Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Distribute them one by one! Move forward in an orderly manner!" Rynar instructed Lance sternly.

"As you command, Your Majesty!" Lance nodded sharply, his demeanor formal.

"Dylan! Take these plows over to the oxen and have the accompanying workers yoke them!" Rynar turned to Dylan, who was keeping a suspiciously safe distance.

"Understood, Your Majesty!" 

Upon hearing the order, Dylan bolted off like a gust of wind. 

Judging by his flickering movements, the man clearly teleported away! His urgency made it seem as though Rynar himself was some sort of menacing beast.

"Damn! He runs fast!" Rynar widened his eyes, gaining a whole new appreciation for Dylan's survival instincts.

"Good day, Your Majesty!" A squad of soldiers, clad in ornate chainmail, formed a line in front of Rynar. 

Only after scrutinizing them closely did Rynar recognize this inconspicuous group—the low-profile Rangers of Lordaeron.

"At ease!" Sitting astride his warhorse, Rynar nodded, carefully assessing these familiar yet somewhat distant Rangers.

The Lordaeron Rangers were all over 175 cm tall, with brown hair tucked under steel-forged kettle helms. 

They wore linen robes embroidered with the lion crest of Lordaeron, and from the glimpses of chainmail peeking from their sleeves, it was clear that they were clad in tight-fitting, fine-ringed armor beneath. 

Their polished deerskin boots gleamed in the sunlight, and they carried 1.5-meter-long steel greatswords strapped diagonally across their backs.

Each held a short composite bow made of mithril and purpleheart wood, and a small kite-shaped steel shield hung from their right forearm. 

On their belts, they carried dual quivers filled with 25 arrows each, and faint glints from their boots suggested concealed daggers or short swords. All in all, they were armed to the teeth.

Rynar nodded to himself in approval. The Rangers of Lordaeron were well-equipped indeed, but when compared to the heavily armored Battanian Archers, their gear seemed less impressive. After all, the advantages of heavy-armor marksmen over lightly-armored ones were self-evident. Nevertheless, the Rangers weren't without their merits—their short bows were highly effective in forests and urban environments. 

In rough terrain, their greatswords would teach any enemy facing them up close that it was a fatally poor choice.

"Your mission is to protect the civilians! Don't let any monsters or Orcs near them!" Rynar commanded with slow, deliberate authority.

"At your command, my King!" The Rangers knelt on one knee in a display of respect.

"Go now!" Rynar waved his riding crop, dismissing them.

"Whew! Your Majesty!" A crisp voice rang out.

Looking up, Rynar saw a beautiful cleric jogging toward him with several other priests trailing behind.

"Aivy? Why are you here?" Rynar asked, puzzled. He hadn't assigned any priests to join this labor expedition. 

These delicate spellcasters were hard-pressed to take care of themselves, let alone plow fields. In fact, they'd probably destroy the fields before anything else.

"Your Majesty, with so many people out here, it's better for us to tag along. If something happens, we might be able to help," Aivy said with a gentle smile.

"Hmm…" Rynar was momentarily at a loss. 

Her words were so reasonable that he couldn't refute them. 

With a large group like this, unforeseen situations could indeed arise, and having clerics around could make all the difference in an emergency.

"Fine, just stick with the group and don't wander off!" Rynar nodded, reluctantly allowing Aivy and her team to join the expedition.

"Caslow!" Rynar called out.

"My lord! I'm here!" Caslow, who had been directing the flow of people nearby, responded promptly and waded against the tide to Rynar's side.

"Is there something you need, my lord?" Caslow wiped the sweat that had gathered on his face from all the work.

"Assign some soldiers to accompany Aivy and her priests. Make sure the spellcasters are well-protected!" Rynar said in a low voice. 

Though the chances of an incident were slim, he wasn't willing to risk it. In the event of an attack, these frail spellcasters could easily be taken out by a farmer wielding a pitchfork.

"Understood, Your Majesty!" Caslow, fully aware of the pitiful melee abilities of clerics—especially those who worshipped the Dragon God—nodded gravely. Their combat prowess was truly abysmal.

"Any updates?" Rynar rode over to the designated farming zone, where Reynard and the knightly orders had arrived ahead of time.

"All is well, Your Majesty," Reynard reported, nodding to Rynar.

"Good. Deploy all mounted units to patrol a 10-kilometer radius. I want no threats in the vicinity," Rynar ordered, glancing back at the long line of civilians. 

Compared to the priests, these unarmed civilians were practically defenseless, even against the local wildlife.

"Hey, knock it off, Sintara!" 

Rynar suddenly reached into his armor and pulled out an unruly dragonling. 

The little creature flailed its tiny claws against Rynar's chest, making him feel like his ribs were being crushed.

"Let me go, you wretch! I'll turn you to stone! Roast you like a pig! Freeze you into a statue! Fry you to ash…" The tiny dragon spewed its threats incessantly as it struggled in Rynar's grasp.

"…" Rynar's face was full of disdain. 

He mentally cursed his unreliable system once again. 

Other systems were like considerate companions, but his was a bottomless pit of chaos! 

Not only were its rewards random and useless, but some of them even posed a risk to him! Look at this angry little dragon in his hand—it was practically a parody of Angry Birds.

"Unbelievable!" 

Rynar sighed, finally tying a rope around the dragon's neck. 

The moment he released it, the little dragon flapped its tiny wings and shot into the sky. However, its freedom lasted barely ten seconds before the rope yanked it back.

"Roar!" 

A disproportionately loud dragon roar erupted from the tiny creature, causing the once-calm warhorses to rear up in fear, their terror palpable under the oppressive aura of dragonkind.

"Damn it, Sintara! Cut the dragon aura, or I'll roast you myself!" Rynar barely held onto his startled warhorse, which almost tossed him from the saddle.

"Roar…" Deflated, the Sintara quickly retracted its aura. It knew this tyrant holding the leash was absolutely capable of following through on his threat.

With tears of indignation welling in its eyes, the Sintara decided to vent its rage on the rope. It swooped down, grabbed the middle of the leash with its jaws, and bit down fiercely.

Crunch! A sharp sound echoed as sparks flew from its mouth, accompanied by a harsh screech of friction.

"Huh?" The dragonling froze mid-air. What just happened? It couldn't bite through it? That was just an ordinary rope, wasn't it?

"Heh…" Rynar's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he looked away, his barely suppressed amusement evident only from his trembling posture.

"Stupid dragon! You think I don't know you can fly? Do you really think I'd use a normal rope?" Rynar shook his head. 

This dragon's intelligence was truly questionable. Though the rope looked like simple hemp, it was inscribed with countless magical runes and enchantments. 

Only a system with a ridiculous sense of humor would produce something so over-engineered and pass it off as a "daily reward."

As Rynar entertained himself with his misbehaving dragon, the first hoe from Riverguard struck the earth of Middle-earth. Spring farming had officially begun!

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