The Overlord’s First Death (That Didn’t Stick)

Darin had officially given up.

The village thought he was an ancient overlord. The cultists thought he was their savior. The kingdom thought he was a looming threat.

And now, thanks to the lunatic who refused to leave his side, he was being forced to fake his own death to get out of it.

Which, frankly, was ridiculous.

And yet.

Yet.

Here he was. Standing in the village square. Surrounded by people who were way too excited about this nonsense.

The stranger stood beside him, arms folded like a general preparing for war. "The plan is simple, my lord."

Darin rubbed his temples. "It really isn't."

The stranger ignored him. "First, we stage an event so grand, so utterly undeniable, that no one will question your demise."

Darin sighed. "Let me guess. An explosion? A tragic accident? Do I dramatically fall off a cliff?"

The stranger's eyes gleamed. "All of those are excellent ideas."

Greta, who had definitely been waiting for this moment, leaned on her cane. "Well, dear, if you are going to die, best make it convincing."

Darin threw up his hands. "Why are you helping?!"

Greta took a sip of tea. "I'm old. I need entertainment."

Darin muttered something under his breath about elderly menaces.

The stranger clapped his hands together. "Very well. We shall proceed with the plan. First, we announce your 'final battle.' Then, we ensure that no body is left behind."

Darin blinked. "Wait. What?"

The stranger nodded solemnly. "If there is no body, there is no proof. Thus, your legend lives on."

Darin stared at him. "I don't want my legend to live on! I want people to stop talking about me!"

The stranger smiled. "Which is exactly why we must do this."

Darin inhaled deeply. Then exhaled. Then rubbed his face.

He was going to regret this.

*****

The next morning, Greta rang the village bell.

Darin, standing awkwardly in the center of the square, watched as the entire village once again gathered to hear whatever new nonsense was happening.

The stranger stepped forward. "People of the realm!"

Darin winced. "Oh no."

"The time has come!" the stranger declared. "Our lord, the great and mighty overlord, has foreseen his fate!"

The villagers gasped.

Greta raised an eyebrow. "Have you, dear?"

Darin crossed his arms. "Apparently."

The stranger turned back to the crowd. "A great battle approaches! An enemy of unmatched power has set their sights upon him! And so, my lord prepares to meet his doom!"

Darin blinked. "Wait. What enemy?"

The stranger placed a hand on his shoulder. "Worry not, my lord. I have already written the prophecy."

Darin took a slow, deep breath. "You what?"

The stranger pulled out a scroll and unrolled it dramatically.

"Hear ye, hear ye! The Great Overlord shall face his destined foe beneath the Blood Moon! A warrior of light, a knight of purity, shall strike him down in glorious battle!"

Darin narrowed his eyes. "This is just the plot of a bad novel."

The stranger ignored him. "Thus, the prophecy is fulfilled! And lo, though the Overlord shall fall, his spirit shall remain eternal!"

The villagers broke into actual tears.

Darin clenched his fists. "I hate all of you."

Unfortunately, if the plan was to fake his death, then he apparently needed someone to "defeat" him.

Which meant they needed a volunteer.

And somehow, Darin's options had narrowed down to two people.

Sir Roland, the overly dramatic knight who really wanted him dead.

Or Greta.

Darin stared at the old woman. "Why are you here?"

Greta adjusted her shawl. "Oh, don't be silly, dear. If anyone should 'defeat' the Dark Lord, it should be someone from his own village."

Darin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am not—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Greta said, waving him off. "You're just a simple blacksmith, completely undeserving of worship, blah blah blah. You do realize no one believes that, right?"

Darin exhaled slowly. "I need a drink."

The stranger clapped his hands together. "Very well! We have our warriors!"

Darin blinked. "Wait, what?"

The stranger beamed. "The prophecy did not specify one warrior of light. Thus, we shall have two."

Darin turned to Greta. "Did you know about this?"

"Oh, I don't listen when he talks," she said, sipping her tea. "It's much more fun to see where it goes."

Darin groaned. "I hate this village."

The plan was simple.

Darin would fight Roland and Greta in a dramatic, staged battle. Then, at the last moment, he'd pull a classic villain move, disappearing in a cloud of smoke, never to be seen again.

It was a good plan.

It lasted exactly ten seconds.

Because the moment the fight started, Roland came at him like an actual madman, completely ignoring the script.

"You shall FALL, Dark One!" Roland bellowed, swinging his sword.

Darin screamed and dove out of the way. "THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE STAGED!"

"Honor demands I make it real!"

Greta, standing off to the side, hummed. "He does have a point."

Darin scrambled behind a rock. "WHY ARE YOU ENCOURAGING THIS?!"

Greta shrugged. "I just think you should make your death more believable."

Darin turned to the stranger, desperate. "HELP ME."

The stranger beamed. "No need, my lord. You have already won."

Darin twitched. "I AM HIDING BEHIND A ROCK."

And then, because the universe hated him—the villagers started cheering.

"Behold! The Dark Lord's legendary strategy!"

"The rock formation technique!"

"Truly, none can match his genius!"

Darin banged his head against the rock.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

And then, before things could get any worse—

A bolt of fire slammed into the ground right next to him.

The entire battlefield froze.

Darin, heart pounding, slowly turned toward the treeline.

Where a new figure had appeared.

Tall. Cloaked. Radiating actual power.

And, in a voice dripping with menace, they said:

"The prophecy is real, then. The Dark Lord lives."

Darin exhaled through his nose.

"Of course he does."