Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Alright! It's a deal! Dylan, prepare the magical contract!" Rynar clapped his hands decisively.

The magical contract embodied the power of the world's rules. 

Anyone who signed it would be bound by its terms, and any violation would trigger a powerful, inescapable punishment. It was considered the most secure method in this realm.

"At once, Your Majesty!" Dylan nodded with a smile, his eyes brimming with eager anticipation for the goblin alchemical knowledge he was about to obtain.

"Take a look at this. If everything is in order, sign it, and these 100 heavy cavalrymen will escort you southward without fail!" Rynar smiled warmly.

"Y-Yes, of course… esteemed King Rynar," Jessiava's trembling hands reached out as tears welled up in his eyes. 

For countless years, the goblins had failed in their attempts to head south. The reason? Poverty. 

They had neither the wealth to pay for protection nor the resources to secure the services of mercenary companies. 

As a result, generation after generation of goblins ended up buried in the desolate and merciless northern wastelands.

"It's done… I've signed it…" Jessiava raised his head nervously, sneaking a glance at Rynar. When he saw Rynar's gentle smile, his restless heart finally began to settle.

"Lance, hear my command!" Rynar's tone turned sharp and authoritative.

"At your service, my lord!" Lance quickly stepped forward and knelt on one knee with absolute loyalty.

"Organize the heavy cavalry and prepare the supplies. I need you to escort this goblin king safely to the capital of Gondor," Rynar commanded calmly, his eyes filled with expectation as he looked at Baron Lance.

Lance froze for a moment, but then realization dawned on him. It seemed he was the only one among Rynar's vassals who excelled at dealing with nobles and managing delicate tasks. 

After all, wasn't that what his role as a court baron was all about?

"Understood, Your Majesty. I will notify them right away!" Lance nodded, acknowledging the order before turning to leave.

"Alright, Lord Jessiava, I trust you won't disappoint us, will you?" Dylan's smile was warm but carried a hint of subtle pressure.

"Of… of course not…" Jessiava gritted his teeth as he took out a ring, his face filled with reluctance as he handed it to Rynar.

"This… this is the culmination of thousands of years of goblin wisdom… all of it is contained within this ring. 

I only hope, Your Majesty, that you can revive its glory once more." Jessiava exhaled deeply, his eyes filled with sorrow. 

This was a treasure passed down by his ancestors, but in the end, he had failed to protect it.

However, his gaze soon turned firm. The goblin race was on the brink of extinction. There was no one left to inherit this treasure. 

Instead of letting it rot in his possession, he might as well use it to buy a chance for survival.

Some might call Jessiava a fool. After all, with such precious knowledge, why not use it to negotiate with Rynar for resources rather than head for Gondor? But the reasoning was simple:

After briefly scouting the area around the Lonely Mountain, Jessiava realized the region had recently suffered from the flames of war. 

The people were struggling to survive, let alone support the goblins with supplies. Gondor, on the other hand, had enjoyed peace and prosperity for years. 

Even a fraction of their wealth was enough to sustain his people for a long time.

Without escorts, Jessiava wouldn't make it far. Between monsters and orcs, death would be inevitable. 

Trading knowledge that held no value to the goblins for a chance to reach Gondor and return with wealth was the obvious choice. 

As long as he lived, there was hope—regardless of his race.

"Haha! My oversight! Caslow, arrange for Lord Jessiava to rest," Rynar chuckled, gesturing toward Caslow.

"As you command, my lord!" Caslow bowed, his hand pressed against his chest in a salute, before guiding Jessiava to a tent to rest. 

Rynar watched as Caslow moved with an air of draconic authority. The faint but pure aura of "Dragon Might" emanating from him made Rynar's smile grow even wider.

"Perhaps I won't have to wait for the Battle of Moria to obtain a true dragon knight," Rynar thought with satisfaction.

"Your Majesty, let me have a look! Let me see what's inside!" Dylan rubbed his hands together excitedly like a mischievous child about to open a treasure chest. 

The sight made Rynar's face twist with annoyance. No matter how he looked at it, Dylan's mannerisms resembled a giant fly rubbing its hands together in anticipation.

"Here, take it! Look at you, acting like some country bumpkin entering a royal castle for the first time!" Rynar sighed, shaking his head. 

It was no wonder that people said alchemists were either geniuses or madmen. 

For them, the lure of unknown knowledge was enough to make them forget everything—even their own dignity.

"Hehehe! This… this… THIS—!" Dylan giggled as he caught the ring. 

He immediately injected his mental energy into it, activating the intricate magical runes on its surface. 

The moment his spirit connected, his eyes rolled back, and he nearly fainted from sheer joy.

"Jackpot! We hit the motherload! Hahaha!" Dylan hugged the ring tightly, laughing like a madman.

"Speak properly, you fool!" Rynar kicked him, unable to tolerate the suspense.

"Hehehe… alright, alright! To put it simply, this ring holds 90% of the goblins' alchemical knowledge! 

It even includes blueprints for the creation of forbidden spell scrolls!" Dylan's expression suddenly shifted to one of fear.

"Wait… forbidden spell scrolls?" Rynar's heart skipped a beat.

Forbidden spells were the ultimate magic reserved for sixth-tier spellcasters. They were classified as "forbidden" because of their catastrophic power. 

Even at the sixth tier, a spellcaster could only cast them after a long, arduous chant. 

Yet, the goblins had discovered a way to seal forbidden spells into scrolls that could be stored and activated at will. 

This was no small feat—it was the height of goblin alchemical mastery.

Rynar's mind flashed back to Loshanier City, where the terrifying might of a forbidden spell had been fully displayed. 

The Dragonstar Crater, a colossal lake formed by a meteor-like impact, still served as a grim reminder of the spell's destructive power.

"How many scroll formulas are in there…?" Rynar's eyes grew sharp.

"Gulp… At least a hundred different forbidden spell scroll blueprints," Dylan said nervously, swallowing hard.

"Just a hundred? Pfft. It's only forbidden spells. We'll have them one day too!" Rynar, not fully grasping the gravity of the discovery, attempted to comfort Dylan, thinking he was overreacting.

"Your Majesty, you don't understand," Dylan replied, his face deadly serious. "These scrolls aren't like ordinary spell scrolls. 

As long as you follow the recipe, the forbidden spell will automatically inscribe itself into the scroll. 

Do you get it? As long as we have the right materials… we can mass-produce forbidden spells like fireballs."

"What the—?!" Rynar's eyes widened. Without a second thought, he snatched the ring and poured his mental energy into it. 

It was, after all, just a high-end spatial storage tool. Inside, countless texts, blueprints, and documents were neatly stored.

"And that's not all," Dylan added, taking a deep breath. "There are also designs for magical equipment… lots of them."

"Damn it… We hit the treasure vault of a goblin king," Rynar muttered, eyes locked on the glowing runes.

"Unfortunately, we're missing quite a few of the key materials needed for these scrolls," Dylan sighed.

"Still, it's more than enough. We can at least consider mass-producing lower-tier equipment for our soldiers," Dylan suggested, his face filled with excitement.

"Indeed. This mission turned out better than expected! Jessiava is a goldmine in goblin form!" Rynar smiled broadly. 

"100 heavy cavalrymen aren't enough. Send 50 Lordaeron Rangers as well. If we're gonna do it, we'll do it right. We'll make sure that Jessiava gets to Gondor in one piece."

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