Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord-Chapter 136: Clash! Ser Ira Vs Steve(1)

Ser Ira’s gaze locked onto Steve, her expression still and unyielding as she gripped the hilt of her blade.

The tension between them hung in the air like a storm about to break. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until suddenly, a voice interrupted.

"Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down here." Sarah stepped forward, raising her hand to halt the growing turmoil. Her words sliced through the charged atmosphere, but Ser Ira’s icy eyes didn’t waver from Steve.

"Exactly," Ser Ira said with cold clarity, her voice smooth but firm.

"Inferiors should obey their superior’s orders."

Steve’s eyes flashed with defiance, though his tone remained level.

"I don’t want to disobey you. I don’t want to defy my superior. But you can’t expect me to just back down and leave my mother to die out there."

Ser Ira’s eyes stayed locked on him, unmoving. Behind her, Tonya stepped into view, her voice soft but pointed.

"You need to consider this, Ser Ira. He just saved your life. And now you’re willing to end his for a little insubordination? Is that really how you show your thanks?"

Ser Ira turned a sharp, warning glare at Tonya. The latter, momentarily cowed, looked away, her resolve unwavering.

"I’m not going to just stand by and let this happen." Tonya muttered under her breath.

Ser Ira took a moment to look from Tonya back to Steve. Her voice, when it came, was laced with barely contained authority.

"Is that so?" she asked, her gaze assessing.

"Very well, Steve. Following the rules of the Magic Guard, I’ll strike you down for your insubordination... but, you did save my life. I’ll acknowledge that. Still, I cannot allow decisions driven by impulse. Those kinds of decisions will put everyone in danger, and I cannot permit that."

She paused for a moment, letting her words settle.

"So, I’ll make this fair."

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"Fair how?"

"No votes." she replied coldly, her eyes narrowing.

"The rules are simple: we fight. If you beat me, we’ll prioritize searching for your mother. If I win, we search for whatever created the veil surrounding the village."

She nodded to herself.

"We still have healing potions, so we can recover from any damage we take during the fight."

Sienna, who had been standing at the back, gasped.

"Are you insane?" she blurted, her voice tinged with panic.

"This is far too risky! We’re still in the open. The sounds of our fight will attract them. This is madness!"

Before Sienna could go on, Steve raised his hand, silencing her with a gesture. His focus remained locked on Sera, his eyes unwavering.

"If I win, you keep your word." he said firmly.

Sera’s lips twitched into a small, amused smile.

"If," she echoed, her voice dripping with calm certainty.

"Yes, that’s the condition."

Steve’s eyes didn’t leave her, and he spoke, his voice low but resolute.

"It’s a long shot, isn’t it? Fighting a Magic Guard and expecting to win."

But beneath his words, there was a flicker of something more—something driven by curiosity.

’I want to know what the power scale is between me and someone of her level.’ he thought, his gaze taking in Sera’s stance.

He noticed then, something odd—there were no strings above her head. The familiar ethereal threads that connected him to others were missing.

’No strings.’ he thought.

’ That means I can’t control her. If I’m going to win, it’s going to be based on my raw skill and talent alone.’

His thoughts raced.

’How possible is it, though? Me, against someone of her status?’

He studied her posture once more. His gaze was intense, fixated, as he weighed the odds. Then, after a long pause, he nodded.

"Alright. That seems like a fair challenge."

Fiona, who had been quietly watching the exchange, gasped softly, her eyes flicking between them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she processed what Steve had just agreed to.

"Stevian." she muttered, perplexed that he had agreed to such a bogus and one-sided challenge.

Steve merely shook his head and gave her a calm smile.

"Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine," he said.

"I’m going to come out on top."

Fiona parted her lips to speak again, a hint of panic flashing in her eyes, but Steve was already moving. She instinctively reached out a hand as if to grab his arm, to stop him—but he had already stepped forward.

The gap between him and Ser Ira widened with each step until he finally came to a stop a few meters away, his gaze locked on her. She stood still, her posture relaxed, wearing that same unnerving smile.

"I sense a strange confidence from your words," she mused, her voice cool.

