The forest behind them still smoked and stank of blood, but the danger had passed.

Cleanup was brutal, but fruitful.

Ant chitin was sturdy and enchanted by nature, ideal for armor once processed. Their cores pulsed with mana dense enough to sell for a noble's ransom. The Queen's heart alone was likely worth more than a duchy. There were rumors among the mercs already. Whispers of gold, commissions, and early retirements.

The Thousand Company would walk into Fort Blackthorn not just as survivors.

But as legends.

Wealthy legends.

The scouts ahead had confirmed the approach. Only another half-day's march stood between them and the fortified city in the north, nestled in the cold cliffs beyond the Reaper Forest. The Duchess Mary of Jade Blackthorn had already sent riders to prepare for their arrival.

Which was good.

Darin was ready for a proper roof, a proper bath, and maybe, a week of not being stabbed, poisoned, or set on fire.

He sat in a wide, well-sprung carriage, flanked by polished obsidian wood and soft crimson cushions. Across from him, still unconscious but resting more peacefully, lay the Sorceress. The healers had done what they could, but it had taken everything out of her. Her spell war with the Queen Ant had been the stuff of legends. She had thrown herself into battle like a comet wrapped in wildfire and sheer fury.

He owed her everything.

Darin leaned back, watching her chest rise and fall gently. Her lips, dry but no longer bloodless. Her hair, still wild, was tucked gently behind one ear. She looked softer now. Younger. Human.

Then—

She stirred.

Her fingers twitched slightly, and her lashes fluttered.

Darin leaned forward, heart suddenly quickening.

Her eyes opened—slow, cautious, like someone coming back from a long fall.

"Hey," Darin said softly, voice almost a whisper. "You're awake."

The Sorceress blinked, her gaze slowly focusing. She frowned slightly, then gave a dry, weary smile.

"I'm not dead?"

"Nope."

"I'm in a carriage?"

"Yeah."

She glanced around, then back at him. "With you?"

Darin smiled sheepishly. "Guilty."

She exhaled and closed her eyes again, shaking her head. "What a tragic end for a feared sorceress. Kidnapped by a blacksmith with a savior complex."

"Technically," Darin said, "you collapsed into my arms dramatically. I caught you. Heroically."

She opened one eye. "Did you strike a pose?"

"I always strike a pose."

That earned a tired laugh from her.

A long moment passed. She shifted slightly and reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand, then resting there.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Another silence, but this one felt warmer.

Her eyes held his a second longer than they needed to.

Then, inevitably—

"Am I interrupting?"

The carriage door swung open and Vincent stood there, grinning with a mix of guilt and mischief. He froze for half a second when he saw their proximity, Darin holding her hand, her gaze soft, but to his credit, he didn't comment.

Much.

"Should I come back in, like, five minutes?" he said, wagging his eyebrows. "Or should I send in wine and a privacy curtain?"

Darin groaned. "Get in or get out."

"I'll just pretend I never saw anything," Vincent said, holding up his hands like a man backing away from a trap.

He closed the door.

Darin sighed and looked back at the Sorceress.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Stockholm syndrome," Darin muttered.

Then—

A voice called from outside.

"My lord, your people need you."

It was the Stranger.

Darin tensed instinctively. He recognized that voice. Serene. Loud. Insane.

He stepped out of the carriage, gently laying the Sorceress against the cushions before he stood.

The Stranger waited nearby, wearing simple gray robes, as if he hadn't just helped slaughter a hive army. His eyes were bright with reverence.

"Do you remember," he asked softly, "the first time we met?"

Darin frowned.

"I… yeah. You showed up in my village. Said weird things. Wouldn't leave. I thought you were some kind of lunatic."

The Stranger nodded. "I stabbed my wrist to make you understand."

"Because that's what reasonable people do."

"You healed me," the Stranger said, voice filled with awe. "I begged you to touch me, and you did. And the wound vanished. That was the moment I knew."

He stepped closer.

"You are the Overlord."

Darin looked away, back toward the distant trees, toward memories of that quiet village. That peaceful, simple life. Just a blacksmith's hammer, a fire, and solitude.

Until this lunatic walked in.

"You ruined everything," Darin said softly.

The Stranger only smiled.

"Did I?"

The Overlord's voice stirred in Darin's mind, amused and rich with pride. ThelatestchaptersareuploadedfirstonM|V|LE3MPYR.

"He's not wrong. That was the first time I flexed anything through you. A passive gift, one of the many you carry. My aura heals those I allow it to. Touch amplifies it. Even then, I was stirring."

"You were awake?"

"Not fully," the Overlord replied. "But close. You weren't ready. Still clinging to that weak little life of hammer and horseshoes."

Darin clenched a fist.

The Stranger bowed his head.

"Please," he said. "There are wounded. Some near death. Let them feel your presence. Let them live."

He stepped aside and gestured toward the gathering area where the healers had set up triage.

Rows of wounded lay on mats and stretchers. Some were burned. Others broken. Many would not last the night without aid.

Darin hesitated.

Then he moved.

He walked slowly, each step dragging heavier than the last. Soldiers watched him. Mercs. Cultists. Even civilians. All silent.

He reached the first man, a young aura knight barely older than a squire. Half his face was missing. He wheezed, barely breathing.

Darin knelt.

Touched the man's shoulder.

Nothing happened for a moment.

Then—dark light.

A soft pulse. Like warm breath in winter.

The man gasped.

And his wound closed.

Not fully. Not perfectly. But enough.

Enough to survive.

A murmur went through the crowd.

Darin moved to the next.

And the next.

Each touch a spark. Each spark a life.

The Stranger watched, smiling like a man seeing prophecy unfold.

"You are the Overlord," he whispered again. "You bring death to the opposed… and life to the faithful."

Darin didn't answer.

He was too busy saving lives.