I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

By the time the sun had begun its slow descent toward the northern mountain ridge, casting golden rays across the carnage-packed camp, Darin was already mentally preparing himself for whatever weird meeting was coming next.

Because of course there would be a weird meeting next.

He barely had time to finish saying, "That's the last of the cargo—"

When the Stranger appeared.

With a dramatic swirl of his cloak and his usual grin that said I absolutely did something insane and you can't stop me, he materialized from the edge of the shadow cast by the cargo wagon. Right behind him was the Sect Master of the cult and the five elders—regal, grim, and very clearly here with intent.

Darin rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered to Steve, who lay beside the cargo pile chewing on a discarded ant leg like it was jerky. "I just wanted a nap."

Grumble, curled on top of a bag of monster cores, twitched his tail slightly. He didn't wake, but he did emit an ominous purring sound that suggested something was about to get stabbed.

The Sect Master bowed. The Stranger followed, even though his dramatic bow turned into a half-spin and ended with him facing the wrong direction. One of the elders gently turned him back around without a word.

"My Lord," the Sect Master began, his voice a deep, practiced tone used to commanding thousands. "We wish to offer guidance regarding the materials you and your forces have gathered."

Darin raised an eyebrow. "You're not here to try and baptize another squirrel in my name?"

The Stranger gasped. "My Lord, that was one time. And that squirrel was a very enthusiastic convert."

"Sure it was," Darin muttered. "Go on."

The Sect Master gestured, and one of the elders brought forward a thick parchment roll and unrolled it atop a stone table. It was a rough diagram of armor pieces, weapon types, and formation layouts—half logistics map, half doomsday prepper shopping list.

"Our recent battle with the Subterranean War Ants yielded materials few surface dwellers ever witness, let alone collect in full."

"We did our best," Darin said, feigning modesty. "There were limbs flying. Grumble ate a drone the size of a wagon. Steve chewed through a mage ant. Alvin collected enough cores to fund a small kingdom."

The Stranger beamed. "Truly, the glory of your divine providence shines—"

"Focus," the Sect Master said with the patience of someone who had clearly done this more than once.

He pointed to the Queen Ant's massive skull, now resting under a reinforced tarp and guarded by three stage 3 aura knights who refused to take their eyes off it.

"That... can be reforged into something only a chosen warrior can wear."

"Let me guess," Darin said. "Me?"

"Correct."

"Wonderful," he muttered. "Another terrifying-looking outfit for me to trip over."

The Sect Master ignored the sarcasm. "The carapace plates from the Queen's thorax and dorsal plates can form the foundation of a full-body battle armor. Lightweight for your strength class, highly mana-conductive, and resistant to elemental damage—especially acid and fire. It will be more durable than dragonbone."

The Stranger clasped his hands together. "And if I may be so bold, my Lord, it will also look very cool."

"Of course it will," Darin deadpanned. "Continue."

An elder pointed to the growing stockpile of monster cores.

"These are not just trade goods," she said. "They are the lifeblood of cultivation. If we use them wisely, we can draw mana circles and cultivation chambers across the camp and later, the fortress."

She drew a crude diagram, a wide ring etched into the ground, intersected with runic lines and focusing pillars.

"This formation will allow your soldiers, warriors and mages alike—to train at ten times their natural growth rate. Ki practitioners can temper their bodies and aura circuits. Mages can expand their mana channels and refine their casting accuracy. Even your mercenaries and newer recruits can break their limitations and ascend to proper ranks."

Darin blinked. "Wait—you're saying we can boost everyone?"

"To a point," the Sect Master nodded. "We estimate you now have the materials to elevate up to four thousand soldiers. We will prioritize your elites and officers. But with the right formations, the gains will ripple down."

One of the elders added, "We have blueprints for basic-tier armor from the ant exoskeletons—light infantry, spear units, archers. Resistant to acid, lighter than steel, and segmented to allow flexibility."

Another stepped in. "Combined with runes embedded from the ant mage cores, we can give every fourth man a set of reinforced armor with minor elemental resistance or enhanced speed."

The Stranger leaned forward dramatically, whispering with wide eyes, "We can give them glowing boots."

"No glowing boots," Darin said flatly.

The Stranger pouted. "You never let me have nice things."

Darin ignored him and rubbed his chin, mind now racing. All jokes aside… this wasn't just about training a ragtag group anymore. This was building a force. A real one. Not just cultists and lucky mercs, but trained, properly equipped, and borderline overpowered soldiers.

If what they were saying was even half true...

"We can build a standing army," Darin said aloud.

"Not just standing," the Sect Master replied. "Marching. Conquering. Or defending, if you prefer. But we'll be ready for any storm."

Darin exhaled. "And all this from the monsters we fought to survive..."

"They were a threat. Now they're a foundation," said one elder, tapping a clawed gauntlet against the parchment.

"And we haven't even accounted for the tentacle cores you absorbed," another added quietly.

Darin didn't respond. His hand instinctively went to the odd mark on his arm—the one that still pulsed faintly. It was cooler now. Not dormant. Just… satisfied. For now.

He looked up at them. "So. What do you need from me?"

The Stranger grinned. "Nothing, my Lord. This is all already happening. We merely wished to keep you informed."

"That sounds suspicious."

The Sect Master smiled thinly. "We wouldn't dare keep our Overlord in the dark. Not when you've already lit the path with such glorious destruction."

Darin gave them a tired look. "You're all exhausting."

The group dispersed as quietly as they came, vanishing into the camp to begin directing the materials to newly marked forges, temporary enchanting pits, and ritual chambers.

Darin stood alone for a moment, watching them.

They were all moving quickly, efficiently. Like they'd prepared for this exact event for years. Maybe they had.

He stepped back toward the tarp covering the Queen Ant's skull and lifted one edge.

The skull glinted in the fading light. Towering. Alien. Powerful.

"Armor, huh?" he muttered.

Behind him, Vincent's voice rang out.

"Oh hell yes. If they make you something cool out of that, I want gloves. Or a cape. Or—OH—a helmet with mandibles!"

Alvin appeared behind him, arms crossed. "That's dumb."

"You're dumb!"

"Real clever, Vincent."

Darin sighed and let the tarp drop.

With new gear on the way, upgraded troops, and four thousand warriors to arm—his so-called vacation just got a lot more interesting.