[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 60: Blood Regeneration
Target length: ~2400 words
Key events: level-up occurs, combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Luke narrowed his eyes at the system notification.

[Mission Orb: Hunt the Iron-Tusk Boars

Objective: Kill 10 Iron-Tusk Boars

Progress: 0/10

Reward: Equipment (Unrevealed)]

He dropped silently from the branch, landing with feline grace.

The blue orb had already vanished.

“So that’s what Anna meant… hidden missions scattered throughout the Wild Zone.”

If side quests like this existed out here, they could be a huge edge.

Luke had already made up his mind—power came first. Always.

To complete the tutorial, he had to find the three ancient mechanisms sealing the castle. But he had a theory. Each one was probably guarded by a Lord. And if he activated all three—the Midnight Wardens would march again. Day and night. Without pause.

Luke clenched his fists.

He wasn’t the sentimental type. But still—there were children and civilians in the Safe Zone. He couldn’t unleash a bloodbath and walk away like it meant nothing.

He pushed the thought aside. Right now, he had one goal. Strength.

***

Luke moved carefully through the city ruins in the Wild Zone, crouched low, hugging the sides of broken buildings as he kept to the shadows. Whenever footsteps echoed nearby, he dashed across crumbling streets and dove into abandoned houses without hesitation.

A system prompt flickered in the corner of his vision.

[Dead Watchman – Level 10]

So... zombie soldiers patrol the city too.

The undead guard shuffled past, slow but steady. Right behind it came two more, moving together in formation. They didn’t roam alone—they moved in groups.

Back in the forest, he’d already managed to evade a pack of velociraptors, using the treetops to bypass them. But getting chased by monsters inside the city? That was a different problem entirely. Open ground, tight alleys—no trees to climb. Worse, any chase here, even in daylight, would draw too much attention.

This run wasn’t about fighting. It was about learning. Understanding. Mapping the place out. He needed to gather as much information as possible before committing to deeper pushes. That was why he’d refused the Haven’s offer to assign him a guide.

If I’m gonna survive this place... I need to feel it myself. I need to learn how it moves.

Stealth was everything.

The Wild Zone was massive, but the division between the forest and the city was clear. The forest was dangerous, sure. But it was manageable. The ruins? A whole different ecosystem. One designed to kill you. Especially after sunset—when the Midnight Wardens started their patrols.

But the deeper you went into the city... the better the loot. Clothes. Supplies. Abandoned chests filled with food, materials, maybe rare gear. The risk was suffocating—but so were the rewards.

The catch? Time control.

If you went too deep and didn’t make it back before midnight... you were dead. No negotiation. No mercy. Once the curfew hit, the Midnight Wardens hunted anything that moved.

And then there was the light. Daytime exploration was dangerous, but manageable. Night? The Wild Zone turned pitch black. Sure, Luke had Demonic Perception, but even that had limits. You could sense shapes, movement... but not everything. Not perfectly.

And yet... even knowing all that... he still wanted to try. To push. To figure it out. To conquer it.

Once the undead patrol rounded the corner and vanished, Luke slipped out of the building, climbed its side using broken ledges and cracks, and pulled himself onto the rooftop. From there, he scanned the streets below.

“Damn... this place is huge,” he muttered.

His priority was clear—level up. Himself. Charlie. Both.

But that led straight into another problem. His skeletal companion was... well, a skeleton. Having her walk around with him was basically announcing his bloodline to anyone watching. That secret was one he couldn’t afford to lose.

Luke sighed, casting a glance toward the forest in the distance. “Time to head back.”

Pushing deeper into the ruins without a better plan was reckless. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. And besides... he still needed to check out that mission orb he’d picked up earlier.

***

As he started moving, the realization fully clicked. Something that had been slowly forming in the back of his mind finally locked into place. He understood now—really understood—why so many survivors refused to leave the Safe Zone.

It wasn’t just the monsters. Wasn’t just the curfew.

It was Health.

HP doesn't regenerate. That was a harsh truth he had no choice but to accept.

If someone with 100 HP took 70 damage, they’d be stuck with only 30. Permanently. No recovery. Unlike mana or stamina, your health bar stayed exactly the same. Even if you treated the wound manually, like stitching it up or something, every point of HP lost brought you one step closer to death.

Sure, you could restore HP when leveling up your Race. But that required killing enemies, which came with its own risk of... well, taking even more damage. Same with leveling up your Profession. The loop was brutal. The more you fought to survive... the more likely you were to die trying.

It was a death spiral.

That’s why healers were worth their weight in gold. And healing potions? Priceless. Controlled by exactly one person.

Bartholomew.

But Luke... Luke had something else. A loophole. A skill. A way to bypass the entire problem.

And he was dying to test it.

Luke moved swiftly through the undergrowth, each step measured, every sense sharpened to a razor’s edge. If game logic applied here—and it usually did—the mission zone shouldn’t be far from where the orb had been.

Then a sound hit him. A low, heavy snort, deep enough to vibrate through the ground.

He dropped instantly into the brush, body pressed low. His eyes scanned the clearing ahead. And then he saw them.

Boars.

But not the kind anyone would expect. These weren’t woodland pests. Each one was the size of a full-grown bear, their bodies packed with dense muscle beneath thick bristled hides. Their eyes glowed with a dull, burning aggression—pure, undiluted rage.

Beside him, Princess Charlie stood silent. Her skeletal form motionless, hollow gaze fixed on the beasts. No breath. No sound. Just perfect stillness.

Luke slid one kukri free, grip tightening.

A single motion—clean.

Thunk.

The blade spun through the air and buried itself deep into the side of one of the monsters. The boar shrieked, staggering back, tusks shaking. Then—those tusks began to glow. Bone shifted, reshaping. Metal bloomed across the surface like liquid steel hardening in an instant. Smooth, cold iron.

Luke’s stomach dropped.

They have skills.

One of them roared and charged—a bull made of muscle and fury. Luke dove sideways just as the creature slammed into a tree, the impact splitting the trunk in half with a deafening crack. Splinters rained down.

Another came from his blind spot, slamming into him shoulder-first. The hit knocked the air out of his lungs. Luke hit the dirt hard, sliding through the mud and leaves, coughing, ribs screaming.

He gritted his teeth and recalled his kukris, the blades snapping back into his grip. This wasn’t a fight he could end quickly. Not cleanly. This was going to be rough.

A third boar lowered its head and charged, tusks gleaming. Luke shifted his stance at the last second. The beast thundered past, momentum sending it crashing straight into one of its own. Flesh and bone collided. Both creatures staggered.

There.

An opening.

One breath. One step. His body moved faster than thought. A clean arc, a sharp twist—kukri slicing straight through muscle and tendon. The blade ripped into the boar’s neck. Blood sprayed, warm and heavy.

The beast shuddered, took one broken step forward—then collapsed.

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 13]

No time to breathe. Another boar barreled toward him. Luke leapt, landing square on its back. With a savage twist of both blades, he drove them deep into the creature’s thick neck.

The boar thrashed, but Luke whispered coldly, “Time to sleep.” He twisted again—its throat tore open.

He hit the ground running, pouring mana into his legs mid-fall. Shadow wrapped around his body as he surged forward like a living blur.

He crashed into another boar like a wrecking ball. The creature flew backward, slammed into a tree with enough force to snap the trunk clean in half. Two more down.

Then came a sharp, piercing cry behind him.

Luke barely turned in time. A tusk ripped through his arm—white-hot pain exploding as flesh split open. Blood poured down his sleeve.

But something shifted. The boar’s wound glowed—a deep, pulsing red. His body reacted before his mind caught up. Instinct flooded in, clear and undeniable.

[Basic Blood Regeneration – Available]

The skill surged within him, demanding to be used. He raised his hand instinctively. A crimson mist lifted from the wounded beast and flowed into his body. His HP ticked upward. The burning pain vanished. Muscle knitted. Skin sealed.

He stared, almost stunned, watching the gash on his arm close right in front of him.

“This is…”

He shut it off—the mana drain was brutal. But it worked. It actually worked.

The boar roared and charged.

This time, Luke didn’t move. He stepped straight into the hit. The tusks slammed into his ribs and crushed him against a tree.

His breath caught sharp in his throat. His teeth clenched. “Tch...”

His arms moved faster than thought.

The kukri punched straight into the boar’s skull. The creature convulsed, trembling violently.

Luke released the blade and vaulted upward, catching a branch just as the remaining boars smashed into the trunk below. The entire tree shook under the repeated impacts, bark splintering, leaves raining down.

He steadied his breathing, scanned the group, and focused on the most injured one. Mana flared again. Blood lifted from the creature’s wounds, dissolving into red vapor before flowing straight into his body.

The energy drained fast. The boar crumpled instantly, dead before its body even hit the ground.

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 13]

Luke grinned. “This… is insane.”

If he left enemies at low health, he could finish them instantly and heal in the process.

He dropped from the branch, landing light. The surviving boars were still furious, stomping and snorting, blood dripping from their hides.

Luke whistled. A silent signal.

Princess Charlie leapt from the treetops. The skeleton warrior landed like a thunderbolt, her blade plunging into a boar’s hide.

Luke moved right behind her. Cutting between enemies. Striking weak points. Dodging just before impact. Fluid. Precise. Lethal.

Charlie crushed the frontline, holding back the stampede with brute force. Together, they carved through the chaos.

In less than a minute, four more boars lay gasping, twitching, bloodied.

Luke extended his hand.

“Goodbye.”

SHAAA.

A red wave pulsed through the clearing. The beasts shuddered—and dropped.

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 11]

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 12]

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 12]

[You have slain an Iron-Tusk Boar – Lvl 11]

The mission prompt flashed:

*Mission: Hunt the Iron-Tusk Boars*

Progress: 10/10

[Mission Complete]

[Reward Granted]

Luke opened his inventory. A new item sparkled in the slot.

[Iron-Tusk Boarhide Pants (Uncommon)

Description: Durable leather pants crafted from the reinforced hide of an Iron-Tusk Boar. Infused with raw metal from the creature’s own tusks, offering superior defense.

Requirement: Level 5+ in any class or race.]

Luke let out a low whistle.

“Not bad at all.”

He looked over at Princess Charlie, who stood amid the corpses, her skull tilted curiously.

“We make a damn good team.”

Princess Charlie puffed out her chest. ‘Obviously. You’ve got me.’

He chuckled, eyes drifting back to the screen hovering before him. The new gear was solid—much better than the default adventurer’s pants he still wore. But then he looked at her again. And made his choice.

“You should have these.”

Charlie tilted her skull slightly, confused by the offer. In Luke’s mind, her role was clear: she’d be his tank. He was agile, and his Perception stats let him dodge most incoming blows.

But Charlie? She needed to take hits, tank enemies, and hold the frontline. Putting defense gear on him would just slow him down. But she… she’d need every edge to survive.

Still, she hesitated.

Luke crossed his arms. “Take the gear. It'll be way more useful for you than me. You’re going to be my knight, remember?”

Her green spectral eyes flickered, considering. ‘Are you sure?’

“Absolutely.”

He sent the item through the system. In an instant, the pants equipped themselves, snapping into place around her skeletal form. Luke blinked. It didn’t just hang loosely on her bones. It was as if the system had filled in the rest of her body—invisible to the eye, but real enough for armor to take shape.

Charlie turned slightly. Luke’s eyes widened. She had a butt.

“What the—?!”

He stared. Then squinted.

How is that possible? Did the system actually shape the armor around an invisible body?!

Charlie noticed the stare. And if a skull could blush, she was definitely doing it now.

Luke coughed and quickly turned away.

“S-sorry.”

Still flustered, he couldn’t help but think:

If I give her a full set of armor, she’d look just like a regular warrior. A walking tank no one would question.

That was… perfect.

“Charlie,” he said, serious now. “Don’t be shy about asking for gear. We’re a team. If you see something that’ll make you stronger—even if I’m using it—just say it.”

She paused. Then slowly raised a hand—and pointed to his finger. To the ring. Then to her ring finger.

Luke blinked. “…You want the ring?”

She nodded rapidly, eyes glowing.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You forgot it requires level 8 in class or race to equip.”

Charlie froze, her shoulders sagging in pure disappointment. Before Luke could say anything more, a rustle came from the brush.

Luke tensed immediately. Something was nearby. His instincts screamed—fighting now was a terrible idea. His mana was running dangerously low after repeatedly using Basic Blood Regeneration.

“Let’s move.”

He slipped through the underbrush, silent and swift, with Charlie gliding close behind. A new target had emerged, an orc. He needed to find it, follow it, track it back to its origins.

If the ancient mechanisms were hidden within the territories of the Lords, then the center of each domain would likely harbor one.

It was risky, maybe even suicidal, but it made sense. Too much sense.

Strange that no one else had thought of it or perhaps someone had and didn’t live to tell the tale.

[User]
Write Chapter 61: Hunted in the Dark Forest
Target length: ~1800 words

[Assistant]
“How was your trip into the Wild Zone?” Anna asked.

Luke sat at a worn wooden table, staring into the bowl of monster stew in front of him. The smell was sharp—feral, earthy—but he’d grown used to it.

The mess hall buzzed with quiet tension. Survivors crowded around cookfires, boiling scavenged meat or patching gear. Others hunched over their bowls, eating in near silence. Survival left little room for conversation.

Luke stirred the broth with his spoon, not really hungry. “Killed a few boars,” he said, voice flat. “Tried tracking an orc too.”

Beside Anna, Cecilia immediately started signing.

Anna translated without missing a beat. “She says to be careful. Orcs are never alone. If you see one, assume there are more nearby. They use signals—horns, traps, alarms. One mistake, and you're surrounded.”

