Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord
Chapter 137: Clash! Ser Ira Vs Steve(2)

Chapter 137: Clash! Ser Ira Vs Steve(2)

Steve’s voice was calm, almost casual, as he muttered the incantation.

And as the final word left his lips, his one-shot dagger extended, gleaming like a predator’s fang before it swept outward—aimed directly at the neck of the magic guard.

Ser Ira reacted just in time.

She twisted, narrowly dodging the fatal strike—but not unscathed. The blade grazed her side, carving through flesh just deep enough to spill blood.

A sharp hiss escaped her lips as crimson splattered, but the wound wasn’t fatal. Still, the realization stung more than the pain.

’Tch... he almost got me.’

Her thoughts raced.

’ His sword extended? He nearly took my head clean off.’ Eyes narrowing, she studied him, backing away instinctively as her mind reeled.

’How the hell is he even giving me trouble? We’re leagues apart... He’s not supposed to be this competent in battle.’ The unsettling thought chilled her spine.

’Am I... underestimating him?’

Her gaze fixed on him like a hawk eyeing a rival. Then, in a blur, she moved—hips twisting sharply, momentum building with terrifying grace. She struck.

Her palm shot upward in a perfectly aimed strike—an uppercut in the form of a palm strike—slamming into his jaw with brutal force. Blood burst from Steve’s mouth as the impact launched him backward, his body twisting midair before crashing hard onto the ground.

He rolled several feet before finally stopping, pain surging through every fiber of his being.

Ser Ira exhaled, standing still for a moment. Her hand instinctively moved to her beck, fingers brushing the wound. Her expression hardened.

’Not fatal.’ she noted coldly. But her jaw clenched. Her teeth gnashed together, rage beginning to boil in her chest.

She charged forward again, fury lighting her steps.

Steve was still gasping from the last blow, the pain surging and twisting in his core. His eyes fluttered open as he saw her—Ser Ira—closing the distance with frightening speed. Her grip tightened around her sword, the blade glinting with promise.

She swung.

His body reacted on instinct, sword rising just in time to meet the first thunderous strike.

Sparks flew.

The clash rang out like a bell in a cathedral of war. She was relentless, her blade dancing with aggression as she slashed again. And again. From the left. From the right. Side to side. A flurry of strikes meant to overwhelm.

He managed to block some—barely.

Then came the break.

One final strike clashed with his sword, but as their blades locked, she lunged—her knee driving hard into his solar plexus in a flash.

The impact lifted him off the ground slightly. His mouth opened in a dry gag. And before he could recover, her elbow crashed down on him like a hammer striking an anvil—sending him slamming into the earth.

Dust rose.

He lay there, pain crackling through his nerves, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. A single droplet slid down his forehead.

’God fucking dammit...She’s controlling the field.’

He sucked in a ragged breath. His muscles screamed, his lungs burned, but he couldn’t stay down.

He moved.

Rolling his hips, Steve twisted his leg into a sweeping attack, aiming to knock the standing Ser Ira off her feet. But his foot sliced through nothing but air.

She was already above him.

Ser Ira had launched into the sky with ease, her blade raised. Both hands gripped it tightly. And then—she came down.

Her descent was a blur. Fast. Lethal.

And Steve had nothing left. That last attack had spent him. He had committed everything into the sweep—and now the price was coming. He could see it—the blur of motion, the blade, the sheer killing intent behind her eyes.

He was going to die.

’No way I can dodge this. I already moved. Can I really take this attack or...is this really how it ends? Over a friendly match?’

Her blade neared his neck.

And then—

Clink!

The force of the impact rang through the air like a war drum.

Fiona and Tonya held their breaths, eyes wide with horror—for all their sins. Steve’s eyes were clenched shut, bracing for the pain, the end.

But it never came.

’Huh...? What happened?...I...I didn’t get hit?’

His eyes snapped open.

And there she was.

Sarah.

She had appeared just in time. Her arms trembled from the effort as she held her blade with both hands, the edge catching Ser Ira’s sword mid-swing. Her feet had dragged back, gouging twin lines in the ground from the sheer pressure. She had used everything—everything—to stop the blow.

Blood seeped from her hands, dripping down the hilt of her sword. That’s how hard she had gripped it—how far she had gone to hold back death.