"You actually believe you can defeat me?"

Steve narrowed his eyes, unwavering.

"I don’t see why I can’t."

Ser Ira studied him for a moment longer. Then she smiled again, slower this time.

"Don’t hold back," Steve muttered.

"If you do, I promise you’ll regret it."

A soft chuckle slipped from Ser Ira’s lips. She flicked her eyes away as though the idea of him being a threat amused her.

"Don’t worry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I won’t fall for any of your—"

But her words were cut short.

By the time her eyes returned to him, Steve was already there.

He had closed the distance between them in a flash, both of his daggers already drawn. One arced swiftly toward her throat, a clean and precise strike.

Too fast.

She barely had time to react. With instinct alone, Ser Ira flicked her blade upward, not even fully unsheathing it, but just enough to intercept the dagger in time. The metal of his blade clashed against hers in a sharp clang, the sound slicing through the still air.

Steve didn’t stop.

His second dagger came up from below, angled straight for her stomach. He shifted his footing and threw his weight behind it, determined to land a hit.

Ser Ira leapt backward into the air, twisting her body with balletic grace. As she spun, her leg snapped outward, a sharp, fluid motion—and a devastating roundhouse kick landed squarely on Steve’s jaw.

Crack.

The force of the kick was enough to send a shockwave through his skull. His eyes momentarily turned white, and his vision blurred. But he refused to fall. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels into the dirt and stood firm.

Ser Ira, however, gave him no room to breathe.

In the blink of an eye, she was upon him again. Fists flew in rapid succession—left, right, a jab to the ribs, a hook to the side of his face. Each blow landed with brutal precision, like a storm with no time to breathe between the thunderclaps. Steve’s body jerked with each impact, blood bursting from his lip, his breath ragged, his mind reeling.

Then she pivoted.

A single, fluid twist of her heel spun her into a devastating elbow strike aimed directly at his temple.

But Steve ducked.

His knees bent, vision swimming, ears ringing, and blood trickling down from his brow—he still moved.

The elbow whooshed through the air behind him.

’Huh?’ Ser Ira blinked in disbelief, her body mid-spin.

’He dodged?’

She didn’t hesitate. Her instincts snapped into motion.

With a sharp stomp, her heel slammed down against the flat of her fallen blade, launching it up into the air with a metallic flip. Her fingers caught the hilt mid-spin, palm tightening around the grip like it had never left her hand.

Her mind worked at lightning speed.

’If he dodged that, then all his energy must’ve gone into that one move.’ she reasoned.

’which means... the next strike will land clean.’

No hesitation. No mercy.

With a fierce twist of her core, she raised her blade and turned into a sharp downward swing. The air hissed as the steel carved through it—an arc meant to end the fight.

But—

She froze.

Her eyes widened.

Steve was already there.

Low. Crouched.

Not scrambling. Not desperate. Ready.

His face was a canvas of bruises, blood smeared across his cheek and dripping from his nose. But his grip on the daggers hadn’t faltered—not even for a second. They gleamed with fresh intent.

"Huh...?" The thought barely formed before reality caught up to her.

’He’s attacking?’

From the crouch, he lunged—an explosion of motion.

His left hand lashed out first, dagger slicing through the space between them in a tight diagonal slash headed straight for her throat.

Too close.

Too fast.

She’d overcommitted to her swing. She barely managed to twist her neck at the last possible second. The dagger whispered past, kissing the edge of her cheekbone and leaving a thin, burning trail of red in its wake.

Before her body could recover, his right hand surged up.

Another dagger.

This time, the blade came for the side of her neck.

She reacted on instinct alone—her hand snapped up and clamped around his wrist. Steel stopped inches from her flesh.

But he didn’t stop.

His arm trembled with the force he poured into the strike, every muscle in his battered body screaming in resistance. He was still pushing, still trying to break through.

And for a moment—

Just one moment—

She could see it in his eyes.

That maddening, unyielding fire as blood dripped from his jaw.

Then—

His lips parted.

His voice came low and calm

"Extend."

Click.

The dagger in his hand—the one she’d barely held back—shifted.

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