The plains between the Redwater River and the River Running were once a desolate wilderness, but soon after, they were named the Zaltarion Plains.
A small hill in the plains was given the name Zaltarion Hill, commemorating a turning point that changed the northern battlefront of Middle-earth — the Battle of Zaltarion Plains.
At this moment, Rynar was still in shock from the unexpected encounter with the Orcs. After surveying his surroundings, he immediately set his eyes on the small hill.
"All infantry, swiftly take control of that hill! Follow Vanervi's orders! Caslow, you handle the Orcs' ranged units! Knights, with me!" Rynar raised his sword and rode off from the ranks.
"Wait...!" Vanervi looked confused, never having commanded a force of nearly a thousand soldiers before. He stood frozen in place.
"Believe in yourself! Just as you believe in your sword!" Rynar cut him off, tossing a spatial ring casually to Vanervi.
"There are 100,000 arrows in here! Don't hold back! Let them fly!"
The knights of the Order of Dawn quickly rode up beside Rynar, forming a protective circle around him.
Their red battle aura blazed like flames, and the Ring of Glory on Rynar's hand sparkled with a dazzling light.
"Form ranks! Wedge formation!" Rynar shouted.
The clattering of hooves beat rhythmically on the ground, and soon the knights formed a charging wedge, with Rynar and Reynard at the forefront.
Meanwhile, a group of infantrymen successfully climbed the hill.
From their vantage point, they could see a sea of Orcs flooding toward them in a frenzy—it seemed they too had been on a forced march.
The first to form ranks were the Dunwenian Swordsmen, planting their steel tower shields firmly in the ground and activating their Shield Wall ability.
Behind them, the Battanian Archers arrived, unlocking their quivers and setting them at their sides.
Vanervi and the elven rangers followed closely, with Vanervi retrieving all the arrows from the ring and piling them in the center.
The light infantry, the largest contingent, held wooden tower shields, forming two rows to defend the flanks, while others readied their bows.
The Zaltarion City Guards raised their shields to protect the rear, and soon a massive circular shield wall stood atop the hill.
...
"Lord, we've spotted human forces ahead!" a trembling Orc rushed to report.
"Hmph! So, our location has been compromised after all!" Onavir growled in anger.
He rode his warg to the front of the formation, causing the surrounding Orcs to tremble with fear. Ignoring their incompetence, Onavir focused on observing the human army blocking his path.
"Over a thousand troops? Which human lord sent this reinforcement?" Onavir mused, noting that the humans appeared well-equipped.
A misstep could cost him dearly, as he only commanded around 7,000 Orcs, which had been painstakingly gathered over time.
But Sauron's promise echoed in his mind, and all hesitation vanished.
"I smell fear!" Onavir roared, rallying his troops.
"Take their heads! Offer victory to me!" he pointed with his war hammer.
The ground began to shake. The sight of more than 7,000 Orcs charging was nothing short of apocalyptic.
Though they were the least equipped among the Orcs, sheer numbers made them a devastating force.
"Roar!" A dragon's angry cry pierced the sky, and Caslow, mounted on his dragon, Kalador, swooped down from the clouds.
As the Orcs charged, their archers had fallen behind the main force—nearly 2,000 of them.
Suddenly, fountains of blood shot into the sky as the densely packed archers became perfect targets for the sky knights.
"Roar!" A breath of wind-elemental blades spewed from the dragon's mouth.
After flying for a few seconds, the wind energy exploded, sending hundreds of small blades flying in every direction.
They pierced flesh, shredded steel, ripped through muscle, and destroyed weapons.
"Damn it! Sauron didn't mention they had a dragon!" Onavir bellowed in rage.
A massive green wind blade sliced past his head, and Onavir instinctively ducked to avoid decapitation. However, the banner behind him wasn't as lucky—it toppled to the ground.
"Bring me a bow!" Furious, Onavir had lost all reason as the dragon swooped just meters above his head.
Grasping a massive iron bow, he nocked an enchanted armor-piercing arrow and slowly drew the bowstring back...
Snap! A crisp sound echoed.
"Roar!"
Kalador, flying hundreds of meters above, spun out of control and plummeted toward the ground.
"This... is impossible!" Rynar gasped as he witnessed the scene.
In truth, Onavir had elven blood running through his veins, as his mother was an elf captured and enslaved long ago.
This made Onavir a unique half-elf. His appearance reflected this — unlike the other Orcs, with their grotesque features, his appearance was smoother, more human-like.
He was much more pleasing to the eye than typical Orcs.
His elven heritage granted him superior eyesight and archery skills, which, combined with the iron bow and enchanted arrows, enabled him to create the scene that unfolded.
"Roar!"
The dragon's furious cry echoed across the sky! Just before crashing, Kalador managed to adjust his posture and, despite excruciating pain, took to the skies again.
"Phew!" Rynar exhaled in relief. He thought he was about to witness the death of the dragon rider, but thanks to the thick dragon armor, the arrow hadn't reached a vital spot.
"Die, scum!" A voice in the draconic tongue echoed, and a massive green tornado enveloped the area where Onavir had just stood, throwing the Orcs into chaos!
"For the glory of the knights! Charge!" Rynar led the knights in a steady gallop, their hooves thundering even louder than the Orcs' wails.
Boom, boom, boom! The sound of hooves grew louder and louder, like rolling thunder.
"Glory!"
"Mercy!"
"Justice!"
"Loyalty!"
"Charity!"
"Protection!"
"Courage!"
"Humility!"
One by one, the knights unleashed the virtues of their order, their battle aura igniting both their armor and their steeds. A united force of 102 knights charged bravely toward the panicked Orcs.
"For our homeland!"
"For the people!"
"For Zaltarion!"
The knights' shouts filled the air, and the Orcs at the front felt the crushing weight of their impending doom. In terror, they froze in place, creating a tightly packed cluster of Orcs — a perfect target for the charging knights.
"The knight order!"
"Human knights!"
In utter disbelief, the Orcs watched as Rynar and the Order of Dawn slammed into their ranks.
"Kill!"
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