Before Luke could reply, Allison dropped into the seat across from him. One look at her face said everything—exhausted, drained.

“How’d your day go?” Luke asked.

Allison let out a long breath. “Went out hunting with the others. Honestly thought everyone would be focused on the mission every day...”

Anna gave a quiet chuckle. “Most people here are just trying to survive. We need food, gear, someone to fix the fences, someone to tend the crops. If we stay out too long, the Haven’s defenses fall apart.”

Luke nodded. It made sense. A constant grind would burn out anyone. Low HP, no rest—even elite hunters would collapse eventually.

He glanced back at Anna. “How do you even carry what you kill? I took down some boars earlier, but there’s no way I could drag their corpses all the way back.”

Anna smiled, raising her hand to show a silver ring. “Storage items.”

With a simple snap of her fingers, a folded shirt materialized in her palm.

Luke blinked in surprise.

“I stash everything in here,” Anna said, slipping the shirt back into the ring. “Beats hauling it around in a pack.”

Cecilia lifted her own hand, showing an identical ring.

Allison frowned, leaning in. “Are those common?”

Anna shook her head. “Not even close. They’re rare. And the capacity varies. Some hold as much as a backpack. Others... as much as a small room.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. I need one of those.

Storage meant mobility. Mobility meant survival. Carry gear, loot, emergency supplies—without dead weight slowing him down.

He opened his mouth to ask more—

“HELP! Where’s Thiara?!”

The shout cut through the air like a blade.

Instantly, the hall exploded into motion. Chairs scraped. Bowls clattered to the floor.

A group shoved through the crowd, dragging a man soaked in blood. They dropped him to the dirt. The entire room froze.

“That’s Jonathan’s team,” someone muttered.

Luke’s eyes locked onto the man’s body. One arm was gone—ripped clean off. What remained was a shredded stump, pumping blood into the ground. A blur of movement hit his peripheral. A girl sprinted through the chaos. Thiara.

She dropped to her knees, hands glowing bright green as she pressed them together.

Healing magic.

Light shimmered around her fingers, pouring into the wound. The bleeding slowed—but not enough. The magic fought to close the injury, but the damage was brutal.

“It’s not holding,” someone whispered.

“Get him to the infirmary!” Paul’s voice rang out, slicing through the panic. Calm. Commanding. Unshakeable.

A group of men lifted Jonathan’s bloodied body and rushed him toward the infirmary tent.

Luke’s eyes tracked them until movement beside him caught his attention. Cecilia’s hands flew in frantic, sharp gestures toward Anna—fast, urgent.

Even without translation, Luke caught the key words. Mission. Mechanism.

His pulse tightened. Whatever had happened out there... it was big.

Anna signed something back, her expression darkening. Her fingers slowed—not frantic like Cecilia’s, but firm. Focused. Controlled.

Before Luke could speak, the hotel doors slammed open. Angelica strode out, her face grim, pace brisk, eyes locked forward. A mage followed close behind her, staff raised, energy already swirling at the tip.

The moment they stepped into the infirmary tent, the air shifted.

Silence.

Instant. Total.

No groans. No whispers. No wind.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. Sound barrier.

Quietly, he stepped back, blending into the edge of the crowd, making sure not to draw attention. Whatever was happening inside that tent... they didn’t want anyone hearing it. And that, in itself, was telling.

Eight years...

Eight years trapped in this so-called tutorial. The deeper he looked, the clearer it became—the veterans were hiding something.

“What do you think happened?” Allison asked, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the tent.

Luke didn’t answer.

But Anna did. “If it’s Jonathan’s team... then it’s about the mission.”

Luke turned to her, surprised by how blunt she sounded.

Allison frowned. “Then why the hell is everyone just... accepting this? Why aren’t they fighting harder to get out?”

Anna’s sigh was long. Heavy. “You saw the statue. You read the mission.” Her voice stayed steady, but the fatigue underneath was obvious. “You know what happens if the third mechanism is activated. The Midnight Wardens will march—unstoppable. They’ll wipe out everything in their path.”

Luke stared at her. “And yet... you still try?”

Anna lowered her gaze. Her fingers traced the edge of her spoon. Then she nodded—small, tired, but certain. “Most are afraid. But not all. Some of us still believe.”

“Believe in what?” Luke asked.

She hesitated, thumb running along the silver ring on her finger. “Bartholomew.”

Luke exchanged a sharp look with Allison.

“What about him?”

Anna exhaled, eyes drifting toward the hotel. “He’s not just a tyrant. People follow him because... he’s the only one with a plan.”

Her voice softened, but the edge never left. “He controls the water. He controls the walls. The food. The safety. He commands the strongest fighters. Even if we hate him... even if everyone curses his name... he’s still the best shot any of us have at surviving this.”

Luke stayed silent, watching her carefully.

Anna’s hand tightened around her spoon. “I came here three years ago. Left a family behind. Everyone did. No one gave up. Not really.” Her voice hardened. “Bartholomew wants to purge the Wild Zone. Push forward. Take ground. Map the three mechanisms. Build a path straight to the castle.”

She paused, gaze distant. Haunted. “But he won’t activate the final mechanism until every survivor is ready. Until every man, woman, and child can run—all the way to the castle gates.”

All or nothing.

“Only then,” Anna said quietly, “will we stand a chance against what’s waiting.”

She picked up her spoon and resumed eating, but her shoulders stayed tense, stiff. She wasn’t calm. Not really. Underneath, she was afraid.

“It’s not simple,” she added, voice lower now. “The Wild Zone is massive. Twisted. The Lords rule their territories like war gods. The Renegades hunt the weak. Bandits own the ruins. And the monsters... they roam everywhere. Hunting anything that breathes.”

Luke’s thoughts lingered on the barricades—the makeshift walls, the armed patrols stationed on every rooftop, the battered gates of the Safe Zone barely holding together with rusted metal and desperation. This place wasn’t built to last. It was patched, repaired, and reinforced with whatever scraps people could find.

"We protect this place the best we can," Anna had said. "But there are too many mouths to feed. If we send everyone charging toward the castle and the Safe Zone falls behind us... what then?"

She’d laughed after that. Not out of amusement—but out of sheer frustration.

"That’s the dilemma. Do we push forward? Or make sure there’s still something left to come back to?"

Now, sitting in silence, Luke leaned back in his chair, her words looping through his head like a weight that refused to leave.

Safe Zone. Wild Zone. Castle.

And above it all—Bartholomew. Preparing. Waiting. Watching.

But what waited inside that castle? What was really behind all of this?

Luke glanced down at his arm—the same one that had been slashed open earlier that day. It was fully healed now. Not even a scar. Basic Blood Regeneration worked better than he could’ve hoped.

And it only pushed him further.

He wasn’t going to wait for others. Wouldn’t sit back depending on hope, or faith, or someone else’s plan. Wouldn’t rot in this purgatory pretending this was life.

No.

He’d fight his way out. On his own terms.

***

Luke moved like a shadow through the Wild Zone, each step precise, every sense sharpened. Anna’s voice still echoed in his mind—so many had already accepted their prison, resigned to wait for a savior that would never come.

Not me.

No time to waste. Every step forward, every fight, every drop of EXP mattered.

His eyes caught it—a soft glow against the wreckage. A mission orb floated atop the fractured remains of a stone house, resting there like a relic left on an altar.

No hesitation. Luke sprinted, scaling the cracked wall with the fluid motion of someone who’d done it a hundred times. His hands and feet found every hold without pause, momentum carrying him to the top in seconds.

Fingers reached out. The system window popped into view.

[Mission Orb Acquired]

But before he could even read the details, a sharp current sliced through the air. His instincts flared. Luke dove sideways just as an arrow shattered against the stone where his head had been a second earlier. Another followed. He twisted, body dropping low, narrowly slipping out of its path as it splintered into the debris behind him.

His gaze snapped toward the treeline. Shapes emerged from the brush—six men, armed and grinning.

"Got one," one of them said, voice casual, confident.

"These orb traps never fail. Almost too easy," another chuckled as he stepped forward.

Luke’s grip tightened around the handles of his kukris. His eyes swept the group, cataloging threats with brutal efficiency. Three archers positioned in the rear. Two melee fighters taking point. A mage stood behind them, staff already humming with energy, arcs of violet lightning crawling along its surface.

A lightning caster. Bad news.

Then the leader stepped in front, relaxed, wearing a smirk that dripped with arrogance. "Two choices, rookie. Leave your gear—especially those pretty knives—or die."

The mage’s staff pulsed, the air shimmering as electricity built, heat and static crawling across Luke’s skin.

A shift in the undergrowth pulled his attention left. More figures. Crossbows drawn. Four of them, settling into elevated positions along the brush line, perfectly angled to cut off any escape route.

Ten total. Surrounding him. Full ambush formation.

The leader spread his arms wide like he was delivering a sermon.

"So?" he asked, grin widening. "You want to live... or die?"

[User]
Write Chapter 62: Blades in the Storm
Target length: ~1600 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Ten bandits. Luke counted them in a heartbeat—four crossbowmen, three archers, two warriors... and a mage.

Damn.

They were prepared.

“You move quiet, kid,” one of the warriors said, spinning his axe lazily. His grin didn’t reach his eyes.

The mage stepped forward, raising his staff. Orbs of lightning crackled into existence, humming as they floated in lazy, deadly circles.

“Hand over everything,” the second warrior added. “We’re already pissed. Meant to catch you before you touched the orb.”

Luke’s eyes scanned the terrain. Every exit was covered.

“It’s nightfall,” the mage said, voice sharper now. “Midnight Wardens will be out soon. So unless you want to end up tied to a tree as bait...”

Luke didn’t have time for this.

Charlie was still sealed in his soul. Summoning her would take seconds—seconds he didn’t have. Not against this many ranged weapons.

“If I give you my gear...” Luke’s voice stayed level. “You’ll let me walk?”

The warrior chuckled. “As long as you don’t try anything... yeah. You walk. Now. Empty your inventory.”

Crossbows leveled at him. The tips glowed with mana, primed to fire.

Luke raised his hands. Slow. Controlled.

“The kukris. Drop ’em.”

He obeyed. Carefully placed both blades on the dirt. His muscles stayed taut. Ready.

The warrior stepped forward, axe in hand. “If he moves, shoot him,” he ordered.

Luke’s mind raced.

Inventory items can’t be stolen. Only traded.

If he died, everything in the inventory would be locked—lost to everyone. That’s why they needed him alive. He had to willingly transfer it through the system.

The warrior stooped, scooping up the kukris, testing their weight. “Nice blades.” He grinned, then raised his axe. “Now... touch my arm. Transfer. All of it.”

Luke stepped forward. Hand extended.

And in the same motion—snapped a throwing knife from his belt and flung it straight at the mage.

The mage’s eyes widened. His body twisted, barely dodging as the blade hissed past his cheek.

Luke exploded into motion.

The warrior’s axe came down—too slow.

Luke vaulted backward just as a storm of arrows and spells tore through the space he’d been standing in a heartbeat earlier.

A bolt of lightning detonated against stone—ripping it apart in a cascade of light and debris.

Luke twisted midair, landed hard on the broken wall of a collapsed building. His fingers flicked up.

[Magnetic Return]

Both kukris ripped free from the warrior’s hands, flying back into Luke’s grip.

“What the—?!” the warrior gasped.

But Luke was already gone. A blur of motion diving from the wall into the shadows of the forest.

Chaos erupted behind him.

“GET HIM!”

Footsteps hammered the dirt.

“Light him up!”

Crystals soared through the air—glowing shards that burst midflight into searing spheres of white light, flooding the woods with broken, flickering brightness.

“There! Fire!”

Bolts sliced through branches. Arrows shattered bark. Lightning ripped holes in the ground, sending showers of dirt and roots flying.

Luke dove over a fallen log, rolled beneath a thornbush, then pivoted hard—slamming into a tangle of vines.

“You’re dead, kid!” the warrior roared behind him. “This is OUR territory!”

Luke didn’t answer. His mind was already three steps ahead.

Detection arrows flew through the trees, trailing green sigils—probing the dark, scanning for movement.

The glow of tracking crystals bounced through the woods, casting fractured light across slick bark and twisted roots.

Every breath was a risk. Every footstep a calculation.

He had seconds. Maybe less.

Then came the low rumble. Not magic. A storm.

The first drops whispered through the canopy. Gentle. Deceptive. Then a hiss. Then a wall of water— a downpour so dense it drowned sound, blurred sight, and devoured footsteps.

A sharp crack split the dark.

“There!” an archer barked.

Arrows tore through the rain—silent streaks of death.

But they weren’t alone.

Knives erupted from the shadows—sleek, spinning, multiplying midair like reflections in broken glass.

“Shit!” a crossbowman screamed as steel punched through his hand.

The forest dissolved into chaos—wet leaves, broken branches, scattered light, and the relentless pulse of rain masking everything.

The lead warrior didn’t flinch. His fingers spun the axe lazily. “Come on out, little kitten,” he called, voice dripping with arrogance. “Let’s see those claws.”

Archers answered with another volley of perception arrows—lines of green sigils fanning out into the trees.

“Nothing,” one muttered. “He’s not running.”

The warrior grinned. Greed sharpened his gaze. “I want those blades. Both of them. They’re mine.”

And then—the line snapped.

A sharp whistle sliced through the storm. One crossbowman staggered back, a black blade buried in his face, blood gushing down as he crumpled into the mud.

The kukri spun midair—caught a flash of lightning—then vanished.

“Where the hell is he?!” someone shouted, breath hitching on panic.

