Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"By order of His Majesty! All able-bodied citizens, excluding the elderly, the sick, the pregnant, and the infirm, are to gather north of the city!" 

Marcus, the city defense officer, bellowed with hands on his hips. His voice, amplified by a special battle technique, reverberated instantly through the compact streets of Riverguard.

"What the—River Lion's Roar?" Rynar staggered slightly as the visible soundwave rippled past him, his face showing shock. 

This defies all logic! If Marcus shouted directly in front of him, wouldn't he be blown away? 

Then again, Rynar quickly reminded himself that Middle-earth was never a place of logic. 

Gunpowder might seem powerful, sure—but here, a fire mage could sense and manipulate fire elements within ten kilometers. 

Just one stray element could trigger an explosion, and that was only basic-level magic.

Although their effective attack range was a few hundred meters, their mental strength allowed them to influence elements over vast distances. 

No wonder Rynar never wanted to climb the modern tech tree after arriving in this world.

Even if you started with nukes, Middle-earth's professionals had countless ways to neutralize them. 

Tossing them into a dimensional rift was just one possibility. Sixth-tier professionals, regardless of class, could probably battle unscathed in the middle of a nuclear detonation. 

To them, it was just a slightly flashier firework.

"Heh, it's just a specialized use of the battle technique War Cry," Caslow chuckled. 

"With a deep enough understanding of the skill, you can control the intensity and sequence of battle energy release to achieve effects like this."

As Marcus's command echoed, Riverguard erupted into a buzz of activity. Countless residents poured out of their homes, young men and women quickly filling the streets.

"Maintain order!" Rynar's pupils contracted as he watched the growing crowd. 

The chaotic scene brought back horrifying memories of stampede accidents. If something goes wrong here, it'll be an irreparable disaster.

"Understood, my lord!" Caslow's face turned serious. 

Even knights couldn't easily handle a surging crowd. Unless they reached an extraordinary level of strength, they were just as vulnerable to being trampled.

"Line up properly!" "Stop pushing!" "Anyone shoving others recklessly—behead them!" Caslow roared sternly at the chaotic crowd.

"Stand down!" A few knights raised their sheathed swords and swung them over the heads of the crowd. 

The sight of the long blades cutting through the air brought immediate compliance. With precise control of their strength, the knights managed to clear sections of the pressing throng.

"Silence!" Caslow unsheathed his sword with a resonant clang. The sound alone commanded instant quiet from the masses.

"Now proceed out of the city in an orderly fashion! You are citizens of Zaltarion, not barbaric orcs who gnaw on raw flesh!" Caslow declared furiously.

Sure enough, under the knights' and soldiers' supervision, the citizens of Zaltarion began forming proper lines. Although the queues weren't perfectly neat, they were far better than the chaotic scene moments earlier.

"Are the tools ready?" Rynar asked gravely, turning to Lance. Running out of farming equipment at this moment would be a monumental embarrassment.

"Not a problem, King Rynar! Leave it to us! You are a dear friend to the dwarves, and we never let our friends down!" 

Before Lance could respond, a short figure stepped forward from behind him.

"Kili?" Rynar exclaimed in surprise. He hadn't expected the leader escorting the farming tools to be none other than Thorin's nephew, Kili! Clearly, the Oakenshield held him in high regard.

"Ah, King Rynar! It brings me joy to see you well. My uncle constantly speaks of you. It seems you're doing alright," Kili said warmly, flashing a genuine and friendly smile as he approached Rynar.

"Surviving, barely. We're facing a food shortage and need to reclaim a lot of wasteland," Rynar sighed.

"Time is tight," Kili frowned, mentally calculating the amount of land Riverguard's thousands of residents would need to cultivate. It was a daunting task, to say the least.

"Still, I must thank you again. Without your help, this year would've been impossible for us!" Rynar let out another sigh.

If he'd learned one thing, it was that while the system had decent odds for summoning troops, its food distribution odds were abysmal. Relying on the system to feed his army? 

Not a chance. It was clearly a system focused on destruction, not logistics. After all these summons, Rynar had rarely received substantial food supplies.

"How about the plows? Are they ready?" Rynar asked eagerly, clearly fixated on the legendary curved-beam plow and its supposed efficiency.

"They're ready!" A soldier gestured toward the wagons loaded with the farming tools. The curved frames of the plows were clearly visible.

"And the oxen? Where are my oxen?" Rynar's gaze swept across the area, but he saw no sign of the fifty draft oxen. 

His heart sank—without them, he'd have no choice but to sacrifice warhorses for plowing.

"Dylan! Get out here! Where are my oxen?!" Rynar's voice thundered as he stormed through the area, searching for the alchemist he'd entrusted with the animals. His fury suggested he was ready to dig up Dylan's ancestors if necessary.

"Your Majesty... what's wrong?" A bleary-eyed Dylan emerged, clearly having stayed up late experimenting with alchemy again.

"My oxen! My oxen are gone!" Rynar's face turned red with anger as he grabbed Dylan by the collar and shook him violently.

"Where are they? How do you expect me to plow the fields without them? Do you want me to hitch you to the plow instead?!" Rynar ranted like a madman, his dignity as a king momentarily forgotten.

"Your Majesty, calm down—" Dylan began to explain, only to be cut off as Rynar continued to rage, violently spinning him around.

"Where are the oxen? The fifty oxen tied near the city gate last night? Where did they go?!" Dylan was almost dizzy from the shaking, unable to get a word in.

With a sudden flash of light, Dylan teleported several meters away, clutching his stomach and gagging. The spinning had been worse than being hit by an earth-element forbidden spell.

"You dare run?!" Rynar's frustration peaked. His divine battle aura flared, and he nearly activated a Charge skill in his fury.

"Stop, Your Majesty!" Dylan's face turned pale. He raised his hands defensively. 

"The oxen are fine! I sent the light infantry to escort them to the fields early this morning. They're also clearing wild beasts from the area. I didn't want to disturb you since you seemed busy."

Rynar froze, his rage dissipating as embarrassment crept over him. Busy? Right... I was "busy" playing games with certain ladies in my dream.

"Ahem... my apologies, Dylan. I may have overreacted. You're not hurt, are you?" Rynar asked sheepishly, dusting Dylan off.

"It's a misunderstanding, Your Majesty. No harm done," Dylan said, still a little shaken. He'd just realized how frighteningly strong his king was.

"Well then! Let's get to work. We still need to distribute the tools to the citizens!" Rynar quickly changed the subject, eager to move past the awkward moment.

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