Hunting MILFs in a Trash Eroge

Within seconds, several of the villagers hurried toward him—some cautiously, some eagerly, some with genuine awe in their expressions.

Their steps were unsteady, their eyes bright, their hands slightly trembling like they weren't entirely sure whether approaching him was allowed.

They looked at him the way people would look at a heroic figure returning victorious from a great battle.

"Damien!"

"You're back!"

Their voices overlapped—excited, breathless, almost worshipful.

They crowded around him, leaving tools behind, abandoning tasks mid-way, as if the mere sight of him demanded their full devotion.

Damien, however, didn't react.

He walked forward with his usual cold expression, as though he didn't even notice them.

But his indifference didn't stop them.

If anything, it made them follow closer.

At the front of the house, standing stiffly like two decorative posts that had lost their relevance, were the village chief and his son—Brad.

They had clearly been overseeing the repairs before Damien arrived, standing in front of the house like they were in a leadership position.

But the moment Damien appeared…

The villagers around the chief abandoned him without hesitation.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly they shifted attention—one man practically sprinting from the chief's side to join those fawning over Damien, another not even bothering to finish the greeting he had been offering the chief moments earlier.

Brad's eyes widened in disbelief.

The chief's jaw clenched.

The village chief's left eye twitched violently, a faint tremor tugging the corner of his wrinkled face. His lips curled downward into a deepening frown.

'How could they leave me…? For a brat like him…?' he thought, clenching his fists.

He had spent decades establishing authority here. Decades ensuring everyone respected him, listened to him, looked up to him as the backbone of the village.

And yet now—not even a full minute after Damien's return—they crowded around the boy instead.

Brad, standing stiffly beside him, gnashed his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw trembled. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles turning white.

'That's Damien…' he thought bitterly. 'Damien, the trash we all know… Why are they treating him like that?!'

He hadn't been there when the monsters attacked. He hadn't seen the horde fall. He hadn't seen the near destruction of the village prevented by Damien alone.

So to him, the villagers' reactions seemed absurd—exaggerated beyond belief.

He simply couldn't understand.

Damien, meanwhile, didn't spare Brad—or the villagers—so much as a glance.

He continued walking forward, slipping through the crowd with the calm confidence of someone immune to the noise around him.

The villagers parted naturally, creating an instinctive path for him, their movements resembling worship more than respect.

He didn't stop until he stood directly before the village chief.

The chief's forced smile appeared instantly—wide, toothy, and practiced through years of political habit.

"Damien Cross…" the old man said warmly, even raising his hands slightly in welcome. "It's an honour meeting you again."

His voice carried that careful balance of admiration and authority—an attempt to maintain control while simultaneously flattering someone who now held far more power than expected.

Damien, however, responded with nothing but a cold look.

The cold expression on his face immediately made the man's smile tremble.

The chief's face twitched violently again.

Anger flickered behind his eyes—deep, bitter, almost insulting in how poorly he hid it.

'You have only just gotten into the elite rankings… and also recently awakened,' he thought darkly. 'I've been the village chief for years. At least show more respect?!'

But Damien offered none.

And what made it worse?

The other villagers didn't seem to care about Damien's rudeness at all.

If anything, they nodded subtly, as if fully expecting Damien to act however he pleased. As if his cold demeanor was perfectly acceptable coming from the one who saved their village.

This silent acceptance only worsened the chief's frustration.

His jaw tightened and his breath grew uneven with irritation he dared not express aloud.

'Why did he even come back to the village…?' the chief thought bitterly. 'Why not just stay at the damn academy?!'

His position—his authority—his relevance had all been shaken the moment Damien returned.

The villagers' loyalty was shifting, their trust sliding slowly toward someone stronger, someone who had proven himself through action rather than title.

And the chief knew it.

But he forced himself to keep smiling, as he had no choice.

In truth, he had never expected to rely on Damien for protection. In fact, the idea irritated him to no end.

The chief had always believed that with the tight security around his house, there was never a possibility that the beast horde would reach his home.

His own safety had been assured from the start. The rest of the villagers…? Well, that had never truly concerned him.

