I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 68: Ant War

Smoke from burned trees curled through the dark as the massive caravan of fighters moved with mechanical urgency. Underfoot, the earth trembled like something angry lurked just below the surface, because it did.

"Pick up the pace! Don't get your selves surrounded!" Darin barked as another tremor rocked the rear lines.

The company had begun reorganizing into tight, efficient wedges as ordered, but it wasn't enough. Not yet. They were bleeding fighters by the hour, and the swarm was adapting.

Darin jogged alongside the command line, warhammer slung over his shoulder, eyes flicking between regrouping squads. The terrain was uneven, rocks and ruined roots snagged boots, and smoke turned the night into a suffocating fog.

Then the Sorceress appeared beside him, striding like a ghost out of the haze.

"We need to talk."

"Can it wait?"

"No. I've been tracking our strength since the beginning of this expedition," she said, voice low but sharp as a blade. "We can't afford to misuse it now."

Darin glanced over. Her eyes glowed faintly beneath her hood, her fingers dancing with quiet magic as she maintained a half-dozen defensive wards around their flank.

"All right, talk," Darin said, slowing a little as she conjured a light map of the battlefield between them—arcane lines and glowing markers hovering in the smoky air.

"We have approximately one hundred Stage Threes," she said.

Darin blinked. "That many?"

"They've been keeping low during the journey. Mostly guarding squads or disguising their strength."

"Of course they have."

"Five hundred Stage Twos. Nine hundred Stage Ones. The rest are unranked grunts, trained but limited."

She waved a hand over the hovering map, and sections lit up, color-coded to represent their troops, strength levels, and position.

"We also have fifty witches and wizards. A mix of experienced spellcasters and initiates. Most of them haven't fought creatures like this. Not like these."

The glowing markers pulsed red at the mountain edge.

"The ants are intelligent. And coordinated. Their warriors, those massive ones, can challenge Stage Three aura knights. Their mages use corrosive bursts, acid clouds, kinetic pulses. These aren't forest pests. They're siege weapons with legs."

Darin stared at the map, heart thudding.

"So we don't mix them all on the front lines," she said flatly. "No spreading out. No guesswork. The moment those warriors attack, if our Stage Threes aren't ready, it will be a massacre."

The Sorceress raised her eyes.

"Get them moving. Get them into pairs or trios. Form rapid-response units. Tell them to watch for mage signals—ant drones that spit glowing mist or cast sonic bursts. Prioritize them. Kill them before they take out our support lines."

Darin nodded slowly.

"And the lower ranks?" he asked.

"They'll hold the lines. Handle the drones. The pest-tier ants are strong, but manageable with teamwork. Just don't let them get isolated."

Darin clenched his jaw. "Got it. Anything else?"

The Sorceress didn't answer immediately. She flicked her wrist, and the glowing map shifted to show ant tunnels spreading through the region like an infection. A pulsating web of red lines below their current route.

"There's a nest beneath this whole section," she said grimly. "A big one. Possibly old. We may have disturbed a major hive."

"Confirmed," came the Overlord's voice in Darin's mind. "This isn't some scattered surface swarm. You're walking through the mouth of a kingdom."

Darin swore under his breath.

"The last time these things surfaced, five provinces fell. If you don't funnel your elite toward their warriors and mages, they'll chew your numbers down before morning. Tell them to hit hard, break formations, and prioritize hive-control units."

"Already on it," Darin muttered aloud.

"Also, let the Sorceress know her analysis was decent. For a living one."

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Darin sighed and gave the Sorceress a half-smile. "You're doing great. You know, tactically. For someone who doesn't enjoy being thanked."

She raised an eyebrow. "How flattering."

He shrugged. "It's either flattery or a panic attack."

She smirked faintly and turned back to her work, murmuring a spell under her breath that caused her fingers to glow faint blue—probably a perimeter check, or a ward reinforcement.

"She's still the same huh, same reaction as always," the Overlord said in Darin's head, tone surprisingly approving. "Almost reminds me of one of my old generals—except less irritating and with more hair."

"I'll let her know," Darin thought dryly. "After this is over. Assuming we're not being digested."