More blades burst from the dark. The mage slammed his staff into the dirt—wind exploded outward, scattering the knives mid-flight.

Lightning lit the world—just for a breath.

And in that breath... they saw him.

A pair of eyes. Faint. Unnatural. Watching from above.

Perched on a branch. A phantom stitched from rain and shadow.

The warrior’s heart seized. “No—!”

Too late.

The figure dropped like a guillotine. Pure, merciless velocity.

The black kukri drove straight into the warrior’s eye.

A scream ripped the air as the man collapsed, clutching his ruined face, blood streaming through his fingers.

“Kill him! KILL THE BASTARD!”

An archer spun toward footsteps in the mud—loosed an arrow.

But what lunged from the dark wasn’t Luke.

It was something worse.

A skeleton.

Eyes burning with spectral green fire. Rain glazed its bones, each step snapping with unnatural force. It slammed into the archer, lifted him clean off the ground, and drove him spine-first into a tree.

The scream barely escaped before steel punched through his chest. Charlie’s blade—clean, brutal, final.

Crossbows whipped around—too slow.

A gasp behind them. A gurgle. Flesh dragged into the roots. Gone.

Another tried to turn. A flash of black—his wrist split open, hand crashing to the mud.

He screamed—only for the second blade to punch through his jaw, shearing teeth and shattering bone. The body folded, twitching once, then stilled.

The shadow vanished again.

“There’s TWO OF THEM!” the crossbowman shrieked, clutching the stump of his hand. His voice garbled, blood gushing from a ruined mouth.

Silence answered.

Then a blade whispered through the storm—punched clean into the man’s skull. His body dropped into the mud, shivered once... then stopped.

“Kill the brat!” the one-eyed warrior bellowed, voice hoarse, dripping rage. Blood sluiced down the ruined side of his face.

The mage slammed his staff down, conjuring ten orbs of searing light, hurling them outward like vengeful stars.

A flash of blue split the storm. For a heartbeat, the forest glowed like midday—banishing every shadow. Just long enough to catch a glimpse. A blur. Fast. Inhumanly fast. Darting between the trees like something unbound by flesh.

“He’s here!” an archer shouted, voice cracking.

Blades rained from the canopy—obsidian arcs spinning through the storm. One slammed into a crossbowman’s shoulder, punching clean through bone. He folded without a scream. Then came a soft splat—a rock, tossed into the mud.

Instinct ruled. The archers spun. Arrows loosed into empty trees. Nothing. It was bait.

Before anyone could correct, steel collided with steel. The second warrior turned toward the sound, eyes wide, as a figure stepped from the shadows. Tall. Sword drawn. Silver glinting under the downpour.

“Help me!” the warrior screamed, barely raising his axe in time to meet the first strike. Arrows sliced toward them—frantic support.

But elsewhere, a crossbowman never even got the chance to fire. A shadow slipped behind him. Two blades flashed—one severed the throat, the other tore through the ribs. The body crumpled, folding into the mud without a sound.

The mage twisted, staff raised, lightning screaming toward his palm.

Too slow.

A silhouette dropped from the treetops. A streak of motion. A falling star made of flesh and rage. The boy landed—silent. Precise.

The archers panicked. Arrows shot wildly. Luke swatted two from the air mid-flight, kukris slicing them aside like they were nothing but wind.

One archer stumbled. His mouth opened. Breath hitched.

Too late.

Luke surged forward. One heartbeat—he was standing. The next—he was on top of him. A panther closing jaws around prey.

Steel bit through flesh. Again. Again. Again. Merciless. Surgical. Efficient. Every stab painted the dirt red. Every movement peeled skin from muscle, muscle from bone, until there was nothing left but a ruined corpse, twitching once—then still.

The mage screamed. Lightning tore from his staff, ripping through trees in wild arcs. Luke was gone—rolled beneath roots, slipped into the underbrush before the spell detonated. Smoke and ozone filled the air. The archer convulsed once—then didn’t move again.

The storm thickened.

The surviving warrior stumbled—mud, blood, and terror dripping from his face. And then... he saw it.

A skeleton.

Its eyes burned green, cutting through the mist. It moved. Fast. Faster than anything undead should be allowed to move.

A fist crashed into his face. The world spun. His feet slipped. The sword came down. Clean. Ruthless. Bone split flesh. The leg tore free, trailing blood in a wide, sickening arc. The warrior collapsed, a raw howl splitting the rain.

The skeleton stepped forward—silent. Unstoppable. The sword lifted once more. Then dropped. A clean line. A clean end. The body twitched. Then didn’t.

Now there were three survivors. Two monsters. And nowhere left to run.

[User]
Write Chapter 63: The Assassin Shows No Mercy
Target length: ~1600 words
Key events: level-up occurs, dungeon content, combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Only three remained. A mage. An archer. And the commander.

And the darkness watched them.

“Shit... how the hell did this happen?!” the one-eyed leader roared. His voice cracked under the weight of panic, blood running in thick streams down his jaw.

The air stank of blood, steel, and rain.

The archer spun, eyes wide, trembling. “I’m done! Screw this!” He bolted, boots slipping in the mud as he vanished into the trees.

“Coward!” the commander spat, but his voice was strained—rage drowning beneath fear.

Then a scream. Not the scream of someone escaping. The scream of prey. Something dragged him into the dark. Something fast. Something that didn’t miss.

The mage swallowed, chest heaving. The commander turned on him, wild-eyed. “Burn your mana. Light up the whole damn forest!”

The mage hesitated. “W-we should run. It’s almost midnight.”

“No.” The commander’s jaw clenched. “We kill the boy.”

Thunder shattered the sky. Lightning flashed through the canopy, warping the forest into a landscape of twisted shadows.

Then—footsteps. Soft. Deliberate. Not charging. Not fleeing. Circling.

Hunting.

The boy wasn’t escaping. He was playing.

“You scared, brat?!” the commander shouted, turning in circles. But his hands shook. His voice trembled. He’d seen those eyes. Eyes that didn’t see a man. Only prey.

Another step. Closer. Measured.

Then—a shadow burst from the trees.

“FIRE!” the commander roared.

The mage raised his staff and unleashed lightning. The explosion tore through the clearing, shattering mud and root, throwing sparks into the air. A figure was hit—flung back, limp.

The commander’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Got him.”

But then—

“No... the system didn’t notify a kill—”

The mage didn’t finish. A cold hand clamped around the back of his neck. Steel slid clean across his throat. Effortless.

His breath caught. Blood sprayed. Eyes widened in disbelief. And then—collapse. Limbs folding. Silence.

“Shit!” The commander spun.

Too slow.

The boy was already there.

A dash. A fist drove into his face. His body lifted, slammed into a tree. He gasped—chest crushed—tried to raise his sword.

Pain.

A slice. Clean.

He blinked. And watched his own hand fall to the dirt—fingers still locked around the sword hilt. His scream tore out, raw, animal, broken. Blood gushed from the severed stump.

Another impact. A knee crushed into his ribs, pinning him against the tree. One blade pressed to his throat. The other slid between his teeth, metal scraping against his tongue.

The boy leaned in.

No rage. No glee. No cruelty.

Just silence. Just judgment.

Behind him, something moved. Bones. A skeleton with a sword in hand. A knight of death, standing guard.

The commander froze. Chest trembling. Breath shallow. “Please...” he rasped. “I—I’ll give you everything. Just... let me live.”

Luke said nothing.

The blade at his throat pressed harder. A bead of blood welled—thin, red, trembling against the steel.

Their faces were inches apart. Locked.

But Luke’s eyes weren’t human. Not anymore. Cold. Merciless. Hollow.

“How many of you are there?” His voice was quiet. Controlled. Sharp as the knife.

The commander blinked, stunned. “W-what?”

“How many.” The blade twisted—just a fraction.

“Is this all of you?” Luke asked again. Calm. Steady. “Or is there a camp?”

The man hesitated. Luke’s expression didn’t change.

“Twenty-three!” he blurted. “We—we were twenty-three total! You killed nine! Th-thirteen more are back at camp!”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

The punch shattered his thoughts. His skull hit the tree. Before he could breathe—another hit. Harder.

“I swear! I swear to God!”

“Where’s the camp?” Luke’s voice didn’t waver.

“Check... check the mage’s bag,” the man gasped, coughing blood. “It’s all there... map... supplies... everything... just—just let me go! I’ll disappear. I won’t tell anyone...”

Luke didn’t answer.

“Take my gear,” the man sobbed. “All of it. Yours.”

No response.

The blade slid in. Clean. Precise.

His hands shot to his throat—reflex, futile. Blood mixed with rain. His body trembled. Twitched. Then fell.

And the last thing he saw... was the dark that ended him.

[You have slain a Human - Lvl 6 (Warrior - Lvl 12)]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 11! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

**[You have reached Level 6! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

**[Princess Charlie has reached Level 4 – Skeleton (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

The rain poured harder. Thunder cracked above.

[Soul Fragments Gained: +8]

Luke stood still, water trailing down his face, mixing with the blood on his cheeks.

Right then, the bandit's gear meant nothing to Luke. He wasn’t a thief. All that filled his mind was a truth, heavier than the rain hammering against his skin.

"My mom’s dead, Charlie..." His voice broke. Small. Fragile. "She probably died in a tutorial... to people like them. Over items. Over loot."

The realization carved into him deeper than any wound. Something inside cracked — something he had buried, suffocated, ignored his whole life. It rose now. And it wasn’t going away.

Then—

'DING DONG!'

The warning bell tolled. Midnight.

The world shifted. Subtle—but undeniable. Like the air itself had forgotten how to breathe.

Luke yanked the mage’s satchel off the corpse, the leather slick with blood. He didn’t check the contents. Just slung it over his shoulder in a single, practiced motion.

A flash of green. Charlie vanished, retreating into his soul.

Then—he ran.

His legs tore through mud and tangled roots, pumping like pistons. Standing still now... meant dying.

Midnight in the Wild Zone wasn’t just dangerous. It was death incarnate. And the Safe Zone was still too far.

Then—he heard it.

A footfall. Metallic. Precise. Too heavy, too measured, too clean to belong to anything human. Another. Then another. Rhythmic. Relentless.

Cold dread coiled through Luke’s spine. The sound echoed like a war drum made of steel—each step a hammer against the bones of the world.

Not one Warden. Several.

His instincts screamed. Run.

He pushed harder, weaving between trunks slick with rain, ducking beneath broken branches. His boots splashed through puddles. Leaves whipped against his face. His breath tore out ragged, raw.

The trees thinned. Ruins. The forest gave way to the skeletal remains of a dead city. Cracked asphalt stretched into the dark. Buildings, half-swallowed by earth and time, slumped against each other—rotten skeletons of concrete and rust.

The air reeked. Burned metal. Old smoke. Sour decay.

But the footsteps didn’t stop. Worse—they split. Two directions. Closing fast.

His pulse spiked.

Think. MOVE.

His gaze swept the wreckage. Then—there. A collapsed structure. Steel beams twisted together, forming a jagged arch where the floor had caved. At its base—barely wide enough—a narrow crevice, swallowed by shadow.

No time to think. No time to check. He dove.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Luke crawled fast, dragging the mage’s satchel behind. The air thickened—dust, mold, rot. Broken concrete shredded his sleeves. His ribs scraped stone. Shoulder to rebar. His breath shrank to shallow gasps.

Then—movement.

A shadow shifted across the sliver of light near the entrance. A metal boot. Inches from his face.

The Warden. It stood just above him.

Luke stopped breathing. His heart slammed against his ribs—so loud, so violent, it felt like the creature must hear it.

The Warden didn’t move. It listened. Silent. Calculating.

Then—impact.

The creature leapt. The rubble groaned. Dust rained down, choking the air. A steel beam caved, collapsing inches from Luke’s back.

The weight shifted—crushing. Stone pressed into his ribs. His chest constricted.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. His vision swam.

Move.

Luke gritted his teeth and forced himself sideways, grinding deeper into the crawlspace. Ribs scraped against concrete. Steel tore his clothes. His shoulder jammed between rebar and rock. Every breath was agony.

But forward was the only direction left.

And behind him... death waited.

Above, the world fell silent.

Then the impact hit.

The tunnel shuddered beneath the weight—a brutal jolt that sent fractures through the stone, dust raining from every crack. Concrete groaned. Steel strained.

And then... nothing.

No footsteps. No breath. Silence returned—absolute.

Luke didn’t move. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Only then did he dare breathe.

Carefully, he shifted into a crouch, wincing as rusted rebar scraped against his shoulder. He dragged the mage’s satchel into his lap and unclasped the buckle. His fingers worked fast but quiet, easing the flap open.

He tipped it. The contents spilled into the dirt—soft, controlled.

Junk. Mostly. A bent spoon. A cracked canteen. Scraps of twisted metal. A shattered flask.

Then—paper. Fragile. Water-stained. Edges frayed with age.

A map.

Luke unrolled it carefully. The ink had faded, but the lines remained clear enough. Hand-drawn markings crossed the terrain—routes weaving through forest, sigils warning of hazards, circles drawn around key locations.

His eyes scanned, tracking landmarks. There—the ruined house where he’d found the mission orb. The forest trail. The perimeter of the Safe Zone.

And south. Further than he’d gone before.

A camp.

Their camp.

Luke’s jaw tightened.

This wasn’t about survival anymore. This wasn’t about clearing a dungeon.

They’d ambushed people. Slaughtered unarmed survivors. Hunted others for sport. Treated the tutorial like a game where only they were allowed to win.

Now? Now it was personal.

He slid his fingers across the system interface, opening the mission panel. His eyes narrowed. And then, he saw it.

