"What's going on?" Rynar gasped, wondering if the Orc army was attacking…
"Your Majesty! There are many people coming from across the river! It looks like there are over a thousand of them," a soldier reported honestly to Rynar.
"Good grief! Could it be that Dale has been overrun?" Rynar jumped up, realizing that besides Dale, he couldn't think of anywhere in the North that could muster a thousand humans.
…
At the western outpost, the knights stationed there had already climbed up onto the ramparts, gripping their bows and arrows, anxiously gazing at the sea of people before them.
"May I meet the lord of this place?" A young man with golden hair stepped forward.
"…" The knights on the ramparts fell silent; it was best to remain quiet until their lord arrived.
"Phew!" Caslow, riding his four-legged dragon, Kalador, brought Rynar to this spot. It landed on top of the watchtower, and Rynar leaped down from its back.
"Your Majesty, they wish to see you?" a knight approached to report.
"See me? Sure, let's meet," Rynar nodded.
…
As the iron gate creaked open just a crack, the young man from outside swiftly slipped in, and the door was immediately shut behind him.
"Greetings, esteemed lord of this land. I'm honored to meet you. I am Aranthor, the lord of the Frostfire tribe from the Northern Plains."
Aranthor bowed respectfully, and through the outpost, he could tell this lord was extraordinary—the magical energy swirling around him, the intricate magic patterns, and the fierce dragon rider he had just seen all hinted at the lord's great power.
"Hello, I am Rynar, King of the Zaltarion Empire." Rynar returned the greeting with a nod.
Aranthor's eyes widened in surprise; he hadn't expected this young man, who looked about his age, to be a king.
It made sense, though, as only powerful kingdoms could support such a strategic force as dragon riders.
"So, what brings you here?" Rynar asked curiously.
"Um, we would like to rent this outpost as our temporary refuge," Aranthor replied, shocking Rynar.
"What do you mean?" Rynar was taken aback.
"Uh, our tribe was destroyed in the Northern War. We had to cross the Gray Mountains and head south to escape the attacks of the Northern orcs…" Aranthor explained awkwardly.
"Have you been to Dale or Erebor?" Rynar suddenly asked.
"I have visited Lord Bard of Dale. He wanted to persuade us to stay there, but I declined, as we prefer to remain independent; my people still need my leadership," Aranthor elaborated.
"Hmm." Rynar nodded in agreement. After all, the struggle for resources between lords came down to population.
No lord wished to merge with another, and Bard had just recently risen from the grassroots; otherwise, he wouldn't have made such an impolite suggestion.
Rynar looked at Aranthor with sympathy; this foolish lad had led his people from the jaws of a tiger into the den of wolves, and he was even asking to be Rynar's shield…
Rynar couldn't bring himself to deceive someone so earnest.
"Regrettably, I must inform you that you may not have escaped the Orc threat," Rynar said, casting a pitying glance at Aranthor.
gently pulled out a sheepskin map and pointed to the location of Mordor.
"There lies the kingdom of orcs, ruled by King Azog, the Pale Orc, with power levels between 5th and 6th tier. And over there is Mount Gundabad… Gundabad!
The Northern Orc stronghold also contains another Orc kingdom… Congratulations, you've successfully trapped yourself between two threats," Rynar sighed, full of regret.
"…" Aranthor's eyes widened, his expression one of disbelief, as if he were a country bumpkin who had barely read any books.
"Don't try to fool me."
"In fact, this is the reality…" Rynar spread his hands.
"If you truly intend to stay here, I can give you this outpost. You may build a town here.
We won't interfere with the lands west of the River Running, as long as you can conquer the other lords of the land," Rynar stated calmly from his seat.
"I want to know the current movements of the orcs in this area," Aranthor pondered, pointing at Mordor.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about…" Rynar sighed lightly.
"My knights just had an encounter with them not long ago; they are actively extending their reach to the north. By next spring at the latest…"
Rynar glanced at Aranthor, who remained silent, but he understood that Aranthor surely grasped his implication.
"If we reside here and the orcs attack us, will you provide assistance?" Aranthor asked, voicing his main concern.
"Of course, we won't stand by; after all, crossing the River Running means entering our area."
Rynar's gaze fell upon the River Running outside the window, which spanned nearly ten kilometers wide, serving as a formidable barrier against the orc invasion.
"We've decided to stay here!" Aranthor declared loudly after a moment of contemplation.
…
"Lord, are we really giving this place to them?" Caslow quietly asked Rynar while observing the knights crossing the river in batches.
"What? Do you want us to stay here and face the Orc army directly?" Rynar shot back at Caslow.
"They have a numerical advantage over us," Rynar admitted with a glance at the busy humans of the northern tribes.
There were at least three thousand of them, nearly 500 soldiers, and what astonished Rynar the most was that he saw almost 40 knights.
According to Aranthor, these were the remnants of their tribe after the devastating battle; so, during their peak, could they not have formed a knightly order?
"More hands make light work!" Caslow admired the people who had already transported cut logs back to prepare for building a round log wall.
"Don't worry; our people are returning every day," Rynar reassured him with a smile.
"Lord, do you mean the less than 150 people returning to Riverguard every half month? I see dwarves coming back over the Misty Mountains daily…" Caslow replied darkly.
"Well, our wandering people are somewhat scattered…" Rynar chuckled awkwardly.
What Rynar didn't know was that his small gesture of retaining Aranthor today would ultimately lead to the establishment of the Akavia Kingdom, renowned alongside Riverguard as the Northern Twin Stars, with its founder, King Aranthor, currently busy building his first town.
"Alright, let's not worry too much about the west bank. Now we need to improve our city defenses; those two-meter-high walls provide no sense of security at all," Rynar complained.
Because of those nearly nonexistent walls, the soldiers on night patrol in Riverguard didn't patrol on the walls; they merely circled the houses where people lived.
Rynar was truly fed up with those flimsy walls; every morning, he had to organize the soldiers to clean up the uninhabited areas of the city since beasts and wandering orcs would scale the walls and rest in the dilapidated houses at night.
"Well, you might have to wait… Lord Radir is still in a weakened state from excessive magical energy consumption," Caslow suddenly said weakly.
"Ah… I'm tired; let it all be destroyed."
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