'I Reincarnated But Have No System? You Must Be Kidding Me!'-Chapter 28: Wild Magic, Ruthless Majesty

And true enough, all the soldiers were summoned together, leaving only the children and women elves behind the protective walls of Aetherthorn. Even the guards assigned to Robert and Marissa were called away to assist in the unexpected assault.

After all, Aetherthorn is shielded by an invisible force field powered by the sacred trio of giant trees, repelling dangerous beasts and elemental threats from breaching its dome.

"You better not do anything funny, or you know what will happen," one of the departing soldiers warned Robert and Marissa grimly before rushing off to join the others.

It wasn’t just the Goldhairs who mobilized. Word of the Night Stalker incursion reached both the Velkadar and Silvanther tribes. Though their leaders remained missing, it was no longer a question of politics or pride. A massive pack of Night Stalkers skirting near their borders was a threat that could not be ignored.

Within minutes, the combined elven armies of all three tribes had gathered and advanced in unison toward Mathes’s last known location. Along the way, they encountered his wounded company, who quickly corroborated Micha’el’s dire warnings.

Deep within Runewood,

Mathes stood alone.

The forest had gone eerily silent. The lesser Night Stalkers had retreated, leaving only one opponent standing: the Alpha.

Mathes gritted his teeth.

"You’re a sturdy beast, I’ll give you that. But let’s see how you handle this."

He raised his wand. Thunder crackled above as the chaotic storm overhead twisted into focused wrath at his command. The clouds obeyed, tightening their fury into a singular point.

The White Fang lifted its head.

It sensed the change in air pressure. One or two lightning bolts it could endure. Five would hurt. A hundred?

That would punch a hole straight through its hide.

It blurred into motion just as the first bolt struck.

BOOM!~

BOOM!~

BOOOOM!~

Mathes’s eyes glowed, tracking the beast with a hawk’s precision. Though the White Fang was shockingly agile for its size, Mathes guided each strike with surgical finesse. Every time the beast tried to charge, a bolt would cut off its path. The mage’s aim wasn’t just random—it was strategy made manifest in the language of thunder.

But time was not on his side.

He glanced at the glowing ring of runes etched across his arm.

’35%... this is not looking good.’

His tattoos allowed for rapid mana absorption from the environment—a rare trait even among elite elves. Normally, his reserves regenerated at three times the average rate. But the sheer intensity of his barrage had begun to outpace even that.

’I need a different approach.’

The rain of lightning slowed.

The White Fang noticed. Its primal eyes narrowed with amusement.

Sensing a shift in momentum, it dashed forward with breakneck speed, weaving between the remaining bolts like a phantom. Then, with a mighty leap, it soared into the air and unleashed a flurry of crescent-shaped air claws.

The compressed wind blades screamed toward Mathes.

But he did not panic.

In a fluid motion, he ducked, rolled, and sidestepped, narrowly avoiding each slicing arc. They detonated on impact behind him, blasting trees into splinters and leaving smoking craters in the soil. Debris exploded around him, swallowing his figure in a cloud of dirt and splinters.

The White Fang seized the opportunity, charging through the debris.

Fifteen meters away, it opened its maw.

[PRIMAL ROAR]

A concussive shockwave burst forth.

The dust cloud vanished in an instant, obliterated by the sheer force of the roar. Trees buckled. Stones shattered. The roar’s cry echoed across the forest like a god’s scream of rage.

But its target was gone.

"Looking for me?"

Mathes appeared behind the beast, holding a glowing runestone in his hand. He had used a rare relic—capable of a single teleport within twenty meters. Its cooldown? Seven days. But it had saved his life.

His wand was already lit.

[SPIRAL PULSE]

URGH!~

A tightly compressed sphere of wind exploded beneath the White Fang’s belly, launching it into the air. The blast tore into its body, slicing through fur and hide as it twisted helplessly mid-flight.

This was a high-tier wind spell—one only Mathes could execute.

And he wasn’t done.

"Dodge this, you mad beast!"

[TEMPEST’S WRATH]

Twenty lightning bolts surged from the sky, faster than sound.

KRAKABOOM!~

The beast convulsed as each bolt struck. Electricity danced across its limbs, tearing into flesh and burning through resistance. For three seconds, it was nothing but a screaming silhouette inside a cocoon of light.

Then—

THUD!

The White Fang slammed into the ground. Dust exploded on impact. The forest trembled.

Mathes dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. His wand smoked at the tip. The runes on his skin flickered erratically. He was nearing mana shock.

A hundred elven soldiers emerged behind him, arriving too late to assist. Weapons drawn, they surrounded the fallen beast, ready to strike.

Others rushed to Mathes, casting restorative spells.

"Is it over?" he whispered hoarsely. His head pulsed, as if a war drum was beating behind his eyes. If he cast another high-tier spell, his blood might boil from the inside out.

"I think you did it, Lord Mathes," one soldier said, awe in his voice.

Mathes smiled faintly. He tried to stand—

Then stopped.

His golden hair lifted slightly.

Above them, the air had begun to twist. The wind, clouds, even the light—all began to spiral upward into a vortex.

He looked down at his hands.

They were shaking uncontrollably.

"Something’s not right."

Meanwhile, near the river, Auren and Jairah had just finished a hearty meal when a distant, guttural roar echoed through the forest.

A chill ran down Jairah’s spine. She instinctively reached for her bow.

"...What was that?" she muttered, scanning the treeline. "I’ve never heard such a feral roar before."

