'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'
Chapter 61: Unbreakable Nighthral

Chapter 61: Unbreakable Nighthral

BOOOOM!

GRAAAOOOAR!

The Nighthral rampaged like a storm let loose from the abyss, colliding with waves of elven warriors from every direction.

Its monstrous body twisted with chaotic might—biting, swiping, slamming its whip-like tail in wide arcs that splintered trees and sent bodies flying.

But the elves were not disorganized. They moved with the sharp coordination of seasoned tacticians.

Ranged units launched volleys of enchanted arrows and elemental projectiles from elevated ridges and magical platforms.

Melee fighters, clad in rune-inscribed armor, formed rotating phalanxes that danced in and out of the monster’s reach—some striking, others intercepting.

Meanwhile, those wielding control magic summoned thorned roots and thornvines from the forest floor, tangling around the Nighthral’s massive limbs to slow its movements. Buffs and aura-enhancing chants flowed like a battle hymn from the rear guard, strengthening the frontline to endure the impossible.

"Tail attack incoming!"

"Raise barriers! Left flank, brace!"

"Support magic to the rear line! Go, go, go!"

When the Nighthral’s scythe-like tail came crashing toward a battalion, a wall of warriors raised their arms in unison. Their defensive runes shimmered gold and blue, activating just in time to intercept the blow. The impact roared like thunder. Shields cracked. Feet skidded. But lives were saved.

"Mouth’s opening!"

"Don’t let it scream—blast it now!"

They knew what that cavernous maw could unleash: a roar strong enough to disintegrate bones and shatter minds. And so, each time the beast began to inhale, mages from all sides launched bombardments of fire, frost, lightning, and sound directly into its throat.

It gurgled and staggered—its devastating cry interrupted again and again. Their hundreds of years of battle experience are truly showing results.

From the outside, the coordination looked effective. It looked like a turning tide.

But in truth, the elves were making no real progress.

Not one of their attacks inflicted lasting damage. At most, a few burns. A bleeding gash here. A meter-long slash there.

But all wounds closed almost instantly, black mana sewing flesh together with unholy speed thanks to the beast’s King-stage constitution.

None of them had noticed.

None had realized their efforts meant nothing.

And as the battle dragged into its fifteenth minute, exhaustion began to overtake hope.

"Why won’t this thing go down!?" shouted one of the frontline warriors, voice cracking in frustration.

"Quit whining and swing harder!" barked another. "Its mana shield’s strong, but with enough pressure, it’ll wear down! Soon!"

"It’s not!" someone else screamed. "It’s just healing everything!"

Currently, nearly six hundred elves had joined the fray—but only a fraction, around 150, belonged to the elite: the Ascended combat class whose strikes could even graze a creature of this tier.

The rest were talented, yes—but without specialized techniques or awakened divine frames, their attacks might as well be tickles.

Worse, twenty elites had already fallen—ambushed earlier by the White Fang before they could reach this battlefield.

The remainder? Buffers. Scouts. Minor spellcasters. Their magic lit up the sky, but barely irritated the Nighthral’s hide.

As the battle continued, mana reserves dwindled.

While their stamina flagged. Even the most hardened warriors found their breath growing short.

And the Nighthral?

It stood tall. Busy, but still okay.

Its fanged mouth curled upward.

Its glowing, hellish eyes scanned the battlefield with something sickeningly close to amusement.

It was enjoying this.

"What are you doing!? Keep fighting!"

"I can’t! I’m out of mana!"

"So am I! Then throw something! Stones, branches, anything!"

"Why won’t you just DIE YOU BEAST?!"

And then—

A voice cut through their desperation. It’s deep and triumphant.

"WHAT’S WRONG, ELVES? RUNNING OUT OF OIL?"

The moment the Nighthral spoke, an unnatural chill raced through the bones of every fighter.

"MY TURN, BUGS."

Suddenly, from its monstrous form, a black mist erupted.

[DARK FIELD]

Thick, dark, and unnatural, the smoke exploded outward like squid ink bleeding into ocean currents. It blanketed the battlefield within seconds, crawling over warriors, weapons, and warding spells.

The moment it touched skin, a dreadful sensation followed.

Mana drained. Life force ebbed. Visions are blocked while spell casting are canceled in an instant.

"I-I can’t cast anything!"

"Where are you? I can’t see!"

"I think I’m blind!"

The darkness was more than just visual. It invaded the mind, warping sound, space, and orientation especially to those with weaker constitution.

Voices seemed to echo from impossible angles. Legs moved sluggishly, as if underwater.

And the worst part?

The Nighthral was gone.

