Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord
Chapter 118: A MILF In Need[Bonus]
CHAPTER 118: A MILF IN NEED[BONUS]
Steve remained utterly still, his heart hammering in his chest. Across a ghastly space that felt both intimate and endless, his wide eyes locked onto the ghost before him.
Alive-eyed and terrified, he stared into the hollow sockets of that skull‑like face—unblinking, unrelenting.
Then, from the pale form that drifted just beyond his reach, came a hollow whisper:
"You... you understand now, do you?"
Time froze. Steve’s jaw tightened. His throat clenched. But suddenly, his eyes flickered—like frantic lights, darting side to side, as though desperate to see beyond this moment. His voice came sharp, breathless.
"What is it? Is it... Is it the goblin clan? How many goblins are there? Two? A dozen? Where...Where are they?"
A pulse of panic surged through him.
’I’m not going to die here. Most definitely not.’
He gripped the hilt of his daggers with trembling fingers, bracing for a hail of violence.
A murmur from the ghost. Something measured. Low. Calm.
"Hold your panties, boy."
Steve snapped his gaze to the apparition. His blood pounded in his ears.
’What...?’
The ghost drifted closer, ethereal and silent. Steve’s eyes flicked again, taking in every hazy shape in the gloom around them.
Then it spoke, casually, almost bored:
"There’s no need to get your panties wet."
Steve bristled.
’...the hell?’
"I’m not afraid." he snapped.
"I’m just being cautious."
A hollow, rattling laugh.
"Yeah, yeah. And I’m the fucking Queen Witcher’s booty call."
Despite himself, Steve chuckled—a brief, startled laugh. The tension cracked, if only for a heartbeat.
The ghost’s tone turned somber.
"Look, there’s no clann. No towering beast hiding in the trees. Just one pulse...of fine‑tuned magical aura."
Steve swallowed hard.
"One... enemy?"
"Can’t feel it?"
Steve shook his head, voice small.
"I can’t even sense anything."
"Hmm...strange...maybe it’s because you’re weak." the ghost replied.
’...Bastard...’ Steve thundered inwardly.
"It feels exactly... like your own energy."
Steve’s heart thudded.
"My... my own energy?"
Something cracked behind them. A sudden, brittle snap that sliced through the silence.
Steve and the ghost both turned in unison.
Steve’s hands moved faster than thought. His daggers were suddenly in his grip. He slid into a fighter’s stance, keen and smooth.
Just then—a crunch of footsteps through twisted undergrowth.
Step.
Step.
A shadow moved forward.
She wasn’t just a woman. She was... a MILF embodiment standing on legs that shook with pain.
She staggered into the dim clearing, each step weighted and agonized. She wore the uniform of the Magic Guard—blood‑stained, battle‑scorched—but it clung to her curves and chest in ways that made Steve’s breath hitch.
The armor strained over massive breasts; the skirts swayed over long, muscular legs. Even soaked in grime, she radiated sensuality.
But there was more than that. There was pain. Deep, raw, spilling from every move she made.
Her breaths were shallow, ragged. She leaned heavily on her long spear, like a crutch. Blood trickled from a wound at her shoulder, streaking crimson into the grime of her armor.
Two paces.
Another.
Her eyelids fluttered, close to folding shut forever.
And then... she collapsed.
Steve’s heart stopped.
Before he could think, he sheathed his daggers—uncaring—and rushed forward. He slid to his knees and swept her up in his arms.
He pressed against her gently, feeling the warmth of her skin and the weight of her exhaustion.
"Hey... hey." His voice was soft, urgent—hushed comfort.
"What happened? Are you—are you okay? Is it still close?"
He brushed a trembling lock of hair from her face. He wiped the damp dark curls from her cheek. His fingertips felt tender across cold metal, pressing on splintered armor.
Her chest rose only once, then it stalled, her breath shallow, uneven.
His heart clenched.
"What’s wrong?" he murmured.
"Can you... can you breathe? Talk to me."
Her lips parted. Nothing came. She stared at him with wide, glassy eyes. The look wasn’t blank—it was distant. As though she were stuck in some realms between life and death.
Steve pressed a finger to her throat, searching for a pulse. It throbbed—weakly, but alive.
His gaze softened.
"You’re safe now. I’ve got you."
Still she said nothing.
He rested his palm to her forehead, checking her state, grounding himself.
Then—a voice from behind.
Cold. Mocking.
"Wait, pervert."
Steve’s breath slammed into his lungs. His grip tightened around the girl as he snapped his gaze over his shoulder.
The ghost hovered there, voice dripping venom.
Then suddenly it lunged.
Its arm—hips, impossibly swift—rose in a backhand strike aimed right at her.
"NO!" Steve roared. He dove. His hand closed around the dagger at his side, and he slammed it across the attack’s path. Metal clanged on ectoplasm. The impact rattled through his bones. The ghost’s claws skated over the blade’s edge and slashed, twisting it from his grasp. His steel blade clattered to the ground.
Clang!
He tensed, ready for a second blow—but then dropped to the side, dragging the woman with him in a fluid defensive roll.
The ghost’s claw carved through empty air.
A gasp—hers. A trembling cry of fear.
"Don’t... don’t let it haunt me. Please!"
Her voice—raw, brittle—echoed in the clearing.
Steve clutched her hand tighter. His jaw set.
He stood—a motion both regal and fierce.
"Get away from her!" he snarled, barreling in. His other hand reached for his second dagger, pulling it free in a flash.
He met the ghost’s flickering eye, returning a glaring gaze at her.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"
No answer. Just that same cold, empty gaze.
Steve hissed, lifting his dagger slowly, deliberately:
"Are you... are you going on a rampage?"
His muscles tensed, poised to strike.
And then...
He paused.
’...Huh...y...’
A tremor flew along his spine. A chill whisper.
He looked down.
The woman—still in his arms. Her eyes were filled with terrified awe. Her lips trembled, but... They were fixed not on him—but on the ghost.
A realization uncoiled in Steve’s mind.
He swallowed. Lowered his dagger, gently.
"Y-You can... see him?"
She remained as she was, breathless, fragile.
Steve’s heart thundered.
No one else could see the ghost—except him.
But she could.
They stared at the ghost together.
Silence.
Her breath hitched, eyes wide and shimmering with terror.
Steve held her tighter, grounding them both.
Then, finally, the ghost spoke, voice soft and chilling:
"That girl, right there... she’s the one emitting the deadly aura I told you about."
A breath of realization tore through Steve.
"She’s the enemy!..."