream when I hit you?”

“Because it didn’t hurt,” Luke said flatly.

A vein bulged on Beckett’s forehead. He rummaged through the box, snatched a nail, and pressed it against Luke’s hand. “You’ll start singing soon, little bird. Sweet music for my ears.”

He raised the hammer. “On three. One… two!” And he brought it down hard.

Franky lost it, laughing so hard it shook the air. Beckett stared, expecting agony. Instead, Luke just tilted his head.

“I thought we agreed on three.”

Beckett glanced at the nail driven clean through Luke’s hand, then back to his face. “That had to hurt. Why the hell aren’t you screaming?”

“Pretty sure the problem’s you, not the weapon.”

The smile slid from Beckett’s face.

He exhaled slowly, and in his hands appeared a pair of metal knuckle-dusters, crackling with electricity as he clashed them together. “I’m gonna smash that unbearable face of yours,”

“Hahahaha! He said you’ve got an unbearable face!” Franky burst out laughing. “Man, that’s exactly your face! Hahaha, I’m dying here!”

Beckett swung, the charged fist smashing into Luke’s cheek. Then another. And another. Blow after blow, electricity sparking with each hit while Franky’s laughter filled the tent. But when Beckett finally stopped to look, Luke’s face was unmarked. Intact.

“What the hell are you?” Beckett muttered, panic cutting through his bravado.

Luke sighed, raised one hand, and pointed at the ground. Roots erupted from the soil, coiling like serpents around Beckett’s legs, climbing, twisting, crushing until they locked around his throat. Luke pulled an axe from his inventory. The blade flared, glowing with heat. With a single brutal swing, he brought it down on Beckett’s skull. Flesh sizzled, the man convulsed for a few seconds before collapsing, lifeless.

[You have slain a Human – Lvl 13 (Mage – Lvl 24 / Cook – Lvl 32)]

[You have acquired +1 Soul Fragment]

“Luke, I thought you were going to torture him,” Artemis said, her voice low, almost reproachful.

“He was a mage,” Luke replied coldly. “If I hadn’t killed him quickly, he would’ve warned the others.”

The axe dissolved back into his inventory with a faint shimmer, as though the weapon itself had never existed. Luke flexed his fingers, shaking off the phantom heat of the blade, and turned toward the cluttered table.

“And honestly,” he muttered, sweeping his belongings into a neat pile, “he wasn’t even worth burning the kukri on.” His tone carried no anger, just the blunt practicality of someone weighing the cost of effort against the value of a life.

He lowered his voice, almost conversational, as if speaking to an old acquaintance. “So, little snake… you had your laugh. How about making a familiar pact with me now?”

Franky’s reply came sharp and flat. “No.”

Luke arched a brow. “I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends? With you?” Franky barked a bitter laugh. “Not a chance.”

Luke slid the necklace back around his neck, the metal catching what little lantern light filtered through the tent, then adjusted the eyepatch into place with the precision of a ritual.

“It’s been almost three months,” he said quietly. “Every single day. You still won’t admit this is at least some kind of friendship?”

“There’s not a shred of friendship between us,” Franky snapped, his words dripping venom.

Luke ignored the bite in his tone. He pushed aside the flap of the tent and peeked outside. Fourteen men, maybe more, spread across the camp. Lanterns swung in the night breeze, casting long, jagged shadows that shifted like restless specters.

A grin tugged at his mouth, feral, anticipatory. “Better than I expected,” he whispered to himself.

Wasting that much experience wasn’t an option. He hadn’t allowed himself to be captured out of weakness. He had walked into this camp with one purpose: to erase the entire gang in a single, devastating strike.

***

The Orc Lord roared with laughter as he swung at Allison and her party, a guttural, animalistic sound that echoed through the burning village. They had barely managed to land a handful of strikes on him. Malik had fallen almost instantly, crushed by one of the monster’s iron balls. Mason was the only one who could trade blows without being torn apart, but even he was bleeding and exhausted. The massive spiked spheres, chained to the creature’s arms, spun with terrifying speed, smashing through anything in their path. Getting close to him was nearly impossible.

“Keep them contained!” someone shouted over the chaos.

The village had become a storm of violence after the Orc Lord’s first roar, a sound that had driven the lesser orcs into a frenzy. Haven soldiers had pushed forward to reinforce Allison’s group, holding back the horde, but it was far from enough.

Allison narrowly avoided one of the iron balls as it smashed into the ground. The frozen corpses of orcs shattered nearby, exploding into shards of ice that sprayed in every direction. She seized the opening, dashing forward in a blur and slashing at the Orc Lord with her Freezing Slash. Arrows rained down from archers overhead, sinking into the beast’s hide, but he barely noticed them.

