I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

The next day….

Darin woke up feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Peace.

No voices in his head. No smug laughter from the Overlord. No terrifying presence whispering dark, arrogant monologues in his ear.

For a moment, just a single blissful moment, he let himself believe that maybe, things were going to be okay.

Then Vincent kicked the door open.

"Morning, Lord Disaster! Hope you're well-rested because the Pope wants to burn you alive!"

Darin's entire body locked up.

He slowly turned his head toward Vincent, who was grinning like this was the funniest thing he had ever said.

"...What."

"The Holy Pope of the Church of the Goddess of Growth and Healing is here."

Vincent twirled his cup of tea like this was a completely normal morning conversation.

"And he's demanding your purification and execution for 'defiling the holy land with your cursed existence.'"

Darin stared.

Vincent took a sip of tea. "So. You might want to get up for that."

Darin dragged a hand down his face. "I was unconscious for—what, a day? And already someone wants me dead again?"

Vincent smirked. "Not just someone. The Church."

Darin groaned. "Oh, fantastic."

His peaceful morning was officially over.

The throne room was packed.

Not just with nobles, but priests, bishops, and the Holy Pope himself.

The Pope of the Goddess of Growth and Healing was an imposing figure, tall, aged but strong, dressed in white and gold robes that shimmered with holy enchantments. His piercing eyes locked onto Darin the moment he entered, and his expression was pure disgust.

Darin, already tired of today, took his place near the King.

The King, for his part, looked entirely unbothered. He was lounging comfortably on his throne, one leg over the other, sipping from a goblet of wine while the Holy Pope fumed before him.

"Your Majesty," the Pope's voice was sharp with authority.

"I will not waste time. The evidence is clear." He gestured toward Darin. "That thing is the reincarnation of the Overlord."

Darin made a strangled noise. "I knew this was coming."

Vincent patted his back. "Don't worry, you get used to being called an 'abomination' after a while."

The Pope ignored them completely.

"The Church demands immediate action," he continued. "This thing—" (again, gesturing at Darin like he was some cursed object) "—has defiled the holy lands with its presence. It has tainted the kingdom with darkness."

Darin crossed his arms. "Okay, rude."

The Pope slammed his staff into the ground. "The only way to ensure the safety of the realm is to purify him in holy flames and erase the Overlord's influence once and for all."

Darin choked. "I'm sorry, what?!"

Greta, sitting in the background, took a slow bite of her pastry. "Huh. Bold move."

Vincent whispered, "Basically, they want to burn you at the stake."

Darin turned to the King. "You can't be taking this seriously."

The King smiled. "Oh, I'm not. But I do enjoy watching you panic."

The Pope scowled. "This is not a joke, Your Majesty!"

The King tilted his head, amused. "Isn't it?"

The Pope's face darkened. "You saw the battle. You felt his power. That was not human. It was the Overlord. You know this to be true!"

The room was silent.

Because he wasn't wrong.

Darin knew it. The King knew it. The whole damn kingdom knew it.

But the King?

He simply swirled his wine.

"Even if that were true," he said lazily, "why should I care?"

The entire church delegation went stiff.

The Pope glared. "Because if you do nothing, you endanger the souls of your people! The Goddess herself will turn from this kingdom!"

The King took a slow sip of his wine. Then, very deliberately, leaned forward.

"And if I allow you to burn him alive," the King said smoothly, "I risk losing my best entertainment."

Darin gawked. "THAT'S your concern?!"

Vincent grinned. "Well, you are fun to watch."

The Pope was not amused. "Your Majesty—"

The King raised a hand.

The Pope fell silent.

And then, the mood changed.

The King set his goblet down. His smirk faded. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, sharpened into something colder.

Darin, for the first time in a while, actually felt nervous.

The King leaned back, voice calm but firm. "You seem to be under the illusion that the Church dictates the laws of this kingdom."

The Pope's lips pressed into a thin line. "The will of the Goddess—"

"The will of the crown," the King interrupted smoothly, "is what matters here."

Silence.

"You come into my palace and demand I execute one of my subjects?" The King smiled, but it was sharp as a blade. "Tell me, Pope. When did the Church become ruler of this land?"

The Pope's hands tightened around his staff.

The King tilted his head, voice still light, but carrying danger beneath it. "I provide your land. I fund your expansion. I protect your followers." He rested his chin on his hand. "Shall I reconsider those privileges?"

The bishops visibly paled.

One of them whispered, "Y-Your Majesty, surely you don't mean—"

"I mean," the King said lazily, "that if the Church insists on interfering with royal matters, then perhaps it no longer needs royal support."

The weight of his words slammed into the room like a hammer.

