Chapter 42: The Helpless King

Alright, although these 500 conscripted Light Infantry are pretty useless, at least they still count as passable soldiers. 

Equipping them, even reluctantly, is better than nothing. Rynar really wanted to disband this group of militiamen—keeping them around was just wasting food! Wait... food?

"What the...?! This means we're suddenly feeding 500 extra mouths for no reason?" Rynar's eyes widened as he finally realized just how pointless this gift from the system was. 

These Light Infantry couldn't even defend a city—after all, how could you expect unarmored soldiers with just one-handed swords to hold a city? 

Keeping them as construction workers would be a waste! It was a typical case of something that was worthless yet hard to discard.

"Sigh..." Rynar sighed helplessly, slumping down against the wall. No one knew just how despairing the future Emperor of Zaltarion was on this day.

"Lord..." Reynard was about to speak when Rynar cut him off with a wave.

"Let me guess... we're short on food or clothing?" Rynar asked weakly, lifting his head.

"Uh... Lord... both, actually..." Reynard responded cautiously.

"Got it!" Rynar grunted. His headache intensified—looks like he'd have to go beg his younger brother Thorin for some help again.

...

Rynar and Caslow led 500 conscripted Light Infantry northward. Along the way, the performance of these soldiers shattered Rynar's expectations of Imperial troops.

Can you imagine it? A dozen orcs wielding wooden clubs managed to chase after 500 conscripted Light Infantry. 

The fleeing soldiers even scattered the knights accompanying them, leaving both Caslow and Rynar utterly astonished.

Holding up the bloody head of a orc, Rynar, face cold as ice, stood before the Light Infantry. 

In a rage, he threw the head to the ground and roared, "This is the Empire's army? This is your honor?"

"I can understand you! You don't have proper equipment or good training, so you might not fight well. But I never imagined you'd be this useless!" Rynar continued shouting, his anger growing.

"Five hundred men! Chased by sixteen orcs with wooden sticks! And you even got dozens of people injured by those sticks? What, are you wearing firewood on your belts?!" Rynar fumed.

Having vented his frustration, Rynar spun his horse around and charged off towards Erebor, leaving these worthless Light Infantry far behind.

"Follow the commander!" Caslow frowned, quickly ordering the ten knights to keep up with Rynar to prevent any accidents, while he stayed behind to escort the Light Infantry to Erebor.

Sitting on his warhorse, Caslow gazed at the ragtag group of conscripts. 

His eyes passed over their terrified expressions, ragged clothes, and their pitiful one-handed swords, muttering under his breath.

"Whose bright idea was it to arm these civilians? Sending them into battle is practically a crime!"

...

"Thorin, I need your help!" Rynar wasted no time getting straight to the point when he saw Thorin Oakenshield.

"..." Thorin, meeting Rynar's serious gaze, couldn't help but shudder internally. After Rynar's last "request," Thorin had been heartbroken for quite some time, still recovering from that blow.

"What is it this time? Are the orcs attacking?" Thorin asked cautiously.

"No, it's about the return of our wandering people," Rynar frowned.

"What's the problem? Short on food and clothing? Dain from Iron Hills just sent us supplies meant for our kin arriving from the Blue Mountains, but they haven't come yet. 

If you're in dire need, you can take those supplies. You need them more than we do," Thorin, no longer under the curse's influence, was warm and generous.

"No! You have to see this!" Rynar dragged Thorin outside to a hall, where they stood by the door. 

Thorin could clearly see a group of ragged humans devouring roast meat, bread, and dwarf rum. 

Judging by their desperate hunger, it seemed they hadn't eaten in a long time.

"By the beard! Have you moved your whole city to Erebor?" Thorin exclaimed, watching the massive crowd gulping down food. 

If he didn't know better, he would've thought Rynar had moved his entire kingdom here.

"No, these are just the Zaltarion Light Infantry that have returned..." Rynar's face turned red with embarrassment. 

How shameful! These people acted like they hadn't eaten in generations, stuffing their mouths wildly with food.

"By the beard! They're soldiers? That's a crime!" Thorin's attention was clearly different from Rynar's. 

Thorin stared at the ragged conscripts in disbelief—apart from their broken swords, they had no trace of being soldiers.

