'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'-Chapter 30: Kaelthus and Bonbon

A crater now marked the place where Queen Elarya had once stood—charred, cracked, and still smoldering. Wisps of steam rose from the fractured ground, mingling with the last sparks of elemental magic that danced in the air.

High above, on his throne of molten stone and obsidian ash, Vulkris stirred.

The great beast, bound in glowing green chains, lay coiled in restless slumber atop the platform. But something had changed.

Its ears—massive and furred with flickering flame—twitched.

Once.

Twice.

The fire along its spine pulsed, and a low, rumbling growl escaped its chest—like distant thunder beneath the earth.

The realm was no longer quiet.

Smoke and magical debris slowly cleared. Steam hissed. Rubble crumbled.

Then—footsteps.

Another mysterious man stepped forward from the shadows, his face concealed beneath the folds of a dark hood. In his hand, he carried a long, bluish blade—translucent and rimmed with frost, as if it had been carved from the heart of an enchanted glacier. Cold mist clung to its edge with every movement, hissing softly against the scorched earth.

Etched into the back of his hand, glowing faintly beneath his glove, was a symbol: a crescent moon entwined with twin blades, the mark of a secretive and feared order that only few knew.

Though his features were hidden, his presence spoke volumes—cold, calculating, and mercilessly focused. He wasn’t here to fight.

He was here to finish.

He moved toward the crater—his boots crunching over scorched stone and shattered earth—as he approached the spot where the Elven Queen lay, buried beneath crumpled debris and the lingering echoes of elemental fury.

Ash swirled in the air around him, carried by the heat still lingering in the aftermath. The ground steamed beneath his boots, cracked and scorched by elemental fury.

Every step he took was slow, deliberate—measured with the calm of someone who knew she wasn’t dead... not yet.

As he neared the crater, a faint shift in his hood revealed a few strands of golden hair and glowing golden eyes, glinting like firelight against the smoky gloom—a fleeting glimpse that betrayed a trace of his true identity.

But he didn’t stop.

His focus was fixed on the Queen beneath the rubble. And he intended to finish what they started.

He didn’t care if it was the Queen of the Elves or anyone else.Their mission was clear.It had to begin with her elimination.

His eyes flashed with an eerie glow—the activation of an advanced Observation Skill, allowing him to detect living signatures in the area.Through the swirling chaos of smoke and scattered elements, he found what he was looking for.

"As expected of the Queen Mother."

His voice was cold—almost admiring—as his gaze locked onto hers, the faint shimmer of her living aura still burning behind those defiant green eyes.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand ever so slightly.

"Unfortunately... Dark Fate’s plan must proceed—and no one can stop us. Not even you."

At the heart of the chaotic battlefield, deep beneath the broken rocks and scorched debris, Queen Elarya still stood—shielded by the last flickering remnants of her protective magic.

The barrier around her was fractured, its once radiant glow now a dull shimmer, cracked like glass under pressure. Yet within that shell of fading power, she remained upright—bloodied, burned, but unbroken.

Her eyes glowed with a brilliant green light as she remained suspended inside a shimmering barrier of raw elven magic. The first wave of the ambush had shattered her enchanted rings—artifacts that had protected her for centuries. With those gone, only her own power remained.

Her once-serene elegance had vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous—royal fury.

"...How dare you," she whispered. Her voice was low, trembling—not with fear, but with rage. Rage born not from pain, but from recognition.

That voice... too familiar. A voice from long ago.

A voice she never expected to hear again.

It belonged to someone who had once walked beside her under the sacred trees of Runewood. A friend. A brother-in-arms. A noble who had left the elven realm more than three hundred years ago, vanishing into the corrupted world beyond.

And now—he returns? With a blade in hand and a smirk twisted by betrayal?

’What happened to you?’

The thought burned in Queen Elarya’s mind like a brand.

’The world outside Runewood truly was a place of rot.’

Long ago, this man had been more than a comrade—he had been her right hand. Her trusted backup before Mathes. A paragon among the Goldhairs.

He wasn’t just respected. He was revered.

A pillar of Runewood, a sword against poachers, a shield against the night, a beacon when darkness crept too close. He had once walked the sacred paths with honor and laughter by her side, his sword always drawn in defense of their people.

And more than all that—he was family.

But beneath his brilliance, ambition stirred.

Runewood, for all its magic and mystery, was not enough to satisfy the hunger in his heart. He didn’t just want to lead. He wanted to rule.

He spoke often of unity—of rising above borders, of uniting the fractured realms under a single banner. But not Elarya’s banner.

His.

He dreamed of becoming an emperor—not just of elves, but of all.

And when Runewood couldn’t contain that ambition, he left. He walked away from his vows. From his people. From her.

He left Elarya alone to bear the weight of their homeland’s protection.

Back then, he departed with a smile—bright, hopeful, bold. She had let him go, even wished him well in her heart.

But the one standing before her now... this was not the man she remembered.

His golden eyes, once warm with conviction, now glinted with greed. His posture, once upright and noble, now slithered with dark intent. His sword, once raised in defense of the weak, now aimed at her.

He had returned. But not as a brother.Not as a friend.Not as a hero.

He had returned as a usurper.

And Queen Elarya would not let him pass.

Her sharp mind raced, piecing together the web behind his betrayal with the precision of a seasoned tactician. It all made sense now.

They planned to release Vulkris—the chained titan, the sleeping catastrophe—into the heart of Runewood. Let chaos bloom. Let the sacred forest burn. Let its people panic and falter.

And then, he would reappear. The so-called savior. The hero of the hour.

With his carefully positioned allies, he would strike down the very monster they had unleashed. He’d win the people’s awe, their desperate gratitude, their loyalty.

And once the smoke cleared?

He would seize the throne.

