'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'-Chapter 44: Shadow Sprint & Blood Debt

The Nightthral stared down at Mathes with a gaze as heavy as fate itself. Its eyes didn’t just look at him—they claimed him. Mathes knew in that moment... death had already closed on him.

"Crap. Here we go again..." he muttered helplessly as he took a deep breath to face the monster with everything he got.

Somewhere within the safety of the Aetherthorn, beneath the towering canopy of the protective dome, the elven folk clustered around the central fountain. Above its gentle cascade hovered a floating screen—an arcane projection linked directly to the Lantaw outside. The screen shimmered with swirling images from the outside world, its mirrored surface revealing the unfolding danger beyond the barrier.

Dozens of anxious faces had their faces glued to the screen —elders, children, warriors with clenched fists. Their eyes were wide, their breaths held. Through the orb, they watched Mathes standing alone before the Nightthral, a golden figure against the backdrop of looming death. fгeewebnovёl.com

Even without the Lantaw, he could feel them watching. Their hope rested on his shoulders—and hope was a crushing weight.

Mathes turned sharply toward the distant dome, the silken shimmer of the Aetherthorn’s barrier glowing faintly under the moonlight. He inhaled deeply and let out a shout, his voice amplified by the wind, deep and commanding like a rolling storm:

"Everyone stay inside the Aetherthorn! No one leaves unless I say so!"

His words weren’t just an order—they were a wall, thrown up in desperation to protect the people behind it.

The sound traveled across the sacred branches and straight into the domed canopy.

Within the Aetherthorn’s dome, the Sylvanthir tribes stirred.

"What about Leon’do and Anas’cia? They’re still out there!"

Panic flickered in their voices—frantic, half-whispers.

"I saw the two leaders leave earlier," Micha’el replied, his face grim. Arms crossed, his green cloak rustled slightly from his nervous movement. "If I’m right... they’re probably already trying to rescue them!"

He didn’t mention names aloud, but everyone knew who he meant: Kardel and Rhiki—two of their fiercest leaders.

He had seen their silhouettes vanish into the shadows just before the Nightthral descended. They had moved like ghosts between the trees, slipping past the outer roots of the dome. If anyone could survive out there... it was them.

Still, the air inside the dome had turned thick with dread. The warriors—battle-hardened, scarred, fearless under normal stars—now stood with twitching fingers and lowered eyes.

They wanted to help.

Their blades were drawn. Their instincts screamed to run out and fight, to stand beside Mathes.

But the memories of the White Fang’s slaughter lingered too fresh in their minds—the screams, the torn armor, the blood that soaked the outer roots of the Aetherthorn only moments ago.

And this new evolved beast—this Nightthral—was worse.

Its detection was unreal. Even a single misplaced breath might give them away. It was like trying to hide from the moon itself.

They knew they couldn’t risk it.Not again.

Mathes stood alone, a shining figure in gold and wind, placing himself directly between the abomination and the only sanctuary left in the forest.

Behind him, the Runewood groaned as if holding its breath. The trees—sacred and ancient—seemed to lean in, watching with gnarled limbs and invisible eyes.

No place outside the Aetherthorn was safe now. That dome, woven from the mana of three Great Trees, was the only line of defense left thanks to its invisible barrier that coves them from outside forces.

A soft voice broke the silence among the Goldhair elves:

"Please come back safe, Lord Mathes..."

It came from one of the Elders, her frail hand pressed over her heart, lips trembling as she spoke the prayer.

The others wanted to shout, to defy logic and charge into the storm—but they knew better.The Nightthral was too fast.Too dangerous. Worst, they could only get in Mathe’s way.

If they made one wrong move, Mathes wouldn’t be the only one to die.

It was up to him now.

Outside, Mathes closed his eyes for a breath.

The wind whispered at his boots.

His heartbeat slowed—not from fear, but from focus.

And then he opened his mouth with bitter resolve.

"Fighting this thing... is suicide."

[WINDRUN]

A burst of wind spiraled around his legs—tiny vortexes forming at his feet. Then, his body vanished into a blur of motion leaving only chaotic dusts from his spot.

He sprinted through the forest like lightning, wind curling behind him, each step light as silk and sharp as thunder.

Only 300 meters.

