Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord

Step. Step. Step.

From the midst of the snarling goblin horde, one figure slowly emerged—taller, broader, darker. The crowd parted for him as though his very presence demanded it.

The Ashen Goblin.

He walked with a measured, deliberate pace, every step pounding like a drumbeat in Steve's skull. And then—he stopped.

Right in front of him.

Steve was already trembling, his breath ragged and uneven. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the creature. The goblin raised a hand, fluid dripping from his clawed fingers—thick, translucent, and unmistakably familiar.

It was the same liquid. The same slimy veil Steve had just been yanked out from.

So it was him.

He's the one who pulled me out. He's the one who stopped my escape.

Steve dropped to his knees instinctively, trying to lower himself, to make himself smaller. The beast loomed, then—casually, like he had all the time in the world—lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged before Steve, as if they were about to have tea.

But the goblin's smile…

It was twisted. Vile. A slow, malicious grin that crawled across his grayish, scarred face like a parasite.

Steve couldn't breathe. His body quivered. His thoughts spun.

He kept staring. Breathing. Swallowing dry gulps of air like a man drowning in dust. His fingers crept slowly—very slowly—toward the hilt of his blade.

His mind screamed in panic.

I'm cornered.

Completely trapped.

What the hell do I do now? Shit, shit, shit—

The tension was suffocating. No exit. No help. No Rapunzel.

Nothing.

Do I fight?

But even as the thought formed, he knew the truth.

If I use my power—my other strength—

How many could I take down? Three? Four? Ten, if I'm lucky?

And then what? Burn out? Collapse?

And do it all over again like back then…

His breath hitched. His mana reserves were already shallow. He didn't even have enough for a proper burst.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Cold. Cruel.

"You are the Otter… aren't you?"

Steve's eyes snapped up.

The Ashen Goblin was staring straight at him—smiling, still, but this time with recognition in his eyes. Recognition, and something darker.

He spoke in perfect human tongue.

Steve's chest tightened. That voice felt like it dragged icy fingernails down his spine.

How does he know that?

How the hell does he know that?!

Only Rapunzel knew. Only she had seen the notebook. No one else—not a soul—was supposed to know about the Otter.

His hand froze above the hilt.

The Ashen Goblin tilted his head. As if waiting.

Steve's body trembled harder. His throat went dry.

And then—

"Don't do that," the goblin said calmly, his eyes narrowing just slightly as they flicked down to Steve's hand. "Not again. You'll just get yourself killed."

Steve froze.

The words hit like a bucket of cold water. His hand hesitated, paralyzed mid-reach. He took a shaky gulp, trying to steady himself, but it was pointless.

He stared up at the beast's hideous, cracked face—monstrous, unnatural. That grin still hadn't faded.

"And what?" Steve managed to choke out. "You think I should just sit here and wait for you to kill me?"

The goblin stared at him in silence. The moment stretched, sharp and unbearable.

Then, almost regretfully, he shrugged.

"You're right," he said. "My orders were to kill you anyway. So I suppose… it's inevitable for you."

Steve narrowed his eyes.

"orders…?" he whispered, barely audible over the tension knotting in his throat. "From who?"

The Ashen Goblin chuckled lowly, a sound like bone scraping over stone. The smile that curled his lips was anything but kind.

"Does it really matter?" he said, voice thick with contempt. "You're a dead man walking. And for men like you… nothing matters anymore."

Then, as if amused by his own cruel poetry, he leaned in and muttered one final word under his breath—almost like a command:

"Do it."

Steve didn't understand at first.

But then he heard it.

Boom.

A heavy footfall behind him. Loud. Deep. Final.

The ground beneath him trembled.

His breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened in horror. Slowly—against every screaming instinct in his body—Steve turned his head over his shoulder.

A hulking goblin stood there, muscles bulging beneath layers of cracked leather and blackened metal. The beast gripped a massive iron warhammer, rusted along the edges, but still lethal in weight.

It didn't hesitate.

The goblin opened its fanged maw in a thunderous roar—

And then it swung.

The hammer came down in a blur of motion, a massive arc slicing through the air like a guillotine.

Boom!

The earth exploded.

A crater erupted beneath the weight of the hammer, blasting dirt and rock into the air in a wild plume. Dust clouds surged outward in every direction, masking everything—sky, trees, even light. The shockwave sent goblins stumbling back, arms raised to shield their faces. The impact was deafening. It cracked the very forest floor.

From within that rising storm of dirt and ash—there was nothing.

No scream.

No body.

Just silence.

The goblins whispered amongst themselves, their voices uneasy.

Even the Ashen Goblin took a half-step forward, squinting through the smoke, watching. Waiting.

And then—

Something moved.

A faint shimmer of motion in the fog. A shadow flickered in the swirling dust.

And then—

CRACK!

A fist shot through the fog like lightning—glowing faintly, flickering with embers.

It connected with the goblin's jaw in a sickening crunch. The blow was so forceful, so precise, it sent the massive goblin flying backward in a spiral of flailing limbs and snapped teeth. The creature's head twisted violently to the side as it was launched from the impact, crashing through tree after tree—trunks snapping, branches splintering—until his limp body disappeared into the underbrush with a thunderous crash.

