Ascension of the Overlord

The sun hung low in the sky as the tax collector's wagon rolled into the village. The horses snorted nervously, their hooves crunching on the dirt road that should have been bustling with life. Instead, the village was silent.

The tax collector, a balding man with a sour expression, frowned as he pulled the reins. "Where is everyone?" he muttered, glancing around at the empty streets.

His two guards exchanged uneasy glances, their hands hovering near their weapons.

"Something's not right," one of them said, his voice low.

The tax collector waved him off, climbing down from the wagon. "They're probably hiding. Peasants always have excuses when it's time to pay."

He marched toward the village square, his boots kicking up dust. It wasn't until he reached the well that he saw it—the first body.

The guard nearest to him gagged. "By the gods…"

The tax collector stared, his face pale as he took in the carnage. Bodies lay scattered across the square, their lifeless eyes staring into nothing. Blood had pooled and dried in dark, congealed streaks across the cobblestones.

He stumbled back, nearly tripping over another body—a woman cradling a child. Both of them were motionless, their forms twisted and broken.

"Who could've done this?" the other guard whispered, his voice shaking.

"I… I don't know," the tax collector stammered, his hand trembling as he pointed toward the wagon. "Get back to the city. Tell the lord—tell them everything!"

The guards nodded, their faces pale as they sprinted to the wagon. Within moments, the sound of hooves thundered away, leaving the tax collector alone with the village's grim silence.

The air inside my domain was heavy, oppressive. The faint light from the banners lining the walls flickered like dying embers, casting long shadows across the throne room.

I stood in the center of the hall, my massive sword held loosely in my hand. The floor beneath me was cracked, a jagged fissure running from where I stood to the far wall.

"How many more?" I muttered, my voice echoing in the empty space. "How many more until it's enough?"

The words hung in the air, unanswered.

I swung my blade, the force of it cleaving through a stone pillar with a deafening crack. The pieces crashed to the ground, dust filling the air as I stood motionless, my glowing eyes fixed on the destruction.

"It wasn't my fault," I said, louder this time. "They attacked me. They… they left me no choice."

But the words felt hollow, even to me.

The mist that seeped from my armor coiled around me, glowing faintly in the dim light. It whispered in my ears, the sound too faint to make out but impossible to ignore.

"You wanted it," I muttered, the words barely audible. "You enjoyed it."

My grip on the sword tightened, the edges of my vision blurring as I raised the blade again.

"No!" I roared, slamming the sword into the floor. The impact sent a shockwave through the hall, the cracks beneath me spreading outward like a web.

I sank to my knees, my head bowed, the mist swirling around me like a living thing.

"This isn't who I am," I whispered, though the words felt more like a question than a statement.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the throne as I slowly rose and made my way toward it. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of my armor—and my actions—pressing down on me.

When I reached the throne, I sat down heavily, the sword resting across my knees. The mist curled around the throne's edges, glowing faintly in the darkness.

For a long time, I stared into the void, the echoes of my laughter still ringing faintly in the back of my mind.

"I'm not human anymore," I muttered, my voice cold and hollow. "I don't even know if I ever was."

The mist swirled higher, the whispers growing louder, but I didn't move.

I just sat there, surrounded by the emptiness I'd created.

The tax collectors, pale and shaken, arrived at E-Rantel within hours of their gruesome discovery. Their report reached the ears of a lesser noble—a baron serving under the kingdom's military jurisdiction—who swiftly forwarded the matter to Marquis Raeven. Known for his sharp mind and pragmatic approach, Raeven took the news seriously but chose not to act directly.

Instead, Raeven issued orders for a small investigation team, led by an experienced but unremarkable captain of the guard, to verify the claims and assess the situation. The group consisted of five individuals: the captain, three seasoned soldiers, and a scout adept at tracking.

"Find out what happened," Raeven's written orders had said. "Report back with details. Do not engage if the threat remains active."

The group rode hard through the forest, reaching the village two days later. The sight that greeted them confirmed the tax collectors' account in horrifying detail.