That’s all the distance that separated him from the barrier.

With Windrun at full force, he broke 300 kilometers per hour in under two seconds. The world around him blurred gray while branches bends in his wake.

"come on, come on come one..." he muttered under his breath while he sprited with all his might.

Up ahead—the gate!Elders behind the barrier were waving, their faces lit with hope and cheering him on.

He pushed harder. Almost there—

But then, the forest shifted.

Without warning, the Nightthral’s massive form blinked into view between him and the gate, as if it had always been there at the first place.

A shadow fell over him and his eyes widened in surprise.

The beast’s paw—majestic and terrible—came swiping down like a divine hammer on Mathes speeding figure.

"Crap."

PAW!

And like a cat swatting a fly, his figure was sent flying back before he could reach the safe space.

BOOOM!

"Mathes!!"

"Oh no—!"

"My Lord!"

Gasps erupted behind the barrier as they saw the goldhair leader being swatted like a toy.

Mathes flew across the field, smashing through two ancient trees, tumbling until he skidded across the dirt. Blood streamed from his mouth and ears, and his once-golden robes now clung like soiled rags.

His wand? Shattered. Only the fragments remained.

He had managed—barely—to cross his arms in time to brace for impact. But the damage had been done.

"I’m... okay..." he muttered, then vomited blood.

Not okay.

Not even close.

A shadow loomed.

"Have I given you permission to leave?" the Nightthral growled, voice cruel and full of teeth.

It stepped forward slowly, like a cat savoring the game. Its massive tails swayed behind it, one of them cutting through trees like blades through parchment.

"You think you can outrun me, elf?"

Mathes groaned. Breathing hurt—his ribs definitely cracked. He could barely move. The edges of his vision dimmed.

He looked at the swirling blue sky and immediately thought of the Queen.

’If only Queen Mother were here...’

And then—two other faces burned into his mind whom he thought could have helped him.

’Kardel. Rhiki. Those bastards... they’re probably having the time of their lives right now.’

Meanwhile... back at the Inferna Hollow,

Kardel and Rhiki were, in fact, having the time of their lives—locked in brutal combat with five members of the Dark Fate.

Far from the deep crater where Auren was tending to the Queen, the two elven leaders fought like avenging gods.

BOOM!

KRAKABOOM!

KABOOM!

Sparks and spells lit the floating islands in chaotic bursts. The Dark Fate members, exhausted from their earlier assault with the elven queen, were forced into a desperate defense.

Kardel, riding atop his magical deer Usan, launched not six—but twelve blades in his Glimmercut skills. Each blade shimmered with aura and cut through the battlefield like missiles.

"You’ll pay for laying your stinky hands on our queen—with your heads!" he shouted.

Usan twisted its body into a storm of petals and leaves, nullifying Lannic’s ice spears and Slarveon’s arrows alike.

"What the hell is that deer?!" Slarveon yelled after evading three flying blades. "Why are my arrows turning into flower petals?!"

She slithered backward, firing as she moved—but several blades managed to pierce through her defense and sliced on the side of her serpentine body, forcing her into retreat.

"Just keep defending! " Lannic barked, surfing on summoned water. "He’s burning through mana. Once he’s dry out, it’s our game!"

He hurled ice spear after ice spear, using sharp timing to deflect the Glimmercuts—but they always came back. His corruptive ice spells were off-limits now. Too costly. Too risky.

"Time’s on our side," Lannic muttered, confident. "

Kael’thus and the others should be arriving soon. With their backup, this coward elf doesn’t stand a chance!"

But oh boy he was so wrong...

Elsewhere in the Hollow...

Rhiki stood with a wicked grin, black daggers shimmering. Blood stained the earth beneath his boots.

"Too weak," he muttered.

Dakulo’s head rolled across the ground—his dwarven body slumped beside it - lifeless.

Raijen and Kael’thus stared in stunned silence and instinctively retreated.

Kael’thus was battered, bleeding, and barely holding together thanks to the Vhalka shard’s healing.

Rhiki met Kael’thus’s gaze, eyes like razors.

"Is that all you learned outside, traitor? "

Kael’thus lowered his blade, breathing ragged.

Then, Rhiki’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"Please... entertain me more."

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