Goblins all around froze, wide-eyed, jaws slack.

What the hell just happened?

Their vision, still partially blurred by dust and dirt, barely registered the blur that had intercepted the attack. But they all saw it now—the silhouette standing tall in the crater's heart.

Even the Ashen Goblin's smile faltered.

The dust began to clear.

First a flicker of blue flame.

Then the sharp outline of shoulders—broad, unwavering.

Then the full figure, glowing slightly against the dim forest light.

Steve.

Still standing. Somehow.

But not alone.

A second figure stood beside him, towering and ghostly, heat radiating from its body like a forge barely contained. Its cloak flickered like smoke. One arm was still raised from the punch—fingers clenched into a fist that had just sent a beast flying.

Eyes—glowing like coals—locked onto the Ashen Goblin's.

The Ghost.

Back from the void. Furious. And fully materialized.

Steve's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, dust coating his face. His knees nearly buckled, but the presence beside him held the weight of something immovable.

He turned, barely able to keep the disbelief from his voice.

"You… came back," he rasped.

The Ghost didn't look at him. Didn't answer immediately. Just stared ahead with cold fury burning in his gaze.

Then, flatly:

"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't come back for you."

Steve frowned, half-annoyed, half-relieved.

The Ghost cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, then took a single step forward—his body pulsing with restrained fire.

"Now," he muttered darkly, eyes locked on the Ashen Goblin, "let's try this again."

Standing beside him was the Ghost.

Massive. Towering. Intimidating.

His skeletal eyes glowed faintly beneath a cracked, shadowy helm, burning like coals in a furnace. He stood protectively in front of Steve, broad shoulders squared, his cloak flaring slightly as embers flickered across his form. His body radiated an unnatural heat, and the goblins surrounding them instinctively stepped back, unsure whether to attack or flee.

Steve blinked rapidly, still dazed from the near-death impact.

He gasped for breath, vision clearing just enough to register the towering figure in front of him.

"What the hell…?" he muttered under his breath. His eyes widened.

"Ghost?"

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing.

He actually came back.

Took him long enough.

As Steve pushed himself up slightly from the cracked ground, his voice came out in a rasp, half-annoyed and half-disbelieving.

"You seriously have the guts to give me that kind of attitude right now?"

The Ghost didn't even glance at him.

"I'm sorry," he said sarcastically, his voice cold and bone-dry. "Were you expecting me to throw my arms around you in a tearful reunion? I literally got summoned five fucking minutes ago."

He crossed his arms, flames flickering faintly across his forearms.

"I don't give a shit about you. I told you that already."

Steve scowled. "Then why the hell did you just save my life?"

"Because letting you get smeared across the forest floor would've been too pathetic to watch," the Ghost said bluntly. "Even for you."

Steve shot him a sideways glare. "Gee, thanks."

The Ghost tilted his head toward the Ashen Goblin, who was still watching them both intently.

"Besides… I couldn't let that thing be the one to kill you. I have standards."

Steve's eyes flicked toward the Ashen Goblin as well—who hadn't moved an inch, but whose gaze had shifted from Steve to the Ghost. There was a flicker of recognition in the goblin's expression. Confusion. And something bordering on intrigue.

The Ashen Goblin slowly turned his head toward Steve again.

His voice cut through the silence.

"You summoned… this?" he asked, voice low.

He followed the line of the Ghost's burning eyes. He narrowed his gaze slightly.

"They are not as ordinary as you might think," he muttered, almost to himself. His lips curled into a curious smile.

Then his eyes flicked back to Steve.

"What do you mean, Steve Murtagh?" he asked, sharp and sudden.

Steve stiffened. That name again.

Before Steve could speak, the Ghost was already stepping forward, about to say something.

But the Ashen Goblin cut in again.

His attention turned fully to the skeletal warrior. His voice now colder. More direct.

"…What the hell are you?"

The Ghost turned his head toward him, eyes burning with faint amusement.

"Oh. It talks," he muttered dryly.

Then he stretched out one hand.

In an instant, a swirling burst of raging blue flame ignited in his palm—flickering and crackling with unnatural heat. The fire roared to life, licking up his arm but never burning him. His body rose slightly off the ground, floating with a soft hum of power as the flames pulsed like a heartbeat.

He pointed the fire toward the goblin.

"I'm the one," he growled, "who's here to save this pervert's ass."

Steve groaned from behind. "Was the pervert part really necessary?"

The Ghost didn't look at him. "Of course it fucking was."

The glow of the flames reflected off Steve's annoyed face, but before he could say more—

The Ashen Goblin suddenly snapped.

His jaw clenched. Teeth ground together with a faint crack. His eyes narrowed into hateful slits as the chaotic banter between the two triggered something deep in him.

"Enough!"

He whipped around, shouting at the goblin clan surrounding them, his voice thundering through the trees.

"GET THEM!" he roared. "KILL THEM BOTH! RIP THEM APART!"

The entire forest seemed to shudder with the sound of his command.

And in an instant, the horde began to move.