"Today... perhaps none of us will survive, but history will remember you and me! We have upheld our honor and faith!" Rynar gazed at each of the Zaltarion soldiers.
"Perhaps! The flag of Zaltarion will eventually fall! Perhaps! The Empire will never rise again!
Perhaps! Our names will be forgotten! But today, I ask you to charge with me!
Charge with me into hell! Into death! Into the end of the world!" Rynar roared.
"For the glory of the Empire! Kill!" Rynar raised his Dragon Slayer Sword high, and the crowd erupted into a frenzy.
"Sound the war horn! Let those wretches below know... the Emperor of Zaltarion is here!" Rynar turned slightly to look at Caslow.
"Yes!" Caslow bowed respectfully, pulling out a dragon horn from his coat.
This horn, obtained by Rynar as a reward, could significantly boost the morale of his troops. He had casually tossed it to Caslow after receiving it.
"Vmm~"
Unlike the crisp sound of the elven horns or the high-pitched tone of the dwarven ones, a deep, penetrating bass from the horn echoed across the battlefield, causing Azog on Ravenhill to squint his eyes.
"Boom boom boom!"
Heavy footsteps accompanied the low horn sound, resounding across the battlefield.
In the east, under the shining sun, a blinding light suddenly flared up, and figures appeared on the hill, illuminated by sunlight.
A massive flag with a red background and a golden dragon fluttered in the wind...
"Who are they?" Azog asked in confusion.
"That is... the King of Zaltarion? Rynar?" Bard, standing at a watchtower, recognized the unmistakable banner in the distance.
"Oh! It's Lord Rynar!" Bilbo also recognized the dragon banner.
"There is hope in this battle after all. The mysterious lord has finally arrived with his army..." Gandalf's eyes gleamed with a knowing smile, as if he had foreseen this.
"Rynar! They're alive!" The Dwarves atop Erebor waved excitedly towards the east.
"Who are they?" Thranduil asked, gazing at the unfamiliar flag.
"Ah! Children! The reinforcements are here!" Dain shouted as he gazed at the advancing steel forest.
...
"Here we are..." Reynard suddenly began to hum.
Rynar, riding on horseback, froze for a moment, recalling that the official soundtrack for "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Hobbit" series, "Star Sky," was purchased to serve as Zaltarion's battle song. Since then, this song had accompanied the soldiers of Zaltarion into battle...
"Riding the sky, Painting the night with sun..." The knights beside him slowly joined in.
With the song, the warhorses began to move.
The hooves of their horses matched the rhythm of the song, growing lighter and faster.
Under Rynar and Reynard's lead, one hundred Zaltarion knights charged ahead, surrounded by a sacred halo.
A holy aura enveloped them as both paladins released their sacred auras, covering the entire cavalry..
They also extended their hands, casting holy encouragement upon the Rapid Infantry and Battanian Archers.
As the distance between the knight company and the others widened, the Battanian Archers riding their armored Shire horses came into view.
With their Mithril bows drawn and sharp eyes locked on the battlefield, they flanked the knights.
Then, as the archers veered to the sides, they revealed the Rapid Infantry.
They formed a swift battle array, with thirty men in each row and ten in each column, galloping down the hill, shields raised and spears ready.
Amidst the countless fearful gazes, a dragon's roar reverberated through the sky, even drowning out the stirring war song… the Dragon Knight Caslow had arrived!
"A dragon! A four-legged Dragon?" Thranduil exclaimed as he saw the dragon saddle on the beast's back.
"Roar!"
The Storm Blade, a fierce gust of wind, spewed from the Dragon's mouth. As it touched the ground, the wind blade exploded, leaving a trail of blood and flesh dozens of meters long.
"Kill!"
Amidst a rain of arrows, Rynar led the knight company in a wall-like charge against the Orcs' flank.
The hastily formed Orc defense line was shattered by the lances of the knights. At least two hundred Orc corpses hung from the 102 lances as the knights trampled over them.
Iron hooves trampled freely, as Orcs were reduced to wailing souls under the knights' assault.
Blood, entrails, and flesh splattered the knights' helmets. Through his helm, Rynar gazed out at a world turned red, but the knights pressed on, spurred by their steeds.
Yet the cavalry charged on, driven by their horses' might… even some knights had nearly ten twitching half-orc bodies hanging from their lances, dismissing the heavy weapons to draw their swords, still charging forward…
"Boom!"
