Chapter 52: The Turning Point
The vast expanse between the Red River and the Swift River had once been an inhospitable wasteland. Now, it was known as the Lagrand Plain, named after the pivotal battle that would forever change the course of the war in the north of Middle-earth—The Battle of Lagrand Plains.
Roland's heart raced as he stared at the oncoming horde of orcs. They had stumbled upon the enemy sooner than expected, and the sheer number of orcs was overwhelming. But Roland's eyes locked onto a small hill in the distance. Instinctively, he knew this hill could be their salvation.
"All infantry, take that hill! Vervill, you're in command!" Roland shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Vervill, stunned by the responsibility suddenly thrust upon him, hesitated. "Wait... I've never commanded an army this large," he stammered.
Roland turned to him, eyes fierce with determination. "Believe in yourself, as you would in the sword you wield." He tossed a space ring to Vervill. "There are 100,000 arrows in there. Don't hold back—use them all!"
The paladins gathered around Roland, their crimson armor glinting with the flames of battle. The Ring of Glory on Roland's hand pulsed with power as he barked out his next command.
"Form up! Arrowhead formation!"
The knights swiftly assembled into a charging wedge, with Roland and Reynold leading the front. Their horses' hooves pounded the ground in unison, the sound resonating like a drumbeat of war.
Meanwhile, the infantry scrambled up the hill, planting their steel tower shields into the earth and forming an impenetrable wall. The archers, led by the veteran Batenian bowmen, positioned themselves behind the shield wall, ready to unleash a barrage of arrows. Vervill, steeling himself, began distributing the arrows from the space ring, ensuring every archer was well-supplied.
At the rear, the light infantry and the guards of Lagrand City fortified their flanks, bracing for the inevitable clash. The hill, now bristling with shields and arrows, stood as a defiant stronghold against the oncoming tide.
Across the plain, Onaville, the orc commander, observed the human forces from atop his warg. His sharp eyes, inherited from his elven mother, scanned the battlefield. These humans were better equipped and more organized than he had anticipated. But Onaville's loyalty to Sauron and the promise of untold riches hardened his resolve.
"Crush them! Show no mercy!" Onaville bellowed, rallying his troops.
The ground trembled as over 7,000 orcs charged forward, their collective roar echoing across the plains. Despite their ragtag appearance, the sheer number of orcs created a terrifying spectacle.
Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead. Carlos, astride the mighty dragon Kaldor, had been waiting for this moment. The dragon swooped down, targeting the orc archers who had lagged behind the main force. Kaldor's breath unleashed a torrent of wind blades, slicing through the orcs like a scythe through wheat. Blood sprayed into the air as the archers fell in droves.
Onaville cursed under his breath, "Sauron never said anything about dragons!" He watched in horror as Kaldor decimated his archers. Seething with rage, he snatched a massive iron bow from one of his soldiers and notched an enchanted armor-piercing arrow.
"Bring that beast down!" Onaville growled as he aimed at the soaring dragon. With a snap, the arrow flew true, striking Kaldor squarely.
Roland's heart sank as he saw Kaldor falter in the air. "No...!" he whispered, fearing the worst.
But Kaldor, despite the injury, managed to stabilize and pull back into the sky. The dragon's armor had absorbed most of the impact, saving it from a fatal blow. Furious, Kaldor roared, summoning a massive blue tornado that tore through the ranks of orcs, scattering them like leaves in a storm.
"For the glory of the knights!" Roland shouted, spurring his horse forward. The knights began their charge, the ground shaking beneath the thunder of their hooves.
As they closed in on the orcs, Roland and his knights invoked the sacred virtues of their order—Glory, Pity, Justice, Loyalty, Brotherhood, Guard, Bravery, and Humility. Their armor and weapons blazed with holy fire, a fearsome sight that sent terror through the orc ranks.
"For the homeland! For the people! For Lagrand!" the knights cried as they crashed into the orc lines, their lances and swords cutting through the enemy like a knife through butter.
The orcs, caught in disarray, offered little resistance. The initial shock of the knights' charge broke their formation, and panic spread like wildfire. Onaville, caught in the chaos, could only watch as his army crumbled before his eyes.
In the midst of the melee, Roland's resolve hardened. This was more than just a battle; it was a fight for the survival of his people. With every strike, he carved a path through the orcs, leading his knights deeper into the enemy's heart.
The Battle of Lagrand Plains would be remembered as the day when a small force, united by their courage and the indomitable will of their leader, turned the tide against overwhelming odds.
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