I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord-Chapter 98: The Ember Summit Prepares

The doors to the Ember Summit slammed shut behind Darin and his group as the mountain trembled again, this time more violently, like something was stirring deep beneath the rock.

Torches lining the walls flared blue for a heartbeat, then flickered into a steady crimson. Ancient enchantments woven into the very walls pulsed with reawakened purpose. The council chamber had become a war room in an instant.

Darin stood tall near the center, still catching his breath from the confrontation moments before. The rift hadn’t opened yet, but something was coming. He could feel it in his bones.

So could everyone else.

The mountain rumbled again.

Not from within, but from beneath.

A sound like a great inhale, as though the entire world was about to scream.

Inside the Ember Summit’s council chamber, the leaders had frozen mid-argument. Cracked stone dust trickled from the ceiling. Torches guttered, flared, then settled with uneasy green-blue flames. The runes in the dome pulsed once, then again—like a heartbeat skipping.

Then silence.

A silence thick enough to taste.

And then—

"All right," Warchief Odrala growled. Her voice cut the stillness like a whip. "Fine. We hate this. I hate this. But apparently, we don’t have the luxury of pride anymore."

She stood slowly, adjusting the antlered pauldron on her shoulder. Her silver tattoos pulsed with light. frёewebηovel.cѳm

She pointed a clawed finger at Darin.

"You. We’re going to work together. Because we have to. Not because we want to. Don’t get comfortable."

Darin blinked.

"…That’s fair."

The other leaders followed, some slower than others.

The dwarf warlord, Barak Stonehold, grumbled something in his beard before growling, "If he screws this up, I want the rights to his corpse for armor-smithing."

Vincent leaned over and muttered, "That’s how dwarves flirt."

The elven Arcanum representative, Lady Velyra of the Third Star, gave Darin a withering glance. "If even one of your people breaches formation, I will not hesitate to bind their souls to the mountain as beacons."

Darin nodded. "Understood."

She turned to Odrala. "I’ll rally the sky-roots and scrying lines. Circle defense formation three. We’ll need dual-caster pairing."

Odrala nodded. "Do it. Beastkin will form the central line. Dragonkin will cover the high flanks. Wraiths and archers go dark for sabotage and counterpositioning."

Orders began flying immediately.

And despite the obvious tension… it worked.

The Ember Summit moved like a sleeping monster finally opening its eye.—

In minutes, the Ember Summit transformed from a council chamber into a high-tier war fortress.

The Wraithfolk were the first to vanish, disappearing into shadowed cracks in the stone. Their whispers faded into the darkness, their objectives unknown, but their success always presumed.

Elves, moving in pairs, traced warding runes across the summit’s interior arches and ceiling. Blue fire danced from fingertip to fingertip, illuminating pre-carved sigils left from wars past. Arcane energy began flowing in spirals, subtle, beautiful, lethal.

Beastkin warbands, now marked with glowing sigils painted in blood and ash, formed wedge positions in the lower halls, triad assault and fallback nodes set in hexagonal relay formations. Their signalers carried bone horns and spirit-flares.

The dwarves rolled out their shield walls, metal slabs built from ore harvested inside the mountain, fused with flame-resistant glyphs. Behind those shields, golems stirred—each one carrying its handler on a small operating turret.

The dragonkin, shirtless and furious, took to the cliffs and outcroppings with coordinated flare-signals, setting up alchemical traps and fire spouts above every approach route. Their war chants began to echo in long, low tones.

And at the center of it all—

Darin’s forces slotted in like a blade being sheathed.

Gallikarn archers were distributed across outer terraces, their curved bows ideal for tight-angle volleys in rough terrain. Murgan directed them personally, and Reeka, still cradling a very regal Grumble—organized the elite archers.

Steve sat near the central ramp like a tough dragon, armored and bristling with enchanted plating. Alvin stood beside him, weapon already shifting—today it took the form of a wide glaive, the metal alive with stored kinetic pulses.

Vincent had climbed onto the shoulders of a dwarven golem, grinning and running sharpening cloths across both his swords. "If I fall, catch me," he said to the golem.

The golem did not respond.

"Good talk," Vincent said.

The Sorceress moved silently through the ranks, inspecting Darin’s spellcasters. She didn’t speak unless she had to. Her eyes flared only once, when correcting a terrified mage who accidentally inverted a warding line. The poor boy nearly cried.

She just fixed the rune and walked away.

