"We need to pick up the pace; that rascal Bolg is getting away too fast!" Rynar said, observing the scattered and chaotic footprints stretching towards the Lonely Mountain.
It seemed that the remaining orc forces were regrouping with the northern orcs outside the city of Erebor.
"This is going to be a tough battle! We don't have any forbidden spells left, and I mean everyone should gather their forces together."
Although Rynar felt that Thranduil was quite unreliable, defeating the orcs was still the priority.
If they let the woodland elves take the lead again, it might end up as another disastrous defeat at the Black Gate. After all, the oil-adding tactic was the most foolish strategy there was.
"I have no objections," Aranthor said, shaking his head.
"We prairie elves don't care; we only have this little manpower, so do as you please!" Vanervi shrugged. He knew Rynar wouldn't send him to his death for nothing, so he spoke with confidence.
"I… have no objections either." Elenthor pondered for a moment before ultimately agreeing with Rynar's proposal.
He understood that huddling together for warmth was the best approach.
Although the orcs were severely weakened, the northern orcs had hardly sustained any real losses and were still putting pressure on Erebor.
While they might not be able to break through the city's defenses, the panic and damage inflicted on Erebor were undeniable.
Facing the well-ordered orc army, even a single flaw could lead to a collapse of the entire coalition army.
A lion uses all its strength when catching a rabbit, but the coalition was not lions, and the orcs were certainly not rabbits.
"Stop advancing! Form up!" Thranduil commanded, turning around.
Under the arrangements of several lords, the entire coalition's formation was restructured.
At the forefront were 600 Rapid Infantry wielding tower shields, followed by nearly 2,000 star elves and woodland elven rangers arranged in formation.
Behind the rangers were 2,000 elven archers, while the soldiers from Loshanier City were positioned to the right of the archers.
Reynard led the Radiant Knights, heavy cavalry, and Battanian archers, maneuvering on the left flank, as Rynar decisively allocated mobile forces to the left, knowing that something might emerge from the dark forest.
"Pick up the pace! We can't wait for the orcs to regroup; we must eliminate them while they're still unprepared!" Elenthor urged. He certainly didn't want his kin to sacrifice themselves for the orcs' gain!
"Long Lake!"
The crowd gasped, pointing at the frozen surface of the lake before them.
The broad lake had been frozen solid by the cold, shining under the sunlight like a silver mirror embedded in the earth, magnificent and sacred.
"The orcs have crossed the lake!" Lance crouched down and touched the small patches of black in the snow, which were the blood of injured orcs. The frigid wind froze the blood the moment it hit the ground.
"The ice is thick enough to support the weight of the knights!" Radir closed his eyes, magic surging out from him, sweeping in all directions. With his powerful mental strength probing the area, he clearly envisioned the half-meter-thick ice layer in his mind.
"Cross the lake! Chase down the orcs!" Rynar said, trusting Radir and leading the cavalry onto the ice first.
"By the Goddess of Nature! Please let this ice hold together…" Vanervi was sweating bullets, surprisingly showing fear of deep water.
"Let's go! Stop dawdling!" Fengye said with exasperation. A dignified sixth-tier hunter was afraid of this? Even a third-tier knight like himself was braver than that.
"Quickly through!" Elenthor said blandly.
"Cross the lake!" Thranduil said coldly, his anger rising. All he wanted was to slaughter a group of orcs to vent his frustration.
Having been played by the orcs and embarrassed throughout the northern lands, the proud elf king was furious. Only the blood of his enemies could wash away his shame.
"My lord!" The sound of flapping wings filled the air as Caslow descended on a four-legged dragon.
Kaldor's claws dug into the ice, leaving a few meters of deep scratches before stopping right in front of Rynar.
"Bolg has headed straight for the Lonely Mountain! Erebor is now surrounded! The dwarves and humans are fighting desperately on the walls!
The orcs have set up a large camp at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, and the situation is unfavorable for us!" Caslow quickly reported his reconnaissance findings.
"How many orcs are there?" Rynar asked, the most critical question.
"About twenty thousand. It seems Thorin and Bard didn't manage to inflict significant damage on them!" Caslow replied after some thought.
"How is that possible?" Rynar and the others were taken aback, even Thranduil wore an incredulous expression.
Although the elves and dwarves were not on good terms, the dwarves' combat prowess was something even elves acknowledged, as the fearsome dwarven berserkers had left an indelible mark on history in the First and Second Ages.
"There are just too many orc archers! At least 5,000! The dwarves and humans from the valley are being suppressed by their rain of arrows!" Caslow explained.
"…" The crowd looked shocked, never before had they heard of the attacking long-range fire suppressing the defenders' fire.
"Smack!" Rynar slapped his forehead, realizing the situation. Damn it, there are hardly any proper archers among the dwarves!
The existence of Kirin was like a joke among the dwarves; after all, the dwarves were fiercely devoted to close combat.
After spending half a day crossing Long Lake, the coalition finally saw the ruins of Long Lake Town in the middle of the lake.
Rynar could clearly sense the despair written on the faces of the Zaltarion soldiers, the sadness glistening in their eyes… In their memories, this place had once been the jewel of the northern empire!
"One day, I will return and rebuild this place!" Rynar thought to himself as he scanned the somber faces around him.
Finally, when the warhorses crossed Long Lake and stepped onto solid ground, Rynar felt the reassuring solidity beneath his feet, a wave of relief washing over him.
Although he knew the ice was strong, he still felt a bit uneasy walking on it.
After all, there were countless magical beasts lurking in Middle-earth… Water was not a battlefield where knights excelled.
...
"Erebor…" Thranduil gazed at the Lonely Mountain, piercing the clouds, murmuring softly.
This was his third time here; who could have imagined that the one who once refused to help the dwarves would now willingly come to their rescue?
Fate! Truly remarkable!
The Lonely Mountain was now in sight, and the orcs were at the gates of the city. The battle that would decide the fate of the north would unfold today.
The orcs also discovered this army that did not seem friendly.
This coalition of humans and elves had recently annihilated a large orc force, and the fleeing orcs had spread tales of their terror and power here.
Bolg stood quietly on a hill overlooking the coalition, noticing that the terrifying dragon knight had not appeared.
Only the dragon riders were flying in the sky. This discovery eased Bolg's heart considerably. If that dragon knight were here, he would have turned tail and fled without hesitation.
But now, there was hope to annihilate the enemy before him and avenge his father. After all, twenty thousand against five thousand! T
he advantage was mine! Bolg thought to himself, while the orc army that had been attacking Erebor was slowly retreating.
"Warriors! We are about to face the most arduous battle! We will confront tens of thousands of savage orcs!
They are strong and well-equipped! And we lack the protection of walls and the assistance of dragon knights!
All we have are the weapons in our hands and our trusted comrades! But I firmly believe we can defeat them!
I believe that darkness will eventually dissipate when dawn arrives! I believe you are the brightest light in this dark age!
For our homeland! For our people! For our future! Coalition troops! Raise your weapons and crush them!"
Rynar raised his Dragon Slayer sword, standing at the front, shouting passionately. His rousing speech instantly boosted the morale of the coalition!
"Kill!" Rynar swung his sword and roared.
"Kill!" The coalition roared in unison.
"Kill!" Rynar's voice rose again.
"Kill!" The coalition's roar shot up to the sky.
"Kill!" The heart-wrenching battle cry echoed from Rynar's mouth.
He then spurred his horse forward, and countless shadows peeled away from him, transforming into one after another of his clones! Charging forth like a warrior against a thousand foes!
Engage!
"Kill!" The coalition followed in Rynar's footsteps, charging towards the distant orcs.
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