Everything unfolded just as it had in the original history. Under Thranduil's leadership, the Elves prepared to clash with the Dwarves of the Iron Hills...
"Boom!" The distant foothills trembled, and several grotesque maws burrowed out of the ground.
"They have forgotten the giant earth-wyrms." Azog said with a savage expression.
A mass of black Orcs surged out from underground. They ran at high speed, arm shields raised before them, weapons clenched in their other hands as they howled and charged toward the Elves, Dwarves, and Men.
"The devils are coming for us!" Dain Ironfoot roared, yanking the reins and turning his boar mount around.
"Battle! Battle! Descendants of Durin!" Dáin roared.
The Dwarves, who had been preparing to fight the Elven army to the death, all turned around and sprinted forward on their short legs. Amid the thudding crash of shields, a broad Shield Wall blocked the Orcs' path. Roland had been wrong about this—the Dwarves numbered a full 1,500, with over 500 Professional Soldiers among them. They were truly Dwarven elites.
"Why... why aren't the Elves fighting?" Bilbo looked up at Gandalf as he watched the unmoving Elves.
"Thranduil! You cannot do this!" Gandalf shouted at Thranduil.
Thranduil hesitated and looked back at the Dwarves standing in formation...
"Pick up the pace! We need to reach the battlefield!" Roland said gravely. He needed to see the situation for himself before deciding whether to jump into this bottomless pit. He might not have been an especially qualified lord, but he was certainly a man with a conscience. He knew how to care for his subordinates; there was no need to make meaningless sacrifices for a battle they could not win.
"We need to circle around to the left side of the battlefield!" Roland directed everyone. They could not simply appear behind the Orc army. If the Orcs turned around and struck them once, Roland figured they would have to flee immediately. Right now, he was like a man walking a tightrope over a bottomless abyss; one wrong step could doom them beyond recovery. Having a system did not mean he had the capital to squander! Without a complete logistical system or reserve Recruitment Pool, Roland was like duckweed without roots. Any defeat would be a disaster...
As for why they had to go around the left side, he had already said it—trying to stab the enemy in the back with Roland's current strength would do nothing but send men to their deaths. On the right lay Ravenhill, where Azog commanded, as well as the possibility of Orc reinforcements from the Fortress of Gundabad joining the battle at any moment. If they really ran over there, things would become interesting... Just imagine being caught between at least twenty thousand Orcs... Even Dragon Knights could be buried alive by sheer numbers. After all, the Orcs had Professional Soldiers too: their powerful Warriors and curse-wielding Shamans were both serious problems before Roland.
"Ah-ho-ho-ao!" The Orcs roared as they slammed into the Dwarves' Shield Wall.
Suddenly, the Orcs at the very front squinted against the sunlight. But it was not sunlight... it was the flashing blade light unleashed by the Elf Rangers.
Ranger class ranks: Apprentice Ranger, Ranger, Intermediate Ranger, Advanced Ranger, Eagle-eyed Ranger, and the highest title, The Huntsman.
It had to be said that Thranduil had truly invested heavily this time. He had thrown nearly a thousand Ranger-class Elves into the fight. The curved blades of the Elf Rangers danced through the air, their Battle Qi shimmering in countless colors. Like hot knives through butter, they sliced through Orc armor, muscle, blood vessels, and bone...
The Orcs were stunned by the sudden assault. They wildly swung their weapons to block as several vine whips emerged from thin air.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!" After the sharp lash of the whips, every Orc nearby was left dripping with blood. Some even had their heads whipped clean off. This was the skill unleashed by several Advanced Rangers—Whip of the Jungle: Summon a cluster of vines to continuously lash enemies.
"Kill! For Durin's glory!" With reinforcements arriving, the Dwarves no longer cowered behind their shields. They lowered them, raised their weapons, and charged straight into the oncoming Orcs.
"Heavy Slash!" The Dwarves' warrior-class Professional Soldiers activated their skill. Sharp Dwarven battle axes, wrapped in Battle Qi, came crashing down from above, while surging blades of qi cleaved through swathes of Orcs.