With a roar, the Orc Lord charged, swinging both chains down at once. The twin iron balls slammed into a wooden house, blasting a squad of archers into the air like broken dolls.

Mason hurled a fireball, the explosion lighting the battlefield in orange fury. Allison followed the blast with volleys of ice, launching orb after orb to blind and slow the monster. Even scorched and frostbitten, the Orc Lord fought on, his fury unbroken.

“Fall back!” Allison shouted to the Haven soldiers.

Miriam staggered, her arm bleeding heavily, her body covered in bruises. Eugene darted in and out with his spear, lightning sparking across his legs, stabbing at the monster before retreating out of reach.

Allison sprinted straight for the Orc Lord, weaving between the deadly iron balls. She leapt, a double jump carrying her higher, blade ready. The beast raised his arms to block and swung a massive fist at her, but she exhaled a freezing gust, blinding him with sudden fog. Dropping through the mist, she slashed again and again, driving her blade into him relentlessly.

She had seen it now. His fighting style had a weakness: the iron balls only dominated mid-range. Up close, the monster’s movements were slower, more desperate. The air around him seared with blistering heat, steam rolling from his body in suffocating waves. Staying close was torture. But Allison’s own aura of cold kept her skin numb, her breath steady.

The Orc Lord swung wildly. She dodged, firing an iceball point-blank. The blast of snow burst across his face just as Mason rushed in with his sword, Eugene striking from behind, and Gilbert hurling axes from a distance.

For a moment, they had him staggering.

Then the monster snarled and yanked the chains back. The iron balls snapped into his grip, and he spun like a tornado, the storm of steel blasting everything away. Allison sprinted for a wooden archer’s tower, but the spinning mass ripped through it, collapsing the structure in a crash of splinters. The Orc Lord ended the spin with a final strike, slamming both balls into the ground. The impact cratered the earth, sending shards of stone, wood, and dirt flying in all directions.

The shockwave hurled Allison through the air. She hit the ground hard, blood spraying from her lips, her ribs screaming in pain. The village burned around her, fire swallowing the homes, the sky choked with smoke.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms, leaning on her sword.

And then she saw him, standing across from her, his burning gaze fixed on her with something between fury and fascination.

“A dragon woman?” the Orc Lord growled.

Allison darted aside, barely avoiding the swing of the chains. The monster barreled after her as she ran at full speed, refusing to slow for even a breath. She hurled herself into the shell of a ruined stone house, the creature crashing in after her, shattering what remained of the walls.

Iceballs burst from her hands as she sprinted deeper inside, ducking behind a cracked column. The air was suffocating, heat radiating from the Orc Lord like a furnace. Unlike Morvat, who cloaked himself in flames, this thing burned with an invisible aura, just as deadly, just as relentless.

“I met a dragon once,” the monster’s guttural voice echoed through the ruins. “You’re one too, aren’t you? Trapped in that humanoid shell, a mongrel mix of bloodlines. How pitiful. Why would a species so proud ever stoop to such filth as breeding a half-human, half-dragon?”

With a sudden roar, he lunged, smashing the stone columns apart, the chains demolishing everything in reach.

Allison threw herself out through a broken window, rolling across the dirt slicked with mud as the building collapsed behind her.

“Run!” the Orc Lord bellowed, tearing the ruins to rubble, debris flying in every direction.

She bolted, only to see more orcs charging straight toward her. Too far from the other Haven fighters. Too far from help. Glancing back, she saw him again, charging, unstoppable. No retreat left.

Allison gritted her teeth and pushed forward, weaving between the whirling metal spheres. Orcs leapt at her, clawing and slashing, trying to pin her down. She focused her will, channeling power into her blade until the steel glittered with frost, a lethal edge of ice. Spinning as she ran, she cut them down one by one.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

Orc after orc froze solid where they fell, grotesque statues locked forever in the final moment of their charge. But there were too many. They came from every direction, surrounding her, pressing her back toward the monster itself.The world blurred as one of the iron balls slammed into her side. The impact ripped her from the ground, hurling her through the air until her body crashed against the trees with bone-rattling force.

The Orc Lord loomed above her, chains dripping with blood and mud, eyes blazing with savage triumph.

“I’ll take your head as my trophy, little dragon,” he snarled.

