Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord

"Are you really serious about that, Steve?"

The ghost's voice came out low and rough, like rust scraping against stone. Its hollow eyes flared with contempt as it glared at him.

Steve didn't flinch. He met the stare evenly, his own gaze narrowing with grim resolve.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm sure."

The air between them felt heavier now. Steve exhaled and added, "I want to know everything you know about the goblins. Where they came from. What the hell they are."

The ghost gave a bitter chuckle, sharp and dry. "Oh, they're just dying to hand over all their secrets to me. What do I look like, their therapist?"

"I'm going off instinct," Steve said. "Something about them feels... wrong. More than usual."

"Instincts?" the ghost sneered. "That's rich coming from you. But fine, I'll bite."

It folded its arms, drifting a few steps away like it couldn't stand being too close to him.

"You'd have to be such a bitch about it, Steve Addict," the ghost grumbled. "But fine—what do you want to know, non-life?"

Steve raised a brow. "What was that? Non-life?"

"Yeah. You're not alive, but you sure as hell ain't dead either. Figure it fits." The ghost flicked its hollow eyes toward the horizon, then shrugged. "Anyway. Where do I even start…"

It sighed, tone darkening. "They're not your average magic beasts. That much should be obvious."

Steve leaned forward slightly. "Then what are they?"

"Oh, I don't know," the ghost drawled. "Maybe the fact that they slipped through every patrol and barrier this realm has like they were strolling through a park? That didn't seem odd to you?"

Steve frowned. "Wait… you're saying they didn't sneak through?"

"No," the ghost said flatly. "They didn't sneak through anything, Steve. They didn't come from the outside at all."

That made Steve freeze. His eyes searched the ghost's face, trying to process what he'd just heard.

"Then where the hell did they come from?"

"They were created here," the ghost said simply.

Steve blinked. "Created? What, by the Ashen Goblin? That arcane freak—is he the one behind the clan?"

He paused, brows furrowing deeper. "Even if he is, wouldn't he still have to sneak them in? There's no way—"

"No," the ghost cut him off. "Every single one of them was made in this realm. Born and bred. This wasn't an invasion. It was an incubation."

Steve's voice dropped. "What…? That doesn't make any sense. Who the hell would even want to create goblins? And with that kind of power? That has to be a magic beast, right? So what kind of beast could create an entire clan?"

The ghost scowled. "How the hell am I supposed to know, Steve?"

Bigo—if that was still his name—stepped closer now, eyes glowing faintly.

"All I know is… whatever made them isn't even the biggest problem."

Steve looked at him. "Then what is?"

"The problem," Bigo said, voice suddenly low, "is how they knew you were the author."

The words sank like ice into Steve's chest. His mouth went dry.

"Wait… what?"

"The Ashen Goblin told me himself. His orders were clear: kill you. Not some human. Not some warrior. You—the author."

Steve went stiff. His breath hitched. The ghost's words echoed in his head over and over.

Kill the author.

"But…" he muttered, "how could they even know that?"

Exactly. That was the unspoken terror hanging in the air.

As far as Steve knew, only one person had ever known the truth—Rapunzel. And she wasn't anywhere near this realm. Besides, her ability wasn't even about the present. She could only see glimpses of the future, not pull secrets from the past.

So who—or what—had the knowledge and the power to create goblins… and then program them to kill him specifically?

Steve looked up at Bigo, the weight of the moment heavy in his gut.

"Who the hell created the Ashen Goblins?"

The silence that followed said everything.

As the weight of the ghost's final words echoed through Steve's mind, he sat there, stunned, trying to piece everything together.

Then, a voice cut through the silence.

"Steve! Steve!"

He turned his head slowly, eyes still glazed with thought. From across the field, Lemon was sprinting toward him—his boots crunching against scattered gravel and dry grass. He looked like he was trying to tread lightly, careful with each step… though his hurried pace completely defeated the purpose. His expression was tense, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, clearly expecting goblins to come crawling out of the shadows any second.

