Everything unfolded just as it did in the original history; the elves, under the leadership of Thranduil, were preparing to clash with the dwarves of the Iron Hills…
"Boom!" The ground shook at the foot of the mountain, and several grotesque jaws broke through the earth.
"They have forgotten the existence of the giant earth snakes," Azog said with a savage expression.
A dark mass of orcs burst from the ground, sprinting forward with their shields raised in front of them, weapons clutched tightly in their other hands, howling as they charged toward the elves, dwarves, and men.
"Demons are attacking us!" Thorin Oakenshield roared, pulling the reins of his boar mount to turn around.
"Fight! Fight! Sons of Durin!" Thorin shouted.
The dwarves, who had been preparing for a desperate battle with the elven army, turned to flee, their short legs moving rapidly.
With a loud clash, a wide shield wall was erected to block the orcs.
This was one thing Rynar had miscalculated; the dwarves numbered a full 1,500, with over 500 being professional fighters—a formidable force indeed.
"Why aren't the elves fighting?" Bilbo asked, looking up at Gandalf in confusion.
"Thranduil! You can't do this!" Gandalf shouted at Thranduil.
Thranduil hesitated, glancing back at the lined-up dwarves…
…
"Quick, we must reach the battlefield!" Rynar urged gravely. He needed to assess the situation before deciding whether to leap into this pit.
Although he was not a particularly competent lord, he was definitely a conscientious one.
He understood the need to consider his subordinates; there was no need to sacrifice them needlessly for a battle that could not be won.
"We need to circle to the left of the battlefield!" Rynar directed.
They could not simply appear behind the orc horde; if they were caught by the orcs in turn, he estimated he would have to flee immediately.
Rynar felt as if he were walking a tightrope over an abyss, every misstep could lead to disaster.
Having a system did not equate to having the capital to squander!
Without a complete logistics system and reserve troops, Rynar was like a leaf without roots; any defeat would spell disaster…
As for why they needed to go left, it had been mentioned earlier: a backstab at this point, given Rynar's strength, would only result in delivering his head on a platter.
The right side not only had Azog directing from the Ravenhills but could also face reinforcements from the orc stronghold of Dol Guldur, which could join the battle at any moment.
If they ran into that, the fun would really begin… just thinking about being trapped between at least 20,000 orcs was frightening.
Even the dragon riders could be buried under such numbers!
It should be noted that there were professional fighters among the orcs, and their powerful warriors and curse-wielding shamans posed a significant problem for Rynar.
"Ahhhh!" the orcs howled as they crashed against the dwarven shield wall.
Suddenly, the front line of orcs was blinded by sunlight—not sunlight, but the shining blades of elven rangers.
Ranger Class Levels: Apprentice Ranger, Ranger, Intermediate Ranger, Advanced Ranger, Eagle-eyed Ranger, and the highest title: Hunter.
It must be said that Thranduil had committed heavily this time, sending nearly a thousand elven rangers into battle.
The rangers' curved blades glinted in the air, slicing through the orcs' armor, muscles, veins, and bones as easily as a hot knife through butter…
The orcs were stunned by the sudden attack, wildly swinging their weapons to defend themselves, but from thin air, several vines sprang forth.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!"
The crisp sounds of the whips echoed as the surrounding orcs were left bloodied, with some even having their heads severed by the vine whips.
This was the skill of several advanced rangers—Whipping Vines: summoning a cluster of vines to continually lash at the enemy.
"Kill! For the glory of Durin!" Now that they had support, the dwarves no longer cowered behind their shields. They pulled back their shields and charged straight toward the oncoming orcs.
"Cleave!"
The dwarven warriors activated their skills, their sharp axes wrapped in battle aura swung downwards, sending a wave of orcs flying.
"Loose!"
The archers lined up behind let fly their arrows, releasing a rain of arrows imbued with various skills from 3,000 elven archers.
"Roar!"
"Aaah!"
"Haah!"
A wave of arrows successfully halted the orc army, leaving gaps in their ranks as the barrage disrupted their reinforcements.
…
"Goodness! Are they really turning it into a chaotic mess?" Rynar's group lay flat on the mountaintop, pointing at the heated battlefield below.
"My lord, are we really just going to jump into the fray like this?" Reynard asked darkly, feeling that Rynar might be leading them straight to hell.
"Don't forget, we still haven't collected our commission; our starting capital is all in this mountain…"
Rynar glanced at the still-sealed city of Erebor, his heart igniting at the thought of the mountains of treasure inside.
"Let's observe the situation first." Rynar refrained from rushing to a conclusion and continued to scrutinize the battlefield.
"The elves have at least 4,000 men! The dwarves should have around 1,000, and with 200 soldiers from Long Lake and some recruited toughs, we should have about 500!" Rynar muttered.
This was a considerable increase compared to history, and thanks to Rynar, the people of Long Lake had escaped the fate of being roasted by Smaug, which explained the increased number of human soldiers.
"But the orcs number at least 15,000…" Caslow calculated weakly.
"Alas, and this doesn't even include the reinforcements from Dol Guldur…" Rynar sighed.
If it weren't for the evil little money to exchange for wealth points to develop, he genuinely did not want to wade into this murky water.
He had long passed the time of being brash and impulsive since crossing over; this was a real world!
Every decision could cost his subordinates or even himself their lives. This wasn't a game!
…
"They can't fight on two fronts! Attack the Valley!" Azog spotted the flaw in the coalition's strategy and used this simple yet effective tactic from the Ravenhills.
Humans would rush to protect the old and weak and return to the Dale, and dwarves would not step back to protect Erebor, but the elven army could only afford to participate in one battlefield, thus they would be forced to make a choice.
Clearly, the elves would not fight alongside the dwarves, allowing Azog to easily execute his plan of dividing the battlefield.
"Retreat! To the Valley!" Bard watched as the orcs turned to flee toward Dale, his eyes wide with fury.
"Fall back!" Seeing the coalition being continually pressed, Thranduil gave the order to retreat, and the elves and men quickly withdrew towards Dale under the cover of the elven archers' alternating fire…
In front of Erebor's gates, only the dwarves remained, fighting for their lives as their space was constantly compressed.
"Thorin! Where is he? We need him!" Dain anxiously searched for his cousin on the battlefield.
"Roar!"
A great blade pierced through, embedding itself in the heart of Dain's mount, and Thorin was violently thrown to the ground.
"Clang!"
Picking himself up from the ground, Dain seized the spear that had pierced him and drove it into the heart of the sneaking orc, swinging his war hammer to smash the skull of an orc passing by.
"Roar!"
A towering troll swung its axe in a wide arc, cleaving a dwarven berserker in two.
"Clang!"
The ear-piercing sound of metal scraping echoed as a dwarven warrior was struck down, multiple weapons piercing the gaps in his armor.
He weakly swung his axe once before collapsing…
"Thorin! Thorin!" Witnessing his kin being slain on the battlefield, Dain frantically shouted his cousin's name, but Thorin was already ensnared in the curse of the dragon's gold…