Chapter 9.

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The dwarves returned while carrying a massive, double-bladed axe in their burly arms. The weapon was encased in sticky, white webs that clung to the metal like a parasite and emitted a putrid stench of rotten eggs and vomit.

Even from a distance, Reinhold could see the bile-colored stains splattered across its surface. He instinctively recoiled as it drew near, feeling both repulsed and entranced by its gruesome appearance.

"We took care of dat problem, Your Majesty. It's safe to move now," they announced.

With a decisive nod, Reinhold acknowledged the tireless efforts of the dwarves. He turned towards the exit and confidently led the company forward.

They fell in line behind him, their heavy boots making a steady rhythm against the rough ground. The sound echoed through the hallowed caverns, bouncing off the dark stone walls and filling the air with a steady melody.

As they marched on, their torchlights danced madly around them, casting eerie shadows that seemed to come alive along the floor and ceiling. The oppressive darkness only made their journey seem longer and more treacherous as they pressed onward.

"You saved me some work back there, Rein," Thorin said, breaking the silence. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no worries. Just try not to make a habit out of it, yeah." Reinhold responded jokingly, giving him a friendly clap on the back.

Thorin chuckled and gave the king a mischievous smile.

"Well, it ain't like I was going to let you fight him alone. That would be bad for our image." He replied.

The two laughed quietly, sharing an inside joke with each other.

"So, since ya beat him up and all," Thorin continued, changing his voice into a deeper, more serious tone. "What did you find out from that bastard?"

Reinhold replied with a nonchalant shrug, "Not much, really. He's just a useless watchdog."

The dwarf shook his head in disappointment.

"Damn it. I was hopin' ya got somethin' good out of him." He muttered angrily under his breath before adding, "But, well, ya know how those monsters are... Always talk too damn much but never say anything useful."

"Indeed." Reinhold replied with a sigh. "I suppose I should have expected nothing less."

Suddenly, he glanced forward, a glimmer of light beckoned at the end of the dark, winding tunnel. He narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the details of what lay ahead.

The flickering glow seemed to grow brighter with each step, like a distant star calling him closer. He shielded his eyes from the harshness and pressed on, eager to discover the source of the radiant beacon.

"...I think that might be it," he announced excitedly, quickening his pace toward the exit. "Let's hurry up already!"

Their feet pounded against the cold stone floor as they ran, the sound bouncing off the walls and echoing in their ears. The torches clutched tightly in their hands flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the ancient carvings that adorned the walls.

As they neared the opening, adrenaline surged through their veins, heightening their senses and driving them forward. They jostled and pushed each other in a frantic attempt to be the first one out, their fear of what lurked behind them pushing them towards safety.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the group burst out into daylight. The dwarves and knights let out grateful sighs as they emerged from the dark, musty cave and took in the breathtaking sights around them.

The vast plain of rolling grass spread out before them, seeming to stretch endlessly into the horizon like a verdant sea. The emerald blades swayed gently in the breeze, creating an undulating ocean of green that beckoned them forward.

As they gazed upon this magnificent landscape, they couldn't help but feel small in comparison to its grandeur. It was a sight that filled them with both awe and wonder, reminding them of the beauty and vastness of the world beyond their underground home.

The sun shined brightly overhead, bathing everything in a warm glow. The air smelled sweet and clean compared to what they had been breathing underground for days.

The company paused to catch their breaths, admiring the scenery around them while taking the chance to rest their weary feet and muscles.

"Oh how i miss the sun and fresh air," Reinhold said wistfully, his face turning upwards towards the heavens.

The dwarves murmured in agreement, basking in the warm glow that washed over their faces. The knights stood silently next to their comrades, enjoying the momentary peace.

"Ok let's get to work gentleman, we got an entrance to blow up. Let's not waste daylight, shall we?" Thorin said, breaking the silence.

Reinhold nodded in agreement, "Agreed, let's make this quick. We've spent enough time down here already."

"Gawain, get some knights and take the injured back to our camp as fast as you can. We will meet you there."

"At once, Your Majesty."

"Good. Now let's go, everyone. Time's a-wasting!" Gawain called out to the knights as he turned around, heading towards the exit.

They began to walk away from the entrance, following their commander towards the camp.

With grim determination, the remaining member of the group formed a tight circle, bracing themselves for the dangerous task ahead. Thorin's calloused hands expertly distributed the explosives, his voice booming with instructions on where to place each stick of dynamite for maximum impact.

"Alright, let's get started. We gotta make sure we do this right the first time." Thorin said, looking around at his men expectantly.

Everyone nodded their heads, ready and willing to carry out their task. They began to set up the explosives, working carefully and precisely, ensuring that each charge was placed properly.

The air was suffocating with the weight of their fear and the stench of gunpowder as they frantically worked to set explosives at the entrance. Their hearts pounded in terror, knowing that if they failed, the foul devil would be free to wreak havoc on the world outside.

The process took time, but eventually, all preparations were completed. They stood back as Thorin lit the fuses, watching as the tiny flames burned slowly towards the deadly payload.

