Chapter 87: Harvest After Victory
"Kill!" Reynard charged forward with his lance, a tide of knights following closely behind.
The heavy cavalry hid behind the knights, cleaning up the enemies they had missed. The entire cavalry rushed forth like an iron torrent.
"Clang!" Countless orcs dropped their weapons, their morale shattered. Like frightened animals, they abandoned their arms and fled in all directions.
"Advance like a wall!" Reynard commanded as he observed the crumbling orc army before him.
With the acceleration and deceleration of the warhorses, the originally pointed formation led by Reynard gradually transformed into a well-organized wall of charge.
The knights steadied their steel lances, while the heavy cavalry behind them unsheathed their broadswords, forming a row with their glistening blades raised high, shimmering ominously.
"Boom!" Like thunder, the knightly order crashed into the midst of the orcs.
Members of the Order, enveloped in battle aura flames, engulfed the orcs they collided with like a searing blaze!
"Crack! Snap! Boom!" The triple-armored Shire warhorses, each weighing over a ton, collided with the orcs, instantly shattering their bones.
Then, the iron hooves mercilessly trampled over them, turning the ground into a mushy paste of meat, ensuring that next year's flowers and grasses would flourish abundantly.
"Kill!" Thorin Oakenshield held his shield in front of his chest with one hand, wielding Orcrist in the other as he charged ahead, his fully armed dwarf army following closely behind him.
"Ugh!" Thorin roared as he raised his shield to block a orc's axe, then swiftly countered, sending it tumbling. The sharp blade of Orcrist glinted coldly, staining nothing with blood!
"Descendants of Durin! Fight! Fight! Drive them back into the abyss!" Thorin bellowed, the suppressed fury in his chest almost overwhelming him.
The days spent besieged by orcs atop the city walls felt like a nightmare to him!
He could hardly imagine what would have happened if Rynar and the others hadn't stopped Azog's army in the south… These orcs could easily trap the dwarves, dooming them to perish.
"Kill! Fight! Fight! Annihilate them! For our fallen kin! For those who died in the Battle of Azanulbizar! Berserk!"
Thorin shouted as he gazed at the orc totem fluttering in the air, feeling the presence of his deceased family and kin.
"Kill~" The enraged dwarves surged forward, brandishing their weapons. Their deep-seated hatred for the orcs burned like a brand seared into their souls…
"There can't be many dwarves left…" Rynar sighed, observing the dwarf warriors madly slaughtering the retreating orcs.
The Battle of the Lonely Mountain was likely the last glorious stand of the dwarves… In both film and game, the dwarves fell into decline after this battle…
Who would have thought that being able to assemble hundreds of dwarf warriors during the War of the Ring was already considered a formidable force? It is easy to imagine the speed of their decline…
On the battlefield, the orcs, surrounded by the human-dwarf-elf alliance, were in a state of panic.
They huddled together in the narrow space, pressed shoulder to shoulder, their expressions terrified, hands trembling uncontrollably as they clutched their weapons.
Above them, Caslow rode his dragon, flaunting his prowess, occasionally directing the dragon to swoop down and unleash its fiery breath to drive them away…
"The orcs are finished!" Rynar gazed at the besieged, compressed, and slaughtered orc army with a complex expression.
Only a few of them had escaped into the forest; the rest were destined to fertilize the land with their remains.
Rynar sheathed his bloodless Dragon Slayer sword back at his waist. He had no interest in slaughtering those orcs who had lost the will to fight.
Despite the deep-rooted enmity between them, perhaps influenced by something else, Rynar found no pleasure in killing the defenseless orcs.
"May the Dragon God forgive them…" Aivy gently cradled her chest, bowing her head in silent prayer.
The priestess of the benevolent Dragon God's temple wielded almost no offensive skills; instead, they possessed terrifying strategic healing bonuses!
This led most of the Dragon God's priests to be peace-loving individuals.
"Forgiving them is the Dragon God's task, while my duty is to send them to meet the Dragon God!" Rynar casually remarked, casting a glance at the wailing orcs.
"Forgiveness and mercy must be distinguished by different circumstances. Clearly, the orcs do not fall into this category.
Put away your unrealistic pity; wars between races always end with one side falling," Rynar replied calmly, his voice steady and authoritative.
"I'm sorry… Your Majesty." Aivy's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
"Forget it…" Rynar waved his hand, realizing that the expectations for the Dragon God's priests in terms of combat desire were not high.
Compared to fighting enemies, they preferred to walk the world, healing the wounded, in stark contrast to the paladins of the Dragon God's temple, who were predominantly saintly figures…
Rynar glanced once more at the orcs being hacked down in the center and shook his head. When would this cycle of revenge end?
The ideologies of both sides meant they were doomed to be enemies, no longer able to spare a thought for these orcs, who could not stir up any trouble.
Rynar slowly turned his horse away from the stench-filled battlefield.
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"Is it over?" Rynar stood on the hillside at dusk, watching the returning lords and armies address Caslow.
"Yeah, aside from a few who escaped, they're all gone!" Caslow pointed to the area below the hill where flames shot into the sky, marking the pile of burning orc corpses.
"Let's head to Erebor. There's much to discuss after the battle," Rynar said. Though they had emerged victorious, he could hardly muster any joy.
The casualties among the Rapid Infantry were severe, and many heavy cavalry had sustained injuries during the counterattacks. The entire force of Riverguard was at its weakest moment.
"Ding! War concluded!" The system's emotionless voice chimed in.
"Now beginning the settlement…" The system's calculating sound echoed.
"Congratulations, host, for winning the war!"
"Riverguard was not breached! Civilian casualty rate 0%! Reward: 500 Battanian Archers! Random gendered civilians: 1000!"
"Commencing random rewards! Congratulations, host, for acquiring: 30 Elaris Woods Rangers!"
"Congratulations, host, for acquiring: 100 tons of flour!"
"Congratulations, host, for acquiring: 50 head of plow oxen!"
"Congratulations, host, for acquiring: 1 chicken farm!"
"Congratulations, host, for acquiring: 1 magical plantation!"
"Congratulations, host, for successfully killing Bolg, reward: 10 Elaris Woods Rangers!"
"Congratulations, host, for ensuring no allied army was destroyed in this war, reward: 5 random priests from the Dragon God's Temple!"
"Congratulations, host, for successfully eliminating over 75% of the orc army, reward: Artifact—Ring of Mercy!"
"Congratulations, host, for winning the Second Battle of the Lonely Mountain, achievement unlocked—One More Time! Reward: 1 Sage!"
A series of delightful notifications chimed in, slightly easing Rynar's heavy heart, which had been weighed down by the casualties among the Rapid Infantry.
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