The once-lively streets were filled with death. The bodies had decayed further in the week that had passed, and the metallic stench of dried blood hung thick in the air. Flies buzzed incessantly, and scavengers had already begun to pick at the remains.

The captain dismounted, his face pale but composed. "Spread out," he ordered, gesturing for the others to search the area.

One of the soldiers knelt by a corpse near the well, his voice tight. "These wounds… they're too clean. Whoever—or whatever—did this was precise."

"Over here," the scout called, crouching near the edge of the village. "Tracks. Big ones. Heavy. They lead into the forest."

The captain approached, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "How fresh?"

The scout hesitated, his sharp eyes scanning the ground. "A week, maybe less. But they're deliberate. This thing wasn't wandering—it had a destination."

The captain nodded grimly. "We follow. Stay alert. Whatever did this might still be out there."

The forest grew darker and more oppressive as they followed the trail. The air felt heavier with every step, and the faint sound of whispers began to creep into their ears.

The scout was the first to spot the fortress. "Captain," he said, his voice low as he pointed ahead. "There."

The group emerged from the trees to find an ancient, imposing structure towering before them. Its dark stone walls were cracked and weathered, yet it emanated a chilling aura that made even the most seasoned soldier hesitate.

"What the hell is this place?" one of the soldiers muttered, his hand tightening on his spear.

The captain dismounted, his expression hard. "A fortress," he said simply. "Abandoned, by the looks of it. But if those tracks lead here…"

He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. The gates loomed ahead, slightly ajar, with faint tendrils of mist seeping through the cracks.

"Stay close," he ordered, drawing his sword. "We go in."

The air inside the fortress was colder, thicker. The faint sound of their footsteps echoed unnaturally through the vast halls, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The scout's voice broke the silence. "Sir… there's something wrong with this place."

The captain didn't respond. His eyes were fixed ahead, on the massive double doors at the end of the hall. They were ornate, etched with ancient symbols, and a faint glow of mist seeped from the cracks.

"Whatever's here," he said, his voice steady but low, "we're about to find it."

He pushed the doors open.

The doors creaked open, and before they could take another step, a sound sliced through the air—a deafening whistle, sharp and violent.

In an instant, the first soldier's body was split apart, his torso flying one way, his legs crumpling the other. Blood sprayed across the group, painting the ancient stone floor in a sickening crimson.

The second man barely had time to turn before my blade tore through his chest, shattering ribs and spraying gore across his comrades. His scream was cut short as his body collapsed, twitching.

"What the—" the captain began, but his words drowned in the sound of another strike. My sword carved through the scout, his head spinning through the air before crashing into the floor with a sickening thud.

The remaining soldiers froze, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror. They stumbled back, slipping in the growing pools of blood. One tripped over a severed arm, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"W-we're under attack!" one of them choked out, his voice trembling.

But there was no time to rally.

Another swing cleaved through the soldier's side, his body spinning violently as blood and entrails painted the walls.

The captain turned to run, dragging a younger soldier behind him, but I was already there. My blade slammed into the stone floor inches from their feet, spraying fragments of rock and red mist.

"Leave," I growled, my voice a deep, hollow echo in the chamber. The captain turned, his eyes filled with fear and disbelief.

"W-what?" he stammered.

"Go," I snarled, raising my sword, its edge glinting with fresh blood. "Tell them what happens when they dare enter my domain."

The younger soldier didn't need to be told twice. He bolted, dragging the captain with him. Their panicked footsteps echoed through the hall as they disappeared into the mist.

I stood in the carnage, my armor dripping with blood. The thick scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the faint whispers of the mist that coiled around me.

My gaze swept over the mangled bodies strewn across the chamber. The silence was deafening, save for the faint drip of blood from my sword.

They had entered my home. They had dared to cross my threshold, to disrespect the sanctuary I had claimed in this world.

"This isn't the time to stand still," I muttered, my voice low and cold. "This world won't let me live in peace."

I turned, my sword trailing blood across the stone as I made my way to the throne.

"If they won't respect me," I said, my voice a quiet snarl, "then I'll teach them."

The mist followed me as I sat, the darkness of the chamber swallowing me whole.