'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'
Chapter 62: Inky Pinky

Chapter 62: Inky Pinky

A golden spear screamed down from the heavens like divine judgment, crashing straight into the center of the swirling vortex known as the Nighthral. Upon impact, a colossal shockwave of golden energy erupted outward.

KABOOOOMMM!

The pull of the vortex shattered. The air cleared with a burst of pressure, sending dust and smoke spiraling into the sky. In an instant, the suffocating dark mist was dispelled—and with it, the crushing force that had nearly dragged hundreds of elves to their deaths.

Where death had once been certain, silence now lingered.

And then they saw it.

A massive golden spear—longer than a war tree and glowing like molten sunlight—was lodged deep in the Nighthral’s back.

Its barbed form pulsed with radiant power, pinning the beast in place. The creature twitched, momentarily stunned by the sudden, devastating strike.

From below, Mathes lifted his bloodstained face and blinked through the haze. His vision focused, and his eyes welled with tears.

High above, illuminated by the golden afterglow, floated the battered yet radiant figure of Queen Elarya.

Her six ethereal wings—delicate as lace, yet thrumming with divine power—fluttered slowly behind her. Her armor, once ceremonial silver and blue runesteel, was cracked and scorched from a battle not yet spoken of. Dirt, blood, and ash clung to her like war paint.

Below her, Kardel and Rhiki arrived, equally weathered and wounded. Their armor bore the marks of conflict, and their breathing was ragged—but they stood tall.

No one had to ask where they had been. The state of their bodies said enough.

The elves, bloodied and broken, could only watch in reverent silence. There would be time for questions later.

Right now, survival demanded obedience.

Elarya quickly glanced at her status bar.

Health: 12%.

Mana: 10%.

Her jaw tightened.

She wasn’t ready for another Vulkris-tier battle—not like this. And yet, the threat before her demanded everything.

Her voice rang clear across the battlefield.

"Everyone! To the Aetherthorn, NOW!"

The elves didn’t hesitate. They knew the truth: if Elarya hadn’t arrived when she did, they’d all be dead. And if a beast could survive the full might of six hundred warriors, it was suicidal to get in the queen’s way.

And now that the suffocating dark fog is gone, they ran frantically. After all, their life depended on this moment.

Stumbling, dragging the wounded, cradling the dead—they all ran except the queen and the two leaders of the tribes.

As the soldiers withdrew, Elarya turned her eyes toward the stunned beast. Her gaze was hard. Calculating.

"Report," she said flatly.

An elder of the Goldhair tribe quickly appeared beside her in a flash, bowing deeply. "My queen, it is good to see you—"

"I said report," Elarya snapped.

The elder swallowed. Her tone was sharp—impatient and exhausted.

"Y-yes, Queen Mother," he stammered. "The creature is... it’s a Nighthral."

"I can see that," she muttered, eyeing the beast’s divine frame hovering ominously behind its shoulders. "I want to know why such a creature is in the Runewood."

"T-that’s because... it evolved, my queen. It is the final form of the White Fang."

Elarya’s eyes narrowed.

"The White Fang?" Rhiki echoed in disbelief. "I knew it. I should’ve killed that beast when I had the chance!"

"Tch. Don’t forget it nearly killed you twice," Kardel added dryly.

"I was weaker back then."

While they exchanged words, the Nighthral stirred. The golden spear lodged in its back trembled as the beast began to rise, growling low with fury.

The queen, Rhiki, and Kardel instantly leapt into position, placing themselves between the Nighthral and the retreating elves.

"NO ONE’S GOING ANYWHERE!"

The Nighthral bellowed as it prepared to pounce on the fleeing elves.

But Elarya stepped forward and raised a hand.

With a flick of her wrist, the golden spear dislodged itself from the beast’s back and flew through the air, landing neatly in her grip. She pointed it toward the Nighthral.

"Over our dead bodies, you vile cat." she said coldly.

The beast’s glowing red eyes flared as it let out a guttural laugh.

"VERY WELL."

Dark smoke erupted from its body like a geyser, and a suffocating pressure engulfed the battlefield. The temperature dropped. The air grew heavy. Malice radiated from the creature in waves.

But before the beast could start his attack, Elarya was already moving.

"NOW!" she shouted.

Twelve aura-imbued blades shot through the air from both flanks, angling straight for the Nighthral’s eyes. Kardel, riding atop his beastly mount Abthic, controlled them with pinpoint focus.

The Nighthral hissed. It remembered the pain it had suffered from a previous strike to its right eye. It couldn’t let them connect again.