"Fire!" The Elf Archers arrayed behind them drew their bows. A full three thousand Elf Archers freely unleashed arrows enhanced by all manner of skills.
"Roar!"
"Argh!"
"Hah-ao!"
A wave of arrows successfully cut off the Orc army. Their reinforcements were halted by the arrow rain, and the dense barrage carved vast empty gaps through their formation.
"Good grief! Has it really turned into a complete mess?" Roland and his group lay sprawled atop the mountain with absolutely no regard for appearances, pointing down at the blazing battlefield below.
"My lord, are we really joining the battle like this?" Reno asked darkly. He felt that Roland might be planning to lead them charging into hell.
"Don't forget, we still haven't gotten our commission back. All the capital we used to get started is inside that mountain..." Roland glanced at the still-sealed Erebor, and his heart burned at the thought of the mountains of treasure piled within the city.
"Let's assess the situation first." Roland did not rush to a conclusion, instead carefully observing the battlefield.
"At least four thousand Elves! Around one thousand Dwarves, probably. Two hundred soldiers from Lake-town, plus some recruited able-bodied men, should make about five hundred!" Roland muttered. That was far more people than in history. And because of Roland, the people of Lake-town had escaped Smaug's fiery roasting, so the massive increase in human soldiers was understandable.
"But there are at least fifteen thousand Orcs..." Caslo calculated for a moment before speaking weakly.
"Sigh, and that doesn't even include the Orc reinforcements from the Fortress of Gundabad..." Roland sighed. If not for the damned money he needed to exchange for Wealth Points to develop himself, he truly did not want to wade into this mess. He had long passed the stage of being high-spirited and full of ambition just after crossing over. This was a real world! Every decision he made might cost the lives of his subordinates—or even his own life. This was not a game!
"They cannot fight on two fronts! Attack Dale!" Azog immediately saw the coalition's weakness. Standing atop Ravenhill, he launched this open scheme that struck where the enemy had no choice but to defend.
The humans would return to River Valley City to protect the old and weak. The Dwarves would not yield a single step to protect Erebor. But the Elven army had enough men to take part in only one battlefield; they would be forced to choose. Clearly, the Elves would not fight shoulder to shoulder with the Dwarves. Thus, Azog easily completed his plan to divide the battlefield.
"Fall back! Dale!" Bard's eyes nearly split open as he watched the Orcs turn and charge toward Dale.
"Retreat to Dale!" Seeing the coalition forces steadily squeezed back by the Orcs, Thranduil gave the order to retreat. Under the cover of alternating volleys from the Elf Archers, the Elves and humans quickly withdrew toward River Valley City...
Before the gates of Erebor, only the Dwarves' fighting figures remained. Their room to survive was being compressed without end.
"Thorin! Where is he? We need him!" Dáin anxiously searched the battlefield for his cousin.
"Argh!" A great blade thrust forward, burying itself viciously in his mount's heart. Dain Ironfoot was violently thrown to the ground.
"Slash!" Dáin climbed up from the ground, grabbed the spear thrusting toward him, and drove it into the chest of the Orc attacking from behind. Then he swung his warhammer several times, smashing open the skulls of the Orcs passing beside him.
"Roar!" A towering troll swung its battle axe in a full arc and brought it down. A Dwarven Berserker failed to dodge in time and was instantly split in two.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!" Harsh metal scraping rang out as several weapons simultaneously pierced the gaps in a Dwarven warrior's armor. He weakly swung his battle axe once before collapsing lifelessly...
"Thorin! Thorin—" Watching his clansmen die one after another, Dáin frantically shouted Thorin Oakenshield's name across the battlefield. Unfortunately, Thorin had already fallen under the curse of the dragon's gold...
Second update! After considering everyone's opinions, the upcoming plot of this book will focus mainly on development, with a side storyline involving the reclamation of Moria. Ganxia is once again asking for recommendation votes here—please throw your votes at me without restraint (ω).
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