Or perhaps—

It had become the fog.

Its voice surrounded them.

GRAHAHAHAH~

Then came the butchery.

SLASH!

"Aghk!"

SLASH!

"Ughogh~!"

SLASH!

"Ghhiaaa!"

A symphony of death began to echo through the fog. One by one, warriors were carved down by unseen blades. A tail. A claw. Or perhaps a blade conjured purely of darkness. No one knew. The killing was swift, and it was everywhere at once.

The fog was alive—with death.

And death had no mercy.

Inside the mist, Micha’el—sword prodigy of the Goldhair tribe—fought to stay calm. He focused his breathing, centered his mind.

"This is bad," he muttered.

[FALCON FOCUS]

His irises glowed with sharp light. The surrounding shadows parted slightly, revealing the faint shimmer of motion- a scythe-shaped tail slicing toward him.

CLANG!

He managed to block just in time. The force of the blow sent him sliding back several meters, his arm numb from the impact- but he was still alive.

"That was too close..." he muttered under his breath, then raised his voice into a commanding shout. "Everyone! Activate your observation skills! It’s the only way to survive!"

Those trained in perception magic responded instantly. The moment their senses heightened, some were able to narrowly dodge sweeping claws or intercept shadowy strikes before they landed.

But for many others- it was already too late.

Amid the chaos, Leon’do- one of their young hero - yelled out, "Fall back! Head toward Aetherthorn! Regroup now!"

"Come on! This way!" Anast’cia called, clutching two injured elves by the arms and guiding them through the thick fog.

The remaining forces began their retreat, stumbling through the darkness. They followed familiar voices, flickers of mana, and the faintest glimmers of hope.

And then, cutting through the murk like a blade—

That voice returned.

"Where are you going? The fun has just begun!"

[SWIRLING REAPER]

The Nighthral reappeared at the heart of the battlefield—an unholy titan cloaked in chaos. Now it had three tails, each one long, whip-like, and tipped with jagged scythe blades that spun so fast they blurred into a deadly cyclone.

A nightmarish shredding machine made flesh.

And as if that horror weren’t enough, the beast’s entire form began to pulse—black and violet, like a beating heart of oblivion.

WOOMWOOMWOOOM~

The air twisted and the earth buckled.

Then came the pull.

Not wind Nor magic.

But Gravity.

A massive black hole had been born.

"No—NOOO!"

"Help! I’m being pulled in!"

"Grab something—anything!"

One by one, the elves tried to resist. Some clung to trees. Others buried their hands into cracks in the earth. But the pull grew stronger with every passing second.

The air was filled with terrified screams.

Branches snapped. Rocks tumbled. Bodies lifted.

WHAHAHAHA!

The Nighthral laughed._{f.r(e)e\webn.ovel.co\m}

It drank in their fear.

Even Micha’el, who had driven his sword deep into a boulder to anchor himself, began to slide.

"No... I won’t—" he gasped.

GRAK!~

But the boulder broke.

"Crap!"

He was airborne.

Mid-air, Micha’el saw it—the purple vortex, a howling tempest of spinning tails. Trees splintered. Stone crumbled. Steel twisted like paper. Anything that touched it was shredded without mercy.

His eyes widened. His breath caught.

And in the depths of his mind, panic erupted.

"No... no no NOOO—!"

Just when all hope seemed to be ripped to ribbons—

A voice cut through the storm.

Calm and cold.Unshakably powerful.

"What do you think you’re doing... with my people?"

A golden flash tore through the sky as a divine golden spear came bolted down on the dark vortex.

[HEARTPIERCER]

ZWIIP—

BOOOOOOM!

The beam of golden energy lanced downward with terrifying precision, striking the Nighthral directly on its back.

The sound it made wasn’t an explosion—it was annihilation. A flash of golden light was followed by a defeaning shockwave. And with that, the dark fog evaporated in an instant.

The pull vanished and the tails halted.Then the spinning stopped.

And for a breathless moment, silence reigned in the area.

Then, like brittle leaves surrendering to gravity, the elves dropped to the ground.

Some crumpled in pain, others collapsed with trembling limbs, their faces painted with blood and disbelief.

But through the wounds and the weariness, one truth pulsed in every gasping chest.

They were alive.

Their savior floated high above, framed by the blazing sun, her presence radiant and terrifying—like a divine avenger descending from the heavens.

"How dare you lay a hand on my people," Elarya whispered, her voice low but thunderous with intent. Her sapphire eyes burned with raw, unrestrained mana, glowing brighter than the light behind her.

She wasn’t just a queen.

In that moment, she was judgment incarnate.