Darin, watching this unfold, suddenly realized something.

The King was playing a completely different game.

The Church had come here thinking they were the ones making demands.

But the King?

He had never been negotiating.

He had just been waiting for them to push too far.

And now, they had.

The Pope's face was tight with fury. But he wasn't an idiot.

"...I see," he said finally.

The King took another sip of wine. "Good. Glad we understand each other."

The Pope inhaled sharply. Then, with one last glare at Darin, he turned.

"The Holy Council will hear of this."

The King smirked. "Oh, I hope so."

The church delegation stormed out.

The doors slammed behind them.

A long silence followed.

Then—

Vincent grinned. "Well, that was fun."

Darin, still in shock, let out a slow exhale. "Did I almost just get purified?"

Greta snorted. "Yep."

The King stretched. "You'll get used to it."

Darin buried his face in his hands. "I'll never get used to it…."

In Darin's Head…

The Overlord was… silent.

And that?

That was worrying.

Darin clenched his jaw.

"...When are you coming back?" he muttered under his breath.

No response.

Just silence.

Darin wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the Overlord's voice again.

Meanwhile, in the Holy Carriage…

The grand carriage of the Holy Church of the Goddess of Growth and Healing rumbled down the pristine roads leading away from the royal palace. The Pope sat inside, fingers steepled, his face an unreadable mask of calm rage.

The bishops and priests sat in uneasy silence around him, their usually confident expressions now marred by the weight of what had just transpired.

Finally, one of them dared to speak.

"Your Holiness…" A younger bishop, face pale with nervous energy, shifted in his seat. "What… what do we do now?"

The Pope's eyes flickered toward him, and the bishop immediately lowered his gaze, as if speaking had been a mistake.

For a long moment, the carriage continued in heavy silence.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, the Pope reached into his robes and withdrew a globe of flawless crystal. A holy relic of divine communication.

The bishops watched intently as he placed the globe on the table before him, the soft glow of divine light swirling within.

The Pope's voice was calm, but it carried undeniable authority.

"Activate the High Council."

The globe pulsed once. Then twice.

And then—

A hazy image flickered into view, showing the Holy Council of Elders, seated in a grand chamber far beyond the kingdom's borders. A dozen figures, draped in ornate gold and white robes, turned their gazes toward the Pope.

The oldest among them, a man whose face was carved by time itself, leaned forward.

"Pontifex." His voice was gravelly, but sharp. "Report."

The Pope exhaled slowly.

"The King has refused the purification."

A murmur rippled through the gathered elders.

One of them, an older woman with piercing blue eyes, scowled. "The King is a fool. We should have anticipated this."

The Pope inclined his head. "The King is not the problem."

Silence.

And then, the unspoken truth settled over them all.

The Overlord.

The one they had feared.

The one that should not have returned.

The eldest elder narrowed his eyes. "Is it truly him?"

The Pope's grip on the table tightened. "There is no doubt. His presence… his power… it is unmistakable."

A sharp silence filled the chamber.

One of the younger council members, voice tight with unease, asked, "Then what do we do?"

The Pope closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then, when he opened them again—

They burned with resolve.

"We remove him."

Another murmur spread through the council.

The elder woman spoke next. "If the King refuses to hand him over, we cannot act openly. If we attempt to force the issue, it may turn the kingdom against us."

The Pope's expression did not waver.

"Then we do not act openly."

A few of the council members exchanged looks.

One of the younger elders hesitated. "You are suggesting…?"

The Pope's voice was absolute.

"Assassination."

The chamber stilled.

The Pope folded his hands together, his gaze unwavering.

"If the Overlord is left unchecked, he will rise again. If he is allowed to grow, there will be no force in this world that can stand against him."

His voice grew colder.

"We will not allow another war. We will not let history repeat itself."

A tense pause.

Then, the eldest elder exhaled.

"And do you have someone in mind?"

The Pope's lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"As a matter of fact… I do."

He reached into his robes once more—

And pulled out a black seal marked with the insignia of a serpent devouring its own tail.

The bishops in the carriage visibly tensed at the sight.

One of them swallowed. "The Silent Choir…?"

The Pope set the seal down gently.

"The most skilled assassins ever trained within the Church's shadow. They are not bound by the same restrictions as our clergy. They are not held back by morality. They exist for one purpose."

He smiled.

"To eliminate threats before they can ever become true dangers."

The eldest elder tapped his fingers against the table, considering. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Very well."

A soft pulse ran through the crystal globe—

A silent command.

And somewhere, far away in the depths of the Church's most hidden sanctuaries…

The Silent Choir was activated.

Their target?

Darin.

The Overlord.