Darin remained near the command platform with Odrala and the elven strategist.

Every time one of them handed him a map or asked a question, they did so through clenched jaws. But they asked.

He was part of the plan now.

They weren’t happy about it.

But it was happening.

*****

"I admit," said the Overlord in Darin’s mind, tone contemplative. "This is better than I expected. I thought they’d squabble till something bit them in half."

"They still might," Darin thought back. "They’re working together, but it’s grudging. Every order’s laced with twenty years of old grudge."

"That’s why it’ll hold," the Overlord murmured. "Old grudges are strong. But a shared enemy unifies more than friendship ever could. They don’t like you, Darin. But you’re here. You’re ready. And they’re smart enough to use what works."

Darin inhaled.

The heat in the mountain was rising.

And it wasn’t just ambient.

It was the rift.

Late into the afternoon, just as the second formation was locking into place—

The air turned electric.

Like the moment before lightning.

And from the far western platform, the one sealed for centuries, the crack split wider.

A jagged tear in the world. Not full yet. Not broken.

But bleeding.

Red light poured from it like molten magic. It whined, high-pitched and rising, like metal being stretched beyond its tolerance.

Everyone turned.

Then—

BOOM.

A surge of mana. Everyone flinched. Shields flared. Wards pulsed.

"Containment line three!" someone shouted.

"Stabilize the east pillar!"

Elven casters formed a triad and began to chant in harmony. Beastkin moved to cover their flanks. A dwarven engineer drove three bolts into the stone and activated a tether-spike, the platform hissed and settled.

The rift pulsed again.

And this time, it didn’t close.

Darin watched.

Sweat dripped down his temple.

"When?" he asked.

"Any moment now," the Overlord whispered. "They’re adjusting. Trying to force anchor. When it stabilizes… they come through."

"What’s the goal?"

"Confusion. Chaos. Death. They don’t need to win. They just need to cost you."

Darin turned to his team.

"Ready formations one through four. Maintain anchor watch on the rift. No one engages unless we say so."

Grull rumbled behind him.

"Let me strike when they land."

Darin nodded. "You’ll be first wave break. But only when they’re all visible. No solo charges."

Grull grunted. "Understood."

Vincent smirked from his perch. "He’s learning restraint. Scary."

Alvin didn’t speak, his focus was laser sharp, his shifting weapon humming in rhythm with the growing tremors.

The Sorceress approached, her expression unreadable.

"The seal won’t hold more than twenty minutes."

Darin nodded.

"Then we make every second count."

The central command gathered again, Darin, Odrala, Stonehold, Velyra, and three secondary race generals.

A massive crystal floated at the center of the chamber now, projecting an overhead map of the summit’s ring and pressure points. Red pulses marked probable breach zones.

Odrala pointed to the west.

"They’ll try for the eastern corridor and the lower thermospire. That gives them two entrances into our interior chambers. They’ll want to divide us."

Velyra nodded. "I’ll send Warden-Scribes to cut sightlines. Their command will falter without vision."

Stonehold added, "We’ll set golems at the lower thermospire. It’s tight. Good killbox."

Darin stepped forward and pointed at the third zone, a minor ridge near the archery terrace.

"They’ll test that. It’s weak. I’m putting my elite mages there. The Stranger’s enchantment team."

All three leaders hesitated.

Then nodded.

No praise.

No thanks.

Just agreement.

The Stranger was already on that ridge, standing next to Murgan and Grumble.

Murgan frowned at the scroll they were reading. "I still don’t understand this passage. ’When darkness comes, bring snacks.’ What does this mean?"

The Stranger adjusted his monocle. "It means preparation, my feathery friend. One must never face oblivion on an empty stomach. That’s basic Overlord Doctrine."

"I thought it was a joke."

"Exactly. It sounds like a joke. Which is why it’s wisdom."

Grumble gave a deep purr of approval.

Murgan looked alarmed. "The cat agrees?"

"The cat always agrees," the Stranger said proudly. "He’s my life coach."

THE FINAL MOMENTS OF STILLNESS

The mountain shook again.

This time, everyone felt it in their teeth.

The rift, glowing like an eye halfway open, pulsed with steady rhythm now.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

No longer a threat.

A countdown.

Darin stood on the upper terrace, overlooking the battlefield.

A thousand warriors stood ready.

Not friends.

Not allies.

But prepared.

He exhaled slowly.

"Here it comes."