'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'
Chapter 59: To the Rescue!

Chapter 59: To the Rescue!

Back in the heart of Aetherthorn, Mathes was nearly unrecognizable.

His once-elegant robes - pristine and ceremonial - were now shredded rags soaked in blood, clinging to his bruised and battered frame.

His face was swollen, split at the brow and lip, smeared with dried crimson. Bones jutted unnaturally beneath his skin, and blood trickled freely from countless open wounds.

Even his ancient staff—his trusted companion—had been reduced to splinters scattered across the dirt, the magic within it long extinguished. He swayed, barely upright, supported only by sheer will and - of course, massive balls.

Before the eyes of his own kin, he had withstood over an hour of brutal torment from the Nighthral.

The only reason he still drew breath was because of his extraordinary constitution and the cruel, calculated patience of the beast that toyed with him.

Not far away, the Nighthral prowled, circling its prey with leisurely malice.

"Impressive elf. Very impressive."

Its sinuous, feline body rippled with muscle beneath obsidian fur. Its long, scythe-like tail swayed playfully, slicing the air with every movement. It had been toying with Mathes—taunting him, pummeling him, savoring the taste of vengeance like an old wine, much like Vulkris had done back in Inferna Hollow.

"Come now, elf," the Nighthral growled, its voice like distant thunder rolling over a storm-swept plain. "What’s wrong? Running out of tricks?"

Mathes didn’t answer immediately. He spat a thick clot of blood into the dirt, the taste of iron lingering on his tongue. His arms trembled, his legs barely obeying him. Death circled closer with each passing breath.

"This... is not looking good," he muttered weakly, the words barely more than a rasp.

The Nighthral chuckled, a guttural, growling sound. "Better get up before I get bored and start tearing apart those weaklings cowering in your precious trees."

It turned its glowing eyes to the massive dome of Aetherthorn behind Mathes, where the last of the elves stood frozen, their courage waning.

They watched, horrified, as their guardian was dismantled before their eyes. Whispers of despair threaded through their ranks. If Mathes fell, could even Aetherthorn stand against such a monster?

Mathes saw it in their faces—the growing doubt. He clenched his jaw, trying to push down the waves of pain crashing over him.

’No... I can’t die. Not yet. The queen is coming. I just have to hold out a little longer.’

His vision blurred, his head pounding, but he forced his mangled body to rise again. Every movement sent fresh jets of blood spilling from reopened wounds. His feet felt like stone, but he dragged himself upright.

’And maybe... just maybe... those bastards Rhiki and Kardel will finally grow a spine.’

The Nighthral’s lips curled in cruel delight as it watched the elf stagger back to his feet.

"That’s right. Stand up. Protect your little forest. Let me enjoy more of this show."

Mathes lifted his head, his eyes blazing with exhausted fury. "Heh... Just you wait..."

"Oh, look at those eyes. You still have some bite left?" The Nighthral snarled—and then, without warning, struck.

WHAPAAM!~

Its massive paw collided with Mathes’s chest like a hammer, sending him flying again like a ragdoll. He crashed through low branches and tumbled across the muddy earth, finally skidding to a halt near the edge of the dense woods.

The impact rattled every bone in his body. His lungs seized. Blood spilled from his mouth in great gulps.

"Urgh..."

He tried to rise again—but this time, his limbs failed him. His muscles spasmed, torn beyond function. He could feel the final flickers of life leaving him.

The Nighthral landed before him with a thunderous thud, looming like a reaper.

"Stand up," it commanded, voice laced with mockery. "Don’t tell me that’s all your proud elven blood can do."

Mathes blinked through the blood in his eyes. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. His fingers twitched in the dirt. Still, he forced a grimace.

"Ugghh... Do your worst, ugly cat..."

The beast snorted in amusement—and then brought its paw down in a brutal stomp.

POW!

The ground cracked beneath the force of the blow, forming a shallow crater. Mathes’s body crumpled further. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the soil.

