I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 56: The Overlord’s Ever-Growing Disaster

Darin sat inside his carriage, pinching the bridge of his nose as he glanced at the Stranger, a man who had devoted himself wholeheartedly to being Darin’s most deliriously loyal cultist.

Darin had made the mistake of asking if everyone was ready to move out.

The Stranger had taken this as an opportunity to monologue.

"Overlord, my brethren, true disciples of your grand design, will join us in three days’ time. They march even now, prepared to heed your every command!"

the Stranger declared with the reverence of a man delivering the gospel. "We will swell your forces, carving a path of destiny as foretold in the—"

"Great, great, thanks," Darin cut him off, already exhausted. "Just don’t cause any trouble on the way."

The Stranger gasped as if Darin had just issued a divine decree. "Never, my Lord! We walk only as the path of fate allows, and by your will—"

Darin opened the carriage window and called out, "Vincent! If this guy starts preaching, trip him!"

Outside, Vincent, riding his horse alongside the carriage, gave a lazy thumbs-up. "No problem, buddy."

The Stranger looked betrayed.

The cultist’s faith in Darin was unshakable. His faith in Vincent, however, was non-existent.

Darin exhaled, turning to the Sorceress, who lounged against the opposite side of the carriage like she had nowhere better to be. "How long until we reach the North?" he asked.

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The Sorceress twirled a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. "If we keep a steady pace, about two weeks. If you start acting like a proper overlord and command your forces to move faster, maybe a little less."

Darin ignored the jab. "And the fort? What’s it called? Where does Duchess Mary of House Jade live?"

The Sorceress’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Ah, Fort Blackthorn. A stronghold built atop the bones of the old world, manned by a duchess whose bloodline has never been known for its hospitality."

Darin frowned. "What should I be aware of when meeting her?"

The Sorceress stretched, her tone turning lazy but sharp. "Mary Jade is a calculating woman. Stubborn, pragmatic, and protective of her territory. She’s not the type to bow to anyone, not unless you give her a damn good reason."

"Great," Darin muttered.

Then, from the depths of his mind, the familiar, unwelcome voice of the Overlord in his head spoke up.

"Ahh, the bloodlines of the Jade family," the Overlord mused with something deeply unsettling in his tone. "I hope she’s hot. I remember how feisty they are. Heh."

Darin’s eye twitched. "Shut up!"

The Sorceress raised an eyebrow. "Rude."

Darin sighed. "Sorry."

The Overlord just chuckled in the back of his mind, clearly unrepentant.

They had barely been traveling an hour when something unusual happened.

A shadow flickered in the trees ahead. Then, just as Darin’s forces passed a bend in the road, a figure leaped down from a low branch, landing directly in their path with a theatrical flair.

The man straightened, brushing off the nonexistent dust from his entirely too luxurious noble attire. His dark coat was embroidered with silver thread, his boots were polished to an unreasonable shine, and his overall expression screamed: I am not here for fun.

His eyes locked onto Vincent.

Vincent, who had been absentmindedly tossing a rock in his hand, blinked. "Huh?"

"Damn it, Vincent!" the man snapped, exasperation dripping from every syllable. "Are you still here?"

Vincent’s eyes lit up. "Alvin! You came all this way just to see me? Touched, really."

Darin, who had no idea who this man was, leaned out the carriage window. "Uh. Who?"

Alvin Ravenshire’s gaze flicked toward Darin for the briefest moment before dismissing him entirely. He turned back to Vincent, his expression strained with the suffering of an older sibling who had long given up on logic.

"Vincent, our father is furious," Alvin seethed. "You were supposed to return home weeks ago. Your mission from the king is over. What are you still doing here?"

Vincent flipped the rock in his hand before lazily tossing it behind him. "Living my best life, brother."

Alvin’s eyes narrowed. "Your best life is shirking your noble duties?"

"Yep!"

"You’re an embarrassment to House Ravenshire."

Vincent placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "You wound me, dear brother."

"Get back home."

"Nah."

"Vincent."

"Alvin," Vincent mimicked, smirking.

Alvin clenched his jaw so hard Darin could hear his teeth grinding. "You’re acting like a child!"

Vincent turned in his saddle and gestured lazily toward Darin. "Listen, why would I go back to boring old paperwork and noble duties when I’ve got this guy? Let me introduce you to the Ultimate Lord Disaster, A.K.A Overlord, Darin!"

Darin, who was mentally done before this conversation even started, gave a half-hearted wave from the carriage. "Uh. Hi?"

Alvin gave Darin a long, blank stare.

Then he very deliberately turned back to Vincent and continued as if Darin did not exist.

"Get. Back. Home."

Vincent’s grin widened. "Nope. I’ve got friends here, Alvin. Ever tried those? Fun concept. You should look into it."

Alvin inhaled deeply, his hands curling into fists, as if he was summoning divine patience.

It did not work.

"…Fine," Alvin muttered through clenched teeth. "Fine. If you refuse to return home, then I’ll follow you until you come to your senses."

Vincent beamed. "Welcome aboard, brother!"

Darin groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. Another one."

The Sorceress, who had been watching the exchange with mild disinterest, finally spoke. "Are all Ravenshire’s like this, or is it just you two?"

"Mostly just us," Vincent admitted cheerfully.

Alvin sighed, already regretting everything.

With their new uninvited guest, the caravan pushed onward.

The Stranger, still walking beside the carriage, seemed utterly ecstatic at this new development. "Ah! Another warrior brought into the fold! Even your own kin is drawn to the Overlord’s divine presence!"

Vincent slung an arm over Alvin’s shoulder. "See? Fate."

Alvin muttered something under his breath that was almost certainly not appropriate for polite conversation.

Darin sighed, leaning back in his seat as the road stretched ahead.

He had an army growing by the day. Cultists waiting for him down the road. A duchess to negotiate with. And now a nobleman tailing his brother like an annoyed nanny.

He needed a drink.

Or, at the very least, a nap.