How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying (Dark Lord Davi #1)

by Django Wexler

Tserigern is a wizard, a very old and famous one. Everyone says he’s the most powerful wizard in the Kingdom, but frankly I’ve never seen him do magic for shit. Light the way in caves and get cryptic messages, that’s about it. You could replace him with a flashlight and a walkie-talkie.

“I,” I announce to the world, “am going to become the fucking Dark Lord.”

Decapitation: Accept no substitutes.

The thing about manipulating a crowd is that you don’t have to convince everyone. Ninety percent of the shouting comes from 10 percent of the mob. Get the loudest voices on your side, and the rest will convince themselves.

there are volumes and volumes of manuals and tactica by people who never got anywhere near a battlefield and whose greatest military accomplishment was emerging from the vagina of the king’s first cousin twice removed.

There’s that moment, as your head is still pounding and adrenaline humming, when it seems very quiet. Then you realize that people are still screaming because their insides are on the outside, the inevitable result of a mosh pit with edged weapons. And some of those people crying, or not crying, are your friends. Or used to be your friends.

Yes, come and join the Modern Horde! Diversity is our strength! Diversity and stabbing!

The problem with mountains—follow close here, this is complicated—is that they’re very tall.

nobody hates the people on the bottom of the ladder as much as those clinging to the second rung.

It goes on and on. That’s the thing about battles, they’re such madness that you feel certain they have to be over quickly, but then they aren’t. It seems like flesh and bone can’t stand any more, but then they do. One more charge. One more arrow.