I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 48: The Assassin’s Final Meeting in Life

Darin yawned, stretching his sore muscles as he stepped out of the steaming bath.

He felt clean.

Which was a rarity, considering his life had recently consisted of being covered in blood, sweat, and existential dread.

His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, and he reached for a towel to dry it off.

The bath had been a momentary escape. A rare luxury after everything that had happened with Duke Varian.

Sure, there was probably a bounty on his head.

Sure, he had unintentionally embarrassed the nobility.

And sure, there was a high likelihood someone was currently plotting his gruesome murder.

But at least he was clean.

He sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair as he pulled on a simple tunic.

It almost felt peaceful.

Maybe nobody would try to kill him for once.

Darin opened the bathroom door.

And six assassins watching from the shadows immediately turned deathly pale.

*****

Deep within the hidden network of assassins, chaos had erupted.

The previous night’s events had shaken their very foundations.

Four of their best assassins failed.

The Silent Blade, their best killer? Vanished.

And now, they had to report to the leaders.

A group of assassins sat in a dimly lit chamber, their expressions grim.

"We must face the truth," one of them finally spoke. "We underestimated the Overlord."

The others nodded solemnly.

"His strength, his mind… his sheer tactical genius," another muttered. "He has known about our movements from the beginning."

One assassin shuddered. "Last night… the Silent Blade, our greatest warrior, entered his chambers and never returned."

A cold silence filled the room.

"We sent a ghost. And we lost him."

That was unprecedented.

And the worst part?

No one had even heard a fight.

No struggle.

No screams.

Just… disappearance.

Another assassin swallowed nervously. "The Overlord… is toying with us. It is clear now. He sees everything."

They all turned to the one who had gone to observe him this morning.

The man, still ashen-faced, looked up. His hands trembled slightly.

"I… I saw him after his bath," he whispered.

Silence.

"And?" another assassin pressed.

The man shivered.

"He knows what we’re doing," he croaked. "When he stepped out of the bath, he—he was smiling."

Several assassins visibly recoiled.

Smiling.

Like he was expecting them.

Like he was mocking them.

Like he was fully aware of their plans.

"He’s taunting us," someone whispered.

One assassin clutched his head. "He took a relaxing bath knowing we were still trying to kill him?! He—he doesn’t even see us as a threat!"

The room spiraled into full-blown panic.

"He’s playing with us!"

"He must have a secret weapon!"

"We are out of our league!"

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"Do we… retreat?" one assassin hesitated.

A heavy silence fell.

And then—

The door suddenly creaked open.

The assassins froze.

Their hands instinctively went to their weapons.

And then—

A feminine voice echoed from the doorway.

"Oh, don’t bother."

A cold gust of wind blew through the room.

The candles flickered violently.

And then—

The Sorceress stepped inside.

The moment the sorceress stepped into the hideout, the temperature plummeted.

It wasn’t an obvious, dramatic shift—not an instant blizzard or a gust of wind. No, it was something far worse.

The kind of cold that crawled into your bones and made the very air feel heavier.

A slow, creeping freeze that numbed fingers and stole warmth without a single gust of wind.

One of the assassins shuddered involuntarily. His breath misted slightly in the dim candlelight.

That wasn’t natural.

The assassins were trained killers. Elites. Ghosts in the dark.

And yet—

They did not move.

Because when they locked eyes with the sorceress—

Their bodies refused.

She wasn’t imposing in stature. Not like the Overlord, whose very presence commanded attention. She wasn’t armored like Duke Varian or crackling with power like Vincent.

But she didn’t need to be.

The way she stood was enough.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Absolute.

Like she knew they weren’t a threat.

Like she knew she had already won.

A bead of sweat rolled down one assassin’s temple.

Then—

A voice. Smooth. Amused.

"Who… are you?"

The question came from their leader, though his grip on his dagger was suddenly less certain.

The sorceress tilted her head. Slowly.

A small, polite smile graced her lips. The kind of smile someone might give a child who had just attempted something foolish.

Then, her fingers twitched.

A nearby wooden chair, sturdy, reinforced, heavy—exploded into ice.

A loud CRACK echoed through the room as the legs froze solid and shattered, sending shards of frost scattering across the floor.

The assassins flinched.

