I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 18: The Overlord’s Last Night in Black Hollow

Darin was so relieved to see someone doubting him that he almost forgot to be nervous.

Almost.

The noble was still watching him, his gaze slow and deliberate, like he was mentally taking notes on how unimpressive Darin was.

Darin crossed his arms. "Well? Do you want something, or did you just come all this way to glare at me?"

The noble's mouth twitched slightly, like he was holding back a smirk. "Ah. So the great overlord does have a voice. For a moment, I thought the villagers had been worshipping a very large, very lucky scarecrow."

Someone in the crowd gasped.

Darin's hope soared. Yes! More of this! Finally, someone who didn't think he was a god.

He put on his best unimpressed expression. "That's funny. You must be a riot at noble banquets."

The noble tilted his head slightly, clearly amused. "Charmed." He dusted off his sleeve. "I am Lord Vincent of Ravenshire. The king has heard... rumors." He gestured vaguely at the gathered villagers. "And, well. I was sent to see if those rumors have any weight to them."

Darin straightened. "Oh, really? And if they don't?"

Vincent shrugged. "Then I leave, and the kingdom stops wasting its time."

Darin almost cheered.

That was it. That was his ticket out.

If this noble went back and told the king there was nothing special about him, this entire nightmare might finally end.

Darin grinned. "Alright then. How do you want me to fail?"

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I assume you want a demonstration." Darin spread his arms. "Go on. Set up some kind of test so I can mess it up in spectacular fashion."

Vincent gave him a long, considering look.

Then he smiled.

It was not a nice smile.

"Oh, I like you," Vincent mused. "But I'm afraid this is not a test you can fake your way through."

He lifted a hand.

Magic crackled to life, swirling around his fingers before coalescing into a small, contained orb of blue light. It pulsed gently, radiating controlled energy.

The villagers gasped in awe.

Darin's stomach dropped.

Vincent's smile sharpened. "Magic does not lie," he said. "You will either respond, or you won't."

Oh.

Oh, no.

Darin had been hoping for something easy to botch. Some physical trial. A sword fight. A battle of wits.

Not magic.

Not something that could decide for him.

Vincent cocked his head. "You look pale, Overlord. Having second thoughts?"

Darin forced a smirk. "Not at all."

Lie.

But there was no getting out of it. He had to do this.

Fine.

Fine.

He would make this the worst spellcasting attempt anyone had ever seen. Maybe he could make a rock slightly warmer. Maybe he could summon a mild breeze. Anything to prove he wasn't some world-ending threat.

Darin took a breath, lifted his hand, and—

Shadows surged.

A bolt of darkness ripped through the air.

It moved too fast.

Too strong.

It snatched Vincent's spell from existence.

And then—

Something yanked Vincent off his feet.

The noble's eyes widened in surprise as dark tendrils lashed out like living chains, wrapping around his arm and pulling him forward. His balance broke. He stumbled hard backward.

And directly into a barrel of apples.

CRASH.

The barrel splintered apart, sending Vincent toppling onto the dirt in a mess of wood, fruit, and bruised dignity.

Silence.

Then—

"THE OVERLORD NEEDS NOT LIFT A FINGER TO WIN!" someone cried.

Darin stared in horror.

Steve wagged his tail.

Grumble, watching smugly from the shadows, flicked his tail in satisfaction.

Vincent groaned, pulling himself up. He brushed an apple peel off his shoulder, then slowly turned back to Darin, eyes sharp.

"...Well," he said, voice far more serious now. "That was unexpected."

Darin swallowed. No, no, no, this wasn't supposed to happen!

Vincent exhaled, straightening his coat. "I see. Then I suppose I have my answer."

Before he could stop him, Vincent mounted his horse.

"The king must hear of this."

And then he rode off.

Taking Darin's last hope of escape with him.

*****

*A defeated walk later*

Darin barely remembered how he made it back to the forge.

The moment he stepped inside, exhaustion slammed into him. His head throbbed. His hands still tingled from whatever his magic had done. His entire body felt heavy.

He collapsed onto his cot, staring at the ceiling.

He was screwed.

The king was going to hear about this. He was going to send more people. More powerful people.

People who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Darin exhaled, slow and measured, trying to force the tension from his body.

Steve had curled up by the door, snoring softly. Grumble lurked in the corner, his glowing eyes barely visible in the dim light.

It was fine.

It was fine.

He just needed sleep.

Please, when I wake up—make everything make sense.

Darin barely slept.

But at some point, exhaustion dragged him under.

