The Overlord’s First Army (That He Didn’t Want)

Darin awoke with a headache.

Not the normal kind of headache that came from dealing with stubborn customers at the forge. No, this was the special kind of headache that came from being worshipped as an evil overlord, accidentally starting an economy, and somehow acquiring a throne he didn't ask for.

He cracked one eye open.

He was still in his forge. That was the good news. The bad news was that he had passed out in his chair, and the stranger, his most persistent problem was sitting right there, staring at him with unwavering admiration.

Darin groaned. "You're still here."

"Of course, my lord."

"Do you sleep?"

"Sleep is a mortal concern, my lord."

"…So no."

The stranger merely smiled.

Darin closed his eyes again. Maybe if he just stayed very still, he could pretend none of this was real. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe he was just—

"My lord, your army awaits."

Darin's eyes snapped open. "My what?"

The stranger gestured toward the door. "Come, see for yourself."

Darin was still half-asleep, but his gut told him he wasn't going to like this. He shoved himself up from the chair, shuffled to the door, and stepped outside.

And immediately regretted it.

The village square was packed with people. Some he recognized, farmers, merchants, the usual cultists kneeling like maniacs, but there were new faces too.

Dozens of them.

Men in ragged armor. Bounty hunters. Wandering mercenaries. Bandits.

Oh no.

Darin slowly turned to the stranger. "Why are there bandits in my village?"

"They have pledged their allegiance to you, my lord."

Darin sucked in a deep breath. "Okay. Gonna need so much more information here."

The stranger nodded. "Word of your might has spread far and wide. They come seeking to serve."

Darin ran a hand down his face. "I don't have might."

The stranger smiled. "Yes. That is what makes you so powerful."

Darin turned back to the gathered crowd, who were watching him with entirely too much expectation.

A particularly burly man stepped forward, wearing armor that had definitely been looted from somewhere. "You are the Dark Lord, yeah?"

Darin opened his mouth to say no.

But before he could, the villagers erupted into cheers.

"Yes, he is!"

"He's the overlord of prophecy!"

"The one who defeated Sir Roland with a single chicken!"

The burly man blinked. "Huh. That's… That's actually kinda terrifying."

Darin pinched the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't terrifying."

The bandit ignored him and turned to the rest of his men. "Alright, boys, we're in."

The whole group knelt.

Darin twitched.

Greta, who had somehow materialized beside him, patted his shoulder. "Congratulations, dear. You have an army now."

Darin inhaled through his nose. "I don't want an army."

Greta nodded sagely. "Yes. And that is why you are worthy of leading one."

Darin let out a quiet, strangled sound.

*****

Darin stood in the village hall, rubbing his temples as the stranger enthusiastically set up a war map.

"This is insane," Darin muttered.

"This is strategy," the stranger corrected.

"It's stupid," Darin shot back. "You put our village at the center, then drew a circle around every kingdom in a hundred-mile radius."

The stranger nodded. "Yes."

Darin pointed at the map. "That's not a war plan, that's a list of people who are going to kill me when they find out about this."

The stranger just smiled.

Darin turned to Greta, hoping for support. "Please, please tell him to stop."

Greta sipped her tea. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to witness history."

"This isn't history!" Darin threw up his hands. "This is a giant misunderstanding that's gotten out of control!"

The stranger tapped the map. "We must decide our next move, my lord. Our enemies will not wait forever."

Darin blinked. "Our what?"

"Already, the Doomed Heroes regroup. The noble factions scheme. And now, with the Black Fang Mercenaries fleeing from your presence, the warlords of the south will take notice."

Darin clenched his jaw. "No. Nope. Nope." He stabbed a finger at the map. "I am not leading an army. I am not conquering anything. I am going to sit in my forge and pretend none of this is happening."

The stranger nodded sagely. "A brilliant deception."

Darin groaned.

Unfortunately, Darin did not get to sit in his forge and pretend everything was fine.

Because the moment he stepped outside, a messenger from the capital rode in.

The man was dressed in the royal colors, his expression one of carefully measured neutrality. He slid off his horse, adjusted his cape, and strode forward.

Darin immediately turned to Greta. "Do not let him talk."

Greta smiled. "Too late, dear."

Darin inhaled through his nose. "Fine. Fine. Let's get this over with."

The messenger cleared his throat. "I bring word from His Majesty, King Aldric of the Ivory Throne."

Darin folded his arms. "Great. Love that for me."

The messenger did not react. "The kingdom has heard troubling news, Dark One."

Darin groaned. "Why does everyone call me that?"

The messenger ignored him. "Reports of an army forming in your name. Mercenaries swearing fealty. Nobles speaking of an ancient prophecy fulfilled."

Darin pointed at the bandits. "They showed up uninvited."

The bandits all nodded. "Yeah, that's fair."

The messenger exhaled. "Nonetheless, His Majesty demands an answer. Is it war you seek, Dark One?"

Darin waved his hands wildly. "No! It is not war I seek! I seek silence! I seek peace! I seek a world in which people stop showing up at my house to tell me about how I'm some reincarnated menace!"

The messenger hesitated. "So…you do not intend to attack?"

Darin threw up his hands. "No! I don't!"

The messenger nodded. "Very well."

Darin sighed in relief.

Then the messenger dropped to one knee.

"My lord, your cunning is unmatched."

Darin's soul left his body.

"By deceiving the kingdom into thinking you desire peace," the messenger continued, "you lull them into complacency. A truly ruthless strategy."

Darin turned to Greta, defeated. "I hate this."

She patted his shoulder. "At least you're getting good at it."

By the time the messenger left, Darin had reached a new level of exhaustion.

He sat outside his forge, staring at nothing.

The stranger knelt beside him. "What troubles you, my lord?"

Darin let out a long, suffering sigh. "I want out."

"Out of what?"

"This. All of this." Darin gestured vaguely at the village. "The armies. The cultists. The prophecies. I want it gone."

The stranger was silent for a long moment.

Then, with great solemnity, he said, "Then we shall fake your death."

Darin stared at him. "What."

The stranger met his gaze, eyes filled with unwavering seriousness.

"We shall spread word of your tragic demise. The world will mourn, and in their grief, they will remember you as legend."

Darin's eye twitched. "That…is the dumbest plan I've ever heard."

The stranger nodded. "Which is why it will work."

Darin put his head in his hands.

There was no escape.