Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Your Majesty, we've got a big one!" Omsk galloped forward on horseback.

"A sixth-tier enemy?" Rynar asked in surprise.

"Likely a Ringwraith! Even from afar, I can smell that sickening stench of decay!" Omsk shrugged casually.

"Perfect. Let's lead them on a wild chase. The rest is up to the Star Elves—we've done all we can," Rynar replied nonchalantly.

"Pick up the pace! Don't let the Orcs catch up!" Rynar instructed the soldiers around him. "Omsk, you and the Knights stay behind to cover our retreat."

"Understood, Your Majesty!" Omsk thumped his chest with a fist and slowed his horse, positioning the knight squad far enough behind the main group to defend against any pursuers.

"Sir Vanervi, stay alert. I don't think a Ringwraith will be that easy to handle," Rynar said cautiously. 

After all, as a third-tier Holy Paladin, facing a sixth-tier Black Knight would be like paper against fire—he had no chance of holding his own.

"King Rynar, I think you need to recruit some assassins. Your reconnaissance capability is severely lacking," Vanervi commented with a sigh. 

Rynar's cavalry and infantry were competent, but his lack of scouts was a glaring weakness. 

In the past, the Lordaeron Rangers had filled this gap, but since Lance took the Rangers with him, all Rynar had left were the elite Elaris Woods Rangers. 

However, using the Elaris Woods Rangers for mere scouting was akin to using a priceless artifact as a doorstop—their long-range volley attacks were their bread and butter.

"Tsk!" Vanervi furrowed his brow.

"What is it?" Rynar asked, feeling a foreboding chill.

"Move quickly!" Vanervi growled at Rynar before leaping away into the shadows.

"What the—are they catching up?!" Rynar felt panic rising. He snapped his whip, urging his horse faster.

"Protect His Highness!" The battle-hardened Royal Guards yanked Rynar off his horse—remaining mounted at this moment would make him an easy target.

The guards quickly formed a solid circular shield wall, layering shields upon shields. These seasoned warriors knew that a slow and steady advance was safer than a rash retreat. 

To maintain the shield wall's stability, they had embedded their spears diagonally into the shields while gripping them firmly, their eyes scanning the surroundings with utmost vigilance. 

The group's offensive capabilities were entrusted entirely to the Elaris Woods Rangers, who had put away their dragon-slaying longbows and drawn their thick Rune Blades, standing ready for close combat.

"Blazing Arc Slash!" 

Vanervi stomped hard, launching himself into the air. His blade, Manikarti, unleashed an arc of searing flames toward a dark grove.

Clang! Sparks flew as the strike was blocked, unable to penetrate further.

"A Ringwraith!" Vanervi narrowed his eyes.

"An Elven King?" From the shadows emerged a Black Knight clad in dark armor, astride a fiery nightmare steed. 

He stood there yet seemed strangely unreal, as though part of him did not fully exist.

"Soul Hook? You're Death's Breath—Sennar, the third Ringwraith?" Vanervi exclaimed, his gaze fixed on the ominous hook and massive greatsword strapped to Sennar's back.

"Well, well, someone with a bit of knowledge! You must've been in the Last Alliance War. I wonder if we crossed blades back then." 

Sennar casually adjusted the chains on his hook, his deep-set eyes glinting with amusement. 

That battle had been both a victory and a loss for the Alliance—they defeated Sauron but failed to eradicate his influence completely, allowing him and the Nine to escape.

"Half-dead filth like you aren't even worthy!" Vanervi spat, mocking him.

"Oh? A Wild Elf? No wonder—you lot are hardly worth mentioning." Sennar's gaze shifted, and then he burst out laughing. 

He'd noticed the totem of the Prairie Elves on Vanervi's armor. Due to their nomadic lifestyle, Orcs often referred to them disdainfully as Wild Elves.

"You're courting death!" Vanervi's eyes blazed with fury as his sword descended in a flurry of strikes, each imbued with glowing energy.

"Struck a nerve, did I? Not bad. You even brought out the Flame Holy Sword? Impressive for a Wild Elf. 

Aren't you the only Elven King left among them? Strange, though—how does a wandering tribe sustain a king? 

You must be the last, which means killing you equals their extinction, doesn't it?" Sennar taunted, feigning surprise.

"Moonlit Hunt!" Smiling coldly in anger, Vanervi hurled a fiery crescent slash at Sennar.

Shing! The blazing crescent shot toward Sennar at lightning speed. Even as he dodged, it grazed his left pauldron, releasing wisps of dark smoke into the air.

"Careless of me! No matter, playtime's over. Time for you to die. I'll make a fine undead soldier out of you!" Sennar said, his tone suddenly serious.

"Death's Domain!" Sennar spread his left hand wide, unleashing a gray-black aura that rippled outwards. 

The sinister aura, fueled by his corrupt battle energy, withered grass and cracked the earth wherever it spread, leaving a hundred-meter radius devoid of life.

"Damn it!" Vanervi leaped back repeatedly, putting distance between himself and the chilling domain. The fiery crescent slash he'd released earlier had already been consumed by the Death's Domain.

"What's the matter? Stumped? Isn't it frustrating? Life Drain! Hahaha! This was made to annihilate elves like you!" Sennar cackled. His ability to siphon life energy was devastating against the elves, natural children of vitality. It rendered them utterly helpless.

"We're no match…" Vanervi's heart filled with despair. Elven abilities were tied intrinsically to life energy, and Sennar's domain negated that entirely. 

Fighting him meant either enduring the life-sapping domain in close combat—a near-impossible feat—or using ranged attacks, which Sennar's agility made difficult to land. Only large-scale spells or forbidden curses could truly threaten him.

"What's wrong? Done already? If you're not attacking, I will!" Sennar sneered, brandishing his infamous Soul Hook. 

This legendary weapon could cut through both flesh and soul, absorbing the spirits it destroyed to unleash piercing wails that disoriented enemies.

"Soul Reap!" 

Sennar flung the hook, which vanished mid-air. Alarms rang in Vanervi's mind as he threw himself to the ground in an ungraceful roll, narrowly avoiding the hook. 

Yet the edges of the attack still nicked him, leaving small wounds that burned with dark energy.

"Wind Dash!" 

Vanervi stepped onto a gust of wind, soaring into the sky to flee. There was no way to win—Sennar countered him too perfectly. Fighting any longer would be suicide.

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