"Rynar, you didn't seriously conscript these civilians as soldiers, did you?" Thorin twisted his head sharply, as if he was meeting Rynar for the first time.

"No, they really are soldiers. They're just conscripted militia..." Rynar couldn't even bring himself to call them Light Infantry anymore. 

They were so under-equipped that "militia" felt more appropriate.

"So?" Thorin seemed to realize something.

"Put your craftsmanship to good use. Arm them with some gear. It doesn't need to be too good—these men aren't strong enough to wear heavy armor." 

Rynar knew no one was better at forging than dwarves.

"Alright, tell me what you need. Anything made of iron—I've got it covered!" Thorin proudly patted his chest, leading Rynar into the dwarves' armory.

"Take your pick! Whatever they need, take it with you. Consider it a gift from me, my friend!" Thorin said boldly.

Rynar felt a pang of envy. This must be what people meant by "a true family with a mine." 

Besides the dwarves, no other power could afford to casually outfit 500 men with full sets of gear.

"Thank you so much!" Rynar gratefully thanked Thorin. 

This early investment was truly worth it. In a land constantly at war like Middle-earth, what was the most valuable commodity? Weapons! 

A faction with access to a vast amount of arms could always raise an army quickly. Although the quality might not be top-notch, they were more than enough for defense.

"By the way, dwarf weapons and armor might be a bit small for them. I'll have Balin measure them and make some adjustments," Thorin slapped his head, suddenly remembering the height difference between their two races.

"Much appreciated," Rynar nodded.

"Any recommendations, Thorin?" Rynar figured this dwarf king, born for battle, knew better than him what equipment his troops needed.

"What's your goal for them?" Thorin asked seriously.

"Defense. Given their quality and skill level, it's too much to ask them to break through an orc formation," Rynar said bitterly. These conscripted Light Infantry truly redefined the meaning of "useless" and "cannon fodder."

"Alright then, I suggest arming them with three-meter-long dwarven spears. 

That way, they can keep some distance from the orcs. It should be enough for defense," Thorin recommended spears, given their low skill requirement.

"Sounds good, excellent suggestion," Rynar agreed. 

Long spears and pikes had always impressed him, especially the five-meter-long ones used by the Rapid Infantry, which had left a deep impression on him.

"As for armor... considering their role, thick leather armor would be the most suitable since it allows more flexibility in defense. 

Unfortunately, we don't produce much leather armor here. How about fine iron chainmail?" 

Thorin thought for a moment and finally came up with chainmail, which wouldn't hinder mobility while still offering solid protection.

"Alright," Rynar nodded in agreement.

"As for shields, let's go with iron cross shields," Thorin continued. He didn't have much to say about shields, opting for the common cross shield. 

After all, these soldiers couldn't handle tower shields—they wouldn't even know how to use them properly.

"What about their secondary weapons? Longswords, hand axes, or war hammers?" Thorin asked.

"Hand axes, I guess. They're more practical." Rynar had initially thought about longswords but, recalling the soldiers' performance, decided to go with something simpler and more effective like hand axes.

"Alright! Is that all?" Thorin looked up, checking if Rynar had anything else to add.

"Do dwarves produce bows?" Rynar suddenly asked.

"Oh! While dwarven archers may not be as famous as elven archers, we're certainly not that obscure! Our bows may not rival the elven ones, but they're just as reliable!" 

Thorin widened his eyes, somewhat taken aback by Rynar's question.

"Let's arm each of them with a bow," Rynar considered. After all, archery could be trained. 

With winter approaching, it would be good to have the soldiers practice. 

He didn't expect them to reach the level of the Elaris Woods Rangers or the Battanian Archers, but he'd be satisfied if they could match the accuracy of the Zaltarion City Guards.

"Alright, I'll throw in 100,000 arrows as well! They're just sitting in storage anyway—you'll need them!" Thorin joked with a chuckle.

"Kili! Prepare six months' worth of provisions for 500 men!" Thorin called out to Kili, who was passing through the hall.

"Hey! Kili! Tauriel?" Rynar was surprised to see an elf in the dwarven city. It seemed the ill-fated couple from a past life had finally made it together.

"Hey, King Rynar! Great to see you! Care to join us for a few drinks?" Kili enthusiastically invited.

"No, no, I won't intrude. Best wishes to you both!" Rynar winked at the two, playfully teasing them.

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