Lord of the Rings: Warriors

Extra Chapter~

"Thorin!" Rynar saw Thorin rush out and nod in acknowledgment.

"My lord, on behalf of the Durin's Folk, I thank you in the name of the King Under the Mountain!" Thorin said with unwavering loyalty.

"No need for thanks. After all, we had a contract." Rynar replied, pretending to be indifferent. 

Thorin had no idea that Rynar had been planning to retreat with his men if not for Reynard's unexpected mishap.

"Azog!" Thorin Oakenshield snarled as he glared in the direction of Ravenhill, his teeth clenched.

"Let it go. We don't have the strength to break through right now." Rynar glanced at the weary dwarves around him.

At that moment, Lady Aivy, kind-hearted as ever, raised her staff. 

A radiant light of healing poured from its tip, and the dwarves within a hundred meters suddenly felt a lightness in their bodies, their wounds healing swiftly.

Rynar immediately looked at Aivy with newfound respect. 

What a treasure—area healing magic! Even in the third tier of temple paladins, those with large-scale healing magic were rare. 

He made a mental note to protect her well and perhaps teach a few apprentices in the future, to form a medical team capable of widespread healing magic.

"Lord Rynar! Can you lead the knights to break through the orcs and take my men to Ravenhill?" Thorin urgently asked.

"Impossible! Bolg's orc reinforcements have already arrived! I won't send you to your death!" Rynar said, turning to gaze toward the distant Ravenhill.

"Puh!" Rynar's eyes suddenly widened. What did he see? The Rapid Infantry had abandoned heading toward the shelter of Dale's walls and instead turned toward the orc-infested Ravenhill.

"Charge! Rescue our brothers!" Rynar's face flushed with anger as he saw this.

"My Lord! Your Majesty! My King!" Reynard rushed forward, grabbing Rynar's horse's reins.

"Reynard! Do you intend to disobey my orders again?" Rynar narrowed his eyes, his voice cold, his grip tightening on the Dragon Slayer sword.

"Lord! Never doubt the courageousness of the Zaltarion soldiers! They are only doing what is right!" Reynard said in pain. 

Having seen death countless times, he knew what the Rapid Infantry intended to do: they were going to intercept the orc reinforcements, even if they only numbered 300.

"Only by quickly wiping out these vermin in front of us do we have a chance of victory! Only then can we save them!" Reynard pleaded, pulling Rynar back.

"I must save my people first!" Rynar insisted, ready to charge out of formation.

"But even if we break through, we can't bring them back! They are infantry…" Reynard said, stunned.

"Order of Dawn Knights! Target: Not a single orc in front of us shall live!" Rynar's face twisted with rage. 

He knew Reynard was right—only by swiftly defeating the orcs blocking their path could they hope to rescue the Rapid Infantry.

"Kill!" 

The dwarven shield formation opened a gap, and Rynar led the knights, charging out. Behind them, the dwarves, led by Thorin, also launched their counterattack.

"They fight for their king," Gandalf said with a smile of approval, tossing fireballs lazily as he observed the battlefield.

…

"Thrust!" 

The first row of Rapid Infantry thrust their spears forward after a slight bend in their arms.

"Squish~" 

The sound of spears piercing flesh echoed repeatedly.

"Roar~" 

Many orcs screamed in agony, clutching the poles of the pikes embedded in them.

'Thud!"

The Rapid Infantry twisted their spears back, and the orcs impaled by them collapsed to the ground, drained of all strength.

"Captain! There are too many orcs! If we don't do something, we'll be surrounded!" An Infantryman anxiously shouted as the orc reinforcements surged over the hills like a tide.

"Soldiers! Are you afraid to die?!"

"No!" the men shouted in unison.

"Then in the name of the Empire! Charge! For our homeland! For River Running! For the king!"

The Infantry lifted their spears, forming their signature battle formation, and charged forward, catching the orcs off guard with their sudden counterattack, momentarily halting the orc horde.

