Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord

Steve stood motionless.

The wind didn't move. The trees didn't rustle. Only his heartbeat echoed in his skull like a war drum, pounding against his ribcage.

His gaze remained locked on the goblins.

They were everywhere—squatting in the open clearing like grotesque dolls forgotten by time. A sea of them, their small bodies hunched and twitching, leathery skin catching the pale glow of moonlight. His breath hitched. Fear strangled his throat, anchoring him in place.

This is too many. Way too many…

Then he saw it.

Fine strands—almost invisible—glinted in the moonlight, stretching down from above and attaching to the heads of some of the goblins.

Strings.

Like those of a puppeteer.

Steve's stomach turned.

From that alone, he understood. This wasn't just a gathering—it was control. Some unseen force was pulling the strings, literally. His eyes widened. Outnumbered… outmatched… I shouldn't be here.

But then—something strange.

None of them had noticed him. Not a single goblin turned his way.

Huh? His thoughts stalled. Why?

A subtle movement caught his eye.

At the far edge of the clearing, one goblin—positioned apart from the horde—shifted. Its ear twitched, as if catching something on the breeze. Slowly, it turned its head toward Steve's direction.

Steve was already gone.

In one fluid motion, he had ducked behind a thick tree, melting into the shadow. His back pressed hard against the bark. He held his breath. The silence was so intense, even the sound of his heartbeat seemed deafening.

Peering carefully, he watched the goblin's glowing eyes scan the underbrush.

Nothing.

The creature grunted, blinked twice, then turned back to the others as if nothing had happened.

Steve stayed frozen. Seconds passed. Then—

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

The sound rolled through the forest like thunder wrapped in chains.

Each step was a warning. A presence. A monster too heavy for the earth it walked on.

Steve turned his head just slightly, eyes narrowing to peek from behind the trunk.

Then he saw it.

It wasn't a normal goblin.

This one stood nearly twice as tall, with shoulders broad as oxen and skin like black granite—coarse and cracked like stone baked under the sun. Its form was draped in robes mimicking royalty—frayed velvet dyed with blood, stitched in a pattern that mocked a crown.

And in its right hand…

A staff.

The shaft was ancient wood, twisted like it had been struck by lightning. But at the top sat the hilt of a sword—welded where a blade should have been.

Its golden eyes glowed.

Not like the others—these burned with intelligence, cruelty, and thought. One tooth jutted from its jaw, snapped in half, but jagged and sharp. Its mouth hung slightly open as it exhaled a long, rumbling breath, like a furnace simmering beneath flesh.

It moved toward the center of the horde and sat slowly, lowering itself like a god upon a throne. Then—

THOOM.

It slammed the staff into the earth.

The air shivered.

Steve felt it in his bones, a dull vibration that crawled beneath his skin. Even the trees seemed to groan under its weight. The goblins stiffened.

Then the creature spoke.

Its voice was deep, thick, and monstrous. The syllables dragged like blades on stone.

"Where are the rest of the survivors?"

Steve's body locked up. He could hardly believe what he'd heard.

Did it just speak? In human tongue?

He blinked, eyes wide with disbelief. No… I imagined it. There's no way a goblin—

But he'd heard it. The accent was guttural. Rough. But it was definitely English.

The goblins remained still.

The creature's eyes narrowed. Irritated.

"Am I speaking to statues?"

Another slam of the staff.

Another quake.

The goblins shuddered.

Steve could feel it—their fear. Even they were terrified of this… king.

One finally spoke, voice trembling like a child caught in a lie.

"They… they hide. Somewhere… nearby."

The grammar was broken, but the meaning was clear.

Steve nearly gasped aloud.

They can talk?

No… they've learned to speak our language.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to run.

Instead, he kept still.

The massive goblin sneered.

"I've given you time. Days. I spared your lives. And what do I receive in return?"

It stood now, rising with slow rage.

"Incomplete missions. Delays. Weakness."

It lifted its hand, and the air surged. A gust of wind blasted outward, sending the smaller goblins tumbling back. Even Steve was forced to shield his eyes, pressing his body tighter to the tree.

"All you bring me are scraps from the refugee camp."

The creature's voice rumbled like thunder wrapped in contempt.

"What about the others? The stragglers scattered across the town? You think this game ends while they still draw breath?"

Silence.

It turned, sweeping its golden gaze across its trembling clan.

"This ends when every last human is dead."

Then, quieter, darker—

"Before the Great One arrives."

Steve stiffened. The… Great One?

He didn't know what that meant.

But the goblin king did.

"Split into groups," it commanded. "One stays here—deal with the camp in this forest. The rest…"

His voice dropped into something ancient, like a curse.

