I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 27: The Overlord’s Familiar (Who is Definitely Not a God, Please Stop Worshipping Him)

Chapter 27 - The Overlord’s Familiar (Who is Definitely Not a God, Please Stop Worshipping Him)

Darin was standing in the middle of a palace dining hall, watching in horror as servants and nobles alike began offering tribute to his cat.

Grumble, his accidentally summoned shadow familiar, was lounging on the long banquet table like he had always belonged there. His glowing eyes flickered lazily as plates of roasted meats, fine cheeses, and expensive pastries were placed reverently before him.

A noblewoman bowed her head as she set a dish of glazed pheasant onto the table. "A humble offering for the Shadow Lord's great beast," she murmured.

Darin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I—no. No. Stop that."

The noblewoman looked up in confusion. "Have we displeased the sacred one?"

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Darin groaned. "HE'S A CAT."

Grumble chose that exact moment to stretch luxuriously and slowly knock over an expensive goblet of wine.

The goblet hit the floor with a resounding clang.

The noblewoman gasped.

Another noble murmured in awe, "It is an omen."

Darin clutched his head. "It's not an omen! He just likes ruining expensive things!"

The head palace butler, an elderly man with a face carved from pure disapproval, cleared his throat. "It would appear," he said stiffly, "that the Lord's Familiar has expressed discontent with the wine selection."

Darin stared at him. "Are you seriously suggesting that my cat just rejected the kingdom's wine?"

The butler nodded solemnly. "Shall we retrieve a finer vintage?"

Darin turned to Vincent. "I need you to stab me. Just once. In the leg. Nothing fatal. Just enough to wake me from this nightmare."

Vincent smirked. "No thank you, this is very fun."

The sorceress, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet up until now, crossed her arms. "Honestly? I respect it. He knows his worth."

Darin gawked at her. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

She shrugged. "I am on your side. But if your own summoned familiar is outmaneuvering you politically, that's kind of a you problem."

Darin turned back to Grumble, who had now curled up on a velvet cushion someone had placed beneath him.

"Grumble," Darin muttered. "You are not a god."

Grumble yawned.

The noblewoman from earlier clasped her hands together. "He speaks in silent wisdom!"

Darin turned back to Vincent. "I'm moving to the mountains. I am moving to the mountains and I am never speaking to another human being again."

Before things could escalate any further, a familiar voice rang through the hall.

"Well," King Aldric drawled from the doorway, "I must admit, I did not expect this development."

The room fell into immediate silence.

Darin turned to see the king standing at the entrance, arms folded, watching the scene with thinly veiled amusement.

Darin straightened. "Okay, before you say anything—this was not my fault."

The king arched an eyebrow. "Oh? So the palace servants began feeding your familiar like a revered deity entirely of their own accord?"

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

Then he threw up his hands. "Yes! That is exactly what happened!"

The king chuckled and strode forward. He took in the sight of Grumble, now contentedly cleaning his paws on the royal table, and let out a quiet hum.

"This is... interesting," he mused.

Darin groaned. "Please don't say it like that."

The king smirked. "You do realize what this means, don't you?"

Darin glared. "If you say 'political advantage' I will throw myself out that window."

The king tilted his head. "You're sitting in the center of the room. There is no window."

Darin clenched his fists. "Then I will find one and throw myself out of it!"

The king chuckled. "Darin, you're missing the opportunity here. You claim not to want power, yet it continues to be handed to you on a silver platter."

Darin crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, power can go find someone else. I didn't sign up for this, and I'm sure as hell not running a government with a cat as my religious figurehead."

Vincent leaned in. "But imagine the tax benefits."

Darin turned to him. "Do you want to get thrown out of the window with me?"

By the time the cat-worship situation had been somewhat diffused ( Darin forcibly grabbed Grumble and removed him from the table), the king had clearly decided this was far too entertaining to let go.

"So," the king said, as Darin sat slumped in a chair, mentally debating whether he could legally flee the kingdom, "what will you do now?"

Darin groaned. "I don't know. Go back to my forge. Try to pretend I'm normal for another week before someone shows up and declares me the god of darkness or something."

The king tapped a finger against the table, the kind of absentminded gesture that meant he was already ten steps ahead in a game Darin didn't even realize he was playing. "Or... you could use this."

Darin scowled. "Use what?"

The king gestured to Grumble.

The shadowy feline had settled on the armrest of Darin's chair, curling into a smug, self-satisfied loaf while still surrounded by scattered remnants of royal food offerings. His golden eyes flicked open just enough to watch them all like a petty warlord observing his underlings.