[Special Mission]

The orb he’d taken wasn’t for an ordinary quest.

[User]
Write Chapter 64: Chasing the Forbidden Treasure
Target length: ~1900 words
Key events: level-up occurs

[Assistant]
A week had passed since the ambush. Since Luke had bled inside those ruins, hunted by bandits deep in the Wild Zone. It had been a heavy week. A quiet one. Because in that silence, he’d accepted something he’d spent years refusing to face.

The truth about his mother.

Not a theory. Not a hope waiting to be disproved. Just truth, final, merciless, undeniable. And now, the weight of it sat with him. Heavy as stone.

The blade sliced through the air, clean, controlled. Princess Charlie pressed forward without hesitation, moving like steel wrapped in bone.

A wet crack echoed through the trees. Flesh split. Muscle tore. The velociraptor shrieked, a raw, piercing note of panic, before folding into a heap of blood, teeth, and scales.

[Princess Charlie has slain a Cunning Velociraptor - Lvl 10]

*The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 7!*

*[Death Knight Class Bonus: +3 Strength, +3 Endurance, +2 Agility, +2 Vitality, +2 Intelligence, +1 Perception, +2 Free Stat Points]*

Luke blinked, surprised by the sudden notification. It was the first time Charlie’s class had leveled up since she’d evolved into a Death Knight.

A second notification followed:

[Mission Orb: Hunt the Cunning Velociraptors

Objective: Slay 10 Cunning Velociraptors

Progress: 10/10]

[Mission Complete]

[Reward Received]

Charlie casually wiped her blade clean, then lifted her chin like a knight accepting applause after a duel.

Luke smirked. “Nice work, Charlie.”

Over the past week, he’d uncovered a few important facts.

First, according to Anna, a person could hold up to three active orb missions at a time. Trying to claim a fourth would simply fail.

Second, and far more interesting: Charlie could pick up missions too.

And then came the final surprise—

[Boots of the Cunning Velociraptor (Uncommon)

Description: Crafted from the durable hide of a Cunning Velociraptor, these boots offer speed, flexibility, and surprising resilience. Ideal for quick-footed warriors.

Bonus: Increases movement speed slightly.

Requirement: Lvl 5+ in any class or race.]

Luke tapped the item in his system. The boots materialized instantly, slipping onto Charlie’s skeletal feet and tightening into place like they’d always belonged there.

This world might be brutal… but it rewarded the bold.

Charlie now wore the Ironfang Boarhide Pants and the Velociraptor Boots. She was getting closer to looking like a fully armored warrior. Once she hit level 8, he planned to give her a chestplate and gauntlets. Then all she’d need was a helmet to complete the illusion.

Allison had helped confirm something critical: Charlie couldn’t be identified.

Just like with regular humans, the system blocked her data from others. Which meant… unless someone saw her materialize from Luke’s soul, they’d have no idea she was a skeleton.

He closed the inventory screen and pulled up her status.

Name: Princess Charlie

Level: 4

Rank: F

Class: Death Knight (Lvl 7)

Race: Skeleton

Title: [Servant of the Dark Lord]

Health Points (HP): 201/230

Mana Points (MP): 80/80

Stamina: 157/180

Stats:

Strength: 27

Agility: 16

Endurance: 18

Vitality: 23

Perception: 9

Intelligence: 8

Free Points: 3

Princess Charlie was getting stronger. But Luke knew there was still plenty of room for improvement.

Her speed was excellent. Her strength, too. But her reflexes… they could still be sharper.

He opened her stat panel and allocated the remaining points.

Stats Updated (Princess Charlie):

Vitality: 23 -> 24

Perception: 9 -> 11

Free Points: 3 -> 0

Health Points (HP): 201/230 -> 211/240

Over the past few days, he had continued running more tests on Charlie's damage recovery.

If Charlie was injured or running low on stamina, he could simply return her to his soul.

Inside, she would begin to regenerate.

The only drawback was time—depending on how badly she was hurt, full recovery could take up to 24 hours.

Still, it made his summoning skill far more strategic.

Charlie stretched, rotating her shoulders like she was testing her new physicality.

Luke nodded. “Let’s move.”

Without a word, she retrieved her blade and stepped into formation beside him—silent, watchful, and ready.

***

Luke moved through the crumbling ruins with quiet precision, eyes scanning the area for anything remotely useful. His pack was already heavy, but he always found space for more—wooden mugs, broken buttons, lengths of durable rope.

In this world, even scrap could be worth gold.

The Haven had split its survivors into two main roles: Hunters and Scavengers.

Hunters worked in teams, going head-to-head with monsters to bring back food. Scavengers, on the other hand, worked alone, combing through abandoned homes, shattered buildings, and piles of debris for anything salvageable.

Luke belonged squarely in the second group.

Some buildings still held loot caches. Others had stashes of preserved clothes, basic utensils, or something far more valuable: potions and seeds.

But the so-called Safe Zone? That name was generous.

It was free of Midnight Wardens and orc patrols, sure — but that didn’t mean it was safe. Vicious beasts still roamed the outer edges. No one could afford to drop their guard for even a second.

Bastion controlled the heart of the Safe Zone, guarded by Bartholomew’s private militia. Around it sprawled makeshift shelters and scavenged homes. And beyond that, on the fringes, lay the Haven.

The position was dangerous. Always exposed. Always watching.

A single pack of raptors could rip through the outer barricades. Or worse: a raid from one of the roaming bandit clans that haunted the Wild Zone’s edge.

Luke tucked a few gathered herbs and plants into his pack—requested ingredients. Then his gaze fell on something buried at the bottom of the bag.

The map.

The one he’d taken off a bandit’s corpse a week ago. He’d been watching their base since then. The disappearance of several of their members had left them anxious, but strangely, they hadn’t moved. They were still holed up in that ruined mansion deep in the Wild Zone.

At first, he thought they might be Renegades. But the more he watched, the more certain he became—they weren’t part of any faction. They were independent. Dangerous. Isolated.

He pushed the thought aside for now and focused.

Then, with a quick gesture, he opened the system interface, tapped the mission tab, and saw the special mission orb he’d picked up the other day.

*Special Mission Orb: Find the Treasure*

Objective: Locate the treasure of Samael the Inventor

Location: Church

Reward: Artemis Invention]

His brow furrowed, thumb tracing the edge of one of his kukris. He’d already spent a week searching—rummaging through ruins, chasing old trails, climbing broken rooftops. Nothing. No sign of a church.

He’d considered asking a veteran. Maybe someone who’d survived longer in this hell knew where to look. But the moment he had that thought, he dismissed it. It was a Special Mission, which meant nobody else had it. Asking questions would only put a target on his back.

And then, one night, while returning from another fruitless search, he realized something painfully obvious. The bell. Every night at exactly midnight, a distant toll rang through the Wild Zone. Soft. Eerie. Carried on the wind like a whisper from the grave. And every morning, at precisely six, it rang again—right as the Midnight Wardens returned to their dens.

The sound wasn’t random. It came from somewhere. It came from the church. That was the clue. That was the answer. But it also meant something else.

To find the treasure, he’d have to track the bell. Which meant diving deeper into the Wild Zone while the Midnight Wardens were awake. While they hunted. While the worst monsters in this world were on the move.

This wasn’t just another quest. This was his kind of mission. And the only way forward... was through the dark.

He had to get used to moving while the Midnight Wardens were active. If he wanted to survive here, he couldn’t afford to keep running from them forever.

Luke closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. “So that’s it... I’ll follow the sound of that bell.”

***

He stepped quietly into the tent. It was just a tent—shared between him and Allison—but a fabric divider split the space into two sections: one for him, and one for her.

Allison was asleep, curled near the fabric wall, breathing steady. The last week had worn both of them down. Back when they were just two survivors trudging through snow, sleeping close was just a survival tactic. Warmth meant life. Nothing more. But ever since he found out Allison was a woman, things had gotten... awkward.

He set his pack down carefully, trying not to make a sound. But Allison stirred almost immediately. Her hand shot to the hilt of her sword, and the blade was out before she was even fully conscious. Her half-lidded eyes flared with cold, deadly instinct.

“It’s me,” Luke said quickly, voice low.

Allison blinked a few times, registering his face. Then sighed, lowering the blade.

“Sorry…” she muttered.

Luke sat down beside the pack, fatigue weighing on his bones.

He’d learned a few things about Allison over the past days. One of them explained a lot. The reason she always looked tired? The artifact that masked her gender drained mana constantly. It explained why she rarely used spells in combat—if her mana ever hit zero, her disguise would shatter.

Allison had also explained that she’d acquired a Race Skill that allowed her to meditate and accelerate the recovery of mana and stamina. According to her, it was a standard skill all humans received upon reaching Race Level 5. However, since both of them had unlocked a bloodline, the order of available skills had shifted. That was why Luke hadn’t received the skill yet.

“What about your scouting?” Allison asked, voice raspy from sleep.

“Still nothing,” Luke shook his head. “There’s a stretch of the Wild Zone that runs toward the mountains. Just forest. Might be hiding a mechanism.”

He paused.

“But… word is, that’s orc territory.”

Allison sighed and sat up, rubbing her face.

“I’ve been volunteering for hunting parties,” she said. “Trying to earn their trust.”

She looked at him, eyes shadowed with frustration.

“Jonathan’s group hunts and scouts deeper in, but they don’t accept just anyone.”

Luke nodded slowly.

That made sense. The deeper you went into the Wild Zone, the more even a dropped coin could summon a predator.

“And I think…” Allison glanced at the tent flap, even though they were alone. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think they’re hiding something.”

Luke tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated.

“You’ve noticed it too, right? There’s only one healer in the entire camp.”

“Thiara,” Luke said quietly.

Allison leaned closer. “Bartholomew monopolizes all the other healers. Every single one of them is under his thumb.”

Luke was silent, but the pieces started clicking into place.

“And yet,” Allison continued, “Thiara is allowed to stay here.”

He frowned. Why would a man who called himself a king—who ruled Bastion with absolute control—allow another faction to operate inside his territory? Especially one not under his command? It didn’t make sense.

“Why let another ‘kingdom’ exist inside your borders?” she whispered.

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

Unless...

“Angelica knows something,” he said slowly. “Something Bartholomew doesn’t want getting out.”

Allison nodded.

“And maybe…” She bit her lip, brow furrowing. “Maybe it has to do with the location of one of the mechanisms.”

“Something right under everyone’s nose,” Allison whispered. “And no one’s noticed.”

Luke met her gaze.

“Where?” he asked.

Her answer was soft. Certain.

“Bastion.”

[User]
Write Chapter 65: Secrets of Bastion Revealed
Target length: ~1700 words
Key events: level-up occurs, new skill acquired

[Assistant]
Allison's words echoed in Luke's mind. The idea that Bastion, Bartholomew's fortress, might house one of the mechanisms that could help everyone escape the tutorial felt both logical and unlikely at the same time. Yet, as he thought it over, the notion of one of the three mechanisms being hidden within that fortress no longer seemed out of place. In fact, it made perfect sense.

Allison crossed her arms, gaze sharp as a knife. She watched Luke process it. “If you really think about it... doesn’t it make sense?”

Luke frowned. Something about the equation felt... wrong. “No,” he muttered. “If he already activated one of the mechanisms... why wouldn’t he announce it? He could push everything forward. Speed the process up.”

Allison let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Because you’re thinking like someone who wants to leave the tutorial.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You. Me. Everyone else here—we want out. That’s the whole point. Escape. Survival. But...” Her arms tightened across her chest. “What if Bartholomew doesn’t?”

Silence stretched between them. The idea hit harder than it should have. He’d always assumed everyone wanted out. Desperately. Obsessively. But what if someone was... stalling?

Allison’s voice sharpened. “Look at Angelica. Look at Bastion. You think it’s a coincidence she runs a whole faction inside his territory? You think that happens without permission?”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “You think she knows something.”

“I think she knows a lot more than she lets on.”

The pieces slid into place. If Bastion was hiding one of the mechanisms... then Bartholomew wasn’t a key to escape.

He was the wall keeping them trapped.

***

By the next day, Luke was back at the edge of camp, pack heavy with scavenged supplies. The strap dug deep into his shoulder—a quiet reminder that he was getting stronger. Faster. Sharper.

He walked straight to Paul, the man in charge of logistics for the Haven. “Here. Think I got everything on that list.”

Paul took the bag and peeked inside. His eyes widened. “Damn... this usually takes our teams weeks. You’re ridiculously fast.”

Luke shrugged, keeping it casual. “Got lucky.” Too much attention was dangerous.

But Paul was still staring, visibly impressed.

Before Luke could change the subject, someone stepped quietly beside them—small, familiar. Silent as always.

Cecilia.

She signed rapidly.

Paul squinted, trying to follow. “Uh... something about spices? Oh—she says the herbs you brought are used to season food. She works in the kitchen. I think she’s thanking you.”

Cecilia offered a polite nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Luke scratched the back of his neck. “R-right... no problem.”

With the delivery done, he turned to leave—then paused. Someone was sitting quietly away from the crowd, hunched over a collection of glass vials, sorting them with steady hands.

Thiara. The healer.

Luke hesitated. His left shoulder ached—a sharp, grinding pain he’d been ignoring. Turns out Basic Blood Regeneration was great for cuts and surface wounds... but less effective for fractured bones. He didn’t want to waste one of his last potions.

So he walked over. “Thiara.”

She jolted, nearly knocking over a flask. “M-Mister Luke! You scared me!”

Luke blinked. Not the first time. His footsteps had become... problematic. Another note for the mental checklist: start making deliberate noise around camp.

“Sorry,” he said.

Thiara pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath. “You... really don’t make a sound when you move...”

