[150 powerstones Bonus Chapter]
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"Haah—!"
Ryan Eowenríel's roar thundered across the battlefield, cutting through the smoke and cries of men. All eyes turned toward him.
When the hillfolk saw the severed head of their great chieftain lifted high upon the Sword of Kings, terror washed over them.
Their madness shattered. The fire in their eyes turned to fear, then to confusion. Some dropped their weapons outright. Others fled in panic. The once-mighty host of seven thousand dissolved into chaos.
Across the field, cheers erupted from the ranks of men.
The banners of the House of Dulod, Idhrion's troops from the Valley, and the battered defenders of Minas-Elion Fortress—all raised their voices as one in triumph.
The tide of war turned in an instant.
Leaderless, the hillfolk were nothing but scattered sand before the storm.
Those who had fought defensively now surged forward, the hunted becoming the hunters. The cry of vengeance rolled across the field:
"Kill!"
Erken leapt atop a captured chariot, his axe a flash of red and silver. In full view of all, he cleaved through the hillfolk priest who had aided Sakaban, then with another mighty swing, chopped down their war-banner.
The last spark of resistance died.
The hillfolk broke completely—throwing down their arms, kneeling in surrender.
The war was over.
Ryan stood still amidst the wreckage, breathing deeply. The air stank of iron and ash. Yet for the first time, he felt… relief.
[Battle Summary]
Enemies slain: 50 hillfolk soldiers, 4 hillfolk chiefs, 1 mountain chieftain.
Experience gained: 240.
Current EXP: 304 / 300.
Level Up → Level 4.
Reward: Comprehensive enhancement of body and soul; Permanent Buff: "Oath of Loyalty."
A warm surge of power flooded his limbs—renewing strength, mending fatigue.
As the sun dipped below the hills, its red light poured over him, casting his tall figure in gold and crimson. For a moment, he seemed less a man than a figure carved of divine fire—holy, majestic, unshakable.
[Host: Ryan Eowenríel]
Level: 4
EXP: 4 / 400
Power: Legendary
(Ranks: Warrior – Elite – Epic – Legendary– Mythic – Exalted)
Buffs:
1.Born King – Innate gift. Possesses natural authority and command.
Personal Growth ×3 – All attributes improve three times faster.
Warrior Growth ×3 – Warriors sworn to you grow three times faster in strength and skill.
Desperate Valor – When your army suffers 50% casualties or more, morale and endurance rise greatly.
Oath of Loyalty – Any living being who swears fealty to you shall remain loyal eternally, unless you yourself break the bond.
….
When the victory cries faded, silence crept back over the land.
The field was carpeted with the dead—bodies of friend and foe alike lying tangled beneath the darkening sky. The scent of blood clung to the wind, and even the triumphant could not smile.
No one laughed. Not before the fallen.
For though victory was theirs, it had been paid for in the currency of lives—and that left its mark deeper than any wound.
Ryan walked slowly toward the western slope, where the banners of House Dulod still fluttered weakly. The men there were silent, grief heavy in their eyes.
Of the three hundred heavy cavalry who had charged under Grinwald's command, fewer than a hundred remained.
Of the five hundred infantry who had followed Torvin and Isabel, barely two hundred survived—and most bore wounds that would never fully heal.
When they saw Ryan approach, they stepped aside wordlessly, reverence mingling with sorrow. The aura that surrounded him—bathed in fading light—made him seem almost ethereal, like a being standing between the mortal and the divine.
"My lord Ryan," said Torvin softly, bowing low. "You should… see him. It may be the last time you can."
Ryan's chest tightened. Without a word, he nodded and walked through the ring of soldiers.
There, leaning against the fallen body of his warhorse, lay Grinwald Dulod. His armor was split and bloodied; his breath came shallow and thin. Beside him knelt Isabel, tears streaking her dust-stained face.
When Ryan drew near, the old lord forced a faint smile.
"I must be dying," he murmured weakly. "For I swear I see light around you, boy. Either you've become a saint… or I've gone blind."
Ryan knelt beside him, one knee in the blood-soaked earth.
"It's only the sun," he said softly. "The last of it. Tell me, my lord—what remains undone? I will finish it for you."
Grinwald's cracked lips quirked upward. "Undone?" He gave a ragged chuckle. "Too many things, lad… too many."
"I wanted to see your kingdom rise," he whispered. "To watch the northern lands prosper again. To witness your wedding to Isabel… but I fear I'll see none of it. I can feel my time slipping away."
Ryan's voice was steady, solemn.
"My kingdom has already begun, my lord. The hillfolk are broken; none shall bar our path again. The North will know peace, and Isabel and I shall keep your wishes."
The old man's hand trembled as he reached toward his son, Torvin. "Then… I can rest easy. My last wish is this—let my house serve him. Let House Dulod walk beside the king."
Ryan inclined his head. "So long as you and yours are true in heart, I swear upon my crown—House Dulod shall prosper as long as my realm endures."
A faint, proud light returned to the dying lord's eyes. He turned to his kin—Torvin, Isabel, and the survivors gathered close.
"Then kneel," he rasped. "Kneel before your king."
The Dulods bowed as one.
Their voices rose together—hoarse, but unwavering:
"Before our departing lord, we swear fealty to Ryan Eowenríel and his bloodline.
We pledge loyalty to his kingdom and obedience to his command.
Though honor be lost and bodies be broken, this oath shall stand until the bloodline ends—until the world's end itself."
Ryan rose, lifting Glamdring high. Its blade caught the fading light, gleaming like the first star of dusk.
"I hear your oath," he declared. "From this day forth, the House of Dulod shall stand as my Guardian House. Your loyalty shall be my strength; my glory shall shine upon you. Your service will be remembered and rewarded."
As his voice faded, Grinwald's eyes softened. A peaceful smile curved his lips.
"I have no regrets," he whispered. "My life… was a full one."
And with that, the great lord—defender of the North, steadfast father, faithful vassal—closed his eyes for the last time.
The warriors buried him where he fell, beside the body of his warhorse. Ryan himself carved the words upon the stone:
Grinwald Dulod — A great man who loved the North.
When dawn broke the next day over the lands of Eriador, the morning sun cast golden light across the newly raised mound.
And though none knew how or when, the grave was already covered in green grass—
and white flowers had bloomed upon it.
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