[User]
Write Chapter 243: Allison vs Orc Lord
Target length: ~2900 words
Key events: level-up occurs, combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Luke peeked out from the flap of the tent, scanning Conrad’s bandit camp. It sat deep in the forest, inside what people called the “gray zone.” Technically neutral ground, but not really. The Safe Zone lay on one side, the Midnight Wardens stalked the other, and in between prowled beasts and other nightmares. The bandits were used to it.

He slipped back into the tent. And here I was, worried about Bastion setting up an ambush, only to get grabbed by a bunch of random thugs.

Not that he minded. Free experience points didn’t exactly fall from the sky. He didn’t see himself as a psychopath; he’d never harm someone decent. But these men were criminals. Killing them wasn’t just justified, it was practically charity. And on top of that, he’d get stronger.

Was it psychotic of me to let myself get captured just so I could slaughter the whole camp?

“This is giving off some serious Dexter Morgan vibes,” Artemis whispered. “But yeah, there’s a touch of psychopath in you. Who else would plan around getting their arm chewed off by a giant snake?”

Maybe all the crap I’ve gone through is warping my sense of humanity. But hey, who hasn’t had a bad day, right?

Luke did something he hadn’t done in a long time, he brought out his throwing knives. A faint shimmer, and a holster materialized strapped to his thigh.

[Throwing Knife Holster (Common)

Description: A specialized holster designed to store throwing knives. It can conjure common-rarity blades when infused with mana.

Enchantments:

[Mana Knives (Common)]: By channeling mana, the holster can generate up to 6 throwing knives, instantly materialized and ready for deadly precision.]

He poured mana into it, and six blades blinked into existence. Jack had been marked with Predator’s Mark, his outline glowing faint red through the rock wall. He was inside a shallow cave, sitting on the ground. Luke summoned Princess Charlie. She appeared at his side and immediately understood the situation when she saw Becket’s body on the ground.

He stepped out of the tent. Seven men lounged around the main fire.

I’m going to kill every last one of these idiots.

“Okay, new vibe,” Artemis teased. “Less Dexter, more Jason Voorhees. Creepy woods, knives in hand, it fits.”

Luke glanced at Princess Charlie. “If anyone runs, you know what to do.” She nodded without hesitation. He palmed two knives and moved forward, each step silent, his mind sharpening into Advanced Stealth. The air itself seemed to bend around him. He raised his hand and let the first blade fly. It whistled through the dark, buried itself in a bandit’s throat. The man dropped his bowl, eyes wide, clutching at the wound as blood sprayed between his fingers.

“The hell was that?!” one of them barked.

The dying man’s gaze locked on Luke. Too late. He flicked his wrists and more blades cut the air, each one straight, clean, merciless. One buried itself in a skull, another tore into a chest, another blinded a man screaming in shock. Luke walked calmly, fast hands pulling fresh knives from the holster and sending them out with machine precision. One thug scrambled up, thick leather armor creaking. Luke didn’t slow. He drew six knives at once, three in each hand, and triggered a skill.

[Twin Blade (Common): A skilled assassin never wastes an attack. When throwing a knife, it splits midair, creating a duplicate that follows the same path, doubling your chance to hit.]

With every step, more blades slipped from his holster, splitting midair before finding their marks. One bandit’s chest turned into a pincushion of steel. He stumbled forward and collapsed into the campfire, sparks leaping skyward as his body smoldered.

Notifications lit up across Luke’s vision.

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

**Your class [Demonic Predator] has reached Level 57! (+10 Strength, +7 Perception, +6 Agility, +6 Vitality, +6 Intelligence, +5 Endurance, +8 Free Points)**

**[You have reached Level 46! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

Even weak enemies add up. Between class bonuses and profession scaling, he’d gathered exactly enough to push through another level. Maybe letting himself get “captured” hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Shouts echoed as more bandits burst from their tents, weapons half-drawn, faces pale. Princess Charlie met them head-on, her sword already swinging.

[Princess Charlie has slain a human…]

One screamed, then was cut short by her blade. Another bolted, panic twisting his voice as he shouted into the night. For an instant, Luke understood—anyone seeing a black knight with blazing red eyes would mistake her for a Midnight Warden.

The runner didn’t get far. Charlie raised her hand, and a spectral chain shot out, coiling around his chest. She yanked, whirling him through the air before slamming him against a tree hard enough to crack wood.

[Princess Charlie has slain a human…]

Luke strolled toward the largest tent. Conrad emerged, face blanching at the sight of seven corpses riddled with knives.

“You said something earlier,” Luke murmured. “About a long death or a short one?”

