I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 25: The King’s Gambit

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Darin had a bad feeling about this.

Not just the usual bad feeling, like when he accidentally triggered a prophecy or caused a minor religious movement by sneezing at the wrong time. No, this was worse.

He was being escorted through the grand halls of the palace, and that was never a good sign.

"Remind me again why I'm here?" he muttered under his breath.

Vincent, walking beside him with his usual air of nonchalance, smirked. "Because the king requested an audience with you."

"Requested," Darin echoed. "With a heavily armed escort. That's a funny way to say 'dragged in by force.'"

"Ah," Vincent mused. "But they didn't put you in chains. That means he's at least curious rather than certain."

Darin grimaced. "Great. Love that. Can't wait to be the subject of a royal curiosity experiment."

Ahead of them, the sorceress moved with practiced grace, her dark cloak swaying as she kept her hands hidden—probably ready to unleash hell the moment things went south. Darin appreciated the loyalty, even if it was based on an entirely incorrect assumption of his importance.

Steve, his misbehaving dragon companion, was perched on Darin's shoulder, unusually quiet for once. He had probably sensed the tension. Or maybe he was just waiting for the perfect moment to cause disaster.

Grumble, his cat-like shadow familiar, slinked along the floor, melting into the dim torchlight like a living wisp of smoke. His glowing eyes flicked up at Darin, unreadable as always.

The guards led them through a final pair of massive gilded doors, revealing an opulent throne room.

And at the far end, seated on the high throne, was the king.

King Aldric of Draymar was not what Darin had expected.

He wasn't draped in heavy ceremonial robes or weighed down with gaudy jewelry. Instead, he wore fitted armor over a royal tunic, his crown more of a practical circlet than an over-the-top declaration of power.

But the most unnerving thing about the king wasn't his attire. It was the sharp intelligence in his gaze, the way his lips curved ever so slightly, like he was already ten steps ahead in a game Darin didn't even realize he was playing.

This was a man used to winning.

And Darin had a sinking suspicion that he was the prize.

"So," the king said, his voice smooth and measured. "The so-called reincarnated Dark Overlord finally arrives."

Darin opened his mouth, already prepared to deliver his usual This is all a huge mistake speech, but the king raised a hand.

"You will not deny it," he said firmly.

Darin hesitated. "Uh. But I really, really want to?"

The king chuckled—a quiet, knowing sound. "That doesn't matter. Perception is stronger than truth. Whether you are truly the Overlord reincarnated is irrelevant. What matters is that people believe you are."

Darin shifted uncomfortably. "Oh. Cool. So I'm a political chess piece. My favorite thing."

"Not a chess piece." The king leaned forward. "A weapon."

Darin's stomach dropped.

"You see," the king continued, "there are forces in this kingdom that seek to tear it apart. The nobles squabble over influence, the commoners whisper of rebellion, and the church..." He smiled coldly. "The church has taken quite the interest in you."

Darin winced. "Yeah. They do that."

The king tapped a finger against the armrest of his throne. "If I were to support you, legitimize you, then you could be my weapon against them. A symbol. A rallying force."

Darin exchanged a glance with Vincent, who simply raised an eyebrow as if to say I told you so.

The sorceress, however, was not as composed.

"And what if he refuses?" she asked sharply.

The king's smile didn't falter. "Then he will be someone else's weapon."

Darin swallowed hard.

There it was.

The reason he wasn't already dead.

The king didn't want him gone. He wanted to control him.

Darin wasn't sure which was worse.

Darin exhaled slowly. "Alright. Hypothetically speaking—what if I don't want to be a weapon?"

The king regarded him with amused patience. "Then I suggest you learn to be one anyway. The world does not allow power to remain idle."

Darin scowled. "That's great and all, but I'm not actually powerful."

A pause.

Then the king did something unexpected.

He laughed.

Not a mocking laugh, not a cruel one, just quiet, genuine amusement.

"Darin," he said, his voice surprisingly light. "You might be the only person in this kingdom who doesn't realize how dangerous you are."

Darin blinked. "I—I what?"

The king stepped down from his throne, descending the steps with the kind of controlled grace that suggested he never tripped over uneven carpets or walked into door frames. He stopped mere feet from Darin, his sharp gaze assessing him like a particularly fascinating puzzle piece.

"You inspire absolute belief," the king murmured. "Your mere existence has rallied people, frightened enemies, and reshaped the very politics of this realm without you lifting a finger."

Darin opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Steve, sensing the weight of the moment, puffed up his tiny dragon chest and let out a very dignified burp.

The king glanced at the small dragon and smirked. "Even your beast exudes the aura of a legend."

Darin sighed. "Yes. So very legendary. I'm sure historians will write sagas about 'The Great Lord of Darkness and His Flatulent Lizard.'"

Steve chirped proudly, clearly pleased with his new title.

The king ignored him and continued, "You may reject your fate, but fate will not reject you."

Darin rubbed his temples. "That sounds like something an evil mentor says before the protagonist gives up and becomes a villain."

The king chuckled. "Perhaps. But in this case, I offer you a choice."

He gestured toward the massive palace doors.

"You may walk away, return to obscurity—though I doubt the world will allow that. Or—" He tilted his head. "You can stand beside me. Use the power that has been thrust upon you to shape the world before it shapes you."

Darin folded his arms. "You realize that's the same thing bad guys say right before they start monologuing about 'inevitable destiny'?"

The king smirked. "If I were monologuing, we'd still be on the first act."

Darin had no response to that, which only made him more annoyed.

The problem was, the king wasn't wrong.

The moment he stepped out of these doors, his so-called destiny wouldn't stop haunting him.

There would be others. Nobles. Cultists. Assassins. The church.

And sooner or later, someone would force his hand.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Okay, let's pretend for one crazy second that I actually go along with this. What exactly does 'standing beside you' mean? Because if it involves ominous robes, sacrificial rituals, or anything that requires me to learn fancy hand gestures, I am out."

The king hummed, considering. "No ominous robes. No rituals."

Darin squinted at him. "What about hand gestures?"

"Only if you want to intimidate people."

Darin exhaled. "Damn it. That is kind of tempting."

He turned to Vincent. "Talk me out of this."

Vincent smirked. "Oh, absolutely not. This is hilarious."

Darin groaned and turned to the sorceress. "Talk me out of this."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think the king is the worst option? Half the capital wants you dead, the other half wants you on a throne, and the cultists—"

"Are way too enthusiastic, I get it," Darin interrupted.

She smirked. "And yet you keep accidentally winning."

Darin muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

The king watched the exchange with an air of quiet amusement. "Well?"

Darin clenched his jaw. "I just know I'm going to regret this."

With great reluctance, he looked back at the king.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if this all goes horribly wrong, I reserve the right to say I told you so."

The king smiled.

"I would expect nothing less."