"Hunt them down."

"Scatter."

The word fell like thunder, low and rolling, spoken with a weight that made the leaves tremble on their branches.

The Goblin Lord's voice carried through the still forest, resonating with a terrible, commanding authority—like a storm cresting just beyond the hills, inevitable and all-consuming. His shadow loomed in the firelight, monstrous and jagged, as he raised his gnarled staff toward the sky.

"Find them all," he growled, each syllable laced with venom. "Those who wander the forest. Those hiding in the ruins. Those crawling beneath the broken streets."

He turned slowly, his voice rising, echoing through the trees like a funeral bell.

"I don't care where they are. You find them—and you slaughter them. All of them."

Then, with a chilling finality:

"This is Maestro's land now."

---

Steve's breath caught in his throat.

The words slammed into him like a hammer, knocking the wind from his chest. His body began to shake—not from the cold, but from the raw, sick weight of disbelief anchoring him to the forest floor.

He had heard every word.

His fingers clenched around the rough bark of the tree he crouched behind, the ridges biting into his skin.

They know.

The thought hit like a dagger in the gut.

They know about the camp.

His pulse roared in his ears. A thousand thoughts tried to rush through his head all at once, but one rose above the rest, sharp and urgent.

They're going to wipe it out. Everyone. The children. The injured. All of them.

His heart began to pound furiously, like a drum calling soldiers to war. The air grew thin, every breath a struggle. His chest heaved as panic clawed at his throat.

No… no, no…

He pressed himself harder against the tree, as if willing himself to melt into the wood, to vanish. But his thoughts refused to still.

What do I do? Attack now?

His eyes darted toward the figure at the center of the horde—the towering beast that sat in stillness, draped in robes etched with silver thread, its posture regal, composed. Power radiated from it like heat from a forge.

That had to be him.

The arcane master.

The true leader.

The one pulling the strings.

If Steve could take him out—just him—maybe the horde would crumble. Maybe the others could survive.

But then he looked again.

Goblins. So many.

A sea of snarling, shifting green and gray forms, some twitching with erratic, puppet-like movements. Faint strings still danced above their heads—glowing, shifting, controlled.

Steve's gut twisted.

I could turn some against each other. Sow chaos. Buy time.

But that wouldn't kill the big one. Wouldn't stop what was coming.

He's too strong… I can't even read his power. If I go now—it's suicide.

He clenched his jaw, fists trembling at his sides. Nails dug into his palms, grounding him.

No. I can't throw my life away here. I have to warn them. I have to protect the camp.

There was still time.

His breathing slowed. He forced himself to center.

I'll run. Get past the perimeter. Reach the camp before they do.

And then… maybe—just maybe—they'd have a chance.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of fear and determination. "I'm going to do it. I'll run. I'll warn them. That's the only way."

He turned slowly, his movements measured and precise. Every step was deliberate, every breath shallow and controlled. The forest floor felt fragile beneath his feet, each twig and leaf a potential death sentence.

Then—

He froze.

A presence.

He felt it before he saw it—like a sudden shift in pressure, a ripple through the air.

A figure stood just in front of him.

Not towering. Not armored.

But a goblin.

Not just any goblin.

It stood motionless, eyes locked directly on his, its glowing yellow gaze wide with alarm. Its face was young—too young. Not twisted by malice yet, but shocked. Almost… confused. Its cloak fluttered faintly in the night breeze, revealing glowing runes scrawled across its chest in a language Steve didn't recognize.

It didn't scream.

Didn't lunge.

Not yet.

But Steve could feel it—the moment hanging by a thread. The air around them had gone silent, thick with tension. Time slowed to a crawl.

Please… he thought. Please don't.

Then—

"AARRRRGHHHH!!"

The goblin's roar split the forest like lightning. It wasn't a scream—it was a signal. A cry that tore through the trees, violent and primal. Birds burst from their nests above in a frenzy of wings. Insects vanished. Even the wind seemed to die.

Steve stumbled back a step, horror clutching his heart with icy fingers.

But it wasn't just the roar.

It was what came next.

Behind him, in the clearing, a sound like bones snapping in unison:

Silence.

Then—

The entire horde of goblins froze.

One by one, their heads turned.

Strings above them flickered. Eyes glinted in the darkness, all of them falling upon the lone figure in the trees.

On him.

The murmurs stopped. The rustling quieted. No more shuffling feet. No more idle chatter.

Only that unbearable silence.

And hundreds of eyes.

Staring.

Piercing.

Knowing.

Steve couldn't move. His muscles refused. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.

No. No, no, no—

The rules had changed.

No more sneaking.

No more chances.

Now, the entire goblin horde…

was hunting him.