Unlike the others, Conrad didn’t break immediately. He clenched his jaw and drew his sword, arcs of lightning dancing along the blade. Then he charged.

A knife punched into his eye before he made it halfway. Another sank into his leg. A third pinned his hand uselessly. Conrad crumpled, screaming, and Luke crushed his shin underfoot. His shriek tore across the camp.

“I-I-Impossible…” Conrad stammered, dragging himself backward, eyes wild with terror. “H-how? What level are you?”

Luke didn’t bother answering. He turned toward the cave entrance. Rhett stood there, gripping two hand axes, sweat shining on his face.

“If you take another step, I’ll kill the healer!” Rhett barked.

“There’s no need for that,” Jack said quietly.

“Shut up, healer!” Rhett snapped.

Luke sighed, taking a single step forward. “If you kill him, I’ll kill you. In the end, what will your threat have gained you?”

Rhett froze, voice trembling. “L-let me go!”

“No,” Luke replied flatly.

Desperation broke him. Rhett hurled one axe toward Luke, the other aimed at Jack. A knife blurred through the air, snapping his wrist and pinning it to the wall before he could follow through. Another blade tore across his throat. A final one buried itself in his skull.

He slumped against the stone, sliding down until he sat lifeless at the mouth of the cave.

[You have slain a human…]

[+1 Soul Fragment acquired]

“Don’t worry, Jack,” Luke said evenly. “I’ll come back for you.”

Turning, he walked back into the night. Through Predator’s Mark, he saw Conrad’s faint red outline crawling desperately across the forest floor, dragging himself away like a dying animal.

Luke followed the trail until the bandit leader came into view.

“N-no… please,” Conrad rasped, blood dripping from his ruined eye. “Take everything here. I don’t care. Just let me go. I swear I’ll vanish from the Safe Zone forever.”

Luke sighed and crouched down, locking eyes with the man. Charlie stepped up beside him and stopped.

“Princess Charlie,” Luke said evenly. “This guy swore he’d kill me slowly, painfully. Should I let him walk away?”

Her gaze dropped toward Conrad. The crimson glow within her helm flared, and she shook her head once, no.

She tightened her grip on her sword and invoked the Doomblade.

[Doomblade (Rare)]: The Death Knight’s sword becomes shrouded in a cursed aura. Each strike with Doomblade corrupts the target’s flesh, dealing necrotic damage. Wounds caused by this blade resist healing, leaving behind searing pain and lingering decay. The more cuts inflicted, the heavier the toll of agony upon the enemy.

Charlie drove the blade into Conrad’s gut. His scream tore through the camp. Her free hand clamped down on his face, and fire roared to life, flames chewing through his skin. Yeah… she was definitely pissed.

Luke turned his back on the scene and walked toward the cave, letting the princess enjoy her moment of cruelty without interruption. Inside, Jack was still where he’d been, shackled near Rhett’s corpse.

“It’s me again,” Luke said as he approached.

Jack’s chains rattled. His voice cracked with relief. “Praise be to the Goddess of Kindness.”

Metal snapped as Luke tore the bindings apart. “No goddess saved you. Just me.”

“But you showed kindness, didn’t you?”

Luke didn’t bother answering.

“Th-thank you, James.” Jack reached out, his hand glowing faintly green with healing magic.

“I’m fine. I don’t need healing,” Luke muttered.

But Jack’s gaze lingered on his head, wide-eyed. “J-James… your hair. It’s black…”

And then Luke realized. Damn it.

When his race level-up granted enhanced regeneration, it hadn’t just mended wounds. It had stripped the blond from his hair, leaving it pitch black. Normally, he managed that risk, waiting to raise his race level in his hideout while tending to the plantation. Here, he’d been careless.

“I… dye it,” Luke said flatly.

Jack glanced around at the carnage, the man burning in the campfire, others sprawled in the dirt, bristling with knives.

Luke drew a deep breath and met his eyes. “So. I think you’ve figured out…”

“Your name is Luke,” Jack blurted, not a question, but a statement.

“You already knew?”

Jack nodded slowly. “…Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you report me to Bastion?”

Jack touched the pendant hanging at his throat. “The voice of the Goddess of Kindness spoke to me the day we met. She said, ‘Help the fool, for I owe Samael a favor.’ I don’t know what it means, but she said you would.”

That caught Luke off guard.

“…Right,” he muttered, turning the revelation over in his mind. If Jack had said the same thing without mentioning Samael, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. But that name changed everything.

“Alright, Jack. So you know who I am. But there’s a problem.” Luke’s tone hardened. “I killed Conrad, the administrator of this whole operation. His disappearance is going to draw way too much attention from Bartholomew’s men. And I can’t exactly testify that I was kidnapped without blowing my cover.”