“I know.” His voice stayed even. “I need a quick heal. Left shoulder’s wrecked. Not sure how the payment works, but I’ll compensate you after my next run.”

Thiara shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry. I heal people for free.”

Luke frowned. “For free?”

She nodded. “My class gives me experience every time I heal. So technically... the system pays me. I prioritize Hunters and Explorers, though. The ones who keep the Haven running.”

That made sense. If he wanted to keep pushing deeper into the Wild Zone... having a healer in his corner wasn’t optional. It was survival.

Thiara reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. A faint green glow bloomed beneath her palm, soft but radiant. Warmth flooded the joint. The ache vanished, replaced by a soothing clarity that spread through his ribs, his spine, even the fatigue in his legs.

His breath escaped in a slow exhale. Relief. Pure and absolute.

The glow faded. Thiara pulled her hand back. “There. Good as new.”

Luke rolled his shoulder. Smooth. No pain. Not even the dull soreness. “...Incredible.” He checked his status. “Even my HP’s back to full.”

Thiara smiled, gentle but steady. “That’s how healing magic works.”

For a moment, Luke just stood there—genuinely impressed. Having someone like her in a world like this... felt like a luxury.

“You’re valuable,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes.

But her expression shifted.

Softer now. Hesitant.

“I use a lot of mana to heal,” she admitted quietly. “And I only really level my class through healing. I don’t go into combat. I don’t... have any offensive skills. So... I’m not that amazing.”

Luke caught the tremor beneath her words.

“Couldn’t you awaken combat skills eventually?” he asked. He’d seen it happen. Charlie developed a punching skill just from fighting barehanded.

Thiara looked away. “I could... but...” Her voice dropped. “I’m scared.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Yeah. He understood. More than anyone.

“...That makes sense,” he said at last. “It’s dangerous out there. But knowing someone like you’s here—ready to patch us up... honestly, that gives me more courage than you think.”

Her eyes brightened, a small, genuine smile forming.

Luke returned it. “Anyway... I’m glad you’re here. Next time I get smashed into a wall, I know exactly where I’m running.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mister Luke,” she said softly.

He turned to leave.

But he felt it. Her gaze. Still lingering.

“...Mister Luke,” Thiara called, quieter now.

He paused. “Yeah?”

She glanced around. Subtle. Checking the crowd. Making sure no one was listening.

Then... she leaned in. Close enough for her breath to brush his ear.

“I saw it,” she whispered. “That day... what was inside Mister Allison’s bag.”

Luke froze.

His brain flatlined.

She saw it?!

The... the women’s clothes?!

A cold spike crawled down his spine.

But then—her hand touched his shoulder. Gentle. Warm.

And she smiled.

“It’s okay, Mister Luke.”

A beat.

“I don’t judge gay couples.”

His soul left his body.

WHAT?!

***

Days had passed. Luke and Princess Charlie carved their way through the Wild Zone. Relentless. Precise. Ruthless. Each fight fed into the next. Each kill pushed their levels higher.

And now... he was here.

Perched in the shadows. Motionless. Eyes sharp. A predator.

The bandit camp sprawled below, nestled against the ruins of an old mansion. Even after losing several men, they hadn’t moved.

At first, it didn’t add up. Until Luke caught pieces of their arguments. A fracture. One of them wanted to side with the Renegades. The others... didn’t trust him. That’s why they stayed.

Luke memorized every patrol path, every guard rotation. Every lazy glance, every blind spot. The camp sat perfectly balanced—right at the border between the Safe Zone and the Wild Zone. Neutral ground. A limbo.

And the Midnight Wardens... didn’t cross it.

Luke had noticed it days ago. The Wardens steered clear of this place—the ruins, the mansion, the forests around it. At first, he thought it was coincidence. Now he knew better.

Each Lord controlled territory. The Wardens avoided stepping into domains that weren’t theirs.

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. It didn’t change anything.

He opened his system. Fingers flew across the interface, dragging points into place.

Because tonight... none of them were walking out of here alive.

Name: Luke

Level: 6

Rank: F

Class: [Demonic Assassin (Lvl 11)]

Race: Half-Demon

Profession: —

Titles: [Dark Lord]

Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]

Health Points (HP): 510/510

Mana Points (MP): 288/330

Stamina: 231/250

Soul Fragments: 21/1000

Stats:

Strength: 47

Agility: 55

Endurance: 25

Vitality: 51

Perception: 48

Intelligence: 33

Free Points: 4

He was stronger than he had ever been.

Not just in stats. In mindset.

He wasn’t the same person who arrived in this nightmare.

He eyed the floating system window and made his choice without hesitation.

Stats Updated:

Intelligence: 33 -> 37

Free Points: 4 -> 0

Mana Points (MP): 288/330 -> 328/370

Heat surged beneath his skin as mana pulsed through every nerve. The more mana he carried, the more life he could drain. Someday soon... he’d be able to rip the soul straight out of anything that bled.

His gaze locked onto the camp. Time to begin the hunt.

The crossbowman stood watch near the forest’s edge, perched atop the skeletal remains of an old outpost. Farther ahead, the others laughed around the fire, oblivious.

Then—

A whistle. Soft. Precise.

The sentry turned. Alert. Searching.

Too late.

A hand clamped over his mouth. Fingers dug into his jaw. He was yanked backward, vanishing into the dark behind the outpost—silent, weightless, like prey pulled underwater.

His back struck the dirt. Breath punched from his lungs. His vision spun—until something blocked the moonlight. A skeleton. Looming. Blade raised.

For a split second, the edge caught the moon. Then it fell. Fast. Surgical. Final.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

[Princess Charlie has slain a Human – Lvl 5 (Crossbowman – Lvl 10)]

*The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 8! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

[Princess Charlie has gained a new Class Skill]

Luke smirked from the shadows.

Charlie had leveled up. More free points. More strength. More speed. More lethality. But what truly mattered... was the new skill.

Then he noticed it. Level 8.

His eyes narrowed. His breathing slowed. It was almost like feeling something snap into place inside his mind. He looked at her. The smile sharpened.

“Now I can equip you with armor pieces.”

The system interface popped up in front of him. As he dragged the items into Charlie’s inventory, a thought settled in his mind.

Now I have an armored knight guarding me.

[User]
Write Chapter 66: Challenge at the Bandit Camp
Target length: ~3700 words
Key events: combat-heavy

[Assistant]
Luke handed her the crocodile chestplate and a pair of reinforced gloves.

The moment Charlie equipped the pieces, something shifted. This wasn’t just some basic equip animation. The armor... molded. Assembled. It locked into place, closing over the bones like synthetic muscle, filling every gap with unnerving precision. Every plate, every joint, every segment snapped together as if it had always belonged. It didn’t stop there. The metal merged seamlessly with the boar-leather pants and velociraptor boots, reinforcing every fiber, every stitch, forging everything into a single, flawless extension of her body.

No exposed ribs. No open joints.

When it finished, what stood before him wasn’t a skeleton anymore. It was a knight.

Tall. Sharp. Fully armored. A silhouette built for war. Plate hugged the frame perfectly—curved hips, armored chest, reinforced limbs. The only thing left untouched... was the skull. White. Smooth. Expressionless. Hollow sockets burned with ghostly green light.

Luke crossed his arms, scanning her. “The armor gave you... hips, chest, a full figure,” he muttered. “Honestly? That’s kinda amazing. You look completely human now. All you need is a helmet.”

Charlie tested the weight. Rolled her shoulders. Swung her blade. Fluid. Perfect.

She looked... right. A knight forged from bone and steel.

But Luke didn’t have time to admire the transformation. He needed to move—fast—before the bandits realized one of their own was missing.

He opened her system menu and navigated to Available Skills. Three options blinked at him.

[Shield Proficiency (Uncommon)]: To protect one’s master and hold the front lines, the knight learns how to wield shields with deadly precision. Increases block efficiency without sacrificing offensive output.

Luke frowned.

Useful… but she didn’t have a shield. At least not yet. Right now? Useless.

[Crescent Slash (Uncommon)]: A slashing technique that strikes in a horizontal arc, cutting through multiple enemies at once. The knight’s blade moves with precise speed, slicing anything in its path.

Now that was interesting.

Perfect for crowd control. Especially in close combat.

[Warrior’s Eye (Uncommon)]: Through countless battles, the knight sharpens their perception. Recognizes attack patterns and exploit weaknesses, improving evasion and opening enemies to devastating counterattacks.

Luke squinted at the screen.

One skill taught a new fighting style.

Another offered immediate offense.

And the last improved battlefield awareness and long-term advantage.

His choice was already made.

[Princess Charlie has learned a Class Skill: Crescent Slash]

He left her two unspent attribute points untouched—for emergencies.

Then his gaze turned back to the bandit camp.

Time to move.

***

Luke was watching the camp from the trees, hidden among the shadows.

The bandits hadn’t noticed that one of them had disappeared yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Luke had waited a few days for one reason: confirm if they were really Wild Zone bandits and if there were others nearby. Attacking and running into reinforcements wasn’t an option.

What he confirmed was exactly what he expected. They were bandits. Criminals who specialized in ambushing people near orbs, robbing anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. And of course, they were fully prepared to kill anyone who resisted.

These were not good people. Not in Luke’s eyes. They didn’t deserve to live.

Because if someone back then had had the guts to do what he was about to do, maybe his mother would have survived her tutorial.

Luke scanned the camp again. Originally there were thirteen. Now there were twelve. Charlie had just taken one out.

He counted. Eleven were in the camp. One was inside a tent, sleeping.

It was time to move.

His plan was to strike while most of them were asleep, but there was a problem. They didn’t follow fixed shifts. Sometimes one slept. Sometimes three. Sometimes none. Completely random.

They were too comfortable. Too used to the false sense of peace in their territory.

They knew no one would dare. At least, not any regular person from the Safe Zone. The soldiers under Bartholomew didn’t really care about bandits as long as they weren’t causing chaos inside the Safe Zone.

And honestly, it made sense. Why send troops to deal with bandits when there were bigger problems to worry about?

Besides, the gangs didn’t attack each other. Each one had its own turf. Something to do with Marshall and the Renegades. They had set up some kind of order between the factions. Even if they hated each other, they followed certain rules.

But Luke didn’t care about any of that.

He moved carefully, circling around the camp’s perimeter.

Makeshift alarms, vines tied to cans, were strung between the trees. Meant to catch beasts, monsters, or people.

Luke climbed one of the taller trees. Sat on a sturdy branch. Watched. Memorized every position.

Out of the eleven, he could pick out a few classes. At least three were archers. Four were mages. The others were some kind of melee fighters. Could be warriors, knights, mercenaries... or thieves. One of them was carrying a machete.

So he ranked the threats. The archers and the mages were the real problem. Ranged attacks. Especially magic.

“I’m telling you, man. Focus on becoming a crafter and learn how to brew. That guy Joe opened his own tavern near Bastion,” said one of the archers, getting up from the campfire.

“And how the hell am I supposed to level doing that, genius? I don’t even have the materials to practice. Should’ve picked something else. Screwed myself big time,” the other snapped, clearly frustrated.

“Stop whining.”

The first one walked toward the forest.

“You’re a damn lumberjack. Just cut trees. How the hell am I supposed to make booze? Pull brewing equipment out of my ass?” the frustrated one grumbled.

The other ignored him and kept walking, unbuttoning his pants.

“Piss somewhere else!” shouted a third.

“Bunch of crybabies,” the archer muttered as he stepped up to a tree.

The moment he was about to start pissing, something blew across his face.

He looked up.

And then...

Luke hung upside down from the tree branch like a bat.

His hands dropped fast. Both kukris crossed horizontally over the archer’s throat. It lasted only a moment. The man’s eyes went wide. Then the blades sliced clean.

A faint, wet gasp escaped as his hands instinctively flew to his neck. His body collapsed backward. But Luke released from the branch, catching him before he hit the ground and made noise.

[You have slain a Human – Lvl 8 (Archer – Lvl 14)]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

He dragged the corpse quickly into the bushes and laid it down.

Ten left.

There wouldn’t be another chance like this. They would realize something was wrong soon. He needed to move fast.

Luke circled around the camp, keeping low. Two mages sat off to the side, playing something that looked like cards. On the opposite end, the melee fighters were chatting. One of them was sharpening a weapon.

The other two mages were sitting by the fire, and the last two archers were posted as sentries. Each one perched on a rock, watching over key angles.

Crouching, Luke grabbed a stone and tossed it. It clattered against a tree.

The sentry archer snapped his head toward the sound.

In that instant, Luke hurled a kukri with full force. The black blade spun through the air and buried itself into the archer’s face.

[You have slain a Human – Lvl 4 (Archer – Lvl 9)]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

Luke dashed forward, leaping in one fluid motion. As the man toppled backward, Luke caught him mid-fall. The body was heavy, but he managed to lower it without noise.

Footsteps.

Shit.

No time to drag the body into the forest.

He grabbed the corpse and slipped into a nearby tent, dropping it inside. The footsteps grew closer. Someone was coming.

Damn blood on the ground!

Luke peeked out. A clear trail of blood led right to the tent. They were going to notice.

He rushed back inside, yanked the archer’s jacket off, and threw it on. Grabbed the man’s bow. Then stepped out of the tent and climbed onto the rock where the sentry had been.

The footsteps approached.

“Cold as hell tonight,” the man muttered.

Luke said nothing. The man’s eyes drifted downward.

“What the fuck is this?” he blurted, staring at the blood trail.

Luke lunged, kukri aimed for the neck. But the man dodged, throwing his hand forward.

A mage. Fireball forming.

