I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 26: An Overlord, A Cat, and a Terrible Plan

Darin had regrets.

So many regrets.

Agreeing to the king's offer? Regret.

Letting Vincent and the sorceress talk him into not running? Regret.

Allowing himself to be dragged deeper into this mess while standing in a palace full of power-hungry nobles, knights, and spies? Big regret.

And now, to top it all off, Grumble had disappeared.

"Where is that little shadow menace?" Darin muttered, glancing around the room.

Grumble, his grumpy, cat-like familiar, had been slinking around the king's throne room when they arrived, his glowing eyes flicking over the rich tapestries and polished marble floors with what could only be described as judgment.

Now he was gone.

"Steve, you see him anywhere?" Darin whispered.

The tiny dragon, still perched on his shoulder, let out a small snort of smoke and gave him a look that clearly translated to: Not my problem.

Vincent, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow. "Losing track of your own shadow now?"

"He's not my shadow," Darin muttered. "He's an independent force of pure chaos that occasionally listens to me when it suits him."

"And yet, you seem very concerned," the sorceress noted, crossing her arms.

Darin scowled. "Do you know what happens when I lose track of Grumble?"

Vincent smirked. "Property damage?"

"Worse," Darin said grimly. "Mysterious property damage. The kind that people start blaming on 'dark curses' and 'ominous signs.' And considering I'm already being framed as a prophesied overlord, I'd rather not add 'petty arsonist' to my résumé."

As if on cue, a distant crash echoed through the palace halls.

Darin let out a long sigh. "Of course."

The king, still lounging on his throne like he had all the time in the world, arched an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to share, Darin?"

Darin turned back to him and forced a smile. "Nope! Everything's fine! Nothing ominous happening at all!"

The king's lips curled in amusement. "Mm. I'll assume that was a very enthusiastic servant dropping a tray, then."

"Yep! Totally! No need to send guards to investigate or anything!"

A second crash sounded. Then some shouting.

Vincent leaned toward him. "I think they sent the guards."

Darin groaned. "I hate this."

Darin moved quickly through the palace halls, scanning every shadow for any sign of his wayward familiar. "Alright, we need to find him before the guards do."

"Or," Vincent suggested, adjusting his gloves with a smirk, "we don't find him and let the legend of the 'Dark Lord's Shadow Beast' grow on its own."

Darin shot him a glare. "We are not letting my cat become an urban myth."

"I don't know," the sorceress mused. "It's already happening with you."

Darin groaned. "Not helping!"

His eyes darted around the corridors, searching for any telltale signs of Grumble's mischief. And unfortunately, he found them.

A toppled suit of armor lay sprawled across the floor, its once-proud stance reduced to a heap of metal limbs. Claw marks were scratched into a rich velvet tapestry depicting some long-forgotten king, now marred by a series of long, chaotic slashes that spelled absolutely nothing, but still managed to look vaguely ominous.

Then there was the fruit.

For some reason, a massive, overturned bowl of expensive palace fruit lay in the middle of the hall, its contents scattered everywhere.

Darin stopped and turned to Vincent. "Why the hell does he always attack the fruit?"

Vincent stroked his chin. "Perhaps he senses a deeper truth about the kingdom's economic reliance on imported goods and seeks to disrupt its fragile supply chains."

The sorceress nodded in faux seriousness. "Yes, the Dark Lord's familiar strategically strikes where it hurts most—citrus reserves."

Darin closed his eyes. "I hate both of you."

Steve, still perched on his shoulder, snorted a small puff of smoke, looking thoroughly entertained.

Then, ahead of them, a crash rang out.

Darin's stomach dropped.

"That came from the dining hall," Vincent observed, already grinning.

Darin groaned. "Why is it always the dining hall?"

Darin stepped through the doorway—and immediately wished he hadn't.

The grand banquet hall, a place meant for royalty and dignitaries, had been destroyed.

A massive, lavish feast had been laid out across the long banquet table—roasted meats, decadent desserts, goblets of fine wine—and Grumble was sitting in the middle of it.

The little shadow familiar had curled up smugly among a sea of ruined dishes, half-eaten bread, and spilled gravy. He looked entirely at ease, his glowing golden eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

Several palace servants were backed into the farthest corner of the room, gripping their aprons like villagers awaiting a dragon attack.

