I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 84: Raiders, Rumors, and the Ancient Army’s Echo

Fort Blackthorn’s war chamber was colder than usual that morning.

Not because of the chill mountain winds, but because of the atmosphere inside—the tension clinging to the air like fog.

Darin stood beside the great war table, still chewing the last bit of cinnamon bun he’d smuggled in. Vincent was beside him, happily devouring his fifth. Alvin stood in his usual spot at the far corner, arms crossed and scowling like it was a profession.

Duchess Mary was already seated, a goblet of wine in her hand far too early in the day, and the look on her face said she would rather be wrestling a mountain wyvern than sitting through what was about to be said.

The chamber was filled with advisors, captains, tacticians, and a few old commanders that looked like they hadn’t smiled since the last rebellion.

At the head of the table, the fedora-wearing scout unrolled a map and tapped the Icefang Cliffs.

"We’ve received multiple reports over the past week. Chicken men."

Silence.

Darin blinked. "I’m sorry—did you just say chicken men?"

"Like, actual chickens?" Vincent asked through a mouthful of bun. "Do they cluck? Or scream?"

"They do both," the scout replied flatly. "They’re known as Gallikarns. Upright, bipedal, intelligent—relatively. Most stand about five feet tall. Feathered, sharp talons, beady eyes full of hatred."

"Sounds like my mother-in-law," muttered a knight near the back.

Mary raised a brow. "And they’re raiding our settlements?"

"They’re fleeing something," the scout continued. "Our intel suggests panic, not conquest. They’re hitting food stores, small villages, livestock caravans. Minimal casualties, no territory claimed. They’re running."

Darin leaned forward. "Running from what?"

That’s when another figure stepped forward—a beastman envoy, tall and muscular, with silver fur and markings across his arms that glowed faintly.

"They’re not the only ones," the beastman said in a low growl. "My people, along with the northern tribes, have been under siege for weeks."

He laid down a fresh parchment.

"The entire beastfolk frontier is in unrest. From the Stonefang lowlands to the Howlgrove archipelagos. Raiders have been coming by ship and mountain pass alike. Organized. Armed. Merciless."

Darin’s smile faded. "Who are we talking about?"

The beastman looked up, his red eyes grim.

"Orcs. Ogres. Trolls. Gnolls. Cyclopes. Hobgoblins."

A silence fell.

Then the beastman added, voice even quieter:

"Some say they’ve seen Fomorians. And Oni."

Someone at the table swore.

Mary’s goblet lowered slightly.

Even Vincent stopped chewing.

Alvin muttered something under his breath, barely audible: "Impossible."

The Sorceress leaned forward slightly, her fingers curling around the edge of the map. "Those names haven’t been spoken in a war council in over three centuries."

The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

The fedora-scout nodded. "Because those creatures haven’t moved in over three centuries. Until now."

The beastman turned to the group. "Every major non-human faction has gathered at the High Mountains of Himas. The Elves, Dwarves, Demi-Humans, Beastkin, even Giants. They’ve called an emergency summit. Something’s coming. Something old."

A heavy pause.

All eyes slowly drifted to Darin.

He froze mid-chew.

"Oh come on," he said, crumbs falling onto the map. "You can’t look at me every time someone says ancient evil or overlord! That’s profiling."

Mary rested her chin on one hand, giving him an unreadable look. "You don’t find it odd? These creatures, the ones tied to the old warlords—are stirring just months after your reappearance?"

"I’m just a guy," Darin said, then paused. "Who got yeeted into this job by accident, might I add."

The Overlord’s voice hummed in his skull, low and wry.

"Careful, Darin. History has a rhythm. And I recognize this beat."

Darin resisted the urge to glare at the ceiling.

Vincent cleared his throat and stepped forward. "So, if I’m understanding this right, we’ve got raiding chicken men who are actually fleeing from legendary nightmare creatures that used to belong to someone’s army, and now everyone thinks we should go poke the bee’s nest because we live in the same zip code?"

"Basically," Alvin grunted.

The Sorceress nodded. "The Icefang Cliffs are our first step. If we can secure the region and understand the threat, we’ll be one step ahead."

Mary looked directly at Darin. "You’ll go. Take your most trusted. Minimal force. Enough to survive an ambush but not start a war."

Darin rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You’re trusting me with diplomacy and a region infamous for goat-based cults and cliffside bandits?"

Mary sipped her wine. "This is your apprenticeship as Northern Defender. Better start somewhere ridiculous."

Darin sighed.

"Do I at least get hazard pay?"

Later That Day…..

The war council had dispersed. Orders were being sent, troops reassigned, cargo loaded.

Steve was attempting to fit his growing dragon body into a barrel for reasons known only to him.

Grumble, perched atop a cart, was licking his paw menacingly at a chicken man head mounted as evidence.

Darin leaned against a post, watching everything unfold.

Behind them, a group of cultists had gathered to reapply black paint to their armor.

One of them suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs:

"WE SHALL NOT FALL—FOR THE OVERLORD WALKS AMONG US!"

Another dropped to his knees. "HIS MERE PRESENCE GIVES US STRENGTH!"

A third flung their arms out dramatically. "HIS BREATH IS THE WIND! HIS STARE, THE FIRE! HIS SNEEZE—THE START OF CIVILIZATION!"

Darin muttered, "Why is it always the sneezing…"

One of the cultists cleaved an ant shell in half in a single brutal strike while chanting in some strange dialect. The others followed, combining brutal physical techniques with spells that Darin couldn’t even begin to understand.

A nearby mercenary whispered, "I swear they weren’t this scary two weeks ago."

Vincent wandered over and leaned on Darin’s other side. "So. Icefang, huh? Think we’ll find any more giant ant queens, or just your regular everyday doomsday armies?"

"I’d settle for one normal Tuesday," Darin muttered.

Alvin stomped past, holding a new battle map. "We move at dawn. I’ve already picked a route with minimal avalanche probability."

"See? That’s what I like in a travel guide," Vincent grinned. "Just a little chance of death."

That Night….

He sat on the edge of his bed, studying the mark on his arm.

It pulsed now and then—subtle. Whispering things he didn’t fully understand. Power. Possibility.

The Overlord stirred again.

"The world remembers me, Darin. Even if they don’t say it out loud. The ones stirring now, those tribes—they remember being under my banner. My rule."

"Are they following your orders now?" Darin asked quietly.

"No. They’re following instinct. They smell something on the wind. And they’re gathering. Something has roused them. It might be me. Or something worse."

Darin looked out the window, toward the stars above the Northern mountains.

"Then we’d better get moving before we find out."