Lord of the Rings: Warriors

The galloping Rohan warhorses raced across the barren plains, their speed unmatched. 

Banners adorned with dragons fluttered wildly in the wind as the thunderous sound of hooves sent scattered orcs fleeing in terror. 

Lances gleamed under the sun, hanging from the arms of the riders, who remained on high alert, their eyes scanning every rustling blade of grass.

"Stop shooting!" Rynar's eyes burned with frustration. Watching these knights attempt horseback archery was nothing short of torture.

"Is wasting arrows all you're good for?" he roared as he watched a lone orc desperately flee while being pelted by a barrage of poorly aimed arrows from his overenthusiastic yet utterly incompetent riders.

Sighing, Reynard finally had enough. He nocked an arrow, smoothly drawing his longbow. With a resonant hum from the bowstring, the orc dropped dead in an instant.

"Look at him! And look at you lot! You're all knights, all trained in mounted combat, so how is it that you're drawing outlines around the target while he lands a clean kill with one shot?" 

Rynar felt a tightness in his chest. 

Over a hundred knights, each loosing several arrows, yet not a single one could bring down a solitary, fleeing orc. It was beyond ridiculous!

"Second-tier knights rarely specialize in mounted archery. It's not their fault! 

Their purpose is to charge into battle, not to skulk behind with bows and arrows," Reynard interjected, cutting off Rynar's rant with a pragmatic explanation.

Rynar fell silent, speechless.

"Their entire training is focused on spearing enemies quickly or lopping off heads with their swords. 

No instructor teaches them how to shoot accurately while galloping at full speed," Reynard shrugged. Indeed, expecting heavy cavalry to fight like horse archers was unreasonable.

"Your Highness, would you like to rest in the city for a while?" One of the Knights of the Crossed Purple Jasmine, stationed at the gates, inquired.

"No need. Take me to Nyx—I want to see the dragon's remains." Rynar's eyes gleamed with excitement. 

The corpse of a Silver Dragon was an invaluable resource. 

Smaug alone had provided Dylan with countless experimental materials, leading to the creation of numerous artifacts and weapons. 

A pureblood Silver Dragon… Rynar felt like he had struck gold!

"Understood, Your Highness! Please follow me." The knight placed a hand over his chest in salute before guiding the way.

"Our city seems to be developing well! Agriculture is flourishing," Rynar remarked approvingly as he observed the lush green fields and the healthy wheat swaying in the breeze. 

He had no desire to endure another devastating winter famine.

"At least now we won't have to worry about running out of provisions. 

Thank the heavens—I never want to experience that again." Reynard, having lived through those desperate times, was equally relieved at the sight of the vast farmland.

"The population is still too small. If we had more people, we could establish more villages, gradually developing them into townships that could extend our control over the land," Reynard said seriously. 

Trying to govern such an expansive territory with just two fortresses was impractical. The Zaltarion Empire boasted over a thousand cities, not to mention the countless smaller settlements that helped maintain control over its vast lands.

"Unfortunately, our citizens are still scattered across the continent. They return little by little each day, but the numbers are far from enough," Rynar sighed. 

His true loyalists were only those summoned by the system—the people of Zaltarion. The slow trickle of wandering refugees was hardly sufficient to build an empire.

"We'll just have to wait. Perhaps only time will provide the answer," Reynard murmured as he fell into step behind Rynar, lost in thought.

"Your Highness, welcome back. Forgive me for not greeting you in person." Nyx approached, elegantly embracing the newly dismounted Rynar.

"My dear Duchess, did you miss me?" Rynar grinned at her.

"No. Do you believe me?" Nyx smiled mischievously, as enchanting as a blooming jasmine.

"Alright, you little minx. We have serious work to do." Rynar playfully tapped her delicate nose.

"Dylan, have you pinpointed the exact location?" Rynar asked.

"No! We've been searching all day! Damn it! The Silver Dragons are truly formidable. 

Their innate spatial field completely masks their presence—it's as if the body doesn't exist at all!" Dylan muttered, rubbing his temples. 

Even in death, the overwhelming power of the Silver Dragon's bloodline made it a terrifying presence. The corpse was trapped between reality and illusion, obscured by space itself.

"No wonder they rank just below the Golden Saint Dragons. Even in death, they are beyond our reach," Rynar mused, marveling at the sheer might required for such a being to shield itself even after perishing.

"But it won't escape me! No matter how strong it was, I am still a peak-tier professional!" Dylan's eyes burned with determination.

"Every Sixth-Tier warrior is forged in blood and fire," Rynar thought, recalling the game's description of such powerful individuals as he observed Dylan's rising aura.

"Soul-Seeking Lock!" Dylan roared, unleashing a massive surge of mental energy. The sheer force cracked the earth for miles around, leaving deep fissures in the ground as his spirit probed beneath the surface.

"Holy hell… that's insane…" Rynar's jaw dropped. 

In his mind, Dylan had always been a brilliant yet somewhat useless alchemist—someone whose value lay in intricate transmutations rather than raw combat prowess. 

Who would have thought he was this terrifying?

"Found it!" Dylan's eyes gleamed as a glimmer of light flickered within them.

"Oh? It's resisting? Even in death, it still wants to escape?" Dylan sneered.

"Soul Shatter!" His robe billowed as he levitated ten meters into the air. The very air trembled.

Boom!

Hundreds of meters ahead, the ground exploded. A massive crater, over a kilometer long, dozens of meters wide, and more than a hundred meters deep, scarred the landscape.

"Grasp of Nullification!" A colossal, ethereal hand emerged from the void, plunging into the pit and clamping down tightly.

"Soul magic! An alchemist's magic targets the soul!" Rynar's eyes widened. He had never realized that alchemists wielded soul-based abilities.

"This dragon still has a lingering soul!" Dylan exclaimed in surprise.

"Not dead?" Rynar was stunned.

"It's dead. But its soul hasn't fully dissipated, which explains its self-protective mechanisms," Dylan sighed.

"Soul Severing Blade!" A crescent-shaped energy blade, ten meters long, materialized before Dylan. 

He took a deep breath and thrust it forward, the arc of energy vanishing into the ether in an instant.

A distant, agonized dragon's roar echoed faintly, sending chills down everyone's spines.

"This dragon must have fallen three thousand years ago," Dylan muttered, deciphering its remnants.

"The War of the Last Alliance?" Rynar's heart pounded. This world's Middle-earth was far more terrifying than he had imagined. 

He refused to believe that a Silver Dragon—one of the strongest dragon species—had simply perished during that pivotal era. 

And this dragon had certainly not met a peaceful end. The dragon scales scattered across miles of land told a grim story of an epic battle… a dragon-slaying war.

"Was it the Alliance… or Sauron… who slew this Silver Dragon?" Rynar shuddered.

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