Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord-Chapter 134: Even Heros Die(2)

Steve’s chest heaved violently, every breath a trembling struggle.

His eyes locked onto the goblin, its throat savagely torn open, blood gushing in wild, erratic spurts.

The creature’s grotesque gaze still lingered—its lifeless eyes somehow transfixed on him, even as blood puffed and sprayed from its severed windpipe.

The sight alone was maddening.

Steve’s body was broken—his left arm completely torn off at the shoulder, blood spurting in hot bursts with every heartbeat.

His bruised face was streaked with blood and grime, his vision blurred, his hearing distant and filled with a constant ringing.

And yet, even through the pain, he stood frozen... staring. Just staring.

’This can’t be it.’ he thought, teeth clenched.

’This... isn’t how I die.’

A choking cough ripped through his throat, spraying blood down his chin. He staggered, almost collapsed again, but forced his trembling legs to steady. The sword in his remaining hand sank into the earth, serving as a makeshift crutch. His fingers clenched tightly around it, knuckles pale and trembling.

Just a few meters away, Tonya saw him rising—bloodied, half-conscious, barely standing—and without hesitation, she broke into a sprint, dashing toward him.

"Steve!" She yelled.

Steve’s body swayed like a candle in the wind. The blood still poured from the stump of his missing arm, soaking his side, dripping freely to the floor. He lifted his head, only barely, his breaths ragged and wet. One hand instinctively moved to his throat, trying to hold in the warmth seeping from it. His body shook violently. Still, he raised his eyes.

The goblin was still standing.

No... not standing. It was swaying too. Teetering. Dying. Just like him.

With blurred vision and trembling lips, Steve forced a grin. His voice, hoarse and defiant, tore through the pain:

"What are you waiting for?" he spat. "You think a missing arm is enough to stop my harem dreams?"

Blood trickled down his chin as he laughed bitterly.

"I’ve got a sexy MILF out there waiting for me. You think I’m gonna rot here with you? No bitch...This...This isn’t my ending."

He dragged his sword forward, each step a defiance of death itself.

"I’m not dying here." he growled, eyes blazing with sheer determination.

"Not yet."

Then, the goblin’s strength finally gave out. A deep shudder overtook it. It coughed again—this time a thick, wet burst of crimson that gushed from both mouth and throat. It’s knees buckled. One last breath escaped it before it collapsed, hitting the earth with a thunderous thud.

Dust erupted around him, and debris scattered as Tonya rushed forward, shielding her face from the sudden spray. Steve raised a weak hand to cover his eyes, gasping through the grit and pain.

The dust began to settle.

And then... he saw it.

The goblin lay on the ground—motionless. Dead. Its eyes still open but dim, the once-fiery glow now nothing more than fading embers.

Steve blinked in disbelief. His pulse raced. His mind refused to accept it. But the sight was unmistakable.

"Did I..." he whispered, voice cracking.

"...did I kill it?"

[Ding!]

A clear chime echoed in his ears, piercing through the fog of pain. A glowing blue interface materialized beside him, and as it hovered there, cold and clinical, the words scrolled across:

[Mission Completed!]

[Reward: 1x Healing Potion Received]

Steve blinked rapidly, his vision still hazy from blood loss and exhaustion. A flicker of light caught his eye—just a glimmer—but it vanished before he could fully register it.

’What was that?’

He slowly tilted his gaze downward, and there it was. Nestled just beneath him was a small bottle, barely the size of his palm. Its glass shimmered faintly, revealing a thick green liquid inside, swirling as though alive.

A healing potion.

Steve’s heart clenched with a flicker of hope.

He reached for it—his fingers trembling, limbs barely obeying—but as he let go of his sword to grab the bottle, his body betrayed him. Without the blade to support his weight, he collapsed hard onto the dirt with a painful thud. The impact drove a harsh cough from his lungs, blood sputtering from his lips, running past his chin. He stared up at the sky, vision spinning, darkness closing in around the edges.

His arm trembled as he stretched again. Just a little more... just a little...

But the potion remained frustratingly out of reach.

"Come on..." he whispered in his mind. Reach it...

Then—"Steve!" Tonya’s voice rang out, sharp and panicked. Her footsteps thundered as she sprinted toward him. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to assess his wounds.

"Your arm—your hand, oh God—Steve, what do I do? What do I—Maggie isn’t even—"

"P... P... Potion..." Steve choked out, barely louder than a breath, slicing through her panic.

