Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Do you regret it?" Lavian leaned casually against a boulder, his eyes scanning the knights before him. 

By all reasoning, they were the least expendable force to leave behind as rearguard.

"Hahaha, after killing so many savages? Worth it!"

"What's there to regret? We'll show them the glory of Nyx Duchy! Let them witness the might of the Zaltarion knights!"

"Just let me cut down a few more of them later. Let's see if they can withstand the charge of my lance!"

The knights laughed heartily, their faces betraying a calm determination. Yet beneath their words was a lingering sorrow. 

Still, they were willing to stay behind and buy time for their duchy's final hope. 

With their flesh and blood, they resolved to forge a moving wall of defense against those who dared encroach upon their sacred lands.

"Gather the soldiers. I have a few words to say." Lavian forced a bitter smile.

"Yes, my lord."

Lavian clapped his hands, and the noisy troop immediately fell silent, a testament to the discipline of the Nyx Duchy's army.

"Brothers! The enemy has caught up to us! On two legs, we cannot outrun their wheels! We are powerless, as human strength is finite. But the Duke must not fall! 

That is why I ordered the Royal Guard to escort her away. For her escape to succeed, she needs time! And we will give her that time! 

I, Lavian, along with the remaining Knights of the Crossed Purple Jasmine, will stay here with you to ensure her safe departure. Are you willing?" 

Lavian bellowed, his voice echoing across the field.

"For the Duke! For the duchy! For Zaltarion! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The battered troops roared with a ferocity that could shake the heavens. They had cast aside their fear of death. 

All that mattered was the safety of the Duke and the destruction of their enemies. 

In their sorrow and rage, they resembled warriors risen from hell itself, their aura of despair transforming into a death-defying courage.

If Rynar were here, he would describe them in a single word: "Tragic Heroes."

Having faced the horrors of battle, these soldiers now embodied the essence of warriors who fight as if they have nothing left to lose.

"Thank you, my brothers! My warriors! Regardless of whether we survive this battle, whether we succeed or fail, you have fulfilled your duty. You are the heroes of Zaltarion!" 

Lavian declared, before kneeling on one knee and striking his chest in salute to the soldiers before him.

"For our glory," he murmured softly.

Nyx, the Duke, sobbed quietly as they traveled. Her eyes were red and swollen, her tears long dried.

"Your Grace, please drink some water," the lone mage in the group said respectfully. 

He used his fire magic to warm a silver flask of water, an extravagant gesture, especially during their desperate flight.

"Thank you," Nyx murmured, extending a delicate hand to accept the flask. The warmth of the water brought her a moment of comfort amidst her exhaustion.

As the warm liquid soothed her throat, she sighed lightly, feeling some of her fatigue melt away.

"Keep moving! We cannot stop!" 

A priest walking in the center of the group gritted his teeth and cast a Speed Aura, allowing the heavily armored Royal Guards to maintain pace with the horses carrying Nyx and the four spellcasters.

"Form up! We have no strategy or plan, only one goal: to delay them! Hold them as long as we can!" Lavian ordered as the enemy chariots began gathering for another assault.

"They're regrouping faster than I expected. 

At least they don't have reinforcements... though neither do we," Holin remarked with a bitter laugh, eyeing the chariot troops they had previously routed.

"Two thousand enemies remain. We can't afford to underestimate them. 

With our front lines weakened, a breakthrough would spell disaster for our archers," Lavian analyzed calmly, though everyone knew what that would mean: a massacre.

"Fight fiercely. Even if they breach our formation, hold them down!" Lavian commanded.

"Hold the line!"

The remaining Crusaders and troops clustered tightly together, their shields forming an impenetrable wall.

In the distance, the chariots thundered toward them like an unstoppable tide.

Three days later.

"Your Grace, it's been three days. Aside from a few wandering Orcs, we haven't encountered any pursuers... they succeeded."

But no remnants of the rearguard returned.

"I know... they are the backbone of the duchy. The bravest heroes of Zaltarion..." Nyx sobbed uncontrollably, the memory of those who turned to face the enemy weighing heavily on her heart.

"Raise the flags. We're nearing Lonely Mountain. I've heard there's a human settlement by the lake. Perhaps they are Zaltarion's people," Nyx commanded, forcing back her tears.

The radiant banners of the Zaltarion Dragon and the Crossed Purple Jasmine were raised high, fluttering in the wind as a grim reminder of their shattered force.

Suddenly, a volley of arrows struck the ground just a meter ahead of them.

"Form up! Protect the Duke!"

The Royal Guards instantly raised their massive alloy tower shields, shielding Nyx and the spellcasters within seconds. In a heartbeat, they formed a tight three-layered defensive circle.

This was the might of the Zaltarion Royal Guard—renowned as the strongest defensive force in Middle-earth.

"Detection Formation!" Three priests cast their combined spell, spreading weak magical waves through the earth. Within five kilometers, no enemy could hide.

"Centaurs..." The priests' faces darkened. It was an encounter they dreaded—trespassing on Centaur territory was no small matter.

"Your Grace, if the battle turns against us, use the teleportation scroll immediately. Take as many people as you can." The captain of the Royal Guard spoke grimly.

"Prepare for a hard fight! Centaurs are far more formidable than the savages we've faced," the captain exhorted.

Moments later, a force of nearly fifty heavily armored Centaurs appeared, stopping 500 meters away.

"Who are you? Why do you bear the Zaltarion Dragon Banner?" demanded Bardel, the Centaur leader, his hand resting on a massive longbow.

"Could they recognize the banner?" the captain muttered, stunned.

"We are the Nyx Duchy forces, loyal to the Emperor of Zaltarion!"

"Nyx Duchy?" Bardel frowned.

Eventually, a truce was struck, and messengers were dispatched to inform Zaltarion's king.

As tensions eased, the weary soldiers prepared a simple meal. Even Nyx couldn't hide her hunger, her eyes fixed on the bubbling pot of stew.

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