Luke dashed. Drove the blade straight into the mage’s chest. Buried it deep into his heart.

The mage choked. Eyes wide. Blood bubbled from his lips.

[You have slain a Mage – Lvl 6 (Mage – Lvl 13)]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

The mage’s hand faltered, but the fireball still flew. It shot wild, slamming into a tent.

Explosion.

“Shit,” Luke cursed as flames burst up.

The entire camp heard it. Heads turned. Eyes locked onto the fire.

“Attack!” shouted the distant archer, raising the alarm.

Luke let the mage’s body fall and sprinted toward the tree line.

“Sound off! Who’s alive? Confirm your names!” someone yelled.

Luke ducked into the bushes.

Crap!

They had countermeasures. Calling names. Forming up.

Everything went wrong.

Luke couldn’t let them get organized. If they did, it would only get worse.

Taking a deep breath, he burst from the bushes, hand reaching down to the holster strapped to his leg. Daggers materialized in his grip. He threw three into the air and duplicated them. Six total. The blades scattered, clattering across different spots in the camp.

“I heard something,” one of the fighters shouted.

Luke sprinted toward him. The man had his back turned. A kukri flew.

The man screamed. Luke threw the second one.

[You have slain a...]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

He ignored the notification. Kept running.

“Group up!” someone yelled.

Luke sprinted and tackled an archer holding his bow. Both crashed to the ground, rolling. They scrambled to their feet. Locked eyes.

The archer fumbled for an arrow. But Luke was faster. In less than a second, dash activated. He was in front of him, driving the blade straight through the man’s skull.

[You have slain a...]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

The body crumpled sideways. Luke glanced around.

They were staring at him. He was surrounded.

The criminals had already grouped up, forming a circle around him.

“This one’s probably one of Marshall’s little lapdogs,” said a warrior gripping a massive warhammer.

“You’ve got some balls showing up here alone,” a mage added, raising his staff. Three spheres of earth floated around him, crackling with blue electricity.

Everywhere Luke looked, enemies. Six against one.

“Who said I’m alone,” Luke replied.

The mage fired. The earthen spheres flew toward Luke.

But then... they hit something.

A figure materialized in front of him. A tall knight. Fully armored head to toe.

Except... the face.

A skull. A skeleton.

The bandits flinched in shock.

“Kill those two bastards!” the warrior bellowed at the mages.

Princess Charlie gripped her sword. Spectral Charge activated. She dashed forward, combining it with [Crescent Slash] in a blistering spin.

A clean arc. A scream tore through the air as a head flew. One of the mages. Decapitated.

[Princess Charlie has slain a...]

Chaos exploded.

The melee fighters lunged toward her. But Charlie dodged, sprinting past them. Her focus was on the mages in the back, now scrambling as they fired spells.

One of them unleashed a barrage. Flaming arrows appeared around him and rained down toward her. She deflected several with her blade and kept moving.

A warrior intercepted her. A skill similar to Charge sent him slamming into her, knocking her down and saving the mage. She hit the ground but rolled back up.

A second mage lifted both hands, firing a continuous stream of fire, trying to burn her down. But from the smoke and flame, she surged forward. Both hands grabbed his arms.

The gloves she wore, looted from the crypt, gave her basic fire resistance. A sharp crack. She shattered his wrists. Her fist crashed into his face, boosted by Iron Fist.

The remaining warriors regrouped and charged at her.

Luke didn’t waste time. He leaped. Grabbed one mid-run. Slammed him to the ground.

When he turned toward Charlie, she was already locked in a brutal fight with the others.

Luke faced two. A warrior and a mage.

He hurled a kukri. The warrior dodged. Threw the second. Dodged again.

“And here I was thinking it was a Renegade raid. Turns out it’s just some damn kid,” the warrior sneered, lifting his war axe.

He charged straight at Luke and swung.

Luke’s back hit a tent. He threw both hands up like he was surrendering.

“Giving up?” the warrior laughed. “Where are your little knives now?” He raised the axe high, ready to bring it down.

But then something sliced through the air.

The kukris.

They came flying back at Luke’s call, striking the warrior square in the back.

The man screamed. The axe slipped from his hands.

Luke pulled a dagger from his leg holster, stepped in, and stabbed it deep into the man’s neck.

“Right here,” he replied.

[You have slain a...]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

A sudden flash. Something bright and yellow rushed toward him.

Fireballs. The mage was firing.

Luke yanked the warrior’s corpse up and used it as a shield. The fireballs slammed into the body.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie. Surrounded. One of them a mage hurling lightning.

Luke ripped one of the kukris from the dead warrior’s back and hurled it toward her. Midair, he duplicated it.

Both blades struck the lightning mage. The mage screamed.

Charlie dashed in and drove her sword through his chest.

[Princess Charlie has slain a...]

A warrior lunged at her, leaping.

Charlie dismissed her sword, sending it back to her inventory, and activated Iron Fist. Her punch caught him midair and sent him flying.

A warhammer smashed into her back.

But Charlie didn’t flinch. She charged forward with Spectral Charge and slammed both fists into the warrior.

[Princess Charlie has slain a...]

Now only one was left facing her.

Luke ducked behind the corpse, still using it to block fireballs.

“You with Marshall? You gotta be, right? I’m on your side! I’m the informant!” the mage shouted in panic as Luke dashed toward him.

[Princess Charlie has slain a...]

Luke dodged the next fireball, rolling behind a crate.

He could have lied. Could have played along.

But he didn’t.

He burst out from cover, zigzagging. Dash active. A trail of shadows in his wake.

The mage fired. Missed.

A dagger sliced into his leg. Thrown. The mage stumbled.

Luke slid across the ground, the fireball detonating behind him. He surged up, arms swinging in an arc. The blade scraped across the mage’s face. His other hand shoved him backward.

And then...

A skeletal arm wrapped around the mage from behind. Lifted him clean off the ground. Slammed him against a tree.

The last thing the mage saw was the grinning skull.

And then her sword drove through him.

[Princess Charlie has slain a...]

It was over.

They had done it.

Luke scanned the notifications. Counted.

“Eleven,” Luke muttered, scanning the camp. “One left.”

And then, a boulder flew straight toward him.

He dodged—almost. The massive rock clipped his side, slamming into him and sending him crashing to the ground.

Pain shot through his ribs. Luke gritted his teeth, rolling over.

Charlie stepped forward, sword raised, blocking the next attack without hesitation.

A heavy voice rumbled through the clearing. “You two... managed to destroy my camp.”

The last one. The one who had been asleep.

As he walked, pieces of silver armor materialized over him, locking into place with mechanical precision. Gauntlets snapped into his wrists. Greaves locked around his legs. A helmet slid down, sealing his face behind steel. Not a single gap. Not a single flaw.

“The leader...” Luke muttered under his breath.

This was the one he’d been hoping to avoid—the one too dangerous to fight head-on. Attacking while he was asleep had been the only chance. That chance was now gone.

“I don’t know who you are,” the man growled. “Maybe relatives of someone we killed. Not Marshall’s men, that’s for sure. He would’ve sent more than... this. One fool... and a skeleton.”

He shifted his weight forward. No weapons. Just fists.

Then he charged.

Charlie moved to intercept. Her blade sliced the air—but he was already gone, sidestepping with speed that didn’t match his size. His fist hit Luke’s ribs with the precision of a hammer swung by an expert. Bone strained. Air vanished. His body lifted off the ground and crashed against a tree trunk hard enough to shake loose the branches.

Heavy footsteps followed immediately, closing the distance fast.

“Hope you’re worth good experience.”

Charlie swung, forcing him back for a breath, but the man pivoted effortlessly around her. He didn’t even look as he slipped past her blade and countered. His fist drove into her chest with enough force to send her skidding across the mud.

The fight wasn’t just power. It was absolute dominance in close combat.

The man shouted as both his fists struck the earth. A tremor ran through the ground like the pulse of an earthquake. Luke and Charlie were thrown off balance, knees buckling, momentum stolen.

Before either of them could recover, he was on top of them again.

Charlie’s sword flashed. Useless. The man caught it mid-swing, ripped it from her grasp, and tossed it aside like garbage. His next punch hit her square in the chest. Her body folded around the blow before launching backward.

It didn’t stop.

Punch after punch followed. Bone cracked. Her shoulder joint fractured under the impact. The punch knocked Charlie’s skull clean off, sending it flying. Her body collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Luke lunged, but another strike caught him across the jaw, forcing him back. Another hit followed. Then another. His back hit the ground before he even registered the third impact.

The man grabbed him by the legs and whipped him into the dirt like a rag.

Desperation cut through Luke’s focus. He triggered Basic Dark Dash, vanishing into shadow, reappearing behind the man with a kick aimed at his lower back. The hit forced a stumble—but only that.

Luke struck at the joints, aiming for the fingers, for the wrists—any soft point. The steel skin shimmered. The blades bounced off.

“What’s wrong?” the pugilist asked, voice curling into a sneer. “Lost your nerve?”

Luke spat blood, wiping it from his chin. His expression sharpened into something cold. Focused.

“No,” he replied. “Just buying time.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What—”

A fist collided with the side of his helmet. His head snapped sideways.

He turned—stopped cold.

Charlie stood. The glow in her hollow sockets burned brighter than before.

“You... you were dead.”

Another strike drove him backward. Her fist dented the side of his armor.

Luke grinned, breath ragged. “She’s a skeleton, genius. You just have to... put the skull back on.”

Charlie nodded once. Silent. Then advanced.

The pugilist lunged at Luke—only to meet Charlie’s forearm driving into his ribs, stopping the charge. His arms shot wide to counter, but Luke slipped in, planting his heel against the side of the man’s knee.

The strike buckled the joint. The man stumbled.

Charlie holstered her sword entirely. She didn’t need it now. Her body blurred forward, propelled by Spectral Charge, shoulder hitting the man square in the chest, driving him backward into a tree.

Another punch connected with his jaw. His helmet cracked at the seam. A third hit followed. Then a fourth. His head snapped back. His feet left the ground.

Two devastating punches slammed into the pugilist’s helmet. He was sent flying, crashing into a tree hard enough to shatter it on impact.

Before he could even register the hit—another fist drove into the side of his head. He staggered, raised his arms for a counterattack— But Luke came soaring in from above. The kukri pierced straight through the visor.

“AAAHHH!” The pugilist screamed, flinging Luke off him in panic.

But it was already too late.

Luke and Charlie closed in together. Each blow shattered more of the armor. Charlie struck the same point again and again, weakening the plating—and Luke drove his blades precisely into those weak spots, slicing through the gaps.

The pugilist began to stagger. His movements slowed. He wound up for one last desperate punch— Luke rolled to the side, extending his hand. His health began to drain. One point at a time. A trickle of life flowing into Luke.

Charlie raised a final fist—and brought it down with a brutal crack.

The pugilist’s helmet flew off, tumbling across the dirt. His face was exposed.

And in the next second, another punch smashed straight into it. His body flew backward, crashing through tents and rolling across the ground.

He groaned. Tried to stand.

But then—Luke leapt. Like a predator descending on wounded prey.

The pugilist looked up, panic in his eyes. The kukri came down. And pierced straight through his skull.

[You have slain a Human - Lvl 9 (Pugilist - Lvl 16)]

[You have gained +1 Soul Fragments]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 12! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

[A new Class Skill is now available]

[An item has been added to your inventory]

Luke opened the notifications.

And when he saw what item it was, his eyes instinctively drifted toward Charlie. A faint smile touched the edge of his lips.

Hey everyone! How are you liking the story so far? By the way, this chapter ended up being longer than usual. I preferred keeping it as one instead of splitting it into two. Otherwise, it would've ended on a cliffhanger right when Luke gets discovered, so I decided to keep it together. Also, the image below shows the moment when Charlie equips the armor pieces. The next chapter has a few surprises hehe.

[User]
Write Chapter 67: Assassin’s Mark
Target length: ~2700 words
Key events: dungeon content

[Assistant]
The pugilist was dead, just like the rest of the camp. Luke had fought with everything he had, pushed himself to the limit. But deep down, something still felt off. He didn’t enjoy killing people. Not really.

Forcing himself to breathe, he steadied his thoughts. These weren’t good people. They wouldn’t have hesitated to hurt someone else. They wouldn’t have thought twice about killing, stealing, or ruining someone’s life just to get what they wanted. So he wouldn’t hesitate to stop them. Simple as that.

Luke opened his system interface and clicked on the new item sitting in his inventory. His eyes widened in surprise, a helmet. Slowly, his gaze shifted back to the pugilist’s corpse.

“The system gives loot when you kill people too?” he muttered.

It made sense. Monsters dropped items—so why wouldn’t humans?

Driven by curiosity, he opened the system panel and clicked on the item.

[Pugilist Knight’s Helmet (Uncommon)

Description: A pugilist once trusted in nothing but his fists—until, in a clash against a demon, the demon’s clever servant tore off his helmet. Exposed, the pugilist was finished with a single, fatal blow. All his strength meant nothing in the face of a single careless moment.

Enchantments:

[Iron Shell (Uncommon)]: Reinforced against blunt force trauma. Reduces physical impact damage from punches, strikes, and concussive blows. Offers increased protection in close-quarters combat.

Requirements: Level 8+ in any Fighter-class.]

Luke raised a brow. Not for him.

Without hesitation, he dragged the helmet into Princess Charlie’s inventory.

A moment later, the item materialized on her.

“Wow… now you actually look like a real knight.”

The helmet had the classic look of medieval armor—regal, solid, timeless. But what caught Luke off guard wasn’t the style. It was what he didn’t see.

The skeletal face was gone.