"By the beards! Are they insane?" A dwarf who had just finished off his opponent was stunned by the Rapid Infantry's charge.

"God above! How are they doing that?" Bard, leading the townspeople in a desperate defense in Dale, was also shocked by the distant sight of the small formation.

Rynar, too, stared in disbelief at the charging Rapid Infantry. His warhorse, no longer guided by its rider, wandered aimlessly across the battlefield.

The scene before him overlapped with a distant memory...

The world of Middle-earth, Year 2375 of the Fifth Age.

The armies of darkness stood at the gates of Zaltarion. 

Once a bustling imperial capital, it was now an armored fortress. 

The empire's last six dragon riders stood atop the walls, gazing at the storm clouds on the horizon, an oppressive silence between them... but those weren't storm clouds—they were war bats.

At the city gate, thirty Zaltarion royal paladins stood at the helm of ten thousand imperial knights, motionless as statues, frozen in this moment of time.

Emperor Gary Karl stood silently atop the parapet, looking out toward the distance. 

The nine walls of Zaltarion were filled with the city's signature guards. Scholars retreated into the tall mage towers, while priests emerged from the temples, weaving between the soldiers...

"The battle begins. The fate of Zaltarion rests on this day," Emperor Karl said, forlorn. Under his rule, the empire had lost vast southern territories. Now, even the capital was under siege.

With a great rumble, the massive gates opened. 

Led by the royal paladins, the imperial knights charged out. Above them, the dragons roared, as the last of Zaltarion's dragon riders ascended into the sky.

The final light of the empire...

"Hurry!" Reynard, then governor of the north, rode his celestial steed, Holy Pegasus, above the battlefield. Behind him, an army of players and NPCs numbering in the millions followed.

"My God!" 

Rynar had never seen such a grand scene before—dragon riders' noble blood spilled across the skies, the unyielding pride of paladins fell to the earth, and once-rare archmages were casually beheaded by orcs. 

Priests wove through the battlefield, while elves, dwarves, and ents arrived from every direction...

And then, Rynar saw a scene he would never forget. 

The Rapid Infantry from the city and the river, lined up thirty men wide and ten ranks deep, sang war songs as they charged one after another into the Dark Alliance's ranks. 

Like the rushing waters of the River Running, they crashed endlessly against the forces of darkness, breaking through their lines. 

Reynard's forces managed to pierce through and reached the faltering walls of Zaltarion in time to stabilize the city's defenses.

In that battle, of the fifty thousand Rapid Infantry who followed Reynard, fewer than a thousand made it into Zaltarion... 

The rest fell on the battlefield, their blue-green armored corpses covering the land outside the city walls. As mere mortals, they had stood against an army of professionals...

Tears filled Rynar's eyes, silently flowing down his cheeks.

The familiar scene before him merged with his memories. 

Rynar watched the Rapid Infantry, defiantly charging against the tide of orcs. 

In his mind, he could almost see the ghosts of their fallen ancestors marching beside them, their formation steadfast as ever.

And on the horizon, the towering shadow of Zaltarion's walls seemed to faintly appear…

"Those are the spirits of Rapid Infantry..." Rynar whispered.

"For Zaltarion!" As in his memories, the Rapid Infantry of the Zaltarion Empire remained as reliable as ever.

The sound of spears breaking, shields shattering... 

Sharp swords pierced their bodies, heavy hammers crushed their helmets.

They might fall, but they never stopped advancing.

Each fallen soldier was immediately replaced by another. When their spears broke, they drew their maces and swung with all their might...

Rynar trembled but was powerless to help. He could only watch, just as he had once watched the Rapid Infantry perish outside the gates of Zaltarion.

"No!" 

Rynar roared in despair as the last Rapid Infantry soldier was overwhelmed.

They had kept their oath. The world's last Rapid Infantry... was no more.

Tears flowed, for there is no such thing as peaceful times—only those who bear the burden on your behalf. 

The Rapid Infantry might have taken their final bow, but Rynar's journey had only just begun.