"PITIFUL TRICKS!"

It slammed its two massive paws forward—but Kardel anticipated this. With a subtle twist of his hand, the blades darted away from the paw and curved sharply—diving toward the beast’s blind spot.

Snarling, the Nighthral lurched backward and countered with a tail swipe—aimed directly at Kardel.

But just before impact—

CLANG!

Rhiki appeared in a blur of motion, bulging arms crossed as he caught the blow with both twin daggers. Dark mana coursed over his skin like armor, and the impact sent shockwaves rippling around them.

Two of Rhiki’s shadow clones surged out from beneath his feet, dashing for the Nighthral’s other eye.

"BUGS!" the Nighthral roared.

It opened its mouth wide, preparing to consume the incoming clones in one bite.

But before it could bite down—

Elarya’s speeding figure appeared directly in front of its face, her golden spear humming violently in her hand.

[PIERCING DAWN]

ZIIIT—BOOOOOOM!

Together with her last ounce of mana, she let loose a brilliant golden laser burst from the spear and slammed straight into the creature’s open mouth. The energy tunneled deep into its body, scorching its insides with unbearable heat—like molten gold poured down its throat.

The Nighthral reeled in agony.

"GGRAAAARAGHR!"

It thrashed wildly, slashing claws and scythe tails in all directions. Trees shattered. Boulders disintegrated. Everything around it was reduced to rubble in seconds.

And then-

Stillness.

Steam hissed from the beast’s mouth. Its black blood sizzled in the dirt. Its supernatural healing kicked in, slowly knitting flesh and bone from inside.

But the moment it could see clearly again—it realized something:

The elves were gone.

"THIS INSECTS..."

The beast growled, its rage echoing through the shattered forest. But there was no applause, no audience. Not even a single ant remained to witness its fury.

As it thrashed in frustration a while ago, the elves—queen included—had already vanished into the distance, retreating safely toward the glowing sanctuary of their protective dome.

Far in the distance, within the protective sanctuary of the Aetherthorn, the survivors had gathered. Though wounded and weary, they were alive. Some wept, some laughed. Others held each other in silent gratitude.

They had made it!

The Nighthral’s gaze locked on the faint golden dome surrounding the three giant trees that compose the Aetherthorn.

Then it snapped.

With a furious snarl, the Nighthral lunged, tearing through earth and stone as it stormed toward the elven sanctuary.

"YOU DARE CELEBRATE IN MY PRESENCE?!"

It hurled its massive form against the golden barrier—but the moment it struck, a radiant shield erupted with a deafening blast.

THUNG!~

The ancient defenses of Aetherthorn had awakened, layers of luminous runes flaring to life—inscribed long ago by the enigmatic Primordial Beast himself.

BOOM!

THUNG!~

The shield held.

Snarling louder, the Nighthral struck again.

THUNG!

It clawed. It bit. It howled in fury.

But the barrier remained unbroken.

Atop the sanctuary walls, flanked by anxious elders, Queen Elarya stood still—unshaken. Her sapphire eyes never left the raging beast outside. Silence clung to her like armor.

Then, with the elegance of a sovereign who needed no words, she lifted one hand.

Slowly—deliberately—she extended her pinky finger toward the Nighthral.

A single, subtle motion.

The elves around her gasped in awe.

The pinky.

To outsiders, it might seem meaningless—but among elves, the raised pinky was the most disrespectful insult one could offer in battle.

The equivalent of a human middle finger.

The Nighthral stared for a second—confused—then understood.

Its entire body shook with fury.

"ROOOOOOAR!"

"YOU B*TCH! COME OUT! COME OUT NOW AND I’LL RIP ALL OF YOU TO PIECES!"

It slammed its claws again and again into the barrier, unleashing one devastating skill after another—blades of darkness, waves of corrosive breath, barrages of shadow spikes. But the shield refused to budge.

Within the sanctuary walls, Elarya stood firm. She didn’t flinch.

Her sapphire eyes—still faintly glowing with lingering mana—narrowed with quiet resolve.

Leaning forward ever so slightly, she whispered to the wind,

"Not today, beast."

And with that final breath of defiance, her strength gave out. Her body swayed—then crumpled—only to be caught by the anxious hands of the elders surrounding her.

She was drained. Exhausted. But alive. Safe.

Yet even as they fretted over her well-being, Elarya’s thoughts were far away.

Not on herself. Not on the beast.

But on a single human soul still out there in the chaos.

"Please... come back safe, Auren."