Chapter 15: The Return to Long Lake

"The Long Lake..." The group emerging from the woods stared at the expansive river before them.

"Plop!" A knight dismounted and knelt, followed by the rest of the party. Roland watched, surprised, as they all knelt with red eyes. Reynold grabbed a handful of soil from the riverbank and pressed it to his chest, weeping openly.

"Long Lake! Lagrand's people are back!" Reynold cried out, his voice breaking.

Tears flowed freely among the group. The empire's fall had left them scattered and homeless. Today, they finally returned to the land of their ancestors.

"For the revival of the empire!" An infantryman stood and shouted.

"For the Empire!"

"Long live Lagrand!"

Roland observed in silence. Though these men had seemed distant, almost like NPCs, he now felt deeply connected to them. They were real, with flesh and blood, capable of pain, joy, and death. They were his people, his family, and Lagrand's last hope.

"Rise up... Let's reclaim the northern jewel of the empire—Esgaroth!" Roland declared, narrowing his eyes with determination.

Roland knew Esgaroth wasn't part of Lagrand's territory yet, but with his strength, he intended to claim it. A lord without land was hardly a lord, and Esgaroth's thousand inhabitants would form the foundation of his new empire.

"Wait! Smaug's death should be imminent..." Roland suddenly realized the urgency. If Esgaroth fell to Smaug, his plans would crumble.

"Everyone, move out! Quick march!" Roland commanded sharply.

...

Meanwhile, Thorin had reached Lake Town, staying in Bard's house and paying gold for weapons.

"Is this all? We paid gold for proper weapons, not these makeshift tools!" grumbled the dwarves, eyeing the modified hammers and harpoons.

The dwarves' outburst frightened Bard's children, Baan and his two daughters.

"Thorin, let's make do with these for now," Bilbo suggested. "We've managed with worse."

...

Forming a swift formation, Roland's infantry scattered a group of orcs, swiftly moving through the dark forest.

"Death!" A Batanian archer felled an orc with a precise shot to the eye.

"Move quickly!" Roland ordered.

"Knights, stay together! Disperse the orcs and leave the rest to the infantry!" Reynold shouted.

"Archers, target any orcs breaching the line! Don't delay—we're short on time!" Roland urged.

"Bang!" Roland's sword cleaved through an orc's neck as he rode past.

"My lord, the dark forest is infested with orcs!" Reynold exclaimed.

"Then we cut through them! No one halts the Knights' advance or Lagrand's revival!" Roland roared, covered in orc blood, his once golden armor now a grim purple-black.

The infantry formed a phalanx, spears bristling from their shields. They pushed forward relentlessly.

"These orcs are like cockroaches. Hundreds of them already!" Carlos panted.

With Roland and Reynold's divine inspiration—a paladin skill boosting morale and stamina—the troops pressed on despite their exhaustion.

"Holy Inspiration!" Roland cast the aura over the infantry, their hurried steps becoming more coordinated.

"Keep going! Esgaroth is just ahead!" Roland encouraged.

A silver light suddenly illuminated them—the reflection of Esgaroth's waters.

"Huh! Esgaroth!" someone exclaimed.

"It's Esgaroth! The Pearl of the North!"

"We're here!"

Excitement rippled through the ranks as they beheld the shimmering city.

"But how do we cross?" A voice cut through the cheers, bringing silence.

"My lord, we need a way to cross the river. We're exhausted," Reynold said solemnly.

Roland sighed in relief, remembering his contingency plan. He summoned ten Galen boats from his storage space, to the cheers of his men.

"Board the boats!" Roland ordered.

The men leapt into the lake, washing off blood as they swam to the boats. Some chopped wood to create a makeshift dock for their war horses.

"Is everyone aboard?" Roland asked.

"All accounted for, my lord!" Carlos assured him.

"Set sail!"

Under the sun, the city of Esgaroth loomed ahead.

"Esgaroth, I'm coming," Roland whispered, eyes fixed on their goal.

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