I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 52: Losers Lose, Winners Win

There was no point in overthinking it.

Darin had spent far too much time doubting, hesitating, and second-guessing every move he made. But that wasn’t going to work anymore.

The world didn’t wait for people who hesitated.

The Church wasn’t waiting. The nobles weren’t waiting. The people, divided as they were, weren’t waiting.

And if he stood still, if he let things spiral out of control—then he lost.

It was that simple.

He could almost hear old man Hector from the village, a grizzled farmer who had absolutely no patience for fools, grumbling his favorite phrase:

"Losers lose. Winners win. So stop whining and start winning."

Darin had hated that saying as a kid.

But right now?

It was exactly what he needed to hear.

He needed to win.

So, he was going to.

"Alright," Darin said, standing up. His voice was steady, firm. "Let’s get this started."

Vincent grinned. "Now we’re talking."

Greta smirked, setting her basket aside. "Took you long enough."

The Sorceress, watching him closely, simply nodded.

The Stranger, however, beamed with pure, unhinged delight.

"Ah-ha! I knew it! The Overlord rises at last!" He clasped his hands together dramatically, his eyes practically sparkling. "Tell us, my lord—what is your decree? Shall we rally the faithful? Set fire to the heretics? Begin the first phase of the glorious revolution?"

Darin leveled a stare at him. "We are not starting a revolution."

The Stranger pouted. "Yet."

Vincent gestured toward The Stranger. "He’s already been spreading your legend—now we take that and amplify it. We make you too valuable to remove."

The Stranger perked up immediately. "Oh! Oh! I can do that! I have been doing that! We just need to be more direct!"

Darin frowned. "Define ’direct.’"

The Stranger’s eyes gleamed. "Oh, you’ll see."

Vincent clapped his hands together. "Perfect. While he gets the people riled up, we use another angle—the nobility."

The Sorceress, already seeing where this was going, nodded. "You’re going to make them turn on the Church."

Vincent winked. "They do love a good scandal."

Darin sighed but rolled his shoulders, shaking off his uncertainty. "Fine. Let’s get to work."

The Next Morning….

the city woke up to a storm.

It wasn’t one of rain or wind, but of voices.

The Stranger had outdone himself. He had gathered the cultists, the villagers, and anyone who so much as liked Darin and turned them into an unstoppable wave of public support.

Every street was buzzing with talk of Darin—the so-called ’Overlord of the People.’

Bards were suddenly singing tales of how he had fought for justice against the corrupt. Merchants were haggling with discounts in his name. Children were running through the market with wooden warhammers, reenacting his ’heroic’ battle against Duke Varian.

Everywhere Darin walked, people whispered and pointed.

He had become a living legend.

And it wasn’t just talk.

The cultists had taken it several steps further.

In front of the grand cathedral, the Church’s very own place of power, a group of devoted followers stood holding banners.

"THE OVERLORD PROTECTS!" one shouted.

"THE CHURCH CANNOT SILENCE THE TRUTH!" another bellowed.

"DOWN WITH CORRUPTION! UP WITH THE OVERLORD!"

Darin groaned. "They were supposed to keep it peaceful."

Vincent, walking beside him, looked completely unbothered. "Oh, this is peaceful. Notice how there aren’t any torches?"

The Stranger, who was positively glowing with pride, nodded. "Exactly! No fire, no weapons! Just good, honest devotion!"

The Sorceress muttered, "For now."

Darin pinched the bridge of his nose. "They made posters of me."

Sure enough, his face was plastered across buildings in dramatic artistic renderings, some making him look like a heroic knight, others like a shadowed ruler bathed in dark fire.

Darin glared at The Stranger. "Did you commission these?"

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The Stranger beamed. "Of course! Art is an important part of a revolution—er, I mean, strategic public relations movement."

Darin sighed.

Greta, casually munching on a pastry, smirked. "Oh, this is delightful."

Meanwhile, Church officials were frantically trying to push back. Priests stood on temple steps, denouncing Darin as a fraud and warning against his ’dangerous influence.’

It didn’t matter.

For every priest that spoke, three more people shouted back in support of Darin.

The Church’s grip on the people was slipping.

And it was only the beginning.

Phase one was done, it’s time for phase two.

While the streets were filled with Darin’s growing reputation, Vincent worked on the nobility.

He had whispered in the right ears, nudged the right egos, and let slip just the right amount of information.

By midday, half the noble court was furious, not at Darin, but at the Church.

"The Church thinks they can dictate royal affairs?" one noble spat. "Who do they think they are?"

"If they can threaten the King’s chosen, what stops them from turning on us next?"

"They’ve become far too bold!"

It was beautiful.

The Church had spent centuries manipulating power behind the scenes, using faith as a means of control. But now? Now they had overplayed their hand.

The nobles weren’t religious zealots. They were politicians. And politicians did not like anyone threatening their power.

It was the perfect rift.

And Vincent had cut it deep.

Now for phase three…

By evening, the city was in chaos.

Not from riots. Not from violence.

From debate.

The streets were filled with arguments. Some people defended the Church. Others argued for Darin. Some simply took advantage of the tension to sell Overlord-themed merchandise.

But the true blow came when an official decree was posted outside the palace gates.

Signed by the King himself.

"Darin, Overlord and allied of the realm, has been declared under royal protection. Any attempt to move against him will be seen as an attack on the Crown itself."

The effect was instantaneous.

The Church was cornered.

To defy the King would be suicide.

To back down would be humiliating.

They had played their hand, expecting to crush Darin.

Instead?

They had lost.

Darin stood at the palace balcony, overlooking the shifting chaos below.

He truly saw it.

His presence had changed things.

No longer was he just some unfortunate blacksmith dragged into a nightmare.

He was a symbol.

A force that people rallied behind.

A name that held weight.

And the Overlord, still lurking in the back of his mind, chuckled.

"Ah, Darin. Now you’re starting to understand."

Darin didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t deny it.

Because the Overlord was right.

And he was going to use it.

Because losers lose.

And winners?

Winners win.