Steve blinked and glanced around—only to find the ghost was gone. Vanished.

"Ah," he muttered under his breath. "He's gone already…"

Lemon finally skidded to a halt in front of him, panting.

"Steve, what the hell are you doing?" he snapped, voice low but urgent. "Why the hell did you just run off like that? The goblins could come back any minute—we need to stay hidden!"

Steve didn't answer at first. His eyes were still distant, jaw tight. He seemed to be somewhere else entirely. But then he exhaled and stood up slowly, brushing the dust off his hands.

"I didn't mean to just... disappear," Steve said, his tone quiet. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"You weren't thinking? Damn right, you weren't," Lemon snapped. "What could be more important than not dying tonight?"

Steve met his eyes.

"There's something I need to do," he said. "Something important."

Lemon frowned. "Something more important than your safety?"

"Yes," Steve replied without hesitation.

Lemon stared at him for a beat, then threw up his hands. "Alright, fine. You wanna be cryptic? Go ahead. But at least tell me what this important thing is."

"I will," Steve said. "But first, I need you to do something for me."

Lemon's eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

"Gather all the magic guards," Steve said, his voice low and firm now. "Anyone still capable of a fight. And any strong warriors among the refugees. Doesn't matter how few. Just find them and bring them here."

"What?" Lemon blinked. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just do it," Steve said. "Now."

Something in his voice—his certainty, his intensity—made Lemon pause. For a moment, it looked like he was about to argue. But then he clenched his jaw, turned around, and started walking.

He didn't say another word.

Lemon walked off, heading back across the hill, his shoulders tense with unspoken thoughts. He didn't look back.

Steve exhaled slowly, eyes following his figure until it disappeared into the trees.

Then a voice behind him cut through the silence.

"Why does it feel like you're about to go fuck yourself up or something?"

Steve turned. The ghost was back, standing just behind him—arms crossed, smirk twisted across his half-formed face.

Steve blinked. "I thought you bitched out."

The ghost shrugged. "There's no way I'm hanging around to listen to that ugly fuck lecture me like a schoolteacher. I can barely look at his face without wanting to slice it off."

Steve couldn't help himself—he let out a short chuckle.

"Harsh," he muttered, glancing in the direction Lemon had gone. "But fair."

He stood still for a moment, wind brushing over the quiet field.

"Well," he said at last, voice low, steady, "let's just say... I have a plan."

---

Time passed.

Not too long after, Lemon returned—bringing others with him.

Tonya, Mia, and four more women approached, armed with mismatched weapons—some blades, some old caster staffs. They didn't move like soldiers, not quite. Their grips were uncertain, their steps cautious. But their eyes held something fierce. They had been guards once, or maybe just volunteers given weapons and no choice.

They had become protectors of the refugees. At least until now.

As the group neared, Steve was seated at the base of the towering tree, one arm resting on his raised knee. His other hand absently drummed against his thigh.

He looked up as they approached and gave a tired nod.

"Thanks, Lemon."

Before anyone else could speak, Mia stepped forward. Her voice was sharp, defensive.

"Well, here we are. Out in the open. Away from the cave. And you better hope this wasn't a mistake, Steve."

Steve's gaze didn't waver.

"I didn't command you to come," he said calmly. "I asked."

He stood now, his voice firm but not angry.

"If you feel unsafe, you're free to leave. But if you're here, I don't expect attitude—I expect trust."

"I'm not giving you any attitude—" Mia started, but Steve had already turned slightly, facing the whole group.

He took a breath, then muttered, "I brought you all here for a reason. Something important."

That caught their attention.

He paused, choosing his words carefully, the wind rustling through the grass behind him.

"I've got... other things on my mind," he admitted. "More than I'm saying right now. But one thing matters more than anything else at the moment."

He looked up at them, eyes steady.

"I have a plan."

Tonya crossed her arms. "A plan to do what exactly?"

Steve met her gaze.

"A plan," he said slowly, "to wipe out the entire Goblin Clan."

Silence followed.

The kind of silence that only happens when the air forgets to breathe.