Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Enough!..." Rynar couldn't resist kicking a couple of soldiers who were gleefully eyeing the piles of supplies.

To his embarrassment, due to the dire situation in River Running, Reynard and Caslow couldn't find a proper storage facility. 

They eventually decided, in agreement, to pile the supplies inside the lord's castle. 

As a result, to Rynar's shock, he watched his already cramped castle get filled with 20 large carts of supplies. 

And in front of the dwarves, Rynar couldn't say anything, so he forced a smile while watching everyone busily at work.

"So, are you two not going to give me an explanation?" Rynar asked with a smile as he looked at Reynard and Caslow, who were trying to sneak away.

"My lord, it's a misunderstanding..." Caslow, already on edge, felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw Rynar's grin.

"Uh, esteemed king, let me explain..." Reynard stammered.

"Misunderstanding? Explain? You didn't even leave me a place to sleep! Misunderstanding?! Explain that!" 

And so began the famous scene of Rynar chasing Reynard and Caslow, brandishing a ham like it was a mighty dragon-slaying sword. 

The ham swung with such ferocity that it could easily send both men stumbling, stars dancing in their eyes.

"Hehe, Lord Radir, why is the King chasing Lord Reynard and Lord Caslow?" Lady Aivy chuckled as she watched the three of them running through the city.

"Maybe it's because they forgot to leave him a bed..." Radir, the old mage, smiled, the wrinkles on his face resembling blooming chrysanthemums.

"Ah, youth is truly a blessing!" Radir thought enviously as he watched them. 

At his age, strenuous physical activity was rare. His advanced magic could now take him anywhere, without needing his legs to cover the distance.

"Hm?" Suddenly, Radir's powerful mental senses detected a group of around thirty refugees, several kilometers away, being hunted by a pack of starving orcs. 

His expression hardened, and with a surge of magic, he vanished from Lady Aivy's side.

"Wow! Was that a Blink spell?" Aivy exclaimed in admiration, watching the spot where Radir had been sitting. As a third-tier priestess, she hadn't yet mastered that advanced spell.

(Blink is a fundamental spell for magic users, allowing instantaneous movement over distances ranging from ten to several hundred meters, depending on magical power. Flash, a more advanced version, allows movement over distances of more than a kilometer.)

"Oh, gods! Someone, please save us!" cried a woman, surrounded by a dozen men protecting the women and children. 

They had thought they would be safe under the glory of Zaltarion once again but were now being stalked by orcs.

"Whizz!" 

Among the refugees, there were a few hunters with bows. Their decent accuracy was the only thing keeping the orcs at bay. 

These orcs were from the wild tribes of the wastelands, much smaller and less equipped than those of Azog's army, which allowed the humans to hold them off. 

The other men brandished wooden sticks, forming a protective circle around the women and children.

"Ssssh!" A burst of stone spikes suddenly shot up from beneath the orcs' feet, turning dozens of them into bloody pin cushions.

"Aah!" The sudden massacre terrified the women and children.

"Good grief! Are all Zaltarion survivors this cowardly now?" Radir, leaning on his staff, strolled over with a smile.

"Master Mage!" The men, regaining their senses, hurriedly bowed. He had saved their lives, and as a noble mage, he deserved the utmost respect.

"No need for that. You're here to pledge allegiance to the last king of Zaltarion, correct?" Radir confirmed after spotting the makeshift dragon banner they carried.

"Yes, master. We were guided by the gods to seek out Zaltarion's final glory..." said one of the hunters humbly.

"Well then, just follow this direction for a few more kilometers, and you'll reach your destination. The road is clear, so you can walk safely." 

With that, Radir smiled and disappeared in a flash. The old man's legs weren't what they used to be; there was no way he'd walk that distance with them. 

Besides, why walk when you can use magic? If only he were a spatial mage, he could have teleported them all there.

...

"Clang, clang, clang!" 

The sound of metal echoed dully. One hundred armored soldiers marched silently across the wasteland. 

They had been guided by the gods to find their last king. 

These were the Zaltarion City Guards summoned by Rynar, advancing steadily along the same route the refugees had taken toward River Running.

"Stop!" 

The lead guard raised his hand, and the soldiers quickly formed a circular shield formation. 

They stood shoulder to shoulder, shields locked together, forming a half-body wall. 

Only their heads and calves were exposed, while their sharp steel spears pointed outward toward the yellowed wasteland.

"Orcs! Recently killed! They were taken down by an earth mage, at least a second-tier mage!" Several scouts returned with their report.

"We need to move quickly. Judging by the totems, this is a wasteland orc tribe. Soon, more orcs will come looking for their missing kin," the lead warrior analyzed.

"It seems there were also civilians here!" A sharp-eyed guard found a few crude wooden arrows among the orc corpses. 

These clearly weren't military weapons; they looked like hunters' arrows.

"This is a problem. There are civilians ahead... We can't just leave them. They're probably heading to join the king, like us... We can't let the orcs get to them." 

The guards were conflicted. 

Tracking wasn't their strong suit, and they weren't sure which direction the civilians had gone. 

If the refugees had taken a detour, the orcs might bypass them and attack the civilians instead. One mage and a few hunters might not be enough to protect everyone.

"So, what do we do?" The other guards were equally unsure.

"We stay! We'll hold off the orcs! A mere wasteland orc tribe could never break us!" The Zaltarion City Guard pride swelled within them. 

After all, they had once defended the capital of Zaltarion, protecting the people, the empire, and their homeland. What they were about to do now was no different from their duty.

"In the name of Zaltarion! Long live!" The guards rallied themselves for one final charge before the battle.

"Form the circle! We'll wait for them here." A hundred city guards knelt on one knee on a small hill, their shields covering their entire bodies, crossbows drawn and aimed.

After some time, the tall grass in the distance began to sway. The ugly heads of the orcs emerged from the withered vegetation.

"Fire!" The moment the orcs broke free of the grass, the guards unleashed a volley from their crossbows.

...

"Hmm? A small squad of Zaltarion City Guards?" Radir, who had just been enjoying some sun, sensed the battle between the guards and the orcs.

"Forget it, I won't intervene. Against these wasteland orcs, the Zaltarion City Guards could fight blindfolded and still win." 

The old man convinced himself that he wasn't being lazy; it was simply that they were strong enough not to need his help.

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[A.N: Hey everyone from now in Caslow will be refereed as Dragon Knight not Wyvern Kinght and same goes for his Wyvern. As Wyvern is a type of Dragon too, also his Wyvern has four legs so quite similar to Dragon.

This is because it will be quite jarring to write Wyvern Knight over and over cause it is such an unfamiliar word so it decreases immersion and it also reduces aura of some scenes, at least for me.]