The Lord of the Rings: Lords of Middle-earth.

Chapter 221 Old Lin's Travels

“Alright, we’ve arrived at the starting point of our journey—Old Forest Road!” Roland said to Balin.

"Hopefully, the journey ahead will be smooth..." Bahrain muttered, his beard twitching slightly.

“There are quite a few magical beasts here! Our scouts have spotted wyverns here before! Perhaps some wyverns have made this place their home,” Omske said solemnly.

“There is indeed the aura of a dragon here, it should be a lower-level wyvern! If my initial investigation was correct, there should be an ice-attribute wyvern here!” Caslo replied.

“Oh! Turin! I never want to face dragons again in my life! Sorry, Knight Caslo, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Balin shrugged, his snow-white beard trembling.

“It’s alright, Your Highness. Does Your Highness need me to have Kaldor unleash his dragon might to intimidate this dragon?” Caslo turned to look at Roland.

The dragon race is a strictly hierarchical group. The aura of higher-ranking dragons has an absolute deterrent effect on lower-ranking dragons. Dragons that can truly fight beyond their rank are extremely rare, since the suppression in their bloodline is enough to cripple most of the strength of lower-ranking dragons.

"No need, let's not risk attracting all sorts of weird things if we don't manage to intimidate them in the end." Roland sighed, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't just saying that lightly; what if they got "too lucky" and attracted a Behemoth...yes, the kind that can tear dragons apart with its bare hands, the totem of orcs. Heaven knows what kind of monsters lurked in this dark forest that's connected to the Misty Mountains.

“Alright.” Caslo nodded in agreement. As a Dragon Knight, he had also come to know about this natural enemy of dragons—the Behemoths—through the memories inherited from his own dragon! Although they had lost their powerful magical abilities, the Behemoths had evolved a formidable physique that could drive most dragons to despair. Even the most ordinary Behemoth could rival the monsters of the Holy Dragon race in hand-to-hand combat. As for the noblest Golden Behemoth… I hope you don’t encounter it at close range… After all, quite a few dragons have been torn apart by Behemoths.

"However, we still need to be careful and stay vigilant to prevent any unclean things from getting close," Roland said solemnly.

“Indeed, there are undead here!” Balin also fell silent. The undead were definitely a heavy topic. If they were given the opportunity to create an undead calamity, even the most powerful kingdom would pay a heavy price.

“A small number of wandering undead are nothing to fear, but I’m afraid of necromancers!” Omske gripped his spear tightly. The Light Knights had a natural advantage in fighting these creatures, but dealing with cunning necromancers would be a headache for a long time.

"I hope for a safe journey. I just want the battle to take place in Qazadoom. Fighting here is too oppressive." Balin twitched his beard and carefully slung the steel battle axe over his shoulder.

“Indeed, the terrain here is not conducive to our battle... This is the battlefield of the rangers!” Roland looked around and nodded.

“This place is dilapidated again. We can’t find the way we came here.” Caslo shook his head in disappointment. When they first came here, they had cleared a path that was wide enough to pass through. Now, weeds and bushes have covered up all traces of the past.

“It’s normal, isn’t it? Time can erase all traces… just like our glory!” Bahrain murmured helplessly, a tear welling in his eye.

"So cheer up, this is your best chance to reclaim your glory!" Roland patted Balin's broad shoulder reassuringly. As it turned out, they did indeed reclaim their glory, only... they couldn't protect it. Although King Balin of Moria's reign was short, it was enough to leave a significant mark on the history of the dwarves. ...

"Shield Wall!" With a sharp shout, the Lagrange Royal Guards slammed their heavy shields into the ground. The tightly connected shields were linked together by battle aura, and in an instant, a towering shield wall rose up, blocking out the troops behind them.

"What elite warriors! They are as well-trained as the Iron Guard!" Balin exclaimed. Indeed, the Lagrange Royal Guard lived up to his praise. Their elite status surpassed even the most demanding dwarven infantry. The only ones who could be compared to them were probably the Iron Guard of the dwarves. However, with the fall of the Lonely Mountain Kingdom, the last Iron Guard disappeared in the flames of Smaug... For countless years afterward, the dwarves never saw any infantry that could compare to the Iron Guard.

"What's going on!" Roland asked, dismounting from his horse. The sudden rise of the shield wall made him inexplicably uneasy.

“I don’t know. Our forwards have sent a dangerous signal. The Lordaeron Rangers have already set off. They will bring us firsthand information, whether it’s good or bad!” Omske stared ahead, supporting his shield.

"Hopefully nothing unexpected will happen. We can't be stuck here; it's too unsafe. We're surrounded by orcs, monsters, and all sorts of dangers!" Roland said solemnly.

"Please be patient, Your Highness, news will arrive soon," Caslo reassured him, his lips already close to the dragon flute in his hand. No matter what happened, he would protect Roland's safety immediately. As for the rest... Caslo believed that Omske, as a sixth-tier hero, could take good care of them.

"What happened?" Roland couldn't help but ask when he saw the black and red bloodstains on the returning Lordaeron ranger.

All eyes were on these rangers, eager to know what lay hidden in the unseen jungle, for for humans, all fear stemmed from the unknown.

"It's a troll! Yes, that kind of troll!" the ranger captain said, catching his breath.

"Trolls? Those things haven't gone extinct yet?" Caslo exclaimed in surprise. After all, trolls and orcs weren't exactly on the same side. Trolls were allies with the true orcs, while orcs and trolls were enemies. The fact that trolls existed in the Dark Forest, where orcs roamed freely, was truly astonishing.

"That's right! We can't be mistaken. Those javelin throws were terrifyingly accurate! If our inner armor hadn't been so thick, at least a few of our brothers would have been killed." The ranger captain said with lingering fear. He was still scared. Fighting the troll throwers in the jungle was second only to fighting the elven rangers in terms of how bad it was.

"How many of them are there? What's the situation?" Omske asked calmly.

“Twelve trolls! A standard troll hunting squad! Although we wiped them out, we can predict there will be more! There is at least one troll tribe here! We just don’t know how big they are!” the ranger captain analyzed. Trolls usually travel in groups, and a twelve-man hunting squad is the most basic combat unit of a troll tribe. Usually, twelve troll throwers are enough to bring a devastating blow to an equal number of enemies.

"We can't stay here any longer. We need to get through this area quickly. Everyone, please bear with us for today. We can't stop for the night to rest!" Omske frowned. The appearance of a standard troll hunting team was like a sword hanging over their heads, making it impossible for anyone to sleep peacefully. Compared to the troll javelins, what was even more terrifying was the trolls' specialty: night raids.

(End of this chapter)