Luke walked over to the bodies.

“What are you going to do?” Jack asked.

“I’m getting out of here. I’ve got everything I need, and I won’t be heading back to the Safe Zone anytime soon.”

“And me?”

“Go back to your job. Act normal. Haven’t you ever watched a movie? If you vanish the day after your boss disappears, people start asking questions.”

Jack’s eyes swept over the carnage. “I hope I get to see you again, Luke.”

“I just hope you don’t think less of me for killing these people. It was them or us.”

Jack gave a crooked smile. “Don’t worry about it. The Goddess of Kindness teaches that we should wipe out our enemies in the worst way possible.” With that, he started walking away.

“I like that goddess,” Franky muttered.

Luke moved closer. “Hey. You were planning to take the trail back to the worksite?”

“Yeah, it’s the fastest way.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Man, what do you think happens if someone spots you sneaking around the same night one of those guys turns up missing? You really need to watch a few cop movies. I’ll take you back myself. We’ll use the long route.”

[Princess Charlie has slain…]

**The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 35! (Class Bonus Points Acquired: +3 Str, +3 End, +2 Agi, +2 Vit, +2 Int, +1 Per, +2 Free Points)**

[Princess Charlie has unlocked a new Class Skill]

Once Jack was safely back on the trail, nothing would hold him back anymore. He finally had everything he needed to claim the fortress.

***

The battle against the Orc Lord raged on, the field littered with the frozen corpses of his kin. Allison bled from half a dozen wounds, yet still stood her ground, surrounded by broken ice sculptures that only hours ago had been living, snarling orcs. They were her handiwork, silent witnesses to the slaughter.

Only Mason had managed to break through to her side. The rest of the party was locked down, trapped by the relentless fury of the horde. The Orc Lord swung his chained iron sphere again. Allison slipped out of the way by a hair’s breadth, countering with sharp, surgical strikes aimed at tendons and muscle, anything that might slow the beast down. The impact of the weapon shattered the earth at her feet.

In that brief opening, Mason emerged from the shadows. His blade sank into the monster’s back. But his mana was spent, no spells left, only steel against flesh. The Orc Lord’s roar shook the air, the heat rolling off his body like a furnace. He moved faster, more feral.

Allison staggered, her body on the verge of collapse. She glanced at her sword and froze. The first cracks were spreading across the ice-forged blade. Her chest tightened. She knew what that meant: the next shatter would be the last. No more reforging, no replacements. That was the price of channeling her ice techniques into steel. Her weapons never endured for long. This katana had already been reforged multiple times. The next break was permanent. And still, she had no choice but to force it past its limits. There was no retreat here.

While Mason fought desperately to dodge the monster’s strikes, Allison tightened her grip. Frost crawled up her arm as she poured more energy into the katana. With a double leap she came down hard, carving a deep gash across the Orc Lord’s back. Ice erupted from the wound, spreading through the torn flesh.

The beast spun in fury. One chained sphere crushed Mason, the other slammed into Allison. Both were thrown in opposite directions.Allison crashed into a mound of frozen corpses, rolling across the snow, dirt, and blood. The blow would have killed her outright if not for the katana’s enchantment, hardening her skin like an ant’s carapace. Gasping, she raised a trembling hand and fired an iceball toward the enemy.

“You’re the most troublesome of all!” the Orc Lord bellowed.

The chained sphere swung back toward her in a wide arc. Allison tried to dodge, but the second iron ball slammed into the ground beside her, the shockwave knocking her off balance. She knew this move. He was going to crush her between the two spheres, like a fly caught between clapping hands.

She tried to run, but the strike came too fast. Frost surged down her blade as she turned, betting everything on one desperate block. The iron ball collided mid-swing. A sharp crack split the battlefield. Her katana broke in two, the shards spinning away into the snow.

[Warning: Your item ‘General Ant’s Katana’ has been permanently destroyed]

The ground seemed to give way beneath her feet. Allison hit the frozen corpses flat on her back. Her weapon was gone. Without a katana, half her skills as a swordswoman were useless. The Orc Lord advanced, dragging his chains, the screech of metal echoing like thunder. She forced herself to her knees. The first sphere whistled past, nearly crushing her skull. She rolled aside, only to be driven back again by the second.

“What a pathetic little dragon… Your kind should be ashamed of you.” The monster’s eyes burned with scorn as it mocked her.