Darin blinked. Then turned to the king. "Please do not tell me you're suggesting that I use my terrible cat as a political tool."

The king smiled. "What is power, if not perception?"

Darin stared at him. "That is exactly what a villain says before things go horribly wrong."

The king ignored this entirely. "Your familiar has already become a symbol of mystery and strength. The people believe in him. That is not a resource to be wasted."

Darin threw up his hands. "I AM NOT USING MY CAT TO RUN A GOVERNMENT."

"Why not?" Vincent chimed in, looking far too entertained. "If the people already believe he's a creature of prophecy, why not let them? A well-placed 'divine decree' from the Shadow Beast could sway public opinion."

Darin turned to glare at him. "Explain to me, in excruciating detail, how a grumpy, furniture-destroying menace is supposed to be politically useful."

The king steepled his fingers. "You underestimate how much people crave symbols of power."

Darin blinked. "Oh my gods. You're actually serious."

The sorceress, who had been watching with an expression bordering between mild amusement and genuine interest, smirked. "Think about it. You don't want to lead, right?"

"Obviously," Darin muttered.

"Then why not let Grumble lead?"

There was a long, painful silence.

Darin rubbed his temples. "I refuse to have a cat as my official spokesperson."

The king chuckled. "You say that, but..."

He gestured behind Darin.

Darin turned.

One of the palace servants, a nervous-looking young man, was kneeling before Grumble.

Darin choked on air.

"What. Is. He. Doing."

The servant, still kneeling, murmured reverently, "I humbly await the Shadow Beast's wisdom."

Darin turned back to the group, horrified. "This is a JOKE. This is a terrible joke."

Vincent, looking delighted, leaned in. "What if it's not?"

Darin turned back to the servant. "Please stand up."

The servant hesitated. Then turned to Grumble.

As if waiting for permission.

Darin let out a strangled noise.

Grumble, sensing the attention, stretched—his body elongating in that uncanny, fluid way only cats and eldritch horrors seemed capable of. Then, with the slow, deliberate movement of a tiny god accepting mortal worship, he flicked his tail.

The servant gasped in enlightenment.

"He has blessed me," the servant whispered.

Darin slapped a hand over his own face. "I am GOING TO COMMIT CRIMES."

The king chuckled. "You're missing the opportunity here, Darin."

Darin whirled on him. "I AM NOT USING MY DUMB CAT TO RUN A MONARCHY."

The king's lips twitched. "And yet... that is exactly what is already happening."

The sorceress crossed her arms. "Look at it logically. Right now, you don't want power, but it keeps falling into your lap. The more you reject it, the more people chase after you."

Vincent grinned. "So why not redirect it? Instead of people seeing you as the mastermind, let them think it's..." He gestured. "Grumble."

Darin recoiled. "I REFUSE TO BE A HANDLER FOR A POLITICAL CAT."

"You wouldn't have to," the king mused. "Merely... position him accordingly. A symbol needs no voice—it needs only perception."

Darin let out a slow, controlled breath. "You are telling me to let my shadow cat take over the role of an actual political entity."

The king nodded. "Yes."

Vincent gave a sage nod. "Basically, you'd be his advisor."

Darin opened his mouth. Closed it.

Turned to Grumble.

The shadow familiar had now curled into a perfect circle, purring smugly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Darin's eye twitched.

Vincent leaned in. "I mean, he's already doing less damage than most nobles in this kingdom."

Darin groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I hate that you're right."

Vincent clapped him on the back. "Look on the bright side—at least Grumble will never betray you."

Darin lifted his head. "Won't he, though?!"

They all turned to look at Grumble.

The cat-like shadow familiar was currently attempting to knock a very expensive silver candelabra off a nearby shelf.

There was a long silence.

Darin pointed. "SEE?! This is not the behavior of a trustworthy political figure!"

The king chuckled. "Then perhaps it's time we give him an official title."

Darin's soul left his body. "No."

The king ignored him completely and turned to his royal scribe. "Make a note—henceforth, the familiar of the Dark Lord shall be known as The Grand Shadow Beast of the Court."

The scribe scribbled furiously.

Darin gawked. "You're kidding me."

Vincent wiped away a fake tear. "Beautiful. Historic. Iconic."

Darin turned to the sorceress. "Tell me you think this is a bad idea."

She smirked. "Meh, could been worse."

Darin groaned.

And across the room, Grumble, his newly named title hanging in the air, slowly, deliberately, knocked the candelabra off the shelf.