I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

Smoke lingered over the reclaimed town like a shroud of mourning. The fires had been doused, the wounded were being treated in hastily erected healing circles, and the streets, once filled with screaming and death, now echoed with quiet victory.

Darin stood at the heart of the square, one foot propped against a broken stone bench, warhammer slung across his back. His hands were dirty. His armor was cracked. His body ached from head to toe.

But they'd won.

They'd taken the town back.

Above the square, the sun broke through the clouds in slanted rays, casting light across a battlefield now littered with the remains of raiders, shattered weapons, and something else entirely.

Ash.

Black. Cold. Refusing to blow away.

Ash that didn't belong to burned wood.

Wendigo ash.

Darin glanced toward the fountain, where the shattered remains of the summoning circle still burned with faint red veins. The Sorceress had tried to cleanse the mark left by the ritual, but it had clung like tar to the stone.

Vincent passed by carrying a wounded Gallikarn boy over his shoulder. He shot Darin a tired grin. "Not bad for a guy who's technically just on vacation."

Darin groaned. "I'm never going to get a real vacation again, am I?"

"Not unless Grumble declares a religious holiday."

As if summoned, Grumble padded into view, now wearing a crown of feathers someone had made from salvaged ceremonial garb. He blinked once at Darin. Sat. Yawned.

Behind him trailed Reeka, still red-faced with either embarrassment or fanatical devotion—it was hard to tell at this point.

Alvin approached from the southern watchtower. "The last of the bodies are being burned. No sign of another wave."

"Good," Darin said, exhaling.

Then came the familiar flapping of an over-dramatic cloak.

The Stranger.

He strode across the bloodstained courtyard like he was late to a masquerade ball, cloak billowing despite the complete lack of wind.

"My Lord!" he called. "An offering. For your greatness. Also, I didn't know what else to do with them, and the Gallikarn shaman refused to touch them."

Darin frowned. "Please don't be a head. I've had enough heads for one week."

The Stranger stopped in front of him and opened a black cloth satchel.

Inside were four cores.

Each one pulsed faintly with cold, dark energy, veins of shadow threading through translucent bone-like shells. They weren't glowing like standard monster cores. They were drinking the light around them.

Darin took an unconscious step back.

"Those are… from the wendigos?" he asked.

"Extracted by hand," the Stranger said proudly. "Three almost exploded on extraction. I dodged. Mostly."

Vincent walked by again. "That explains the burn marks on your eyebrows."

The Stranger ignored him.

"These," he said, holding up the satchel, "are not normal cores. They're corrupted. Touched by something older. Something that wanted them to grow."

Darin stared into the satchel for a long moment. The energy in those cores called to something inside him. Not the mana in his body. Not even his aura.

Then came the overlords voice again.

"Yes… yes, these will do nicely."

Darin tensed. The voice of the Overlord in his head pulsed like a second heartbeat.

"Uh… are we going to talk about the creepy way you said that?" Darin muttered under his breath.

"These are remnants of my older essence. A twisted reflection, spawned from the corrupted shadows of my legacy. They have power. More importantly… they are mine."

"Yours?"

"The wendigos are just husks, pawns used by my lost general, the Scarred Flame. But these cores? They were forged with my stolen blood. In consuming them… we reclaim what was taken."

Darin stared at the satchel. The Stranger was still holding it out, completely unaware of the internal monologue happening behind Darin's eyes.

"…And what happens when I absorb them?" Darin asked carefully.

"You grow. Stronger. Sharper. Your small dark energy will deepen. Your physical endurance will multiply. Your aura will begin to reflect what it truly is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see. Or feel. Or scream, depending on how your organs react. It'll be fun."

Darin blinked. "That's not reassuring."

Still… he reached out.

The Stranger placed the satchel in his hands with reverence, bowing so low his cloak covered his face.

Darin looked down at the cores, each one pulsing gently like a slumbering storm.

He felt the pull.

Later that night…

The sky had cleared. Stars spread like frost across the heavens, and the moon carved silver lines across the ruined rooftops.

Darin sat alone in the bell tower above the square, the satchel open on the floor before him. The wendigo cores still pulsed.

He closed his eyes.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's do this."

The first core rose into his hand.

He held it to his arm with the mark.

And let it in.

Pain.

Fire.

Frost.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe—

Then his heart caught rhythm again, and something clicked in his chest.

Dark energy flooded his limbs like molten steel, strengthening the lines of his aura, reshaping the circuits that had barely begun to stabilize. His body arched. Power screamed down his spine.

His breath fogged in the air—black at the edges.

"Good…" the Overlord whispered.

Darin dropped the first core. Shaking.

Three more remained.

"I am not… doing this three more times," he gasped.

"Yes, you are."

"Fine."

The second was worse.

The third was cold.

The fourth… didn't hurt.

It sang.

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was brighter. His breath calmer.

And everything seems slower

And deep inside his bones, he could feel it.

He had changed.

Grumble sat across from him, watching with golden eyes and twitching tail.

Darin blinked. "You saw that, huh?"

Grumble blinked once.

Then padded forward, sniffed Darin's hand, and curled up on his lap.

A slow, approving purr vibrated into the air.

That morning…

They gathered around the town hall ruins—the only large building left intact enough to use as a strategy tent. Darin stood at the head of the table, eyes darker now, breath steadier.

"The summit," he said. "We're going to it."

Alvin folded his arms. "Still think they'll hear you out?"

Vincent shrugged. "If they don't, we'll yell until they do."

The Sorceress stepped forward, unrolling a fresh map across the table.

"The Ember Summit takes place once every decade, usually in the northern caldera lands—neutral ground for all tribes. The High Clans meet there under ancient accord. If any alliance still exists… it'll be there."

"And if they see me as a threat?" Darin asked.

"Then you convince them otherwise," she replied. "Or we win them over one battle at a time."

Murgan spoke next, stepping forward with his ceremonial staff. "We will follow. The Wind-Feather tribe will walk beside you, Overlord. You reclaimed our honor. You proved yourself in fire."

Darin raised a brow. "You do know I'm trying not to be your Overlord, right?"

"Too late," Murgan said with a grin.

"Reeka's already made you banners," Vincent added. "One of them is just your face next to a chicken leg."

"I'm burning those."

Alvin tapped the map. "We'll need to cut through Stonefang Pass to reach the caldera. The roads are narrow, but if we leave by dawn, we'll make it before the end of the Summit's first day."

Darin nodded.

"Then we march at first light," he said. "And this time… we bring answers."