A butler clutched a silver tray like a shield, eyes darting nervously between the ruined feast and the very angry palace guards standing frozen at the scene of the crime.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS—" the head guard bellowed, pointing his sword at the feline-shaped menace. "WHAT IS THAT THING?!"

Darin inhaled deeply. "That... is my problem."

Grumble, hearing his voice, lazily lifted his head, locking eyes with Darin in a slow, calculated stare.

Then, in an act of pure defiance, he extended a single shadowy paw—

—And shoved an entire roasted pheasant off the table.

The heavy bird hit the floor with a loud thud.

The silence was deafening.

Darin resisted the urge to scream.

The butler made a tiny whimpering noise.

The head guard took a full step back. "It understands the concept of spite," he whispered in horror.

One of the younger guards looked like he was on the verge of tears. "That was meant for the king."

Darin exhaled sharply through his nose. "Grumble. Buddy. I need you to not make this worse."

Grumble blinked slowly. Then, maintaining eye contact with Darin, he used his tail to knock over an entire goblet of expensive wine.

The deep red liquid spilled across the pristine white tablecloth, staining it in an ominously blood-like pattern.

One of the servants gasped. "The Dark Lord's beast drinks the blood of the kingdom!"

Darin threw up his hands. "IT'S WINE! IT'S JUST WINE!"

The head guard, clearly having had enough, pointed his sword at Grumble once again. "We must contain this creature!"

Grumble, sensing an opportunity for drama, arched his back, his small frame crackling with the same eerie, shadowy energy that had first brought him into existence. His glowing golden eyes narrowed, his tail flicked, and the very torches along the walls flickered—just enough to make it look like something ominous was happening.

"DEMON BEAST!" one of the guards shrieked.

Grumble let out a tiny, disgruntled mrrp—a sound that would have been harmless coming from a normal cat, but when paired with his dark aura, it might as well have been the call of an eldritch nightmare.

Darin could see the panic escalating and knew this would only end with someone trying to stab Grumble—and Darin really didn't want to find out what would happen if someone stabbed an angry shadow familiar.

So, he did the only thing he could do.

He stepped forward, cleared his throat, and loudly declared:

"Ahem! Uh, I command thee to stand down, oh great shadow beast!"

Grumble immediately flopped onto his side, stretched out, and yawned.

The entire room froze.

Darin turned back to the guards. "See? Totally under control."

The head guard, still gripping his sword, hesitated. "You... you control it?"

Darin forced a smirk. "Oh yeah. Totally. I summoned him, after all."

The guards exchanged nervous glances.

A noblewoman, who had just entered the room, gasped in realization. "So it's true! The Dark Lord's familiar has taken form!"

Darin's eye twitched. "Okay, let's not spread rumors—"

"The prophecy speaks of a shadow-born beast that follows only its master," the noblewoman continued. "A creature of darkness, bound to its lord's will!"

Darin resisted the urge to throw himself into the nearest window.

Vincent, looking entirely too entertained, leaned in and whispered, "You could just lean into it. Make it work for you."

Darin scowled. "I am not about to use my terrible cat as a symbol of dark power."

As if in response, Grumble stretched again, completely ignoring the rising tension around him.

One of the palace servants hesitantly whispered, "Does... does the beast accept offerings?"

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Darin blinked. "What?"

Another servant, emboldened, stepped forward and placed a piece of roast beef on the table in front of Grumble.

Grumble, with the air of a divine being deigning to acknowledge a mortal tribute, slowly stretched out a paw and dragged the meat closer. Then, ever so delicately, he began chewing on it.

The servant fell to their knees.

"He accepts it!"

Darin buried his face in his hands. "I am going to die."

Vincent grinned. "Well, you're definitely not getting rid of him now."

Darin looked up to see more servants approaching the table—offering bread, fish, even desserts.

Grumble, still chewing, watched them with his eerie golden eyes, fully aware that he had won.

Darin stared at his tiny, smug shadow familiar.

"Congratulations, Grumble," he muttered. "You're officially a religious icon."

Grumble purred.