With a thunderous sound, Caslow, wielding his Dragon Lance, dove from the sky. His battle energy, compressed into a sharp point on his lance, struck a group of shield-bearing Orcs.
The explosive force of the wind element dragon battle energy shattered the "turtle shell" formation, and the unleashed wind elements tore apart flesh and bone, ripping through iron armor and shields.
"No!"
Azog, atop Ravenhill, roared in fury as he watched the scene unfold. The Dwarves, once on the brink of defeat, rallied with the help of this sudden army, regained their footing and stabilized their position.
In the sky, Caslow continued to dive, raining down wind blades and dragon spears blessed by the Zaltarion people onto the Orcs below.
A cryptic dragon language echoed as the wandering wind elements gathered around Caslow's Dragon...
"Get down! Dragon magic!" Thranduil shouted, recognizing the familiar scene.
Hearing Thranduil's warning, both men and elves scrambled into houses.
In the next moment, the Dragon flapped its wings, unleashing a massive turquoise tornado.
This strange azure tornado was one of the most powerful dragon language spells mastered by Caslow—the Storm Tornado!
Guided by the dragon's will, the tornado swept across the walls of River Running, sucking in countless half-orcs.
The tornado, essentially a blend of rapidly spinning wind blades and stray wind elements, tore the half-orcs to shreds, and when it dissipated, the formerly azure tornado had turned blood red… countless remnants of flesh plummeted from the sky.
By this time, Rynar and the knight company had pierced through the Orc army attacking the Dwarves.
At least a thousand Orcs had fallen under their iron hooves, while the knights had expended less than a quarter of their battle energy.
"Turn around! Charge again!" Rynar shouted as he saw the Orc reinforcements pouring in.
...
"Burn the page for me, I cannot erase the time of sleep, I cannot be loved so set me free, I cannot deliver your love..."
The war song rang out as the Rapid Infantry crashed into the Orc army.
Screams filled the air, as the infantry relentlessly thrust their pikes, each retraction followed by a spray of foul black blood.
Singing their war song, the infantry advanced, stepping over the dying Orcs. They were as swift as the current! They were fearless! They were invincible!
The Battanian Archers, protecting the fragile Lady Aivy, the Holy Priestess, hung back behind the Rapid Infantry.
Their task was simply to fend off the Orcs attacking the flanks, and with their precise archery and rapid-fire skills, they managed to suppress the Orcs on both sides.
The Order of Dawn Knights, having regrouped after their charge, met up with the Rapid Infantry. After slashing down several Orcs, Rynar gave his order.
"Quickly make your way to River Running!" Rynar commanded coldly.
"Yes!"
The army took advantage of the breach created by the knights and, before the Orcs could close in, rushed towards River Running.
Rynar had carefully considered this move.
With the knights' mobility, the Battanian Archers' mounted guerrilla tactics, and the dragon knight holding air superiority, they could quickly stabilize the situation on the Dwarves' side.
After all, the Dwarves lacked ranged firepower, not melee units. But River Running's human and Elven forces were in a different situation.
Rynar had seen the bodies of numerous Elven Rangers.
Once Elven archers were engaged in close combat by the tough-skinned Orcs, it became a disaster... The Rapid Infantry could effectively compensate for the Elves' lack of melee units.
"Boom boom boom~" The sound of thunderous footsteps came from the direction of Ravenhill.
"My lord! Orc reinforcements are here! At least 20,000 strong!"
Caslow, flying overhead, briefly passed by Rynar, delivering this message before pulling his dragon's reins and flying back towards Ravenhill.
"Roar!"
With a furious dragon roar, Caslow and his Dragon clashed with the Gundabad War Bats.
"Brothers! Form ranks! Stop them!" Seeing the tide of Orcs pouring down, the Rapid Infantry changed their course.
They were now determined to hold off the Orc army with their mortal bodies to prevent them from regrouping...
"Boom!"
With a loud crash, a massive stone wall was shattered by the blow of a hammer. The King Under the Mountain had finally broken free from the dragon's curse.
"Kill!" Thorin Oakenshield led the charge, with the other Dwarves following closely behind.
"Hey! Brother, I've been waiting for you! Where have you been?" Dain rushed forward, embracing Thorin joyfully.
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.
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