Standing before him was a tall, imposing woman in full armor. Not a trace of bone.

Charlie gave her sword a proud swing, her new form radiating confidence. Then she stepped forward and gently tapped Luke on the shoulder, pointing at the ring on his hand.

“Oh… that’s what you wanted?” Luke said, catching on.

She extended her ring finger.

Luke slipped the ring onto it.

And through their bond—servant and master—he felt it. A soft wave of warmth. Her happiness washing over him like sunlight.

“I don’t really use it much,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But hey, could be useful in combat. Like, I don’t know… tossing a small flame into someone’s eyes to distract them or something.”

He laughed softly.

“But if it makes you happy…” His smile deepened. “Then I’m happy too.”

For some reason, every time Charlie glanced at the ring on her finger, a wave of happiness radiated through the master-servant bond, strong, unfiltered, impossible to ignore.

Luke opened his system interface, but his eyes drifted sideways.

She was still staring at it. Her posture stiff. The way her fingers fidgeted with the band wasn’t subtle. Pure joy poured off her like heat off stone, tangled with something else, embarrassment and maybe something even more complicated.

He let out a quiet breath.

“Right, whatever this is.”

Shaking his head, Luke forced himself to focus back on the interface. Charlie’s weirdness could wait.

Five skills were waiting.

But something felt off.

He recognized them. Old choices—skills he had once passed over.

“So they can come back…” he murmured. “Good. I let go of some decent ones.”

*Choose one of the following Class Skills*

[Sharp Eye (Common)]

[Perfect Throw (Common)]

[Silent Step (Common)]

[Basic Chameleon Skin (Uncommon)]

[Assassin’s Mark (Rare)]

His eyes stopped on the last one.

He remembered it clearly.

A damn good skill.

He tapped it.

[Assassin’s Mark (Rare)]: Mark a target. Lock your perception onto them. No matter where they flee, if they remain within your hunting grounds, you will find them. No prey can hide. The mark lasts until removed or expired.

“This one’s perfect.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He selected it.

[You have acquired the Class Skill: Assassin’s Mark]

***

A week had passed.

Luke sat in silence, eyes locked on the crackling fire. It had been almost a month, or maybe even more, since he agreed to take part in the System Integration. His time inside the Forgotten Temple dungeon had completely thrown off his sense of time. Either way, he had been stuck in this tutorial for close to a month now.

Around him were a few now-familiar faces: Anna, Cecília, Johnny... and Jonathan, along with others he’d gotten to know better thanks to Anna’s quiet persistence—and Allison, who had somehow warmed up to the group faster than he expected.

Johnny, of course, was mid-story, as usual.

“So there I was… alone, absolutely hammered, pissing off the edge of a rooftop when I look down and suddenly…” He paused dramatically, holding the group’s attention. “I saw a Midnight Warden.”

“What happened?” Henry asked, wide-eyed.

Johnny burst into laughter. “Let’s just say… I didn’t just piss myself.”

The group erupted into laughter.

Then, a shadow approached from the dark. A mug was snatched from Johnny’s hand.

“You’re already so drunk you’ve started talking complete nonsense.”

It was Angelica. She took a swig from his mug and sat down beside the fire.

“Hey!” Johnny protested, scandalized.

Across the fire, Cecília was tending to chunks of meat roasting over the flames.

Angelica glanced around the circle, eyes lingering on each face. “So?” she asked. “How’s everyone adjusting to the first few weeks?”

Henry answered first. “I’ve come to terms with it. I think the best move now is to get stronger. As fast as possible.”

“That’s the spirit,” Angelica replied with a faint smile, then turned to Luke and Allison. “And you two?”

“I’m doing the same,” Allison said. “Getting stronger’s the top priority. But I’ve also started mapping the area out, bit by bit.”

Angelica nodded thoughtfully. “It gets easier once you get the lay of the land. The ruined city’s crawling with beasts during the day, and Midnight Guards own the streets after sunset. Farther out in the forests, it’s orc territory. I’ve never gone deep enough to see what it’s like near the castle ruins, but… if I had to guess, it’s probably swarming with Guards. Stronger ones, too.”

A hush settled over the group, broken only by the soft hiss and crackle of burning wood.

Angelica began sharing stories from her first year in the tutorial. Half of them sounded more like urban legends than actual memories—rumors passed from survivor to survivor, twisted by time and trauma.

Later, as the fire dimmed and the others drifted off to their tents, Luke and Allison stood. Angelica, now clearly tipsy, waved at them lazily.

“If you two need anything,” she said with a crooked smile, “don’t hesitate. Me and Paul—we’ve got your backs.”

“We won’t,” Allison replied, smiling. “And… thanks. For watching out for us.”

They reached the small tent and slipped inside.

“Need more ice?” Allison asked, glancing at him.

Luke pulled a flask from his pack—something he’d managed to trade for using wild boar meat and hide. “Obviously.”

Allison took the flask and began filling it with ice, one shimmering shard at a time, until it was full. That was how they got clean water.

Bartholomew allowed people to draw from the river, but only in exchange for tribute—monster meat, bones, hides, anything remotely useful. Luke sometimes fetched water from the Wild Zone’s springs, but it always needed boiling first.

Allison’s ice? Instant. Clean. Reliable.

“I picked up a few items,” she said, materializing a chestplate between them. “What about you?”

Luke gave a small smile. “Everything I get, I pass on to Princess Charlie. So... I’ve got basically nothing.”

The two wanted to head into the Wild Zone to search for the mechanism, but first, they needed to get stronger. And that also meant getting better gear.

“She’s fully equipped now?” Allison asked.

“Yeah. Honestly, she could walk around camp and no one would even notice.”

Allison raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

A few moments later, she lay down and pulled the wolf pelt over herself. Luke did the same.

They slept back to back, sometimes with the fabric divider left open, no longer splitting the tent into two separate spaces.

“You really think we’ll find this mechanism?” Luke asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent.

“Find something we don’t even know what it looks like?” She let out a soft laugh. “I hope so.”

Luke couldn’t help but smile faintly. “How’s leveling going for you in the Safe Zone?”

“I’ve been grouping up with Anna and Cecília. They head out from time to time.”

“Any bandits in the Safe Zone?”

“From what I’ve heard, they stick to the Wild Zone. They’re scared of Bartholomew’s men.” She paused. “But if any of them tries to rob me… I’ll kill them. Even if I have to use my ice magic.”

Luke nodded silently in the dark. “I ran into a few already. But... they won’t be robbing anyone else.”

Allison was quiet for a moment. Then she said softly, “It’s dangerous out there… Be careful.”

Luke shifted under the covers. His voice was calm. “I’ve got Princess Charlie. Don’t worry.”

Allison chuckled. “Right. Your girlfriend would terrify anyone.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Luke shot back.

Allison muffled a laugh. “Well, well… We’ve got ourselves a tsundere.”

Luke frowned. “What? You know what a tsundere is?”

“Of course I do,” she said, as if it were obvious. “I’m a normal person, you know.”

Luke sighed and rolled over, settling into the blankets.

Then, breaking the quiet:

“By the way… why are you still pretending to be a guy?”

He didn’t say it accusingly—his tone was thoughtful. Curious.

“It’s hurting you. You can’t use your spells properly because the disguise drains your mana. And I have this feeling it’s messing with your class too… maybe even stopping it from mutating.”

Allison sat up slowly, thoughtful. “You think… that’s what it is?”

“Maybe,” Luke said, still staring at the ceiling. “My mutation only happened when I embraced… whatever the hell my ‘inner nature’ is. So yeah, I think it’s tied to accepting what your class really wants to be.”

He paused. “You came straight here from Earth, right? No Training Field?”

She nodded quietly.

Luke turned slightly in bed, voice firmer. “That means even after your System lock got removed, you’ve never really used your powers freely. Not like they’re meant to be used.”

Another pause.

“Could be that it’s keeping you from fully evolving. Like… putting a wild animal in a cage. It just doesn’t grow right.”

Allison stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“You might be onto something,” she said eventually.

Then she lay back down, rolling onto her side, facing away from him.

“I’ve thought about ditching the disguise before… thinking maybe that was the problem.”

Luke turned toward her slightly, curiosity in his voice.

“Then why not just stop? Go back to your original form. What, are you wanted by the police or something?”

“What? No!” she said—too quickly.

Luke raised an eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see it.

“…Wait. You actually are a fugitive?”

“N-not like that!”

Luke chuckled and rolled back to his side.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds.

Then Allison’s voice broke it—quiet, hesitant.

“My father…”

She paused.

Then continued, voice steadier.

“He’s someone important in the World Government.”

Luke slowly turned to face her. “You mean… those guys? The ones with absolute authority because of the System?”

She nodded, visibly uneasy. “Yeah. My family’s part of one of the major guilds.”

Suddenly, it all clicked. Her talent, the rare bloodline since childhood, the latent strength...

She wasn’t just anyone.

Allison rolled over to look at him. “What about you?”

Luke furrowed his brow. “What about me?”

“Well, I just told you one of my secrets. Partner rules—you owe me one.”

He scratched his head, confused. “Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“It is now,” she said, grinning.

He sighed. “Fine. But one condition: anything… except my bloodline.”

“Fair enough,” Allison replied.

A moment passed as she picked her question carefully.

“What guild is your family from?”

Luke turned to meet her eyes. “None.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

He rolled back over, tugging the wolf pelt over his shoulder. “Well… you used your question.”

He closed his eyes. “Good night.”

“Oh, come on,” Allison said, pulling the covers off him. “That doesn’t count. What do you mean none? You didn’t get training? They’re not part of anything?”

Luke went quiet for a second.

He thought of Clara and Martin.

The woman who loved baking on weekends. The man who read mystery novels and cheered for the Portland Sea Dogs.

“I came from a normal family,” he said.

Well... I was adopted by one, he thought, but didn’t say it aloud.

He wasn’t the kind of person who shared too much too fast.

Allison studied him for a few seconds, then sighed. “You don’t seem like you’re lying…”

She stared up at the ceiling. “But I swore you were one of those kids raised for the Integration. Like, trained from birth. What country are you from?”

“United States,” Luke answered. “You?”

“Somewhere in Europe,” she said with a mischievous smile.

Luke narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you speaking English right now, or is the System translating?”

He knew the System handled translation, but something made him ask.

Allison laughed. “I speak six languages fluently. Without the System.”

She stretched and rolled onto her side. “I mix things up sometimes when I talk, but the System cleans it up for you.”

“Six languages? What are you, a super genius?”

“Did you forget I’ve had the System since I was born?” she said. “Even with my system’s progression locked, I have a Race Skill that boosts memory. Makes studying easier.”

They both fell quiet.

The conversation drifted to Earth. To small things—memories, stories, fragments of normal life.

It had been so long since Luke had shared a moment like that.

And for the first time in weeks…

It felt like home wasn’t so far away.

The distance between them had shrunk.

“Good night, tsundere,” Allison said with a grin.

Luke smirked. “Good night, Mulan.”

Allison sat up, frowning. “I don’t get the reference.”

Luke rolled over. “When we’re back on Earth, look it up.”

She went quiet.

He smiled faintly.

And drifted off to sleep.

***

A shrill sound tore through the silence of early morning.

Luke and Allison bolted upright, weapons already in hand.

They burst out of the tent.

The camp was chaos barely held together—people running in every direction, panic in their eyes, voices shouting orders and warnings over the noise.

Some banged on pots. Others rang makeshift bells.

“Wake up! MOVE!” someone yelled through the crowd.

Luke spotted Angelica and Paul sprinting through the mess.

Allison rushed to meet them.

“What’s going on?!”

People with weapons gathered into formation. Those without gear were herded toward the old hotel, guided by others—sent to makeshift shelters.

“Orcs!” Angelica shouted, breath ragged. “A warband crossed the border! They’re coming fast—riding wolves!”

Paul stepped in beside her, expression grim and razor-focused.

“If we don’t act now, they’ll destroy everything. They’ll kill as many as they can.”

Angelica raised a double-headed axe, eyes blazing.

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to progress the tutorial missions?” she growled. “This is why. The Orc Lord lives for war. For blood. For chaos.”

They turned and sprinted toward the large command tent. Other senior members rushed to follow.

Allison turned to Luke, urgency in her voice.

“We don’t have a choice. We need to help.”

Luke nodded. “I know.”

He ran back to the tent without hesitation.

“I called reinforcements.”

A moment later, a tall figure stepped out from the tent behind him.

A knight in full armor.

Princess Charlie.

At that exact moment, a system window shimmered into view before his eyes.

**Special Event Triggered**

The Orc Lord has deployed part of his warband against your camp.

[Main Event Mission]

– Survive until dawn against the Orc Lord’s forces

– Or perish in the attempt

[Bonus Objective]

– Defeat the Orc Captain

[Calculating Special Reward...]

Luke’s eyes widened as the reward details appeared.

It was better than he expected.

Far better.

[User]
Write Chapter 68: The Call of the Orc War
Target length: ~2700 words
Key events: class event, combat-heavy

[Assistant]
The Special Mission had appeared for everyone.

Luke’s eyes scanned the glowing system prompt still hovering in front of him.

[Special Reward: Orc Captain’s Weapon]

He glanced to the side.

Allison was staring into the air—no doubt reading the same thing on her interface.

“You got the special mission too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied softly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Before they could speak further, Paul’s voice rang out as he emerged from the tent.

“Anyone who can fight, gather here! Now!”

Luke, Allison, and Princess Charlie moved toward the command tent. In the rush of people arming themselves and shouting orders, no one even noticed the knight in full armor silently walking beside them.

