Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord
Chapter 143: The Grim Reveal

Chapter 143: The Grim Reveal

Time didn’t slow — it fractured.

A single moment cracked open like glass, splitting into pieces, replaying itself over and over again as the arrows fell. One for Tonya. One for Sarah.

They came like streaks of silver fire, slicing through the air with lethal precision.

Steven saw them.

Too fast.

Too close.

And yet—he moved.

Like a shadow caught in motion, he sprang forward, the world blurring around him. His breath didn’t catch. His mind didn’t falter. He simply reacted. Muscles tensed, his body flipping with fluid precision as he crossed the space toward them.

He wasn’t close enough to Sarah—not yet—but his eyes caught everything.

Fiona screamed.

Her voice tore through the moment like a whipcrack. She wasn’t looking at the arrow anymore—she was looking at Tonya.

And Tonya?

Her eyes flickered—just barely. A sliver of motion to the side. She saw it now.

The arrow.

Bright. Blinding.

Too late.

But Steven reached her first.

His blade flashed from its sheath, curved like moonlight as he spun and slashed upward in one perfect, seamless arc—shiiink!

The arrow split in half, both shards spiraling away into the underbrush.

Tonya had barely lifted her hand to shield herself when it happened. She stared in disbelief. Steven stood in front of her, breath steady, sword raised.

Sarah wasn’t as lucky.

She managed to draw her blade just in time, bringing it up at a desperate angle. Her sword caught the arrow, deflecting it—but not entirely. The tip sheared past her cheek, slicing a lock of hair before embedding itself into a tree with a harsh thump.

Fiona gasped again. Her hands trembled on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, scanning the forest edge. The air around them was suddenly thick — too quiet.

"What the hell...?" Steven muttered.

Tonya moved to Sarah’s side. The others raised their swords, forming a loose circle, eyes sweeping every direction. The forest was still, but not empty. There was something there. Watching.

Steven’s gaze narrowed.

"There’s a shooter," he said. "But where the hell—"

He froze mid-sentence.

A strange sensation prickled across his skin. Not pain—something else. Something colder. Older. Like the faint pull of invisible strings.

He closed his eyes. Felt it.

It wasn’t just presence—it was aura. A thin ripple in the air. Faint, but deliberate. Like the brush of fingertips along the edge of thought.

Then, he saw it.

Not with his eyes—but with something deeper.

"There," he whispered.

He turned his head, slowly, until his gaze landed on a dense shrub nestled in the shadow of a wide oak. His hand moved automatically, drawing back his dagger. In one fluid motion, it shifted—elongating, reforming into a sword with a soft metallic hum.

He threw it.

The blade sliced the air and buried itself deep into the shrub with a muted thud.

The others snapped toward the sound.

Their stances shifted instantly—blades raised, hearts hammering, eyes fixed on the rustling leaves.

Steven strode forward. No hesitation. He reached the bush and pulled his weapon free with a sharp twist. "Extend," he murmured, and the blade elongated once more, gleaming faintly in the filtered light.

Sarah stepped up beside him. Her voice was calm, but beneath it lay the steel of resolve.

"Show yourself," she said quietly. "We know you’re there."

Still—no answer.

The silence deepened.

But questions hung in the air, unspoken yet heavy.

Those arrows... too small for a crossbow. Too fast for a standard bow. What kind of weapon was that?

And more importantly—why hadn’t the shooter finished the job?

Seconds passed.

Then a minute.

Still... nothing.

It was as if the forest was waiting. Watching. Breathing.

And then, Flicka moved.

No words. No theatrics. Just soft, steady steps. His sword lowered slightly, not in weakness, but in trust—trust in his skill, trust in his instincts.

He walked forward, each step measured, his boots whispering against the leaves. The others held their breath.

He reached the edge of the bush and paused.

Silence.

Then, in one sudden motion, he raised his sword—swept the leaves aside—and lunged into the brush with a sharp, echoing yell.

Steve’s shout died in his throat.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening unconsciously as his eyes fixed on the point of impact. His dagger had landed true, slicing through the faint string of aura he’d been tracking—but what it struck wasn’t what he’d expected.

A soft rustle. A dying twitch.

There, pierced clean through and crumpled in the underbrush, was a deer.

Just a deer.

"...Huh?" he muttered, more confused than anything. He stepped closer, boots brushing through damp leaves. The animal’s flank rose and fell with shallow breaths, and its glassy eyes stared up at him as though it, too, was baffled by all this.