"I," she continued, stepping forward, her boots silent against the stone, "am the one who has been watching your pathetic attempts at assassination all week."

She gestured vaguely at them, as if they were nothing more than mild inconveniences.

"And let me say, I’m disappointed."

The assassins exchanged glances.

The air grew colder.

The leader swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. "How did you find us?"

The sorceress’s lips curled into a smirk.

"You’re not exactly subtle."

One of the assassins twitched.

Subtle? They had used hidden tunnels. Had covered their tracks. Had spent years perfecting the art of vanishing without a trace.

And yet—

She had found them without effort.

The reality of it settled in like lead.

They had never stood a chance.

"Now, normally," she continued, idly rolling her wrist, "I wouldn’t bother getting involved in this kind of situation."

She paused, then tilted her head.

"But you see… I happen to like Darin."

The temperature dropped again.

The assassins tried not to scream.

"And I do not take kindly to people trying to kill him."

That’s when they knew.

They were dead.

And then—

It got worse, REALLY WORSE.

As if things weren’t already horrifying enough, something shifted at the back of the room.

The candles flickered violently. The shadows in the corner twisted, curling unnaturally.

A thick, syrupy voice purred—

"Oh my, Lady Sorceress. You started without me?"

The assassins barely had time to turn their heads—

Before Lilith stepped into the dim light.

Dressed in her usual dark attire, Lilith exuded an eerie, otherworldly elegance.

Her eyes gleamed.

The assassins visibly tensed.

Because they knew what she was, her true nature.

A half demon.

Not just any demon, one that served Lord Vincent himself.

Very few only knows her identity

The moment she smiled, they knew they were doomed.

"Lord Vincent sent me," she said smoothly, tilting her head toward the sorceress. "He thought you could use some help… cleaning up."

The sorceress exhaled. "Of course, and I wondered when he’ll make a move."

Lilith’s fanged smile grew wider.

She turned to the assassins, her expression delighted.

"Hello, darlings," she purred. "Do try not to scream too loudly."

The assassins collectively lost all hope.

One man tried to bolt—

The door slammed shut before he could even move.

He gasped, whirling around—

Lilith was already there.

She had not moved.

And yet, she was there.

Her fingers trailed lazily across the wooden door.

"Tsk," she clicked her tongue. "Running away? That’s so… boring."

The assassin fell backward, scrambling.

She did not let him.

Her foot pressed down on his chest.

Hard.

"Stay," she murmured. "You’ll miss all the fun."

He trembled.

His dagger clattered to the floor.

The others weren’t faring much better.

The leader, still forcing himself to stand his ground, looked between the two women.

His heart pounded.

Two monsters.

One cold and calculating.

One sickly sweet and sadistic.

There was no winning this.

"Let’s make this simple," the sorceress spoke up, her voice silky. "Tell me… what did you hope to accomplish?"

The assassins stayed silent.

Lilith crouched down, grabbing a fallen dagger. She turned it between her fingers, casually.

"Come now," she cooed. "We’re reasonable women."

The sorceress raised an eyebrow.

Lilith ignored her.

"If you tell us who sent you, we might let you live," she continued.

Silence.

Then—

The leader exhaled.

"The Church."

Lilith’s smile sharpened.

The sorceress frowned.

"How predictable," Lilith sighed.

The leader clenched his fists. "You… you won’t get away with this."

Lilith chuckled. "Oh, darling."

Her eyes gleamed.

"We already have."

The last thing the assassins saw—

Was a blur of shadows and ice.

Five minutes later, the hideout was empty.

Not because the assassins had escaped.

No.

Because they were all dead.

Frozen statues of horror.

Or shredded piles of shadows.

The only sign that the assassins had ever existed—

Was the lingering cold in the air.

And the blood on the floor.

The sorceress sighed, rubbing her temple. "This was unnecessary."

Lilith wiped a spot of blood from her sleeve. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They weren’t going to talk."

The sorceress exhaled. "That doesn’t mean you get to play with them."

Lilith pouted. "You wound me."

The sorceress gave her a flat look.

Lilith grinned.

"Shall we inform Lord Vincent?" Lilith asked sweetly.

The sorceress sighed.

Then, finally.

She turned toward the exit.

"Let’s go."

The demon and the sorceress left the ruins of the hideout behind.

And somewhere.

The Church realized their first mistake.