I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

The Reaper Forest continued to be a pain in the ass.

After the ghostly ambush, the group barely had time to catch their breath before trudging deeper into the woods. The trees only got denser, the path narrower, and the ground muddier. It was as if the forest itself wanted them dead, or at least severely inconvenienced.

Darin, leading the way, gripped his warhammer tightly. His boots squelched in the damp earth, and he muttered curses under his breath.

"Alright, listen up," he called to the group. "We stay in formation, no wandering off, no touching weird glowing things, and no running toward suspiciously familiar ghostly figures."

One of the mercenaries, the same one who lost his brother (or thought he did), shuffled awkwardly. "Uh… my bad."

Darin sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t do it again."

Vincent, walking beside him, stretched his arms. "Man, you gotta admit, though, this forest is kinda fun. First tentacle monsters, then ghost warriors. What’s next? A giant snake that sings?"

Alvin snorted. "Why would a snake sing?"

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Vincent shrugged. "Why wouldn’t it?"

Alvin just shook his head and muttered, "Idiots."

The Sorceress, as usual, was silent, walking gracefully through the undergrowth as if the mud didn’t exist.

Darin was about to continue when one of the scouts up ahead suddenly stopped, raising his fist in the air.

"Something’s wrong," the scout said.

Darin frowned. "What do you mean ’wrong’?"

The scout pointed ahead. "The path is… different. This clearing wasn’t here before."

Darin squinted. Sure enough, there was a sudden break in the trees, revealing a seemingly perfect little meadow—lush green grass, a small pond reflecting the dim light, and an almost welcoming atmosphere.

It was suspicious as hell.

Vincent clapped his hands together. "Welp. Definitely a trap."

Darin sighed. "Yeah, obviously. Question is, what kind?"

Alvin knelt and examined the ground. "No fresh tracks. The dirt’s been disturbed, though. Something moved here recently."

Vincent scratched his chin. "You think it’s one of those disappearing monsters? You know, the kind that jumps out, eats you, and then burrows underground?"

"Please," Darin groaned. "Not another burrowing monster. I hate burrowing monsters."

"To be fair," Alvin said, standing up, "you just hate everything."

"Not true," Darin shot back. "I like food. And sleep. And hitting things with my hammer. Everything else can go to hell."

Before anyone could respond, one of the cultists suddenly gasped and pointed at something in the grass.

"BEHOLD! A SIGN FROM THE LORD!"

Everyone turned.

There, lying innocently in the middle of the clearing, was…

A single, ornate treasure chest.

Silence.

Vincent immediately burst out laughing.

"Oh, this is peak stupidity," he wheezed. "Look at that thing! It’s practically screaming ’Come get your free loot, dumbass!’"

Darin groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don’t have the patience for this."

Alvin frowned at the chest. "It’s a mimic, right? Definitely a mimic."

One of the mercenaries leaned in. "Not necessarily. Could be a trap chest."

"Or cursed," another added.

"Or filled with bees."

Everyone turned to the guy who said that.

"…Why the hell would it be filled with bees?" Darin asked, exasperated.

The mercenary shrugged. "I dunno. Just throwing out ideas."

Darin took a deep breath and exhaled. "Alright. No one touch the stupid chest. We’re moving on."

Unfortunately, before he could stop him, one of the cultists, one of the younger ones, full of blind faith and absolutely no survival instincts, stepped forward.

"O, mighty Overlord," the cultist whispered reverently, "if this is truly a gift from you, then we accept it with open hands!"

Darin lunged forward. "NO, YOU IDIOT—"

Too late.

The cultist grabbed the chest’s lid and—

CHOMP.

The chest exploded to life, its wooden surface splitting apart as massive, jagged teeth burst from its frame.

The cultist didn’t even have time to scream before the mimic slammed its jaws shut around his entire upper body, muffling whatever last words he was about to say.

The entire group just stared in stunned silence.

Then Vincent burst out laughing again.

"Oh my gods, I love this forest."

The cultists, meanwhile, were panicking.

"HE HAS BEEN CHOSEN!"

"THE OVERLORD TESTS HIS FAITH!"

"FIGHT, BROTHER! FIGHT!"

The cultist inside the mimic flailed wildly, his legs kicking as the monster shook him like a dog playing with a chew toy.

Darin sighed, lifted his warhammer, and strode forward.

"Vincent, Alvin, help me kill this thing before it digests the idiot."

"Got it," Alvin said, already drawing his spear.

Vincent grinned. "Oh, hell yes. Let’s bust this thing open like a piñata."

Darin wasted no time. He swung his warhammer hard, smashing the mimic’s side with a sickening crunch. The mimic screeched, its body shuddering from the impact, but it didn’t let go of the cultist.

Alvin struck next, jabbing his spear into the mimic’s exposed side, twisting the blade to keep it from healing.

Vincent, leapt onto the mimic’s back and started stabbing wildly. "DIE, DEMON BOX, DIE!"

The mimic, overwhelmed, finally released the cultist, spitting him out like a piece of rotten meat.

The man landed in a heap, covered in monster saliva but otherwise alive.

"HAH!" he coughed, staggering to his feet. "I HAVE PASSED THE TEST!"

Darin, panting, wiped sweat from his brow. "Yeah, okay. Someone tie him up before he does something else suicidal."

A few mercenaries quickly complied.

The mimic, now heavily wounded and missing a few teeth, hissed and tried to retreat—but Darin was having none of it.

"Oh, hell no," he growled.

He adjusted his stance, gripped his warhammer tight—

And swung it with all his strength.

BOOM.

The mimic exploded into a pile of shattered wood and ichor, its disgusting remains splattering across the clearing.

Silence followed.

Then Vincent clapped Darin on the shoulder.

"See? I told you that was gonna be fun."

Darin just groaned.

The Sorceress, who had been watching the chaos unfold without lifting a finger, finally spoke.

"We should move," she said simply.

Darin threw his hands up. "Oh, now you want to move?"

She smiled faintly. "You handled it well. I saw no reason to interfere."

Darin muttered a string of curses under his breath but ultimately waved the group forward.

As they left the clearing, he shot a glance at Grumble—who, unsurprisingly, had slept through the entire thing on Steve’s back.

Darin sighed.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself. "That checks out."

And with that, they continued on their way, deeper into whatever fresh nightmare the forest had in store for them next.