A few moments later, there was a loud explosion that shook the ground beneath their feet.

The earth rumbled violently as debris fell from the ceiling, crashing down on top of them.

"Run!" Thorin shouted.

Without hesitation, everyone sprinted away from the entrance. The walls trembled as the ceiling crumbled behind them, burying the entrance.

The dwarves let out a triumphant cry as the last piece of rubble fell to the ground. They had succeeded!

"That should keep them down there for a long while, eh?" one of them remarked.

Another dwarf nodded, smiling proudly at his fellow dwarves. "Aye, it'll be ages before that lot dig themselves outta there. Good job, lads!"

The others cheered loudly, celebrating their victory. However, as Reinhold looked around, he could see that some of the dwarves looked nervous, their faces etched with concern despite their outward cheerfulness.

It was no shock to see the weariness etched into the faces of the dwarves. The harsh reality of war had claimed their friends and homes, leaving them ragged, famished, and drained from the ceaseless battles. Their faces were etched with exhaustion and the weight of emotional strain evident in every drooping shoulder.

But still, they persevered, pushing forward even when all hope seemed lost. They were warriors of the truest kind, fueled by a fierce resilience that refused to be extinguished.

He was all too familiar with that feeling, the overwhelming urge to just give up and succumb to despair. But deep down, he also knew the consequences of dwelling on such thoughts for too long. The struggle between surrendering and fighting still raged within him, unsure of which path to take.

Reinhold's eyes wandered over the tired group of dwarves. His gaze fell onto Thorin's face. The dwarf looked exhausted as well, his features drawn and pale with dark circles under his eyes. The king's mind flashed through the countless battles he'd fought alongside his comrade, and the sacrifices they'd witnessed together.

It was a sobering realization to understand that they were both only mortals, capable of being worn down by the endless grind of conflict.

"I'm proud to have fought alongside you, Reinhold. Ya know? If it weren't for ya, we wouldn't even be alive," Thorin said suddenly. His voice sounded strained as if the very words were difficult for him to utter aloud.

The king was taken aback by the admission, and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him as he looked into Thorin's deep azure blue eyes, glistened with tears.

He swallowed thickly, struggling to keep his voice from shaking as tears threatened to spill out from the corners of those same eyes.

Reinhold smiled weakly, "I appreciate that. Truly."

Thorin chuckled lightly, "Don't get all sappy on me now, my friend. It doesn't suit ya!"

They shared a quiet laugh together, their eyes meeting briefly before turning away from each other.

From afar, the distant thundering of horse hooves erupted into a deafening roar, the ground trembling violently beneath their feet as a group of cavalry swept into view, their powerful horses pounding the ground with every stride.

Relief flooded over the king as he saw the royal banner flying high in the air. That meant his knights had reached their camp safely and reinforcements had arrived just in time.

As their horses galloped across the field, the knights were a sight to behold with a white fur cloak fluttering in the wind. Their heavy armor shone brilliantly in the sunlight, each piece intricately crafted and adorned with gold accents. With spears held firmly in their hands and a large shield adorned with intricate designs rested on their backs, held in place by a sturdy leather strap, they were ready for battle.

But what caught the eye most of all were their helmets - each one were unique, made of gleaming gold and adorned with pure white feathers that danced in the wind. The sound of their hooves hitting the ground echoed through the air as they charged toward, a symbol of strength and nobility in motion.

As they drew near, the group of cavalry dismounted their steeds with haste, the powerful thud of hooves on the ground abruptly silenced. These were no ordinary warriors - their towering height and broad shoulders spoke of superhuman strength and prowess.

The glint of gold from their armor caught the sunlight, sending dazzling flashes across the battlefield. It was clear that these were not mere mortals, but formidable beings unlike any normal knight.

The air around them was heavy with the weight of duty and loyalty, and it seemed that even the trees bowed in respect.

They rushed over to Reinhold and kneeled in a show of respect, their heads bowed low as they removed their helmets. "Your majesty," a man murmured in unison, "We deeply apologize for not being by your side during your battle against the darkness." His voices were filled with remorse and regret.

His name was Alathorn Steelborn 'the Bear', a formidable figure known throughout the land as the Archsentinel of the Imperial Swords. His mane of hair was a cascade of silky, golden strands that fell effortlessly past his broad shoulders.

Despite the rough covering of scars on his face, there was an undeniable handsomeness that radiated from within. His features were sharp and angular, giving him a thorny appearance, but it only added to his rugged charm.

Alathorn's very presence exuded strength and authority, his broad shoulders adorned with the insignia of his legion. His golden armor reflected the sunlight, creating a blinding halo that seemed to surround his body.

As for his weapon...

In the hands of Alathorn Steelborn was the legendary sword known as 'Azurewrath' - a fearsome, double-edged longsword made of a material so hard, that it could not be damaged by even magical means.

It was an ancient blade, said to possess incredible powers. The hilt was crafted from a ancient demons' bone that had been forged in the heart of Mount Doom itself. Its pommel was made of pure mithril and shaped like a lion's head, the fangs holding a brilliant red jewel.