His breath came in ragged gasps, each one harder than the last. His vision dimmed. Cold and darkness crept at the corners as more mocking stomp followed,

POW!

"STAND UP!"

POW!

The Nighthral’s terrorizing voice exploded across the Runewood, shaking the leaves from the trees. The weight of its voice alone made the watching elves tremble in fear.

None dared move to save Mathes. None dared to speak.

They watched helplessly as their strongest warrior was humiliated—broken, flayed by a monster from beyond the shining veil.

And the beating continued.

POW!

With a sadistic grin, the Nighthral raised its tail. It cracked through the air like a whip of lightning and then-

SWOO-PAK!~

"YOU HAVEN’T SHOWN ME YOUR TRUE POWER YET!"

SWOO-PAK!~

"OR WAS THAT IT?’

SWOO-PAK!~

"HAAAAHAAHAAHAAA!"

Each lash struck Mathes’s ravaged form with sickening force, driving him deeper into the blood-soaked mud. His screams had long since stopped. Now, only wet, gurgling grunts remained.

SWOO-PAK!~

URGH...

The Runewood held its breath.

Even the wind seemed to mourn.

"No... Lord Mathes..."

"I—I can’t watch this..."

"Queen Mother, please... where are you?"

The elves wept silently behind the protective dome of Aetherthorn, all of their hearts aching.

They knew—knew too well—that Mathes wasn’t fighting for himself anymore. He was buying time. Sacrificing his life so that the queen, and perhaps the two tribal leaders, might arrive.

But hope was slipping away.

And with every crack of that tail, it felt like time itself was running out.

"PATHETIC," the Nighthral hissed, glancing at the elf’s limp body. "So this is the might of the Aetherthorn?"

It raised its wicked tail high—poised for the final blow.

"THEN DIE, YOU PATHETIC ELF!"

The tail came down.

But just before it struck-

[STORMPIERCE]

ZHHHH-KRAKABOOM!~

A glowing spear, coated in roaring lightning, tore through the underbrush and rocketed straight into the Nighthral’s right eye.

"ARRRGHH!!"

The beast staggered back, howling in agony.

It hadn’t sensed the attack—not from that range. The spear struck true, driving deep into its right eye socket, embedding itself into the pulsing flesh with a searing sizzle.

The Nighthral thrashed, its massive form crashing against trees, shaking the ground as it howled in rage.

"WHO DARES STRIKE ME!?"

Its tail and paws lashed out in every direction, swiping through trees and shrubs with reckless fury. The lightning spear crackled, its enchantment discharging arcs of energy that continued to fry the nerves in its eye.

Finally, after a violent jerk, the Nighthral wrenched the spear free, sending a splatter of black, oily blood across the forest floor.

Panting, it scanned the shadows, its one good eye narrowing on a specific spot.

Mathes was gone.

Only the blood remained.

Someone—something—had slipped past its senses. Someone had struck it. And worse—had stolen its prey right from under its claws.

And the spear attack was meant to distract him.

"YOU PERSISTENT FOOLS!"

It’s eyes glowed with rage while its nose twitched.

It sniffed the air and quickly tracked two new elven scents towards a specific direction.

Then—click.

Its paws triggered something placed on the ground. And the next moment-

KABOOOM!~

More hidden trap beneath the soil erupted in a violent explosion, swallowing its face in fire.

KABOOOOM!~

Another detonated as it reeled back.

KABOOOOOOM!~

And a third—larger than the others—exploded directly beneath its torso, launching it off the ground for a moment and sending a wave of fire across the clearing.

The forest shuddered. Aetherthorn’s leaves rustled with sudden energy.

And through the echoing thunder, a single, furious voice could be heard—

"I WILL KILL ALL OF YOUUUUUU!"

The Nighthral’s scream echoed across the forest, wild and primal.

But for now, it was blinded, wounded, and enraged.

And Mathes... was gone in his spot.