Tonya blinked. "What?"

He weakly tilted his head, his eyes locked on the potion.

She followed his gaze, and when she saw it, her breath hitched. Without hesitation, she scrambled to grab it. As she turned back, her eyes widened in horror—Steve was fading. His body convulsed slightly as he coughed again, blood bubbling from his mouth and neck, his breath shallow and ragged.

He raised one trembling hand, barely lifting it, fingers curled as if pleading. She could see it in his eyes—the desperation. Help me.

For a moment, she hesitated, clutching the bottle. What even is this stuff? she wondered. But there was no time to doubt.

Steve reached again, fingers twitching.

That was all she needed.

Tonya popped the cork and, with shaking hands, gently poured a bit of the potion into Steve’s mouth. The liquid touched his tongue, and instantly, a bitter taste exploded through Steve’s senses. It was vile—burning, sour, almost metallic.

Then his body jerked.

His eyes shot wide as his mouth snapped shut, and he began coughing violently. He rolled over onto his side, hacking harder and harder, his entire frame trembling.

"Easy! Easy, Steve!" Tonya cried, reaching to support him, trying to keep him steady. She turned him gently, making sure he wouldn’t choke. "It’s okay—just breathe, come on!"

She held him there, hand pressed firmly against his shoulder. But then her eyes drifted downward... and froze.

Where his hand had been severed—just a bloody stump moments ago—something impossible was happening.

Flesh began to reform, muscle weaving itself back together like unseen threads pulling it into place. Veins and tendons knitted. Bone extended. Skin stretched. Before her stunned eyes, a fully-formed hand emerged—complete, unmarred, and whole.

Her mouth fell open in stunned silence. She could hardly breathe.

Steve let out a long, hoarse gasp and rolled over onto his stomach, sucking in air as though he’d just surfaced from drowning. His body shook, but the color was already returning to his face.

He was alive.

He was healing.

Tonya slowly looked at the bottle in her hand, then back at Steve, whose breath now came steadier—louder, but stronger.

"W-What the hell...?" she whispered. "What was that?"

Steve didn’t respond immediately—he just kept coughing, his body purging whatever was left of the death that had nearly claimed him.

His head tilted slightly as he turned his eyes toward Tonya. His lips parted, the words weak but full of weight.

"...Thank you," he breathed.

"You... saved me."

Tonya blinked, caught off guard by his gratitude. "I... uh..." she stammered, trailing off. Her lips moved, but the words tangled on her tongue.

’ What do I even say to that?’

Because in her mind, everything was chaos.

’ How did your hand grow back like that? What kind of potion was that?’

She was still reeling, still struggling to understand—and then Steve reached out, snatching the potion bottle gently from her hands. She didn’t resist, only flinched slightly in surprise, her fingers instinctively curling inward.

Steve glanced at the remaining liquid. Then, without wasting another second, he pulled himself to his feet, staggering but determined.

"We have to move," he said, voice sharper now, steadier.

Tonya stood quickly. "Wait, wait—what do you mean, move? You almost died! And first of all—why did you even come out here alone without telling me anything?! And now you’re suddenly—what? Just rushing off again?"

Steve looked at her, eyes heavy with something deeper than exhaustion.

"I can’t explain everything right now. I really can’t. It doesn’t matter."

"It does matter," she said, her voice rising, confused and hurt. "You almost—"

"This," he cut in, holding up the half-empty potion bottle, "this is some kind of healing potion. And there are people back there—people I’m with—who need it. Badly."

Tonya frowned. "People?"

"Fiona." Steve said.

"She’s one of them."

Tonya’s breath hitched. "Fiona’s here?"

Steve nodded. "Yes. And if there’s even a chance I can keep her alive—any of them alive—it has to be now. We can’t wait."

Silence fell for a moment. Her mind raced with a thousand questions—about the potion, about Steve, about whatever the hell she’d just witnessed—but there wasn’t time. Not now. Whatever this was... it was bigger than her confusion.

So she bit down the flood of questions forming on her tongue and gave a single, resolute nod.

"...Alright," she said. "Let’s go."

They gathered their weapons quickly, checking straps, blades, and belts with well-practiced hands. Steve tightened his grip on the potion as if it were more precious than gold.

Without another word, they turned and dashed into the trees—leaves rustling, boots crunching through underbrush, hearts pounding in unison—as they raced through the forest, back to the others, where the line between life and death was still razor-thin.

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