This sword was passed down from the original King of Lionheart who wielded it with such power and skill, that it became a symbol of his house. It was an heirloom, an artifact of immense strength and importance to the kingdom, and it was entrusted to the Archsentinel as a reward for their loyalty and courage.

As for the Imperial Sword, a legendary force of soldiers, marched with utmost precision and discipline. These were not just any ordinary soldiers - they were one of three legions who had sworn their unwavering allegiance to house Lionheart long before they arrived in Laruthar.

This legion's size was a staggering 5000, consisting of powerful and skilled Sentinels. Each member stood tall and proud as their presence commanded respect and instilled fear in their enemies, for they were unstoppable in battle. To challenge them was to face certain destruction. They fought with a ferocity that could only be matched by their undying devotion to their king.

These legions were ruthless and exclusive, their ranks filled only with those who bore the sacred blood of the chosen one. They swore an unwavering loyalty to the king, their sole purpose to protect him and only him, disregarding even his own heir. They bowed to no one, obeying only direct orders from the king himself, heedless of any other authority.

"You are not to blame for this, Alathorn. There was nothing you could do. Besides, you're here just in time. These brave men need to return to camp immediately." He said, gesturing toward the injured dwarves, his expression softening slightly.

Althorn's lips twisted into a grimace, his eyes filled with sorrow as he gazed at the wounded warriors before him.

"We are here to serve you and the Kingdom, your highness. Our duty is to fight alongside you. Not hide behind you like cowards. You shouldn't have to deal with such things alone..." He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

"You are not a coward, Alathorn. Far from it," Reinhold stated firmly, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you would've been here if it had been possible for you to be." Reinold said reassuringly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulders to reassure that he wasn't upset.

The Archsentinel hung his head low and remained silent, unable to find any words that would ease the burden of guilt that plagued his soul.

"We are relieved to find you safe, Your Majesty." Alathorn said with renewed vigor. "We feared the worst when the scouts failed to report back after you after you ventured into the treacherous mountain."

The king gave a slight smile, "Thank you, Alathorn. It warms my heart to know I have such loyal servants like yourself and your men."

A brief moment of silence passed as they exchanged glances, the tension between them dissipating instantly as the two embraced, sharing a brotherly hug that conveyed all respect they had for each other. This was a rare display of emotion from the normally stoic warrior, but it served to further solidify their bond as comrades and brothers in arms.

Alathorn's eyes darted to the injured dwarves behind Reinhold. "Are these the ones?" His voice was low, barely more than a whisper as he stared at the group of dwarves.

The king nodded, "Yes, that they are. We managed to rescue a few of them, though most of them perished in the city trying to defend their kingdom."

Alathorn nodded in understanding, his face contorted in pain from hearing about the loss of life. His jaw tightened, the muscles tensing under the strain as anger boiled inside him, threatening to erupt in a fit of rage, "Those filthy beasts..." He snarled, gritted teeth clenched tightly together in a snarl.

Reinhold placed his palm on Alathorn's chest, gently patting him. "Calm yourself, my friend. We will make them suffer for what they've done. But now we have more matter at our hands."

The Archsentinel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the cool breeze wash over him before exhaling slowly as he tried to calm his nerves. He opened them again, his face once more returning to its usual stern expression.

"What are your orders then, your Majesty?"

The king looked up to the sky, gazing upon the setting sun, "Take these injured dwarfs back to camp, and have the healers attend to them at once. Once they're stable, we shall march back to our citadel."

Alathorn's head bowed low as the king's command reverberated through his mind. With a determined glint in his eye, he spun towards his men, bellowing out orders that rang across the battlefield like thunder. "The king has spoken! Ready yourselves and mount your horses at once!" His voice carried on the wind, echoing fiercely in every direction.

With a fierce determination, the men leapt onto their mounts without hesitation, the sound of hooves thundering against the earth. In a matter of minutes, the entire army was assembled and ready for action. Reinhold swung himself onto his powerful warhorse, his eyes narrowed with focused intent as he led the charge back to the camp.

On their journey, Reinhold's eyes were drawn to the horizon as the day drew to a close, where the sun was sinking behind the towering mountains, painting everything in a warm, reddish hue.

The trees were bathed in an otherworldly light, their branches reaching towards the sky like gnarled fingers. The grass shimmered with a golden hue, as if lit from within. The landscape took on an otherworldly quality, with shadows growing longer and the sky transforming into a canvas of burnt oranges and pinks.

The scene had an eerie, almost mystical quality to it, as if nature itself was putting on a show for those who were lucky enough to witness it. The air felt heavy, like one holding its breath in anticipation of the night to come. It was a moment that made one feel small yet connected to the world around them, a reminder of the beauty and power of nature.

Soon enough, the shadows crept over the valley below, he couldn't help but feel a shiver of creep run through him. For he knew what darkness awaited in those peaks...a darkness that must be vanquished at all costs.