Overlord Series Novels & Stories

Professor Damaris also said that every Summoner has a spirit animal who can protect and guide them. The Healing Caste is the sixth caste in the Olympus wherein people like Dr. Foster have the ability to heal and revive someone from death. If not so, others from this caste can create different kinds of potions—good potions to be exact. Professor Damaris didn’t elaborate on it because she said that I’m able to know it soon.

IF THIS IS A DEAD END, I AM GOING TO BUST RIGHT THROUGH IT! A scorching, unprecedented power detonated in the back of my mind. "Hey!" I screamed, ignoring Hudson's panicked shout to stay put, stepping entirely out of cover and exposing myself to the entire battlefield. Hearing my voice, every single raider instinctively turned to look at me. Instantly, the chaotic, deafening battlefield was violently paused. Every charging raider, every grinning killer, froze mid-step. The bloodlust drained from their eyes, instantly replaced by a glazed, fanatical obsession. They couldn't look away.

He stammered, his thighs close together and his body turned rigid. “Why so?” Elijah turned her head for the second time, her long hair fell at the side, with her large eyes blinking at him innocently. “Becau- because Overlord conquered the territories at a speed of lightning. Over- Overlord accomplished an achievement that not even demons could achieve.” He played with his fingers, trying to control his nervousness because Shadow knew how nervous he was. Shadow glimpsed at James, who reduced into like a scared new student entering the bully’s den. “What happens before the ruling of the demons?”

An old man, clad in tattered robes, stepping forward with slow, measured steps. He stopped a few paces away, his gaze settling on Elior. “I know you,” the man rasped. “You are the one who shattered the Throne.” The man’s name was Orris, one of the last survivors of Dawnfire. He had seen the sky break, had felt the change ripple through the land. “The First King built the Throne for a reason,” he said. “It was never just a seat of power. It was a cage.” A chill ran through Elior.

This was Sinners, where werewolves came to lose all inhibitions. "Fuck!" I cursed, my heart pounding loudly as I tasted real fear. A male's hand grabbed my waist and I flinched away. Someone cupped my ass and squeezed and I cried out in outrage. "Get the fuck away from me!" Suddenly, I felt a dark looming presence rise up behind me and all the eager werewolves froze. A huge jacket slid over my shoulders, smelling of leather and sandalwood and money. "You heard her." The dark, smokey voice said softly, daring any of the men to challenge him. To my surprise, they raised their hands and backed off hastily. That voice was so familiar... I spun around and gaped at the rude, handsome stranger.

He smirked and leaned back on the chair, “A bit small for the ruler of the largest pack in the realm, don't you think?” “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Keyleth stepped to my side, her arms folded against each other. “Tell us about the rot and we might just let you live.” “What shall I call you?” The wolven asked again, the smirk on his face dropped. “Oliver. Just Oliver.” — “Koren?” The word rolled off Keyleth's tongue as the male looked with obvious annoyance. “Soren.” He snapped at her, turning a sharp gaze towards me. “Soren stris, the dark wolven rises, and the realm falls.”