I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord Chapter 9 9: The Overlord's First REAL Enemy

Darin had been through a lot of nonsense lately.

And now, after finally reaching the point where he was ready to fake his own death and disappear—

Soone with actual magic had just shown up.

Because of course they had.

Darin, still crouched behind his "strategic rock," let out the longest, most suffering sigh of his life. "You've got to be kidding ."

The new arrival stood at the edge of the village square, tall and imposing, a dark cloak billowing behind them. Their boots crunched against the dirt as they took slow, deliberate steps forward.

And, because fate hated Darin, flas flickered at their fingertips.

They were using actual magic.

And they were not here for casual conversation.

Roland, who—until ten seconds ago—had been trying to kill Darin, slowly lowered his sword.

Greta, still standing to the side with her cup of tea, humd. "Oh my. This one actually looks threatening."

Darin groaned. "Great. Fantastic. I was this close to faking my death, and now I actually might die."

The stranger—who had sohow beco the bane of Darin's existence—watched with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm.

"At last," he murmured, eyes shining. "A true rival has erged."

Darin shot him a glare. "Oh, shut up."

The cloaked figure finally stopped a few feet away, fixing Darin with an unreadable stare.

"So," they murmured, voice smooth as silk. "It's true. You live."

Darin, who was very much regretting all of his life choices, forced a weak smile.

"I an, 'live' is a strong word."

The figure ignored him. "Do you not recognize ?"

Darin blinked. "Why do people keep asking that?"

The figure pulled back their hood.

Darin braced himself for sothing dramatic.

Scars? Glowing eyes? So kind of ancient demon staring into his soul?

Nope.

It was just a woman.

A very irritated woman, with piercing golden eyes and long, dark hair.

Darin blinked again. "I have never seen you before in my life."

Her eye twitched. "You don't rember ?"

Darin slowly turned to Greta. "Am I supposed to?"

Greta shrugged. "No idea, dear. But this is fun to watch."

The woman exhaled sharply. "Of course. Your reincarnation has stripped you of your past mories."

Darin clenched his fists. "I do not have past mories!"

Her lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, but you would say that, wouldn't you?"

Darin groaned. "I hate you already."

The stranger beside him humd thoughtfully. "She speaks with such certainty, my lord. Could it be that she was once your ally?"

Darin threw his hands in the air. "HOW WOULD I KNOW?!"

The woman's smirk widened. "I was never your ally."

She raised a hand, and fire curled around her palm.

"I was your executioner."

The villagers stared.

A bandit muttered, "Well. That's bad."

Darin took a careful step backward. "Alright, let's, uh… let's calm down here."

The woman's eyes glead. "Calm down? After centuries of waiting? After everything you did?"

Darin's eye twitched. "I didn't do anything!"

She ignored him.

"You may not rember," she murmured, "but in your past life, you left this world in ruin. You slaughtered armies. Burned kingdoms to the ground. And when the world finally rose against you…"

She tilted her head. "You laughed in our faces."

Right.

Darin slowly raised a hand. "Gonna stop you right there. I am not an evil warlord. I am not the reincarnation of anything. I'm a blacksmith. A very bad blacksmith. I once caught my own anvil on fire. Do you understand how hard that is to do?"

The woman raised an eyebrow.

The stranger, who Darin was increasingly convinced was enjoying this, tilted his head. "If she seeks vengeance, my lord, then it is only fitting you et her in battle."

Darin pointed at the flaming magic in her hand. "She has fireballs! What do I have?!"

The stranger smiled. "An army."

Darin froze.

Then turned.

And, sure enough, the bandits, his unwanted, ridiculous army, were watching him.

Waiting for his command.

Darin inhaled sharply. "I hate my life."

And then—

Darin ran.

Magic-wielding executioner lady? Nope. Not his problem.

Unfortunately, the universe continued to hate him.

The mont he bolted, the entire village exploded into chaos.

"HE'S MAKING A TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL!"

"A TRUE LEADER KNOWS WHEN TO RETREAT!"

"HIS STRATEGY CANNOT BE QUESTIONED!"

Darin teeth clenched as he sprinted past confused villagers, past the cultists (who were cheering, for so reason), and—

Right into Greta.

She did not move.

Darin bounced off her like a brick wall.

He hit the ground with a grunt. "Ow."

Greta peered down at him. "Going sowhere, dear?"

Darin lifted his head just in ti to see the executioner lady slowly approaching, fire flickering around her hands.

"Oh no," he muttered.

She smirked. "Done running?"

Darin groaned. "I was never running. I was, uh… tactically repositioning."

She raised an eyebrow. "And now?"

Darin swallowed hard. "Now I'm terrified."

Her smirk widened. "Good."

Then she hurled a fireball at his face.

Darin had no idea what happened next.

One mont, he was about to be incinerated.

The next—

Sothing inside him shifted.

A pulse of sothing dark and powerful.

The fireball vanished.

Not exploded. Not deflected.

Just—gone.

Like it had been consud.

The village went dead silent.

The executioner woman froze.

Darin stared at his own hands.

"Oh no," he whispered.

Because if that wasn't the most damning evidence of all, he didn't know what was.

The stranger grinned. "Ah."

Darin turned to him, eyes wide. "Don't you dare—"

The stranger dropped to one knee.

"My lord," he whispered. "Your power has awakened."