"I—" he turned to the others, voice dry, "—it’s just a deer."

Tonya blinked. "What?"

"It’s just a deer," he repeated, sheathing the dagger with a soft scrape of metal.

Silence lingered.

Fiona let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. "Well, I guess we’re not going hungry tonight."

The group exchanged glances, but no one smiled. The tension didn’t lift. Not really.

Something still hung in the air—something unsaid.

Steve’s eyes wandered past the trees again. His jaw clenched.

No. That couldn’t have been it.

He’d felt it. That sudden pulse—an unseen pressure brushing against his thoughts, like invisible fingers testing strings before a performance. The presence had been real. The aura had depth, intent. The deer wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it.

His knuckles whitened.

So what was it?

He didn’t have time to answer.

A voice drifted through the woods, faint but clear.

"Oye. I think it went over here."

Steve’s head snapped toward the sound.

The words were low and male—too casual, too steady to be a villager. There was no panic in it. Just... curiosity. As if whoever was speaking already knew what they’d find.

He glanced back at the others. None of them had spoken. Sarah’s face tightened. Tonya’s hand slid back toward her sword hilt. Fiona’s eyes narrowed, scanning the forest line.

Footsteps followed—measured, deliberate. Not sneaking. Not charging. Just... walking.

Whoever it was didn’t care about being quiet. That was the disturbing part.

The shrubs ahead rustled.

And then a figure stepped through.

Tonya’s eyes widened.

"...Lemon?"

Fiona blinked in disbelief.

It was.

Lemon, the flamboyant trader from the town of Mirrors, whose very shop had been the space for Steve’s first harem encounter with Tonya.

And here he was now, stepping out of the forest like he owned the woods too.

He was bigger than Steve remembered—broad-shouldered, with a weather-beaten cloak slung over one shoulder and a traveling pack strapped to his back. His curly hair was a mess, and a short hunting blade swung lightly from his belt.

He didn’t look nearly as elegant as he had in his shop.

He didn’t look pleased, either.

As Lemon’s eyes landed on them, his steps faltered. For a moment, they all stood still—each of them taking in the stranger’s familiar yet changed presence. Then, recognition hit. Lemon’s lips parted, and he muttered under his breath, "Steve..."

It was a simple word, but the relief in it was almost palpable.

Steve smiled, a tired but genuine expression as he nodded. "Yeah, it’s me," he said, his voice soft, yet laced with a hint of amusement. "Long time no see."

But before anyone could say anything more, Tonya’s eyes widened with delight, and without warning, she dropped her sword to the ground with a soft clang. She rushed forward, her arms outstretched, and in an instant, she threw herself into Lemon’s embrace.

Lemon stood frozen for a split second, clearly startled by the unexpected gesture. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, he wrapped his arms around her, awkwardly at first, as though trying to process the moment. But gradually, his posture softened. He pulled her closer, his face buried in her hair as his breath hitched.

Steve and Fiona exchanged looks, both quietly amused at the scene unfolding before them.

"Well," Fiona murmured, "this is a surprise."

Steve couldn’t help but smile as he watched Tonya and Lemon. It was a sight that brought warmth, even in the bleakest of moments. His voice dropped, almost to himself, "More survivors... didn’t expect that."

Sarah’s gaze lingered on Lemon, her eyes narrowing as though sensing something beneath the surface.

Tonya, still in the midst of hugging him, noticed the slight tremor in Lemon’s hands. At first, she thought it was just the aftermath of a long, grueling journey. But something felt off. His grip on her tightened, and his shoulders, once stiff, began to shake.

Suddenly, Lemon pulled away just slightly, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. His breath was ragged now, like he was struggling to catch it.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

Tonya stiffened, concern rising in her chest. "Lemon...?"

Before she could say more, his body shuddered, a strangled sob escaping him. He gasped for air as though the weight of the world had finally come crashing down on him.

"I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." Lemon’s voice cracked, the words barely forming as he clung to her, his frame trembling vioLemmon.

"I didn’t... I...I tried... I tried my best... but... I’m so sorry. So sorry..."

Tonya’s eyes widened. She tried to pull back, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, but he refused to let go, pressing his face further into her chest. She could feel the wetness of his tears seeping through the fabric of her tunic.

"Lemon, what’s going on?" she whispered, trying to soothe him, her voice barely above a breath.

But he just shook his head, his sobs now louder, more desperate. "Your mother... your mother didn’t make it," he muttered between ragged breaths. "I... I couldn’t save her, Tonya. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry..."