[Battle Summary]
Enemies slain: Orcs ×44, Trolls ×2, Wargs ×5
Experience gained: +64
Current EXP: 64 / 300
…
When dawn broke, the rising sun revealed a plain of death.
Beneath the walls of Minas-Elion, the corpses of Orcs and hillfolk lay heaped high as ramparts of their own making.
On the battlements above, two-thirds of the surviving defenders slept where they had fallen — sprawled upon the cold stones, their armor still spattered with dried blood. The rest stood watch, grim and silent, their eyes sunken with exhaustion but unyielding.
The air reeked of decay and iron. The stench of blood, long exposed to the chill air, hung thick and unmoving.
Within the council chamber, silence reigned. The surviving captains of the Dúnedain sat around the long table with Ryan at its head, their faces pale beneath the lantern light.
Alaina was the first to speak. "My lord, our situation is dire. The heavy infantry has lost a third of its number. The two archer battalions — more than half gone. Counting all fit men, we have fewer than five hundred soldiers who can still fight."
Ryan's voice was steady. "No word from the Vale?"
Arion shook his head. "None. To be frank, my lord, I almost hope they don't come. The enemy's numbers dwarf ours — Idhrion commands but five hundred recruits, trained for scarcely a month."
Erken sighed, his tone weary yet resolute. His armor was caked in dried blood, his eyes shadowed but unbroken. "Aye. They shouldn't come to die here. Someone must live to carry the flame forward."
At that, every gaze turned to Ryan.
One wounded captain rose stiffly, blood seeping through his bandages. "My lord," he said hoarsely, "you must go. Take with you the hope of the North — break through their lines while we hold them."
His eyes were calm, his tone that of a man who had already accepted death. "These past six months have been the proudest of my life. For the first time, I fought not as a wanderer, but for the birth of a kingdom. You gave us that dream. You must live — for all our sakes."
Another joined him, voice trembling. "If not for you, we'd still be scattered rangers — hunting and dying alone in the northern wilds. You gave our lives meaning, my lord. We cannot let you fall here."
All around, men who had once been mere wanderers now looked upon their lord with pleading eyes. They were not afraid to die. They only wished that Ryan Eowenríel — the one spark of the Dúnedain's rebirth — should survive.
A heavy, mournful silence filled the hall. Even Arion, ever cautious, stepped forward. "My lord — no, my king — you must go. Take our best men, ride west, and find the other Dúnedain. Tell them what has happened here. Rally the North. Let the seed of our hope take root and rise again."
Ryan closed his eyes, and for a long moment, he said nothing.
Escape? Break through?
Never.
He would not run. He would not leave his men to die while he fled into the night. He had never believed that this battle was lost.
When he opened his eyes again, they burned with a light so fierce that none could meet them.
He rose, tall and proud, his voice echoing through the chamber.
"Your loyalty has never been in doubt," he said quietly. "But you mistake your king if you think I would live as a coward."
"I will stand with you. Even if the next dawn never comes for us, we shall fight for hope — and die for it if we must."
"I am not hope itself. I am but its guide. The kingdom we build is not mine alone — it belongs to you, and to the fallen whose spirits still watch over us."
"I carry their faith not to flee from death, but to face it beside you. If I cannot do even that, I would be guilty beyond redemption."
His words struck them silent. One by one, the captains lowered their heads.
Of course. Their king was no man of half measures. How could the one who led them through storm and shadow abandon them now?
Ryan turned and left the chamber. Alaina followed swiftly after.
"My lord!" she called, stopping him as he mounted the steps to the wall.
He turned — and for a heartbeat, the exhaustion and grief in both their eyes mirrored one another.
"I know what you wish to say," Ryan murmured softly. "But keep it in your heart. None of us knows what comes next — I'd not have your thoughts burdened by words you might regret."
"No, Ryan," she whispered, her eyes fierce now. "You don't know."
Before he could reply, Alaina stepped forward and caught him in her arms — and then her lips were upon his.
For a moment, the world itself seemed to still.
The warrior who had never bent nor wept now stood trembling, speaking without words the devotion she had long hidden.
When at last she drew back, her voice was gentle. "You may be stubborn, my lord, but remember — I am fifty-four. To me, you will always be that boy who needed watching over."
And with that, she turned and walked away into the gray light of dawn, leaving Ryan standing alone, eyes lowered, his expression carved with resolve.
"Arion!"
A cough came from the corner. "Ahem — my lord," Arion stammered, stepping into view, clearly having witnessed more than he meant to.
Ryan ignored the embarrassment, his tone hardening. "Listen carefully. You will leave at once for the Vale. Deliver this message to Idhrion: I'm launching a decapitation strike — not covertly, but in the open, before all their eyes."
Arion blinked. "What…?"
Ryan continued, his words low and deliberate. "Idhrion and Elger know what's happening here. They've seen the battle, but they lack the strength to act. We'll give them that chance."
"I need them to strike the hillfolk's camp with everything they have — a full assault, even if it's suicide. While the enemy reels…" Ryan's eyes gleamed like tempered steel. "…I will lead our charge — and take Sakaban's head myself."
At first, he had thought only to endure — to hold Minas-Elion until Idhrion arrived.
But Alaina's words had pierced the fog from his heart.
If fate demanded a gamble, then let it be an all-or-nothing one.
Sakaban's strength lay in his vast army — so Ryan would strike where he least expected.
He would not wait for destiny to decide the end.
He would seize it — with fire, with steel, and with his own two hands.
- - - - -
T/N:
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