Though they were at least five kilometers away, the sound had still reached them, rumbling through the earth like a buried earthquake.

Auren frowned. He had just finished organizing his supplies, but the sound tugged at a memory buried deep in his bones.

"That roar..." he said, eyes narrowing. "It sounded familiar. But I’m not sure."

"Any guess?" Jairah asked, slinging her bow over her shoulder and securing her arrows.

"It’s the Alpha of the Night Stalkers," Auren replied quietly, voice low as his mind drifted back to the night he nearly died between its massive jaws.

"You mean the White Fang?" Jairah let out a soft chuckle, thinking he was joking. "That’s funny."

Auren blinked. "White Fang?"

He looked genuinely confused. The name meant nothing to him. Not once had Jeis, his sharp-eyed mentor and one of the most experienced rangers of the Silverleaf tribe, mentioned it during their two years of training. That fact alone made his gut tighten.

Jairah nodded as they began moving east, their boots barely making a sound on the carpet of moss and fallen leaves. The river’s quiet murmurs faded behind them as the forest ahead grew thicker.

"White Fang is what we call the leader of the Night Stalkers in the western territory," she said, tightening her cloak against the subtle shift in wind. "It rarely shows itself. Most of our hunters only catch glimpses—if they’re lucky. I heard it once slaughtered an entire patrol of six in under a minute. Only bones and burnt trees were left behind."

Auren kept his pace steady, but his mind raced.

"I heard it’s incredibly intelligent," Jairah continued. "Smarter than most beasts in the forest. They say it sets traps, stalks prey from afar for days, and even mimics sounds. Some believe it chooses not to kill sometimes—just to observe how we react."

"But why is it white?" Auren asked, genuinely curious. "I thought Night Stalkers were always black or dark brown. You know, to blend in with the shadows."

"It has to do with its evolution," she explained, pausing briefly to scan the treetops. "According to the expert hunters—those who managed to glimpse its Divine Frame from afar—it’s around Level 68 now."

Auren’s brows lifted. That was dangerously high for any wild beast.

"Once a Night Crawler hits Level 50, its fur slowly starts to turn white. The pigmentation changes as a result of elemental compression in its body. That transformation doesn’t just change its appearance—it upgrades everything. Reflexes, perception, and magical resistance. The black ones can be taken down with numbers and traps. The white ones? You might as well bring a death offering."

Jairah kept talking, voice calm but firm, like a seasoned hunter sharing hard-earned wisdom. Auren, meanwhile, soaked in every word like a dry sponge. His mind instinctively began sorting the information, connecting dots, anticipating outcomes.

The more he heard, the more pieces started to align.

"What about the eastern territory?" he asked, glancing around them, activating his observation skill. Every subtle twitch of leaves, every shift in air pressure, he logged and evaluated. "Is there another White Fang there?"

"The eastern side?" Jairah tilted her head slightly. "I don’t think so. But that region belongs to the Vulkris."

Auren stopped walking.

The name made his stomach twist.

He knelt beside a thick-rooted tree to pluck a pale blue herb growing along its base—a Windleleaf, good for calming potions. Even mid-conversation, his herbalist instincts kicked in like second nature, a quiet rhythm of habit taught by Robert himself.

"You mean... that legendary beast?" he asked, brushing dirt from the leaves and slipping it into a pouch.

"That’s the one," Jairah said with a nod. "The eastern tribes rarely talk about it, but it’s said to be the apex predator of this forest. No one knows where it nests, or if it even sleeps. But one thing’s certain—White Fang never crosses into Vulkris territory. Not anymore."

Auren’s gaze darkened as his thoughts snapped back to that night—the night he ran for his life. The White Fang had been chasing him relentlessly, but at a certain invisible line in the forest, it stopped. Not because it was tired. Not because it lost interest. But because something stronger ruled beyond that point.

It had hesitated. It had feared something.

He was just about to share that realization with Jairah when—CRAKKAABOOM!~

A violent flash tore through the clouds overhead, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that shook the canopy above. Jairah let out a startled cry and dashed beneath a massive tree, crouching low and hugging herself tightly.

Her long dark ears twitched in panic, her breathing shallow.

Auren turned toward the sound, squinting up at the sky.

"What was that?" he muttered.

"Obviously thunder," Jairah groaned from under the branches. "And I hate it."

Her voice was small, trembling. The fearless huntress who had just spoken of legends now looked like a terrified child caught in a storm. It was oddly humanizing. Auren didn’t laugh. Instead, he stepped closer and knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey... Jairah. Can I ask you something?"

She gave a noncommittal hum, eyes still squeezed shut.

"What happens if a beast like the White Fang defeats... I don’t know, maybe five other Night Stalkers?"

Jairah peeked out, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "It’ll ascend in level, obviously. Just like us. Beasts evolve by overcoming threats. The stronger the prey, the bigger the reward."

Auren nodded, his voice dropping. "And what happens if it reaches Level 70?"

She frowned at him. "Didn’t you learn this from Mom?"

"She never mentioned it," Auren said honestly.

Jairah exhaled slowly, then straightened up just a little. "At Level 70... it evolves."

She looked at him dead in the eyes.

"And not just like adding a tail or sharpening its claws. I’m talking full transformation. Divine Frame mutation. A creature like that could control a whole region. Maybe even bend lesser Night Stalkers to its will."

Auren’s heart pounded.

Jairah continued, voice low and serious now. "If the White Fang evolves any further... it won’t just be a beast. It’ll be a king."

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com