'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'
Chapter 55: Test of Fate!

Chapter 55: Test of Fate!

"No... this—this is not looking good," Elarya whispered, her eyes widening as she recognized the runic signs blooming across the burning earth.

It was unmistakable.

She had seen this before. Centuries ago.

The Infernal Domain.

The same catastrophic skill that had nearly erased half of Runewood in a single skill of flame. A living apocalypse conjured by the monster now grinning before her.

"No. No. No. Not this one!" Kardel’s voice trembled as realization dawned. His face turned ghost-white. He knew the story—no, he had survived the story!

And he has absolutely no wish to experience this again!

Rhiki, meanwhile, was still oblivious—preoccupied with channeling mana and cursing violently as the searing pain from his shoulder and back burns kept him writhing on the ground.

Then the ground vibrated again.

Harder this time.

And then—

BLUURSHHH!

BLUURSHHH!

BLUURSHHH!

It began.

Magma fountains—hundreds, no, thousands—erupted across the island like hell’s own geysers.

They blasted upward in roaring columns, punching into the air with deafening force, each one stretching toward the ceiling of Vulkris’s flaming prison dome. Rivers of molten rock spilled down in blazing streams, devouring the landscape like liquid judgment.

The eruptions began at Vulkris’s feet and surged outward in waves—relentless, unstoppable, like a living infection of flame spreading across a dying body.

This wasn’t just another attack.

Vulkris was turning the entire island into a volcanic tomb.

A slow, cruel execution.

A grand finale soaked in fire.

And Vulkris? He watched with eyes glowing in unholy ecstasy—drunk on the chaos, pride swelling like a god basking in his own wrath.

Kardel stumbled back, pale and shaking.

"I-It’s over..." he whispered, the words barely escaping his throat.

Even Abthik, his loyal Skitterbolt, let out a terrified screech before vanishing in a flash—retreating into Kardel’s summoning ring on sheer instinct.

Rhiki, now upright and barely keeping it together, caught a glimpse of the magma wave rumbling toward them—glowing like the wrath of the gods.

"...Sh*t," he muttered, his voice flat and hollow, drained of all emotion.

Not far away, Auren stood frozen, breath caught in his throat as panic clawed at his chest.

"Darn this bad Mufasa..." he whispered under his breath, eyes wide as the world around him began to burn.

Time seemed to slow—stretching into a cruel, mocking crawl. But so was he.

His limbs felt heavy. His thoughts sluggish.

More than tired—he felt drained.

Exhausted.

Helpless.

Useless.

The word struck him like a hammer, echoing in his mind with bitter finality.

Seven years.

Seven years of pain and sacrifice. Of waking early, training hard, breaking limits—day after day. He’d battled beasts, dodged death, outsmarted assassins. He bled and burned for the future he swore he’d claim.

And now?

Now he was staring down the barrel of a King-class monster.

This wasn’t a trial.

This wasn’t a challenge.

This was a death sentence.

This wasn’t some tutorial boss he could outmaneuver with clever footwork and grit. This wasn’t a Night Stalker or even a staged battlefield for the Test of Fang.

This was more like...

The Test of Fate.

"My life in this world barely started... Why the hell am I already in the endgame?" he growled under his breath, fists clenching, eyes stinging with fury and disbelief.

His only real wildcard—Bigbird—had gone silent.

Completely. No presence. No noise. No glow. Not even a puff of those cocky golden feathers.

Ever since Bonbon’s dramatic revelation, the bird had just... disappeared.

Just when I need you most... you vanish?Auren’s eye twitched. His jaw locked.

’Was that bird an avatar of something? Was that oversized chicken even real? A prank god or a damned cosmic hhallucination?!’

BLUURSHHH!

A fresh geyser of magma burst nearby, snapping him back to the present—back to the hellfire island, back to the slow-burn execution waiting to consume them all.

And the silence from within him?

Still deafening.

Another magma geyser burst only a few meters away, spraying molten rock like shrapnel. The countdown was real now.

From afar, Vulkris watched it all unfold with amusement, like a twisted god admiring its perfect creation. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, savoring every second of their despair.

Elarya stood frozen, her gaze darkened by a creeping dread that settled deep in her chest.

She opened her Divine Frame—and the screen before her confirmed what she already feared.

"No, this is bad..." she uttered helplessly.

Health: 9%.Just barely, and only sustained by the lingering effect of Auren’s earlier blood transfusion.Mana: 2.7%.Barely enough to spark a candle, let alone fuel wings or shields.

The thought of flying made her stomach lurch. At this level, attempting to take off would trigger instant mana shock—her wings would fail midair, and she’d plummet straight into the hellfire below.

No barrier.No escape.No hope of fighting back.