First as the King of Runewood... then, perhaps, as Emperor of a united world.

It was a perfect plan. A manufactured crisis followed by a staged redemption. Classic power play—but with terrifying ambition behind it.

Not to mention, Runewood’s vast magical resources—its living trees, crystal-veined earth, and sacred hidden groves—were worth more than gold to the kingdoms beyond. Greedy monarchs and warlords had long hungered for it, whispering about its power in their courts and war rooms.

Whoever controlled Runewood wouldn’t just hold a forest.

They would hold leverage over gods and tyrants alike.

And the only one standing in their way... was her.

"Of course they want me dead," Elarya thought bitterly. "I am the final lock on the gates they want to break open."

And tragically, her deduction was spot on.

She stared at him now—not just with rage, but with a sharp and cutting clarity.

’You always wanted more.;

And now... she would stop him with everything she had left.

"Kaelthus! You traitor!" she roared, her eyes blazing with emerald fury. "I never expected for you to stoop so low to unseal Vulkris?!"

The very air warped around her, crackling with raw mana. Leaves quivered. Magic swirled in rippling waves across the ground.

Now—it was her turn.

The intruders, including the one she once called brother, would now taste the wrath of an Elven Queen.

The man stepped forward calmly. His hood dropped.

Revealing his face.

He was handsome—ageless—his features unmistakably Goldhair. But the cruel twist of his lips and the cold fire in his eyes told another story. A story of betrayal. Of ambition. Of something dark.

In his hand, an Ice Sword hummed with power, its glow intensifying as he raised it toward her.

"I’ve returned," he said smoothly, voice soaked in mockery. "Queen Mother..."

A beat passed.

"...Or should I say—little sister, Elarya?"

Meanwhile, back in the western side of Runewood...

Auren and Jairah were crouched low, following the subtle indentations of a Night Stalker’s trail along the forest path. The underbrush whispered with the faintest hints of movement—until Auren suddenly halted.

"Huh?" he said, squinting.

Just off the path, nestled by a mossy rock, a strange little creature was nibbling on a patch of glowing mushrooms. It didn’t flinch or flee on their presence.

It just... looked at him. More specifically on Auren.

Jairah crept closer, then gasped."Wait... is that a Punto?"

The creature looked like a palm-sized rabbit, absurdly cute—big eyes, twitching nose—but unlike the usual snow-white breed, this one had vibrant green fur and three tiny golden horns protruding from its forehead. It moved with cute little hops, eating the magical mushrooms with beautiful eyes. It never bothered to run away from the two.

"It’s adorable," she squealed, crouching beside it.

Auren tilted his head. "Yeah... but something’s off. Punto are supposed to be white, right? With just one horn if I am not mistaken?"

"This one’s... mutated maybe?" Jairah said, leaning in.

If only they knew...

This was no ordinary Punto.

If the elven tribal leaders and high council were present, they would have immediately recognized the creature—and gasped in unison.

This wasn’t just any forest beast. This was Queen Elarya’s beloved pet, a sacred companion said to have been older than the queen herself A creature so revered that even the royal guards were forbidden from laying a finger on it.

Only the Queen herself was ever permitted to touch it.

Its appearance here, miles away from the elven citadel, riding on the shoulder of a human boy? That alone would have been grounds for a diplomatic meltdown.

Thankfully, the Lantaws tracking from back could not see the little beast, in fact this punto is very special as it only chooses who is allowed to see it.

Had they caught even a glimpse of the green-furred Punto, the forest would already be echoing with alarm calls. Or worse, the tribal watchers might have drawn their weapons on instinct, believing the boy had stolen it... or worse, tamed it.

"I wonder how it tastes," Jairah muttered innocently, her voice half-serious, half-challenging as she crouched down beside it, curiosity flickering in her eyes like a cat watching a mouse. She had no idea just how dangerous her words was.

"Are you insane?" Auren’s big dark red eyes blinked at her. "This thing’s probably ultra-rare! Look at it—it’s like a magical shiny version! Holo rare! Grade 10 limited edition! Collector’s-grade cuteness, max stats in charm!" he said while lightly squizzing its soft cheeks.

Seeing it did not run away, he gently scooped the fuzzy creature into his palms. Its fur felt like soft moss kissed by sunlight—cool to the touch yet pulsing with warmth. The moment his fingers brushed its skin, a sensation rippled through his chest.

A flicker.A pulse.A hum that resonated with something buried deep within him.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t fear. It was... familiarity.

Their eyes met.

And in that fleeting instant, the forest quieted. The wind stilled. Even the leaves seemed to pause mid-fall.

Time itself bowed to the meeting.

Auren’s breath hitched. This little Punto... there was something behind its gaze. Not just animal instinct or magical spark—it was knowing. Timeless. As if it had seen countless lifetimes and had chosen him.

"...I’m keeping it," Auren declared with quiet finality, his voice not up for debate.

He placed the creature on his shoulder. It settled there without a wobble, as if it had always belonged. In its mouth, it continued to nibble on the mushroom bits with such intense focus and adorable greed, it was almost surreal.

"It’s mine now and thats final," Auren said softly to Jaira, patting it on the head.

"Whatever. But I hope you won’t regret naming it. It’s always a bad idea to give name to your food you know." Jairah raised her elbow in surrender.

In truth, Auren didn’t know why he felt so sure, only that he did. Deep down, something in him clicked—and once Auren made a choice from his gut, he rarely turned back.

The truth is that it was indeed a being far beyond their understanding. A creature cloaked in innocence, yet burdened with secrets that could shake entire kingdoms.

Until now, Auren had no idea that this simple choice—this quiet moment of curiosity—would ripple into consequences far beyond anything he could imagine.

Because what he had just picked up...

Was no ordinary pet. frёeωebɳovel.com

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