The battlefield was quiet.

Too quiet for a company that had just survived an ambush, a Cyclops charge, and two Oni assassins.

But all eyes were on the massive form of the Cyclops, now dropping to one knee.

The impact sent a gust of dust and frost rolling through the air.

Darin lowered his warhammer cautiously, unsure if the next move was going to be a punch or a bow. But then the Cyclops lowered his head, and spoke.

A low, rumbling voice, like distant thunder echoing through a canyon.

"That power… That scent… My Lord, you have appeared at last."

Darin blinked.

"…Sorry, what?"

The Cyclops slammed one massive fist against the earth in reverence, his single eye glowing dimly with what could only be described as awe.

"Forgive me for not recognizing your form immediately. But I feel it now. The dark resonance. The ancient pulse. You are he—the one who led the Black Legion. The one who shattered the spires of light. The Overlord reborn!"

"Okay, wow," Darin muttered. "That escalated."

The Sorceress, now walking calmly toward him, raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations. You've collected a Cyclops."

Grumble leapt from nowhere, perfectly timing his signature entrance by landing squarely atop the Cyclops's massive head and sitting there like he was born for the throne. He curled into a loaf, tail flicking, eyes half-lidded.

Steve, meanwhile, had begun circling the Cyclops at a cautious but intrigued pace—growling, chirping, and occasionally hopping like he couldn't decide whether to challenge it or sniff its foot.

The Cyclops remained kneeling.

Not even twitching.

"Grumble seems satisfied," Darin said.

"He is sitting like a judgmental crown," the Sorceress murmured.

Behind them, the two Oni were now unconscious and bound with glowing ethereal chains. The Sorceress waved a hand to tighten the bindings and said casually, "We'll get answers from them later. Preferably between lightning jolts."

Darin gave her a sidelong glance. "Remind me never to fall asleep around you."

"Good plan."

Moments later, the brush near the western ridge began to shift, more figures emerging through the trees.

Vincent and Alvin strode back into view, weapons lowered, sweat matting their hair and cloaks, surrounded by a cluster of returning knights and mercenaries.

At their side walked the scout, the old man with the fedora—face as stoic as ever, but his pace a little quicker than usual.

Dozens of Gallikarns followed, heads down, weapons sheathed.

Most looked grim.

Some looked scared.

One looked… desperate.

That one sprinted ahead of the others, an older Gallikarn with faded warpaint and deep lines etched into his weathered face. He threw himself down in front of Darin, face to the ground—then slammed his head against the dirt.

Once. This chapter was uploaded by the team at M|VLEMPYR.

Twice.

CRACK.

"WHOA WHOA WHOA—" Darin staggered back. "Okay, that's a concussion!"

The man continued, undeterred.

"So the prophecy is real…" he cried, voice cracking. "You have returned, my Lord! Forgive us! Forgive us! Please stop your spawn from massacring our people!"

"Spawn?" Darin echoed, horrified.

The elder Gallikarn raised his bloodied face, eyes wild with devotion and fear. "They came in shadow! They destroyed our outposts! Our shrines! Our entire west ridge! They bear your mark, they chant your name, they said this was your punishment!"

Darin stared, frozen.

Vincent, who'd just caught up, leaned in and whispered, "Uh… you didn't send shadow-demons to punish this guy, did you?"

"No!"

The Overlord chuckled in Darin's head. "I mean, I might have. In the past. Bit of a tantrum during a betrayal thing. It's been a few centuries, hard to keep track of every blood sacrifice, they are probably still going at it to this day."

"Not helping!" Darin hissed under his breath.

The Gallikarn elder resumed his desperate plea. "For centuries we have built monuments in your name! Shrines carved into mountains! Temples shaped in your image! We have obeyed the old text—taught your glory to our children! Please! Free us from your wrath!"

"Okay, time out!" Darin held up both hands.

Everyone froze.

Darin's eyes darted from the kneeling Cyclops to the groveling Gallikarn to the clearly enjoying-himself Grumble.

And then to Steve, who had decided that the Cyclops's foot was a perfectly fine chew toy.

Vincent opened his mouth.

"Don't," Darin said.

"I was just going to say this is probably the most culty thing I've seen all week."

"I said don't."

The Sorceress, now standing beside him again, murmured, "I guess you're gaining another cult on your collection of lunatics."

"I didn't ask for it!"

"You never do," the Overlord said with a smug chuckle. "It just follows. Like a loyal curse."

Darin looked down at the Gallikarn elder, who was now prostrate, arms stretched outward like he was expecting to be struck down or blessed on the spot.

"Alright," Darin said slowly. "I… accept your allegiance. Or apology. Or whatever this is."

The elder gasped, immediately clasping his hands together.

"But—!" Darin added quickly. "Tell your people. I am not sending monsters to punish you. I am not the enemy. And for the love of sanity, stop headbutting the dirt!"

The elder immediately ceased.

Then he scrambled backward on his knees and slammed his chest against the earth instead.

Vincent whispered, "Honestly not better."

Alvin walked over, tossing a severed ogre horn onto the ground like it was trash. "What now? We hosting a dinner for the undead next?"

Darin groaned. "Don't give anyone ideas."

The Sorceress folded her arms. "We have a new ally. Possibly several. The Cyclops will need handling. The Gallikarns will want to swear fealty in blood."

"I don't want blood!" Darin exclaimed.

"They'll bring it anyway."

"Why?!"

She smirked. "Tradition."

Darin slowly turned back to the Cyclops.

The massive creature had remained kneeling this entire time, unmoving, except for one meaty hand that was gently scratching Steve behind the ears. Steve looked like he was considering defecting permanently.

Grumble still sat on his head like a smug little god.

"…Fine," Darin muttered. "Someone find a tent that can fit a Cyclops."

Vincent coughed. "So, a barn?"

"A castle, maybe," Alvin added dryly.

Darin rubbed his temples.

Then the Overlord's voice purred in his skull again. "Welcome to leadership, my boy. You've tamed armies, cults, monsters, and now myth. Soon…"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"…you'll be planning weddings."

Darin stared into the middle distance, horrified.

And from atop the Cyclops's head, Grumble gave a slow, knowing blink.

As if he was already planning the seating arrangement.