Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Contact Elandor. Without him, the coalition might as well disband…" A few sixth-tier warriors huddled together, whispering as they cast their eyes toward Elenthor. 

After all, he was the Dragon Knight of the Star Elves, and his approval was essential for such a decision.

"I'll contact him. He's fast on a dragon," Elenthor sighed. Elandor was the only one with the strength comparable to a sixth-tier warrior who could salvage the situation. 

Yet, Elenthor's frustration with Thranduil bubbled over. Five forks at the entrance? 

He almost wanted to pry open the brain of the Woodland Elf architect to see if it was functional. Five main roads from one entrance? 

How many branching paths must there be further in?

"Ah…"

…

"Your Majesty, I'm here!" Upon receiving the magical message, Elandor arrived swiftly on his dragon to assist Elenthor.

"Welcome, great Dragon Knight!" Bard breathed a sigh of relief.

"Greetings, Dragon Knight!" Balin also paid his respects.

"Welcome, Elandor!" Others chimed in with congratulations.

"It's great that you've arrived. We've been stuck here all night! 

The orc reinforcements could arrive at any moment, and we've been unable to split our forces, forcing us to stay put. 

Now that you're here, we can begin advancing on all fronts," Rynar exhaled deeply, relaxing slightly.

"Let's have everyone eat before we attack!" Rynar suggested.

"Good idea. We can't delay any longer. I can already picture those cursed ballistae waiting for us around the corners," Thranduil groaned. 

The prolonged standoff had undoubtedly given the enemy ample time to position their deadly weapons strategically. 

There was no point in rushing now; better to eat and attack with a clear head.

"Alright, food it is! I've got some jerky and cheese! With a little water, I can cook up a thick dwarven meat stew!" 

Balin enthusiastically patted his rucksack, filled to the brim with jerky and cheese.

"Gods…" Elenthor, Thranduil, and Vanervi winced and quietly distanced themselves. 

It was common knowledge that nature-loving elves were strict vegetarians, and the thought of consuming such rich, heavy fare made them recoil.

"Wow! This jerky tastes amazing!" Rynar, who had grown accustomed to dwarven smoked meats, eagerly bit into a strip of jerky, recognizing it as top-quality.

"Haha, you've got good taste!" Balin gave him a thumbs-up in approval.

"…" The elves collectively wrinkled their noses and retreated further from the duo.

Though they called it a meal, most soldiers merely stuffed their stomachs haphazardly. The rock-hard breadsticks were sturdy enough to bludgeon an orc to death. 

The burly soldiers sawed them into brick-like chunks, distributing them to each other. 

Accompanied by cold water and jerky, they gnawed on the bread so fiercely that Rynar half-expected sparks to fly from their teeth.

The officers and lords, however, enjoyed slightly better rations. 

They gathered to use fire-infused battle energy to heat pots of water, pairing the warm beverage with stale bread and cheese. Beyond that, the disparity was minimal.

Elves, as expected, displayed their signature elegance. 

Even in battle-ready conditions, their rations stood out. 

Unlike the bread, meat, and cheese carried by humans and dwarves, the elves reached into their ration bags and pulled out… pastries? 

They even produced berries and nuts! They looked more like they were on a picnic than a battlefield.

"Alright, let's divide up the routes!" Rynar brushed the crumbs from his hands. 

"Thranduil, since you know the area, find me a path wide enough for cavalry. I don't want my knights trudging like infantry. At least give them room to charge."

"Fine… Take the central path. It leads directly to the throne hall. But be cautious—several stretches along the way are perfect for ballistae to block off entire streets," Thranduil recalled.

"Got it. You're familiar with this place—assign the others their paths as well," Rynar said.

The coalition split into mixed groups of dwarves, elves, and humans. 

Rynar led the Zaltarion soldiers down the central path, while the other routes were each assigned 800 soldiers and a sixth-tier warrior.

Thranduil took the first path, the most winding and treacherous. Only he, as the host, was familiar enough with the terrain to avoid orc ambushes. 

Elenthor led the second path, which was straightforward and unremarkable. 

Vanervi took the fourth path, where the buildings' varying elevations made attacks from above a significant threat.

The fifth path, hugging the city's edge near a cliff, was led by Elandor. Riding his dragon, he could patrol the area and keep an eye out for magical distress flares from other routes.

"Sir Omsk, this battle will demand much from you. We may have the smallest numbers, but our knights, royal guards, and rangers are unmatched in strength and resilience. 

I trust no one can stand against our combination!" Rynar patted Omsk's shoulder.

"As you wish, Your Majesty!" Omsk nodded resolutely.

"I'll take the lead. Your Majesty, you should stay at the rear of the knights for protection, with the royal guards ready to support at any moment," Omsk suggested after some thought.

"Understood!" Rynar, valuing his own safety, agreed obediently.

"Zaltarion warriors, assemble! Let's slaughter these devils! For the king! For Zaltarion! For our homeland! Charge!" Omsk led the charge.

"Kill!" 

The coalition surged into the sinister, ancient city like a tide, their battle cries echoing through the air. 

The pale morning sunlight cast an eerie glow on the stone walls and withered vines, rendering the city hauntingly desolate. 

It seemed as though the orcs had vanished overnight, leaving not a single shadow behind.

But as the coalition ventured deeper into Dol Guldur, they inevitably clashed with the hidden orcs. 

Thranduil's group encountered the first skirmish. While clearing houses and streets, they stumbled upon an ambush in a hollow wall. 

Two or three dozen orcs leaped out to attack… only to be slaughtered in three seconds. 

Dwarves retrieved their blood-stained spears, elves lowered their bows, and humans flicked the blood off their swords.

"Pathetic!" 

Thranduil spat disdainfully. Despite the pervasive shadow magic weakening his spiritual perception, he could still rely on memory and keen hearing to detect the enemy's approach.

"Push forward!" 

Omsk thrust his lance, sending two mangled orc corpses flying. The ambush was swiftly eradicated.

"Fewer than a hundred," Omsk estimated, glancing at the bodies.

"Gods, we've barely entered 100 meters, and they've already begun attacking. I wonder how the others are faring," Rynar said, concern etched on his face. 

While he and his elite forces could handle the orcs with ease, the rest of the coalition lacked such formidable troops as the royal guards and knights.

The battle promised to be grueling and perilous.

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