Her runesteel armor was scorched, charred, cracked.Her spear—Aurelthir—gone.Every enchanted ring, pendant, or artifact she once wielded? Obliterated during the Dark Fate’s assault.

All she had left was her battered body... and a dwindling will to resist.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The Vulkris she had faced three centuries ago had been primal. A creature of hunger and rage.

This one?It was thinking.

Planning.

It wasn’t just stronger—it was smarter.

And it had set this trap long before the first flame fell.

Vulkris had cast Flame Prison first, long before unleashing Infernal Domain—cutting off every possible exit. No teleportation. No outside help. No loopholes.

Only death, slow and inescapable.

Auren’s eyes flicked with sudden realization. A memory sparked, faint but clear.

Teleportation...

Back when he was still just a boy, Jhorton—the wise old GOAT who’d once saved his life—had used a teleportation stone. A rare relic, crafted for last-minute escape. Surely the elves had something similar?

"Hey!" Auren shouted, turning toward Kardel and Rhiki, who were barely twenty meters away through the thick smoke. "Don’t you guys have any backup accessories? A teleportation stone? Anything?!"

Kardel’s head jerked up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Do you take us for fools?! If we had one, we’d be long gone!" he snapped, voice laced with both fear and irritation.

"It won’t work," Elarya added, stepping beside Auren. Her voice was hoarse but composed—still clinging to that queenly calm. "The Infernal Domain isn’t just fire—it’s a spatial seal. No dimensional magic, no jumps. The ambient flame mana would fry any teleportation anchor before you even cast."

Auren’s hope staggered—then caught itself.

Wait...

There was one creature that didn’t care about rules.

He dropped to his knees, flinging open his backpack and furiously shaking out the contents.

Clattering glass vials. His worn MK gun. A crushed sleeping bag. His last Red Bull potion—

And then...

A soft, squishy thud.

A round, green mossball plopped onto the ground, gnawing calmly on a glowing red Orchadium flower like it had all the time in the world.

Bonbon.

Munching.

Unbothered.

Even as the world burned around him.

"Uhm. Hello, Mr. Oracle?" Auren asked, voice twitching with suppressed rage as he scooped the mossball into his palm. "Would you mind lending us your teleportation services before we all get roasted?"

Bonbon paused his chewing and looked up at Auren with unblinking beady eyes.

The queen and the remaining elves flinched, recognizing what Auren held. Their mouths opened in protest—but before they could speak—

Bonbon finished his bite, licked his stubby fingers with dainty precision, and then said with unnerving clarity:

"Thank you for the food, Human. Now I am going to rest."

And then—he jumped.

A tiny wormhole blinked open in midair, like reality itself, Bonbon let out a lazy burp then a yawned and...

ZWOOP.

Gone.

Just like that.

Silence fell.

Auren stared at his now-empty hand. The others stood frozen, mouths half-open in utter disbelief.

It left.

It actually left.

THAT TINY LITTLE MODA PAKING MOSSBALL JUST DISAPPEARED!

just peaced out of reality like it owed them nothing.

And now, once again, they were back to square one.

Hopeless and helpless.

Stranded at the center of a melting, floating, lava-coated island, inside a flaming sphere of doom, while rivers of magma rained down like the world’s most sadistic fireworks show.

No teleportation.

No backup.

No Whisker Oracle to save them.

Auren slowly sank into a seated position, ash clinging to his hair, his face blank and eyes hollow.

"...He left," he whispered.

No one said a word.

There was no point in yelling. No time for blame. No strategy to enact.

They were going to die here. Together.

The magma geysers were closing in now—walls of flame drawing tighter every second.

Kardel sat down beside Rhiki, who had stopped cursing. Elarya stood tall, wings flickering faintly behind her. The air was unbearably hot, smoke biting at their lungs.

"That’s it! Burn! BUUURN! HAHAHAHA!"

Vulkris’s sadistic laughter echoed like thunder, a cruel soundtrack to their suffering. Each word hit like salt ground into the raw wound of their fading hope.

"And when you’re all ash," the beast roared, eyes blazing with savage glee, "I will reduce the entire Runewood to cinders! Every elf—young or old—will burn!"

It raised its flaming head high, voice shaking the air.

"And with your sacred forest, the world will finally know of my true power!"

HAHAHAHA!~

Hearing those thunderous laugh, Auren looked up to the blazing red sky, eyes beginning to glaze.

’So this game over huh...’

Then—

A voice.

Soft.

Mocking.

Ancient and Familiar.

But it was not speaking to them.

It was for him.

It was for Auren.

Or more specifically, to the other one.

The one inside Auren.

"Hey, stupid bird. Wake up—It’s showtime."