Chapter 43: Unseen Threats

After a few days' stay in Erebor, Rynar set off with his Light Infantry, who had exchanged their bird guns for cannons, carrying a large convoy of supplies. 

Thorin generously provided these, knowing the recent stirrings of the orcs, especially since Rynar was the most crucial barrier in the south of Erebor. 

Thorin was quite clear about the priorities; after all, the last battle of the Lonely Mountain had allowed two orc leaders to slip away, and now, after a few days of hiding, they seemed restless once more.

"Let's hope nothing goes wrong in the North…" Rynar glanced back at Dale and Erebor with a furrowed brow. 

Though many wandering dwarves from the Blue Mountains had returned, Erebor still housed fewer than five thousand dwarves. 

Winter had halted the return of most dwarves, and with their numbers so few, the next wave of orcs from Gundabad would surely come in full force! 

Moreover, Azog, having learned from past mistakes, would undoubtedly bring heavy crossbows, which would prevent Caslow from recklessly slaughtering the orcs… 

Rynar didn't even want to think about the woodland elves in Mirkwood; it was astonishing that Thranduil would willingly aid humans and dwarves! 

Didn't they see during the War of the Ring, when the Battle of Dale erupted in the North, that Bard's grandson and King Dain fell just outside Erebor? Where were the elves then?

The elves couldn't be relied upon, and with Thorin and Bard preoccupied in the North, it was just Rynar and the Aranthors left in the South. 

Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the Aranthors, Rynar mused.

Spotting the newly summoned Light Infantry behind him, Rynar felt a little reassured. 

Even if the situation became dire, he would lead his soldiers to escort the civilians west of the Misty Mountains, willingly abandoning Riverguard. 

After all, the crown of a king is crowned by the citizens under his command—without them, what is a king?

Looking at the youthful faces of the summoned Light Infantry, Rynar felt a pang of compassion. 

These armed civilians were merely children, hardly older than seventeen or eighteen, and yet he would lead them towards death…

At that moment, Rynar seemed to see the Rapid Infantry charging….Surely, at that moment, they too wished to live…

"Caslow, train them well! I don't expect them to charge bravely into battle, but I hope they can defend themselves," Rynar gently said as he scanned the faces of the young recruits.

"Don't worry, my lord! They will grow strong!" Caslow assured him.

"But there isn't enough time for them to grow…" Rynar lowered his head.

...

"My king, Aranthors, invites you to visit; he wishes to discuss matters crucial to the survival of both cities!" Rynar was stopped by Reynard, who had just returned.

"Did they say what happened?" Rynar asked, curiosity piqued.

"They seem to have clashed with the orcs!" Reynard pondered before responding.

"Good! Prepare the boats; we'll cross the river!" Rynar perked up at the mention of orcs.

...

Accompanied by Reynard and the Rangers of Elaris Woods, Rynar set foot on the land of the West Bank. 

After walking a few minutes, he was captivated by the distant wooden stone walls.

"They built it so quickly?" Rynar exclaimed in surprise, turning to Reynard.

"Well, my king, constructing wooden stone walls is quite easy. With so many people, they can chop down trees quickly," Reynard explained. 

After all, the walls here required no specialized skills; unlike the walls in Rynar's world, where bricks had to be painstakingly crafted, here in Mirkwood, towering trees could be easily felled, and a simple wooden framework covered in clay would suffice for a wall.

"Oh! I see!" As Rynar thought of the sturdy stone walls of Riverguard, built with magic-runestone bricks, he felt a sense of balance. 

Regardless of speed, their defenses were in place.

"Boom!"

The soldiers stationed at the city gate saw Rynar's banner fluttering in the wind and immediately pounded their chests in salute.

"Welcome, King Rynar! Lord apologizes for not being able to greet you in person," a steward rushed over to meet him.

"Thank you," Rynar said.

"It is my honor to serve you!" the steward bowed deeply.

"Take me to see your King; I want to know what happened!" 

A hint of seriousness flashed in Rynar's eyes as he distinctly sensed the stench of blood in the air… human blood! 

Such a strong odor could only come from a large number of wounded.

"Greetings, King Rynar; I'm afraid I cannot entertain you at the moment!" Aranthors, without stopping his work, caught sight of Rynar from the corner of his eye.

"What happened?" Reynard exclaimed, eyes wide as he beheld over a hundred various wounded soldiers lying beneath the wooden awning.

Aranthors was tending to them, changing their bandages and helping carry the treated soldiers into tents or wooden houses.

"What's going on?" Rynar squinted, an unsettling feeling tightening around his heart.

"Our scouting cavalry to the South was attacked! Thousands of orcs launched a large-scale ambush! We've lost over a hundred men!" 

Aranthors gritted his teeth. His cavalry had already been few, and now a small portion was gone without a fight.

"Impossible! The orcs of Dol Guldur shouldn't have the ability to launch such a large-scale attack!" Rynar asserted. 

After all, the orcs from Dol Guldur were the only army to have been completely annihilated in the Battle of the Lonely Mountain; nearly twenty thousand had perished on the battlefield. 

Rynar found it hard to believe that the orcs had healed so quickly from their wounds.

"My king! You should take a look at this!" Reynard casually pulled over a tattered piece of cloth, covered in the grotesque symbols of the orcs.

"This is what my soldiers brought back!" Aranthors glanced at it and said casually.

"Is there a problem?" To Rynar, all orc banners looked the same.

"There's a big problem! No! It's a huge problem!" Reynard swallowed hard.

"This isn't the totem of the orcs from Dol Guldur! I've never seen these symbols before! They come from even further south…" 

"Mordor!" Both Reynard and Rynar raised their heads in unison, instinctively shuddering.

"Is it urgent for them to move here?" Rynar asked weakly.

"Damn it! Why would Mordor care about this place? We're in the North!" Reynard was in a frenzy.

"Crap…" Rynar cursed under his breath. 

The orcs of Dol Guldur were Sauron's minions, and after they had disrupted Sauron's plans, it was impossible for him not to react. 

These thousands of orcs must have been reinforcements from Mordor, and there were likely even more orcs behind them.

"Have the southern orcs extended their claws here?" Aranthors' face was frosty.

"Yes, darkness is about to engulf the North, and we are the last guardians…" Rynar took a deep breath.

"I will wait for them here! Right here! This is the city of Loshanier of the Frostfire tribe! This is our homeland! We will fight to the last breath!" 

Aranthors roared in anger. 

Without him, his people had nowhere to go; crossing the Misty Mountains in winter was not only foolish but impossible. 

They could barely move far with their supplies, old, and young before they were surrounded and devoured by the orcs.

"Be careful! If anything happens, light the signal fire! My soldiers will come to your aid. I must go to the Lonely Mountain to inform the dwarves; I need to share this news with Bard, Thorin, Dáin, and Thranduil!" 

After giving the Aranthors some final instructions, Rynar left Loshanier City. He needed to quickly relay this information to the others!

The entire North was on the brink of disaster!

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