Allison clenched her teeth. She tried to rise, but her body refused to obey. Pain, cold, the crushing weight of defeat, everything pressed down at once. And yet, her eyes still burned with a fire that refused to die.

She stretched out her hand. Her fingertips trembled. There was no steel, no weapon at all, only the raw essence of ice answering her call. The air thickened, brittle and sharp, as tiny flakes of snow began to swirl around her palm. At first fragile, almost delicate, then denser, harder, glittering like shards of glass. The wind howled, drawn into her grasp by something unseen.

The ice stretched, twisted, lengthened. It was slow, painfully slow. Every second the monster drew closer. But her focus never wavered. Cold sweat slid down her face, her breath faltered, but she held on. The chill burst outward in a dazzling wave, white and blinding. And then the shape was there. Complete.

[Ice Katana Creation (Rare)]: The Ice Sculptor can shape the essence of [Ice] into a temporary blade. While ephemeral, the weapon is as real and sharp as steel, though its power is capped at [Common]. Yet, when imbued with the ancient strength of the [Heart of the Ice Dragon], the katana burns with draconic winter, colder, sharper, deadlier than any mere conjured weapon.

It was a skill of her Ice Sculptor profession, a mutation of her original Sculptor profession. Allison leveled the katana at the orc. No retreat. No hesitation. She would face him head-on.

[User]
Write Chapter 244: Awakened Dragon
Target length: ~2400 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Allison could barely stay upright. Her body was in tatters, blood dripping steadily from her wounds. The Ant Queen’s katana was gone, shattered, and with it, the carapace enchantment that had been her shield. Now, if even a single blow landed cleanly, it would mean death. Not even her draconic resilience could save her.

All she had left was the new weapon: a katana of ice, born from her own craft. Its cold bit into her flesh, but she raised it without hesitation, pointing the blade at the towering orc before her.

The Orc Lord stared down at her with open contempt. His chest heaved, but his eyes held nothing but the arrogance of a monster that had never known defeat. A low, rasping laugh rumbled from deep in his throat.

“Your courage is nothing but desperation,” he said, his voice booming across the battlefield. “You’re the last one left. And you’ll die here, among the corpses you froze. Alone. Forgotten. A little dragon with no wings.”

Allison’s grip tightened on the ice blade. Her eyes burned with a cold fire that refused to die.

“That look…” The Orc Lord smirked, tilting his head. “Did I strike a nerve? Is that it? Maybe you were abandoned by the other dragons?”

His laughter erupted like a war drum, guttural and cruel. His wounds meant nothing to him, he believed himself untouchable.

“You’re in my domain,” he growled, his voice turning dark. “Here, I am king. Here, even dragons kneel and die.”

Then he charged. The earth quaked under each massive step, snow cracking and scattering beneath his weight. The chains at his sides clattered, the twin iron spheres dragging deep grooves through the ground. But he wouldn’t use them. Not this time. He wanted to crush her with his bare hands.

Allison didn’t move. Her body trembled with exhaustion, but her gaze stayed locked, unyielding, sharp as a predator’s. And then, like a true dragon, her breath came alive. White clouds of freezing vapor poured from her nostrils and lips, thick and relentless, far too much for a human frame to contain.

The Orc Lord raised his arms high, ready to slam her into the ground like a raging gorilla. At the final instant, Allison twisted her body and slid across the ice, slipping past the strike with perfect precision. The impact shook the battlefield. Cracks spiderwebbed through the ground, snow and shards of ice exploding skyward.

“Keep running!” the monster roared.

But when the snow settled, she was already standing in front of him again. Steady. Unbroken. Her eyes hard as steel.

“This is not your domain,” she said, her voice as cold as the blade she held. “This is mine.”

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, sinking into the depths of her own essence. Then she drew it forth, the deepest power of her craft, sharpened by her bloodline. Her chest rose sharply, and the ice blade in her hand pulsed with life. The frost in her veins resonated with the ancient force slumbering in her soul. She channeled it.

[Funerary Ice Sculpture (Ultra-Rare)]: When the Ice Sculptor slays an enemy, they can instantly freeze the corpse, preserving it exactly in the position it fell and transforming it into a macabre ice sculpture. These sculptures remain standing for several hours, radiating an intense cold that gradually lowers the surrounding temperature. This effect creates a frozen terrain that strengthens all ice-based skills cast within its area of influence.

By channeling the power of [Heart of the Ice Dragon], the Sculptor can intensify the effect, causing the sculptures to drain even more heat from the surrounding space, making the environment severely cold and further amplifying the potency of ice arts. However, this additional strength comes at a cost: while sustaining this effect, the sculptures begin to melt, vanishing more quickly.

