I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 83: First Day as the Future Lord of the North

Morning came fast in Fort Blackthorn.

Too fast, in Darin’s opinion.

He had been in the middle of a dream, something about riding Steve through a field of talking pastries (the pastries had been singing his name)—when the blare of a horn yanked him back into reality.

He groaned, rolled over, and was immediately hit in the face by a pillow.

Followed by a small, shadowy cat foot.

"Grumble," Darin muttered, voice hoarse, "I swear if that was on purpose—"

Grumble, of course, offered no apology. He merely yawned and resumed his perch atop Darin’s chest like he owned the place.

Steve, meanwhile, was wagging his tail at the door like a dragon war machine eager for breakfast and bloodshed.

Darin blinked blearily. "What time is it?"

A knock came at the door, followed by the dry, unsympathetic voice of the Sorceress. "Time to train."

Darin let out a groan that could have withered crops. "Can I not?"

"No."

"But I’m the overlord," he tried weakly.

"That didn’t work on me the first dozen times," she replied.

"Worth a shot."

He shoved Grumble off, Grumble landed like a sack of fluff and promptly stalked off in indignation—and dragged himself out of bed.

By the time he was dressed, Vincent was already in the courtyard sparring with two of the duchess’s knights, laughing and somehow managing to win while cracking jokes the entire time. Alvin was nearby, practicing blade forms in solemn silence, and Steve was now chasing a wagon wheel in endless circles.

"Looks like the gang’s back to being chaotic," Darin muttered.

"Only because you’re late," said a voice behind him.

Darin turned to find Duchess Mary standing at the center of the training yard, arms crossed, sword on her hip, expression unreadable.

She gestured to a table nearby.

"I assume you like weapons?"

"I like not dying. So yes."

She pointed to the spread of gear laid out—hammers, swords, enchanted tools, armor. Many of them looked newly forged, gleaming with strange metals and monster-infused enhancements. Some were clearly made from the parts of their recent enemies.

"Your soldiers are being outfitted with the best equipment from the queen’s remains," Mary said. "We’ve begun forging their new armor, segment by segment. The smiths are working night and day."

Darin nodded slowly, walking up to the warhammer lying in the center. It was huge, black metal with a dull crimson sheen, veins of ant chitin running through the handle like muscle sinew. It practically hummed with power.

He picked it up.

It was heavy—but not unwieldy. Balanced. Brutal.

"Crafted from the queen’s mandibles," Mary said, watching him test its weight. "It should punch through most shields. And most buildings."

Darin gave it a gentle swing. The air sang.

"I love it."

Mary smirked. "I figured."

She turned to the gathered company, now forming ranks in the courtyard below.

"Ok everyone, let’s make one thing clear," she said, her voice rising. "This isn’t the capital. I don’t care about titles. I don’t care what gods you pray to or how many kingdoms you’ve marched through. If you’re going to defend the North, you do it on my terms."

A pause.

Then she added, "And for now, that means his terms." She jerked her chin toward Darin.

The crowd quieted.

Then, all at once, dozens of fists thumped armor, weapons tapped shields, and battle cries roared out.

"FOR THE NORTH!"

"FOR THE OVERLORD!"

"AND ALSO FOR LUNCH!"

Darin blinked at the last one.

Vincent pointed at himself. "I’m multitasking."

Mary smirked, clearly entertained. "You’ll lead the training exercises today, Overlord."

Darin froze. "I—wait, what?"

"You’re going to need to learn what your men can do." She leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "And what they can’t."

She stepped back, arms folding. "Begin."

Darin looked out at the field of warriors, mercenaries, and spellcasters now staring at him expectantly.

He turned to the Sorceress. "Help."

She shrugged. "You’ll be fine."

Vincent grinned. "Think fast!"

And then threw a rock at him.

Darin swatted it away with the flat of his new warhammer. The impact shattered the rock midair and echoed across the courtyard like a thunderclap.

Silence.

Every head turned toward the now smoking pile of rock dust.

Darin blinked. "Uh. Training starts now."

Three Hours Later….

Darin stood next to a sweating, slightly bruised Alvin, a dust-covered Sorceress (who claimed she was "observing," but had clearly incinerated half a wooden sparring post), and Vincent—who had somehow been disarmed and re-armed four times by the duchess without noticing.

The training yard looked like a battlefield.

Dozens of soldiers stood panting, bruised, or unconscious (from enthusiasm, mostly), and several shattered targets lay in ruins.

"Well," Darin muttered, "that went better than expected."

Vincent held up a burning training dummy. "We learned a lot."

Alvin kicked a smoldering piece of wood. "We learned that most of them can’t dodge."

The Sorceress added, "And that Steve can tank a direct explosion and come out with singed eyebrows and pride intact."

Darin glanced over at the dragon teen, who was curled in a crater, growling at the burnt remains of a ballista bolt.

"Good boy."

Then a voice rang out.

"My Lord!"

The Stranger approached, robes flowing dramatically as always, followed by the Sect Master and the five elders.

"What now?" Darin sighed.

The Stranger fell to one knee. "Forgive the interruption, but the first smithing batch has been finished. The queen’s chitin has been formed into elite armor. Our frontline squads are being reinforced even now."

The Sect Master added, "We’ve begun embedding the monster cores into weapon channels. Many of your elite aura knights will receive new gear within the week."

Darin blinked. "That fast?"

"We’ve done this before, Overlord," said one of the elders. "Your war machine will be unmatched in a month."

Mary, having just returned with a goblet of water and a smug look, chuckled. "You’re starting to look like a proper Northern commander, Darin."

Darin rubbed the back of his neck. "I still feel like a village blacksmith with a massive god complex."

"You’re handling both roles equally poorly," the Sorceress said mildly.

"Thanks for the support."

She smiled.

Later That Night...

The camp had settled. Dinner was done. Soldiers were polishing their new gear. Cultists were writing dramatic hymns about Darin’s ability to cleave boulders.

Darin sat beside a fire, wrapped in a light cloak, watching the stars again.

"Today was good," he murmured.

"You didn’t die," the Overlord offered in his head. "Which is the bar we aim for."

"You ever trained an army?"

"I built armies. Mine weren’t this… weird."

Darin tilted his head. "You sure? The Stranger was probably the descendant of your general."

"…Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be surprised."

Darin chuckled and leaned back.

He felt a soft thump beside him.

The Sorceress had joined him, arms folded, cloak wrapped tight.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You did good today."

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"You did better."

Darin smiled. "I’m improving."

"You’re becoming something," she said softly.

"Something better?"

"Something dangerous."

They sat quietly.

Then—loud footsteps. A blur.

"THIEF!" came Alvin’s voice.

Steve sprinted past, steak in his mouth(AGAIN).

Vincent followed, laughing. "That was my cut!"

Darin sighed. "Back to normal, then."

The Sorceress smirked. "Enjoy it while it lasts."