Inside, a crowd had formed around an injured scout, his shoulder soaked in blood. Thiara knelt beside him, casting healing magic with steady focus.

“How many?!” Angelica demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

“A-at least… a hundred orcs,” the man rasped. “Some... mounted on beasts.”

“Shit…” Angelica gritted her teeth.

She turned to face the room, sweeping her gaze over the assembled fighters.

“For the newcomers—listen up. These events don’t happen often. But when they do, they’re brutal.”

The room quieted.

“When it starts, orcs—or worse—head straight for the major Safe Zone camps. Maybe it’s the scent of blood. Maybe it’s just numbers. Who knows? But they don’t stop until sunrise.”

She let the silence settle.

“There’s only one way to survive: delay them until dawn. When the sun rises, they retreat.”

Just then, Paul rushed back in.

“Another scout’s calling for help,” he said, out of breath. “They won’t hold out much longer. We need to move—now.”

The group stirred.

People spilled out of tents, strapping on armor, grabbing weapons. Luke and Allison fell into step beside Angelica, who marched forward with fire in her eyes.

“I don’t get it,” Allison said. “What about Bartholomew’s men? They’re part of the Safe Zone too. Can’t they help?”

“No,” Angelica snapped. “When the orcs attack, they split their forces. One group hits Bastion. Another hits us. It’s designed to divide.”

She looked back at them.

“And Bartholomew? He doesn’t care. After the orcs finish slaughtering everyone, they vanish into the woods. You think he’ll lift a finger to save a rival faction?”

“Marshall’s probably dealing with the same shit right now,” Paul muttered.

Luke listened closely.

The pieces were falling into place—the factions, the power plays, the rot beneath the surface of survival.

“But… what about the Special Mission?” he asked.

This time, another voice answered.

Jonathan.

His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp.

“It’s a gamble,” he said, stepping in beside them. “During events like this, only one Orc Captain is ever sent. Just one.”

Luke frowned. “But there are three major bases…”

“Exactly,” Jonathan said. “Two in the Safe Zone, one in the Wild Zone. Ours, Bastion, and the Renegades’ camp. We just have to hope the Captain didn’t come here.”

He paused, voice lowering.

“Because if he did… we’ve got a real problem.”

***

The group moved fast, racing across the rooftops of the ruined city, boots slamming against broken tiles and splintered wood. Some roofs were connected by crude planks and ropes—makeshift bridges built by survivors over the years to move above the danger without touching the streets.

Luke ran with them, heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. He still had unspent stat points—both his and Charlie’s. Part of him wanted to assign them now, but he held off. If things got bad, he’d need flexibility.

Vitality in case he started bleeding. Mana if he wants to drain the enemy's HP or cast throwing knives from the holster.

Thirty people moved in loose formation. Watching them, seeing the discipline and urgency in their movements, Luke understood something: this tutorial wasn’t just about personal survival. If the strongest kept disappearing into the Wild Zone to chase missions, who stayed to defend the Safe Zone? What would be left when they returned?

Maybe nothing. Maybe the walls would fall. Maybe the weak would already be dead.

This system forced them to make impossible choices. Missions. Power. Escape. But at what cost?

And worse—he finally understood the fear around activating the third mechanism. Because doing so would summon the Midnight Wardens. And they wouldn’t arrive in pairs or patrols. They’d come as an army.

Up ahead, a rope arrow soared into the sky. Archers zipped across to higher rooftops using the lines. Someone pointed across the rooftops, yelling, “There!”

But Luke had already heard it—steel clashing, voices shouting, the hollow beat of war drums. He leapt to a new rooftop, and froze.

His stomach dropped.

Below them, chaos.

Over a hundred orcs were flooding the streets. Some mounted on wolves, others sprinting through the alleys. They carried axes, spears, hammers—roaring with bloodlust. The city below had erupted into war. Civilians ran. Some screamed. Others fought back or tried to help.

Archers on the rooftops loosed volleys of arrows. Mages tried to cast through trembling hands. And down in the streets, the tanks—armored warriors with shields—formed barricades, desperately holding the line.

But they were exhausted. Many bled from gashes in their arms and sides. Their armor was cracked. Their footing uncertain.

Luke saw it all. This wasn’t a raid. It was a battlefield.

Angelica’s voice rang out like thunder. “ATTACK!”

She leapt from the rooftop, axe raised, and cleaved through the first orc before it could raise its weapon. The rest of the squad followed. Trained. Focused. Deadly.

Anna and Cecília darted between rooftops, firing mana-infused arrows that exploded on impact. Jonathan dropped straight into a wolf rider, twin sabers flashing as he struck. Paul was already at Angelica’s side, blades spinning in tandem—a perfect rhythm of offense and defense.

“There’s only one way to help,” Allison said. She drew her sword and jumped.

Luke watched her fall, fast and clean, like a streak of silver. She landed in a roll and, with one fluid motion, sliced an orc’s hand off before it could bring down its axe. Its scream echoed through the street — and just like that, the battle had begun.

Luke turned. Charlie stood at his side, armored, silent, sword in hand. Together, they jumped.

They hit the ground hard, dust exploding around their boots. Luke’s breath caught — a spear hurtled through the smoke, shattering the stone where he’d just stood. He rolled aside as growls rose around them. The orcs had seen them.

Luke gripped his blades tighter and glanced at Charlie.

She nodded.

And they charged.

An orc lunged — fast and brutal — but Charlie was faster. She activated Basic Spectral Charge, her form blurring into a silver streak across the cracked stone. Her blade tore through the orc’s chest, forcing it back with a roar.

Massive. Green-skinned. Tusks jutting like a boar’s. Muscles carved from corded steel. No armor — just bloodstained fur slung around its waist.

“AAARGH!”

It charged like a bull.

Luke reacted instantly, kukris spinning in his hands as he darted forward. The orc didn’t slow — it tanked the strikes with bare arms, ignoring the pain, letting flesh tear without flinching.

Then a crimson aura exploded around its body.

It screamed — and moved faster.

Berserker.

The punch came like a cannon. Luke dodged — barely — but the orc was gaining on him.

At the last second, Charlie leapt in. Her sword sliced through the beast’s arm. It caught on bone, but she didn’t stop. She activated Iron Fist and slammed her gauntlet into its face with brutal force.

The orc reeled. Its arm dropped to the ground, severed.

Luke stepped in to finish the job — but Charlie was already moving. She raised her blade and ended it in one clean strike.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

Luke blinked, impressed. “Looks like you can handle yourself now.”

Her class evolution had changed everything. Stronger, sharper — and with full armor, tougher too.

Without wasting time, Luke dashed back into the fray, heading for another cluster of orcs. Behind him, Charlie carved a path like a knight of death.

She blinked across the field with Basic Spectral Charge, landed with bone-shattering weight, disoriented enemies with Iron Fist, then struck with deadly precision.

An orc lunged. She blocked with her armored forearm, twisted her blade into a counter, blinked again — and impaled it clean through the chest.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

She didn’t stop.

She leapt. She cut. She crushed.

A phantom executioner clad in steel.

From a rooftop, Luke paused — just for a moment — to watch. She fought like a force of nature.

He turned and sprinted toward another part of the street, where the frontliners — tanks — were barely holding. Charlie could handle her front. And if her HP or stamina dropped too low, he was ready. She still had two unspent stat points. He’d boost whatever she needed.

She was strong. But her class burned stamina fast. This fight would be a test of endurance and timing.

Then — he saw it.

A mounted orc.

The rider was massive, armored, gripping a spear in one hand. The black-furred wolf beneath it growled, then charged.

Luke didn’t flinch. He drew ten knives — and threw them.

Mid-air, the blades shimmered — duplicated.

Twenty blades screamed through the air.

He vanished with Basic Dark Dash — a black blur.

He reappeared mid-dash, between the knives. The wolf howled, steel piercing through it like rain.

The orc roared, whirled its spear, and drove it straight into Luke’s shoulder — but Luke twisted with the momentum, snapped the spear shaft with his kukri, and launched himself onto the orc, slamming them both into the broken street.

They rolled. Dust and blood flew. The orc kicked him off and rose with violent speed. It grabbed the broken half of the spear — and hurled it like a javelin.

Luke’s kukri flew from his hand.

CLANG!

The two weapons collided mid-air — steel against steel. A ringing clash that split the night.

The moment the kukri returned to his grip, Luke sprang forward again. Two blades. Two slashes. One kukri sliced clean through the orc’s arm. The other took its head.

The body crumpled. The head rolled, landing at Luke’s feet.

But there was no time to breathe.

The wounded wolf lunged at him, jaws snapping open, eyes wild with rage. Luke raised both arms — one kukri inside its mouth, the other braced beneath its jaw. He strained, holding the beast at bay, forcing the jaws apart inch by inch —

THWACK.

The wolf’s body flew sideways, crashing into rubble. Dead.

Angelica stood behind it, bloodied axe in hand.

“Come on, rookie!” she shouted, grinning through a cut on her cheek. “There’s still too much liquor left in this world for you to die today!”

She cackled, then charged into a trio of orcs without hesitation.

Luke stood there for a second, catching his breath. His shoulder still ached from the earlier hit.

“These people are crazy…” he muttered — then took off running again.

Another orc crossed his path. Luke didn’t stop.

He activated Basic Blood Regeneration, reaching out with invisible threads of vampiric energy. He began draining the orc’s health — 1 HP per second. But it came at a cost. 2 MP per second.

He glanced at his stats:

Health Points (HP): 496/540

Mana Points (MP): 287/390

If I don’t use Dark Dash or duplicate the kukris… I can recover about 140 HP...

But he knew better.

That was an illusion.

Without Basic Dark Dash, he’d lose mobility. Without Blade Duplication, his offensive pressure would tank.

And the orcs... there were far too many.

And with the wolves? They were practically an army.

Charlie remained close — a silent wraith of armor. She moved like death incarnate, leaping from one enemy to another, each strike explosive and exact.

Luke locked eyes on a new threat — an orc mounted on a wolf, charging toward a mage too slow to react.

Basic Dark Dash.

He blurred forward, sliding low under the beast — blades slicing deep as he passed. The wolf collapsed with a shriek, the orc tumbling off.

And then — above them — a shadow.

Descending like a missile.

'BAM!'

The sword split the air — then the orc.

[Princess Charlie has slain an Orc – Lvl 15]

*The [Death Knight] class of Princess Charlie has reached Level 9! (Class Bonus Points Acquired)*

Luke grinned as blood sprayed across Charlie’s armor. She wiped the blade clean with a fluid motion — cold, precise. The mage she’d just saved stared at her, eyes wide.

“Thank you!” he gasped.

Charlie gave a curt nod. No words. Just the job. The mage retreated to regroup, still watching her in disbelief.

With the new level, she was faster, stronger, deadlier. Luke fell into step beside her, and they charged together. One synchronized strike — the orc didn’t even have time to react. Another kill. Another step forward.

Charlie didn’t stop. Activating Basic Spectral Charge again, she became a streak of silver lightning that shot straight into a pair of axe-wielding orcs. Blades clashed, steel ringing out with brutal force as she fought both at once, trading strikes with lethal precision.

Luke pushed forward, scanning the battlefield — until he saw her. Angelica. Sprinting alone toward the treeline, where orc archers loosed volley after volley, black-feathered arrows raining down like death on the defenders behind them.

Without hesitation, Luke sprinted after her. They struck together. He arrived like a beast, kukris flashing across an orc’s face, carving it open until the creature collapsed, howling. Angelica spun her axe, severing a limb, then buried the blade deep into the skull of another.

Another orc lunged. Luke hurled both kukris — the first struck true, gouging out an eye, while the second boomeranged back to his grip. But before he could finish the job, a massive club slammed into him, hurling him through the air.

He crashed into a tree with a deep grunt but didn’t back down. Charging, he dodged as the club swung again — a whirlwind of meat and bone — moving with smooth, calculated steps, weaving through the gaps.

Luke launched both kukris. They pierced the orc’s chest. The beast staggered. The blades snapped back into his hands. Sliding beneath its legs, he sliced through both ankles. The creature roared, crashing down.

Luke rose and unleashed a flurry of slashes across its back. It dropped to its knees, groaning, barely alive. It tried to swing, but Luke was already airborne, dropping from a branch above, kukris flashing as he drove them into its skull. Dead.

He barely had time to breathe before the half-blind orc from earlier came lumbering back, roaring in rage. But before it could strike, a spinning axe decapitated it cleanly.

Angelica stepped through the trees, resting her axe on her shoulder. “Not bad, rookie,” she said, grinning through blood and dirt. “Keep this up, I might start drinking earlier today.” She laughed — even now, with blood dripping from her chin.

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but the air shifted. A shadow burst from the forest — fast, violent. Angelica was hit before she could react. Her body flew like a rag doll, slamming into a tree with a sickening crack. She dropped. Unmoving.

Luke shot to his feet, heart racing. He felt it. That aura. Monstrous. He took a step toward her — but a bone spear embedded itself in the dirt, inches from his foot.

From the darkness, something emerged. Massive. An orc clad in bone-forged armor rode forward, mounted atop a hulking black bear. Its eyes were sharp. Aware. Cruel. The fanged mouth curled into a sadistic smile.

The bear growled and charged. Too fast. Too strong. The impact sent Luke flying, his body shattering through another tree, wood splintering around him. He hit the ground hard, gasping.

Then he heard it — a voice. Calm. Cold.

“Looks like I arrived right on time.”

Luke’s eyes widened. The orc had spoken.

“I think I’ll take your head as a toy.”

The System Window pulsed into view.

[Orbald, Orc Captain – Lvl 20]

The true leader of the invasion had arrived.

And he was smiling.