All around them, the frozen orc corpses began to glow faint blue. The ice that bound them shimmered like crystal in the phantom light. A biting wind swept through the field, carrying snow, until the battlefield itself was swallowed by a supernatural cold.

With each passing second, the air thickened, the ice grew denser, and the temperature plummeted further. A domain of white death took shape around them. And within that glacial storm, Allison rose, more imposing than ever.

The Orc Lord narrowed his eyes. For the first time, his laughter fell silent. She spread the invisible wings of her draconic heritage, not of flesh, but of spirit. The cold was no longer just the battlefield. It was her. It was the extension of her breath. Allison tilted her head back and let the fury of the dragon pour from her lungs.

[Draconic Exhalation (Ultra-Rare)]: The Draconic Swordsman does not need to strike. The very breath of a dragon is enough to declare sovereignty. Empowered by the [Heart of the Ice Dragon], you can exhale a frost-laden mist that rolls outward like a silent curse. The air chills, creeping and merciless. Frost crawls across stone, armor groans as it cracks, lungs seize in the bitter cold. No rage, only inevitability, patient, constant, absolute. Beware: this power is bound to your emotions, for a dragon’s fury is its greatest weapon.

White mist rolled outward, smothering the air like a living fog. The cold was so deep it seemed to slice skin open with every brush. Enveloped in the storm, the Orc Lord let out a furious growl.

He didn’t know it yet, but the battlefield no longer belonged to him. The frost thickened, swallowing the world in a deathly silence. The air was so frigid it felt brittle, ready to shatter with each breath. Allison slid across the ice, her movements as light as the storm itself. In her hand, a translucent sphere took shape, pulsing with the power of the [Heart of the Ice Dragon].

[Iceball (Uncommon)]: The caster forms a compact sphere of solid ice in their hand using [Ice], further amplified by [Heart of the Ice Dragon]. When hurled at a target, the sphere detonates on impact, releasing explosive damage and a cloud of frost-laden snow that reduces visibility and hampers movement. In naturally cold environments, or areas already affected by frost skills, the spell’s power and explosion radius increase, making it significantly more devastating.

She fired it with force. The impact against the Orc Lord’s torso detonated in a burst of snow and piercing blue light. The creature roared as the freezing energy seeped into its thick hide, slowing its movements. He tried to charge, but Allison was already in motion, circling him. More iceballs flared into being and were fired in rapid succession, each one exploding into shards of frost that clung to his body, layering him in thin sheets of ice.

The Orc Lord bellowed, his breath erupting in scalding steam. He tried to raise his body’s heat to resist, but Allison’s storm overwhelmed him, the synergy of her power pressing in from every side. She seized the opening, gliding across the frozen ground. Her katana gleamed with an icy light, and she struck.

[Freezing Slash (Uncommon)]: The Swordsman delivers a strike that inflicts a wound coated with frost, freezing the area around it for a short duration through the power of [Ice]. If the cut lands on vital parts of the body, the chilling effect can gradually slow muscles, weaken attacks, and reduce the target’s speed. This skill is empowered by [Heart of the Ice Dragon].

The blade carved through flesh, and ice spread instantly across the wound. The Orc Lord roared in fury, lashing out with his chains. The iron spheres slammed into the ground, tearing the earth apart. But Allison had already slid out of reach, another Iceball flying into his exposed flank. Now the battlefield was hers. Every breath she took deepened the storm. Every strike spread the winter further, the cold seeping into the Orc Lord’s body, corroding him from within.

The creature spun wildly, swinging its chains in a desperate arc. The metallic whine split through the mist, but the visibility now belonged entirely to her storm. The Orc Lord roared, whirling his chains with reckless fury. Each iron sphere slammed into the ground with earth-shattering force, throwing up waves of snow and ice. Allison slipped between them, loosing iceballs, striking whenever an opening appeared. But even weakened, the monster was still massive, still a king among orcs.

Then, in one sudden swing, he twisted his body and lashed out. The chain cut through the air like thunder. Allison tried to leap clear, but the mist distorted her timing. The impact smashed into her.

Metal rang across the battlefield. Her body was hurled back, ripped through the white curtain of her own storm. Ice cracked beneath her as she skidded and rolled across the snow, a groan of pain tearing from her throat. The Orc Lord charged, slower now but burning hot, his skin steaming like living coals fighting against winter.

“I’ll tear off your head!” he bellowed.