Steve’s voice caught in his throat.

"...Sarah?"

Sarah didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked on Ser Ira, unwavering. Fierce.

"I think...he’s had enough." Sarah muttered, her voice low and firm, eyes locked with Ser Ira’s.

Ser Ira didn’t move. Her gaze remained fixed on Sarah, unflinching, almost daring her to justify the interference.

The tension between them cracked like static in the air. Sarah had interrupted—had saved him.

And both of them knew: if that final attack had landed, Steve would’ve been dead before anyone could get a healing potion into his mouth.

Ser Ira’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. For a moment, just a brief breath in time, she stood still. Then, without a word, she pulled her blade back and took a single step away.

The tension began to ease, but it didn’t vanish.

Sheathing her sword, Ser Ira cast a glance at Steve.

’He’s taken this much damage already, she thought, and the fight didn’t even last that long. He’s this weakened already?’

Her gaze lingered.

Still... he put up more of a fight than I expected.

With that silent admission, she turned to Tonya. Her voice cut through the air with the same sharpness as her blade.

"I win." Ser Ira said, flatly.

"That means we forget about Maggie and stick to the original plan—to find the source of the Veil."

She gave her blade a small twist and slid it all the way into its scabbard.

Turning her back, she addressed Tonya again. "You can give him the potion, or whatever that hellish thing is. Just get him on his feet. We move soon." Her voice didn’t waver.

"Be ready."

With that, she shut her eyes and walked forward, boots pressing against the dirt with slow, resounding steps.

The silence that followed her departure weighed on the group like fog. Fiona and Tonya didn’t say a word—just watched her fade a few feet away, tension still clutching their shoulders.

In due time, Tonya finally exhaled, then rushed to Steve’s side and dropped to her knees. She fumbled for the healing potion, her voice shaking.

"Steve, are you alright?" she asked, concern lacing every word.

But Steve said nothing.

Blood trickled down from the side of his mouth, splattering softly onto the ground. His body trembled, shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. His face was twisted in pain, but more than that—in fury. He pressed his hand to the ground, fingers clawing into the soil as if trying to suppress the storm rising inside him.

Then, through clenched teeth, a mutter escaped.

"You’ve got to be shitting me...!"

He pushed up just slightly, eyes narrowing as they flicked to Ser Ira’s retreating figure.

"Are you having mercy on me?...your enemy?!" he growled.

Ser Ira stopped in her tracks.

The wind seemed to still.

Slowly, she turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder.

Steve’s eyes met hers—bloodied, battered, yet burning with defiance. His breath came raggedly as he gritted his teeth, and then, louder this time, with raw anger boiling from his throat, he shouted:

"Don’t—don’t you fucking tell me you’re having mercy on your opponent!"

The words rang out like gunfire, echoing across the clearing.

"Don’t tell me you didn’t know...that this is a death match!... if you have mercy in a fight fight like this... you’re going to get killed!"

His voice thundered with so much intensity that even Fiona and Tonya flinched. He didn’t care if the goblins heard. He didn’t care about anything right now.

He dragged his battered body up, spitting blood as he stood. Staggering, swaying—he still stood.

His voice cracked with emotion, his lips trembling with barely-contained rage as he barked:

"I don’t know how you think. But my mother is somewhere out there. My mother! You really think I would just abandon her in the heat of all this?"

’What kind of MC would I be?’

He scoffed bitterly, and his eyes sharpened, glowing with something deeper than defiance—conviction.

"If I leave her out there, she could die. And what kind of warrior would I be if I couldn’t even protect my own mother, huh? I’ll tell you what I’d be. I wouldn’t... wouldn’t be anything at all!"

He staggered forward another step, every movement a testament to his resolve.

"So here’s what’s going to happen..." he said through grit teeth.

"This isn’t a friendly match...I’m your enemy, and so, your enemy is still standing. And as long as your enemy stands... then the battle isn’t over."

The fire in his eyes was unmistakable now. His voice dropped just enough to give weight to his next words.

"So come at me."

Another step.

"Come on..."

His shoulders rose, chest heaving.

"Come over here and fight me to death..."

He stared directly at Ser Ira.

"....You self-centered bitch."