It wasn't that he wished for their deaths. But whether they lived or died… it simply wasn't something that occupied space in his heart.

What mattered was his house, his safety, his status.

If anything, he would have rather Damien never returned in the first place.

Damien's presence brought nothing but trouble to him—trouble to his pride, trouble to the quiet, comfortable control he held over the people.

Damien, with his rising strength and growing reputation, was a threat to the chief's prestige.

And yet… here Damien was. His wish had not come to pass. Damien had indeed come back.

And now he had to stare at Damien's face again—an infuriatingly handsome and cold face that only seemed to mock him.

The chief swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile onto his lips, even though his insides churned with discomfort. He cleared his throat softly before saying,

"I… I really appreciate your bravery and strength… that you used in saving—"

"Save it."

The two words cut into his sentence like a blade.

Damien didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. His tone alone carried enough finality to silence the chief instantly. Brad, who stood beside the chief, stiffened at the disrespect, but even he didn't dare to interrupt.

The villagers around them exchanged looks, but none looked offended on Damien's behalf.

If anything, they waited expectantly, as though Damien telling the village chief to shut up was the most natural thing in the world.

Damien's gaze drifted briefly toward the house in front of him—the old, wretched, slanted structure that could barely be called a home.

The wooden planks were cracked and swollen from repeated exposure to moisture.

The roof sagged at an angle, and pieces of straw stuck out in irregular patches like the hair of someone who had recently suffered a traumatic event.

It was a disgrace to call this thing a house.

Let alone his family's home.

Damien let his eyes linger for a long second before turning back to the chief. His voice was firm, cutting, and utterly unapologetic.

"The only way you can show appreciation," he said, "is to help secure a better house for me and my family."

The chief's eyes widened. For a moment, he genuinely felt the urge to cough up blood.

What a shameless request!

His thoughts raced in a frantic swirl.

'A house?! He wants a house?! Is he insane? Does he really expect me to give in to something that outrageous?! Houses cost money! Effort! Materials! Builders! And because he saved a few villagers he thinks he can make demands like this?!'

The chief felt his temples pulse, and he slowly turned his head toward Damien, fully expecting him to crack a smile—to say he was joking, or at least show some sign that he was exaggerating to prove a point.

But no.

Damien's expression remained stone-cold.

He was dead serious!

The chief's throat tightened.

He suddenly felt a wave of suffocating pressure, the kind that pressed onto his chest and made his heartbeat uneven.

Not because Damien threatened him, but because he realized—horrifyingly—that the villagers around him were nodding.

They were whispering approval under their breaths.

"He deserves it."

"He saved us when the useless guards lest us to die!"

"Of course he should get a better house."

"Even the chief should help him."

And that realization made the chief's stomach twist painfully.

He had already felt slighted earlier when the villagers abandoned his presence the moment Damien appeared.

But now… now it felt like someone had taken a blade and pressed it gently against his pride, driving it deeper each time the villagers looked at Damien with reverence instead of him.

The whispers around them grew louder—not disrespectful, but undeniably supportive of Damien.

"He should be rewarded…"

"Yes, that house is a disaster…"

"If the chief helped, it would only be right…"

"Damien saved all of us. A house is nothing in comparison…"

Each comment stabbed at the chief's ego.

Brad, standing beside him, clenched his fists tightly. His face contorted with suppressed anger and disbelief.

He felt something bitter coil inside him.

Because Damien had always been beneath him—or so he believed. Always the quiet, overlooked nobody.

And now? These villagers—people Brad had known his whole life—were praising Damien like he was some elite warrior.

Brad's jaw tightened until a faint tremble ran through it. His teeth gnashed, grinding against each other in frustration.

Brad knew his father's personality well. The chief cared deeply about his reputation. He loved being admired, respected, treated as the wise leader everyone relied on.

For decades, that was what he had been. The one the villagers looked up to. The one who solved conflicts, who made difficult decisions, who was acknowledged for his authority.

But today, Damien had overshadowed him completely.

Meanwhile, Damien's eyes shone, and for a moment, his lips curled into a smug smirk.