"Mm. Speaking of digestion—if you don't stop those royal guards before they join the fight, you might want to start practicing being poop."

Darin snorted quietly and shook his head. He turned toward the center wedge where the commanding officers rode—many of them still unaware of how close they were to being dissolved in acid or crushed under chitin.

He climbed a crate lashed onto a slow-moving supply cart, just high enough to be seen over the bustle of marching steel and clattering equipment. Then he bellowed over the camp:

"All commanding squad leaders, Stage Three aura knights, get to me now!"

Heads turned immediately.

"Stage Twos, report to your wedge captains. Secondary lines and flanking response squads. Triage teams stay mobile and watch for diggers!"

Knights began moving, many armored in patchwork or draped in dark cloaks. Despite the chaos around them, the Stage Threes moved with purpose now, fully stepping into their rank and strength.

Darin waited until a sizeable number had gathered before slamming his warhammer headfirst into the cart. The sound echoed with authority.

"Listen up. We've got a confirmed swarm of ant warriors and ant mages trailing our path. If your squad isn't briefed and trained to deal with those two types, they're going to get torn apart."

He gestured toward the Sorceress and the unfazed scout in the fedora, now calmly standing beside her with his map rolled out again.

"These things are smarter than the forest beasts we've been dealing with. Coordinated. Tactical. The warriors can match any of you in direct combat if you let your guard slip."

Darin's eyes swept the gathered knights.

"So from here on, Stage Threes operate as hunter-killer teams. Pairs or trios. Two on offense, one support. Rotate roles if anyone gets wounded. No lone wolves."

The fedora-wearing scout gave a sharp nod. "No solo heroics. The swarm digs under, divides, and picks you off. Stay linked."

"Exactly," Darin echoed. "Stick together, move smart. If an ant warrior gets close, you crush it. If you see something casting from the rear, you leap through whatever hell you need to and end it."

A few knights murmured acknowledgment. A tall woman with black-streaked armor raised a hand. "And the big ones on the mountain?"

Darin looked toward the looming behemoths—house-sized ants lined along the rocky ridge like statues carved from living nightmare.

"Royal guards," the Overlord said. "If they march, you stop marching. You run. And pray they're just stretching their legs."

Darin's jaw tightened, but he didn't repeat the words.

"They haven't moved yet. If they do… we'll adapt."

He jabbed a finger toward the treeline just ahead. "One day left until we're out of this cursed forest. One day. We move hard. We move fast. Stay tight and do not break formation."

The knights nodded, some already calling to their squads and forming into their trios.

As they dispersed, Darin dropped from the cart and turned toward the Sorceress and the scout again.

"Keep an eye on tunnel movement. If anything big shifts under us, I want warnings."

"Already on it my lord," the scout muttered, marking something on the map.

The Sorceress's gaze was fixed in the far distance, where the edge of the swarm now shimmered like a boiling tide of black glass. "They're testing our spacing. Probing with smaller scouts. But the real push is coming."

"Too bad for them," Darin growled, hefting his hammer.

"Because we're mad, mean, and completely done with this forest."

He turned to shout to the company—

But a deep thrum suddenly shook the ground.

Dust rose. Equipment rattled.

And then… the sound of battle.

From the eastern line, a flash of silver erupted—Vincent already in motion, blades glowing as he hacked down two ant scouts with surgical precision.

A roar followed, not from the ants—but from a red-winged blur. Steve, the teen dragon, dove from above, tackling a cluster of ant drones. Fire licked from his mouth, scorching the grass and chitin. A trio of cultists screamed, not from fear, but joy, as they rushed into the flames behind him, blades swinging.

Then came a black streak.

Grumble.

He shot across the field like a thrown dagger, no bigger than a housecat, but wrapped in a writhing shroud of shadow so dense it made his size meaningless.

An ant drone lunged.

Grumble leapt.

One moment the beast's head was intact. The next, it was tumbling away from its body, its neck reduced to a smoldering tunnel of rot, as if time itself had aged it to dust.

Grumble didn't slow. He landed, spun, and vanished into the shadow of a wagon before reappearing halfway across the camp, dragging the leg of a much larger ant behind him like it was a snack he didn't want to share.

The crowd parted for him instinctively. No orders were needed.