"The enemy has wolf riders! We need a breastwork!" Rynar suddenly commanded. He had once fought life-and-death battles against wolf riders at the Lonely Mountain, and he knew that they did not rely on brute force to break through enemy formations. Instead, they used their exceptional agility and mobility to engage in guerrilla warfare.
"The wolf riders are too fast! We don't have a cavalry unit! We can't clash head-on with them. The bad news is that the dense woodland favors their mounts!" Rynar warned Balin.
"Sharpen logs and stand them upright within the camp! The more, the better. These stakes will prevent the wolf riders from freely leaping over our defenses," Balin quickly suggested. Dwarves had dealt with orcs for generations and knew exactly how to counter their old foes.
"Understood! I'll order the soldiers immediately!" Rynar nodded.
"This is bad. We are not afraid of the orc infantry—our thousand men in iron armor are more than enough to handle them—but wolf riders, now that's a problem!" Omsk frowned as he approached.
"If it comes to it, you'll have to hold them off!" Rynar gritted his teeth. He wasn't about to play fair this time. A sixth-tier hero was more than capable of keeping a pack of wolf riders at bay.
"But your safety... We cannot rule out the presence of Ringwraiths!" Omsk said urgently.
"Caslow will handle everything here! The wolf riders are yours to deal with!" Rynar commanded firmly.
"Then stay safe!" Omsk saluted before turning away.
"Your Highness, this is dangerous!" Caslow said with concern.
"If no one stops those vermin, my soldiers will be in greater danger! They may not be able to withstand a charge from human heavy cavalry, but to infantry, they are still cavalry! Their javelins are deadly!" Rynar grabbed Caslow's shoulder, speaking each word with firm determination.
Orcs had their own metallurgy, and their javelins were nothing like the brutish, unwieldy spears of trolls. Their attacks were not just for show—they carried real lethality. Moreover, wolf riders were excellent archers, and their horned bows were not to be underestimated!
"Move! Dig more pit traps! Make the stakes denser over there!" Rynar urgently commanded.
"They're coming for me!" Rynar's sharp gaze pierced through the dense forest toward the north.
"Come then! Let them witness the wrath of the Zaltarion people!" He fastened his visor, drew the Dragon-Slaying Sword, and raised his shield, stepping to the front line.
"My people! My brothers! My warriors! Open your eyes wide! Night is about to fall! The orcs are approaching! They come for me! Their target is our king's banner! They seek my head beneath it! Let us show them with our blades that we are still the army of Zaltarion, marching against the tide from the foot of the Lonely Mountain! We are still the Northern Light! For humanity—fight!" Rynar roared at the top of his lungs.
"For the King! Fight!"
"For you, we fight!"
"Long live Zaltarion!"
All the Zaltarion soldiers bellowed. No one would let harm come to their king before their own bodies fell in his defense!
"Royal Guards! We are born by the name of the Crown! We shall die by the name of the Crown! If they wish to tear down the banner we protect, let them first step over our corpses! By the name of the Crown—fight!" The Royal Guards growled in low voices. These elite Zaltarion infantrymen had never felt such burning rage before. Did the enemy truly think they could defile their king's banner? In their dreams! The Zaltarion Royal Guards would teach them humility with blood and fire!
"Rangers! Advance and scout ahead! Do not engage!" Rynar ordered.
…
"Shhhhhh~" A gentle breeze rustled the treetops, producing a whispering sound. At that moment, atop an unnamed hill in the Misty Mountains, humans and dwarves crouched behind makeshift fortifications, waiting for the enemy hidden in the night.
"Awooooo~" On a distant mountain peak, a towering figure stood on a cliff, raising its head in a long, resonant howl that echoed through the mountains.
"Awooo!"
"Awooo—oo!"
One after another, silhouettes emerged under the moonlight, scrutinizing the coalition's encampment from another peak.
"They're calling their kin!" Balin spat, tightening his grip on his axe.
"The Wolf Riders' Howl at the Moon… Looks like there's a lot of them," Rynar muttered with concern. "Omsk, can you hold them back?"
"Don't worry, Your Highness! They won't get through!" Omsk assured him with a nod.
"All rangers, follow me! You handle ranged attacks on the wolf riders—I'll stop them head-on!" Omsk said grimly.
"Understood!" Figures clutching longbows vaulted over the breastwork and disappeared into the shadows.
…
"Human scent?" A wolf rider scout suddenly halted, raising a clenched fist. The riders behind him immediately slowed their mounts.
"What is it?" Another rider, controlling his warg, moved beside him.
"I smell humans. It's dangerous," the scout warned.
"The humans are still on that hill! They're far from here!" one of the other wolf riders scoffed.
"Be cautious! These humans are no fools! They defeated Azog and Bolg's armies! At the Lonely Mountain, they pushed against our forces with terrifying ferocity! I will never forget the banner bearing the golden dragon!" The wolf rider captain touched the deep scar on his forehead, his voice icy cold.
"Spread out! Check for any ambushes nearby!" The captain was clearly experienced. Immediately, all the wargs lowered their bodies, treading lightly…
"They're quite cautious?" Omsk chuckled softly, shaking his head. In his perception, these ordinary wolf riders stood out like beacons in the dark.
"Commander, what should we do? Do we take them out?" Several ranger captains grinned, their bloodlust evident.
"No, no, no! That would alert them! We move in quietly and eliminate them before they can send a warning!" Omsk's eyes gleamed coldly. Although orc spellcasters were usually lackluster, they could still conjure simple signal flares. He had no doubt that each of these wolf rider scouts carried a few. If even one of them managed to send out a signal, the entire orc army would realize there was an ambush. If that happened, the wolf rider horde might avoid this area entirely, forcing them to deal with an endless wave of orc infantry instead.
"They have too many men! Seven squads, five per squad! Let them come closer! Remember, no skills! We take them out swiftly and silently—no one must know we're here!" Omsk instructed in a hushed voice.
From a higher perspective, one could see that a hundred Lothlórien rangers, led by Omsk, were silently closing in on the scattered wolf rider scouts.
Under the moon's silvery glow, unseen from below, gleaming curved blades and taut bowstrings were aimed at the unsuspecting wolf riders.
Like a specter, Omsk melded into the darkness. With a slight push off the ground, he leaped behind the last wolf rider. His sharp longsword gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
"Schk!" With a swift lunge, Omsk slit the wolf rider's throat before cleanly decapitating the warg.