And the dream came again.

Darin's breath came fast and shallow.

He opened his eyes to flames.

To ruin.

To the castle, collapsing around him.

The weight of his armor pressed down on his shoulders, his sword felt like iron in his grasp.

His hands were slick with blood.

His? Someone else's?

He couldn't tell.

No. No, no, no.

Not this again.

It's just a dream.

Just a dream.

But it felt too real.

The smoke burned his lungs.

The heat bit at his skin.

The tremor in his legs—the pain in his chest—

Real.

All of it was real.

Darin turned.

The throne room lay in ruin.

The Overlord's body lay still in the center of the shattered stone floor. His cloak was tattered, his face pale. But the shadows... they still writhed around him. Clinging.

Trying to take root in something new.

Darin felt it.

A presence inside him, curling at the edges of his mind.

Waiting.

Whispering.

His hands trembled. His breath shook.

He tried to step back—but his body wouldn't listen.

Something was pulling him forward.

And then—

A voice.

"Darin!"

He turned just as she appeared.

Through the wreckage, through the smoke, through the dying embers of the battle—

She ran to him.

Her cloak was in tatters, her golden eyes wide with desperation.

She looked at him, at the way the darkness coiled around his body, at the way the Overlord's magic was taking hold.

And she stopped.

Horrified.

"No."

Her voice broke.

Darin tried to say something.

He tried to tell her it wasn't him.

That he wasn't doing this.

That he was scared.

That he didn't want this.

But his mouth wouldn't move.

His hands twitched—not from his own will.

He felt the shadows settling in.

The Overlord's magic sinking deeper.

He knew what was happening.

He had fought countless battles. He had faced death itself.

But this?

This was the first time he had ever felt true fear.

Because he was losing himself.

And she knew it too.

Her hands shook.

She was the strongest mage he had ever known—but right now, she looked so small.

So fragile.

Because she knew.

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She knew what had to be done.

And she didn't want to do it.

Darin's body lurched forward.

Not him.

The Overlord.

The shadow's grip tightened. His fingers curled into a fist, his voice—no, not his—rose in a whisper.

"You cannot stop this."

The Overlord's voice.

But Darin was still inside, screaming.

No. No, no, please.

Her hands lifted.

Magic crackled at her fingertips.

But she didn't cast.

She hesitated.

Because this wasn't just the Overlord.

This was him.

Her Knight.

The knight she had fought beside.

The man she—

Her throat tightened.

A war raged in her heart.

Could she do it?

Could she kill him?

Would it be killing him?

Or was he already gone?

Darin felt it—her hesitation.

And the Overlord felt it too.

His lips curved into a smile.

Not Darin's.

The Overlord's.

"You love him."

Her hands shook.

Tears stung at her eyes.

She had to do it.

She had to do it.

She had to do it.

Darin forced himself to move—just a little.

Just enough to say one last thing.

His lips barely moved.

Barely whispered.

"I love you."

The hesitation shattered.

A sob escaped her lips.

And then—she struck.

The sword plunged into his chest.

Light exploded.

Golden, brilliant, shattering through the darkness like a final sunrise.

Darin felt it all at once.

The pain.

The magic tearing away.

The Overlord's fury—his inhuman, monstrous scream—as he was ripped away.

And for a moment, Darin felt peace.

Then—

A final, deafening roar.

The Overlord's power ruptured.

The castle walls collapsed.

And she—

She saw something.

She saw two souls.

Darin's.

And the Overlord's.

Twisting. Tangling. Becoming something else.

She had killed him.

But he was not gone.

He was never truly gone.

She watched, horror-stricken, as the magic fused them together.

Two souls, bound.

Locked in an eternal struggle.

The castle fell around her.

But she stood there, unmoving.

Watching.

Listening.

Because in the wake of it all—

In the last moment before everything crumbled—

She heard the Overlord's final vow.

"I will return."

And so she made her own.

If he ever rose again—

She would find him.

And if she looked into his eyes and still saw Darin, even just a little—

She would throw everything away.

And she would stand by his side.

No matter what.

Darin gasped.

His body jerked awake.

His chest ached. His heart pounded. His breath came ragged, uneven.

The forge was dark.

His hands were shaking.

But the memory—

The dream.

It lingered.

The pain. The shadows.

Her voice.

"I love you."

Darin pressed a hand to his chest.

The wound wasn't there.

But he felt it anyway.

And for the first time—

He wasn't sure who he really was.

The knight? the Overlord? Or maybe—

Both.