Allison staggered to rise, only for a sharp sound to rip through the air. A thunderous impact. The orc staggered back, his roar of pain shaking the ground. He looked down in disbelief. A ballista bolt, thick as a spear, jutted from his abdomen. With a snarl, he wrenched it free, blood spilling over his torso. His eyes darted, hunting for the source.

Allison wiped blood from her lips and smiled.

“You thought I was running scared this whole time?” Her voice rang out steady, defiant. “I told you already… this is my territory now!”

Another crack. Another massive bolt slammed into his chest, tearing through his thick flesh. The Orc Lord howled, his breath rasping heavier.

“The ballistas!” he roared, eyes widening.

Across the orc village, three wooden towers still stood. From each, strained but relentless, Mason, Eugene, and Miriam forced the massive weapons into action, their arms trembling with exhaustion but refusing to stop.

“We forged the bolts from your own damned forest and the armor of your soldiers!” Allison shouted as she sprinted back into the fray. “You cornered us, but the whole time we were planning your death!”

The Orc Lord let out a roar of rage and despair. The cold of the storm dragged his strength down. The bolts ripped through his body. And Allison came for him, sliding across the ice like a dragon given flesh, rushing in to finish it.

The beast bellowed, bleeding from a dozen wounds, but still surged forward like a living fortress. Allison fired iceballs in rapid succession, each one detonating in bursts of frost that cracked against his hide. She slid, cut, struck, but the monster endured. Then, with a sudden lunge, his massive arm wrapped around her. The chains clattered to the ground as he crushed her against his chest.

“Now you can’t escape!” he roared, squeezing with bone-snapping force.

A scream tore from her lips. Pain surged through her body, each breath a desperate fight against suffocation. Blood spilled from her mouth as her ribs threatened to give way. But alongside the pain came something fiercer. The fury of a dragon.

From deep in her chest, the draconic Exhalation erupted with doubled intensity. White mist burst from her mouth and nose in violent streams, freezing the very air. The katana of ice blazed like a star in the storm. She poured every shred of power into one final strike, her Freezing Slash unleashed in a single, piercing thrust.

The blade drove through his chest plate as though it were glass, plunging straight into his heart. Frost exploded outward, racing through his veins, branching like frozen roots. The colossus roared, his voice thunderous, trying to rip her apart, but the ice had already claimed his arms. He howled as more ballista bolts tore into his back.

Allison roared too, not in fear, but in fury, in agony, in defiance. The freezing breath poured from her like a river without end, every exhale making the battlefield even more lethal. The Orc Lord, in one final act of defiance, lifted her high, trying to tear her apart. Allison felt her bones creak under the crushing force, but she never let go of the katana. With a final, primal scream, she drove the blade deeper.

The Orc Lord’s heart froze. Silence fell. Only the wind remained, carrying drifting snow across the battlefield. The giant released her.

Allison collapsed to her knees in the blood-soaked snow, coughing scarlet mist into the frozen air. Her body shook, every muscle screaming in pain, but still she forced herself upright. The katana of ice remained in her grip, raised in defiance.

The Orc Lord’s gaze locked on her, and a torn smile spread across his lips. “At last…” His voice was raw, little more than a rasp. “Now you are a true dragon.”

Then his body toppled, crashing into the snow with an earth-shaking thud that sent shards of ice scattering like glass. As life drained from him, Allison’s skill triggered. The Orc Lord’s corpse began to crystallize, ice crawling over his flesh until his hulking form rose into a grotesque sculpture of frost and death.

Allison stood firm, though her body trembled and her breaths came ragged. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth, dripping onto the snow in crimson drops. She did not look away from the monster she had slain. The frozen body of the Orc Lord shuddered one last time. Cracks spread across his skin, the sculpted death sealing him in place. Yet somehow, with the last of his strength, his lips moved.

“You…” His voice was weak, torn with pain and venom. “You have no idea… what waits inside that castle.”

Allison narrowed her eyes, her katana still poised.

“There is no defeating… what lies within…” He spat blood that froze the moment it touched the air. “It is too old… from a place… that no longer exists.”

His final breath rattled out, eyes glazing over. “Only the witch… is the weakness… of the King…”

The words broke into silence. His stare dulled, and the last vestige of life left him as the frost claimed his body entirely. Now he was nothing but an icebound monument to his own death, forever locked in that final expression. Allison’s chest heaved, her strength nearly spent, yet she did not falter. She remained standing before her defeated foe.

Then the system notification appeared before her eyes:

[You have slain Gravthar, Son of Onix (Orc Lord) – Lvl 70]

[An item has been added to your inventory]