"Stop fussing. The trade route is blocked, and we can only procure some materials from the elves and dwarves, but the quantity is limited. So, your mission this time includes checking if we can reopen the trade route to allow western caravans to come here," Dylan said.
"Western caravans can't make it through now? But what about Rivendell? They should be able to travel through elven territory," Rynar asked, realizing he had never paid much attention to such matters.
"Uh... the problem is, who are the caravans supposed to trade with? The Woodland Elves? The Orcs in Mirkwood?" Dylan shrugged in response.
"True, humans don't have many things that elves would be interested in." Rynar sighed helplessly. Demand dictates supply—without demand, no one would bother making the journey.
"That's why you need to inform the western human kingdoms that the Lonely Mountain has been revived," Dylan nodded. The wealth of the dwarves would naturally attract merchants, and the unique resources around the Lonely Mountain were unavailable elsewhere. Once multiple kingdoms reestablished themselves here, traders would flock to the region.
"I'll see what I can do," Rynar agreed.
"By the goddess! We just had a few peaceful days, and now you're marching off to war again?" Watching the army gathering, Vanervi held his head in exasperation.
"Yes, the dwarves have arrived. I promised them before that I would help them reclaim Moria. After all, the kingdom's development requires wealth..." Rynar shrugged helplessly.
"Fine, but this time, my people and I won't be joining you." It was well known that elves disliked fighting in confined spaces. Masters of skirmishing and hit-and-run tactics, they rarely ventured into the depths of caves.
"That's alright. This isn't your war, so you don't need to feel guilty," Rynar nodded in agreement. There was no reason to expect the prairie elves to help him make money.
"I appreciate your understanding," Vanervi said gratefully. After all, avoiding battle meant reducing casualties, and he valued his dwindling kin greatly.
"Then wish me a safe return!" Rynar looked at Vanervi with a confident grin.
"I believe in your kingly might—you will drive the darkness from the depths of Moria!" Vanervi declared with conviction.
"I'll take your blessing. Omsk! Caslow, let's go! And, my dear, have you seen our dragon?" Rynar called out.
"Here! Your Highness, I'm here!" Caslow struggled through the throng of soldiers, waving his hand.
"Oh, Dragon God... this little one is still asleep!" Nyx came rushing out, carrying a small blue dragon in her arms and handing it to Rynar.
"Caslow, looks like you need to lose some weight!" Rynar teased as he eyed Caslow, who had been squashed out of shape from pushing through the crowd.
"Your Highness, I'm ready!" Caslow finally leapt past the tide of soldiers, though his dragon armor was now askew from the struggle.
"Hmm... we might need to widen these roads," Rynar mused. What once seemed spacious now felt a bit cramped.
"By the Dragon God! Are you trying to work me to death, Your Highness?" Radir fumed, his beard bristling. Radir had been responsible for nearly eighty percent of the construction projects in Swiftstream City. Earth Mage (×), Foreman (✓).
"The roads were already built wide enough! They can accommodate two four-horse carriages side by side! The only reason it feels narrow now is because you crammed five hundred fully armed Zaltarion soldiers into this space!" Radir rolled his eyes, clearly displeased with Rynar's tendency to create extra work for him.
Eventually, Rynar finalized the expedition's personnel:
100 Dunwenian Heavy Swordsmen 200 Zaltarion Royal Guard Paladins 50 Lordaeron Rangers 150 Zaltarion City Guards A total of 500 soldiers, led by Omsk and Caslow, while the rest remained stationed in Swiftstream City.
"Alright, let's get ready to set out! Oh, and check if our supplies are adequate—I don't want my soldiers collapsing from hunger before they even meet the enemy!" Rynar hadn't forgotten the importance of logistics. Due to the short shelf life of bread, even black bread wouldn't last long. They would be trekking through forests and underground tunnels, where damp conditions would quickly ruin their food supply.
"Which is exactly why spatial rings exist..." Dylan stepped forward, looking at Rynar as if he were an idiot.
"What, you were saving your enormous spatial ring just to store rocks, Your Highness?" Dylan sighed, tossing Rynar a brand-new spatial ring.
"This contains nearly 60,000 loaves of bread and 5,000 pounds of smoked meat and fish. Enough to feed 600 people for a month. A bit monotonous, but at least you won't starve," Dylan explained.
"Much appreciated! That saves us from having to allocate manpower to guard supply wagons." Rynar had actually forgotten about his system's storage space...
"Don't thank me. You should be thanking the women and cooks of the city. They worked tirelessly for a week to prepare this!" Dylan remarked. This wasn't like when Rynar had just started out, when his system provided food for his first army.
Nowadays... that damn system no longer supplied provisions. Even when it did, it was only luxury snacks—great for spoiling Nyx, but utterly useless for feeding an army of 500. Feeding even 60 people would result in mass starvation.
And Middle-earth wasn't the kind of place where every soldier was a survival expert like Beorn or Bear Grylls. They could fight bravely, sure, but making them play a "survival" game? That was out of the question. The fact that they hadn't revolted yet was a testament to their loyalty.
Rynar carefully stored the precious spatial ring in his system's inventory. Now that it was within the system's jurisdiction, not even a god could steal his army's rations!
"Good! Let's move out!" Rynar mounted his Shire warhorse, brimming with confidence and high spirits.
Silence fell over the assembled soldiers. All eyes were on him as if he were a shining beacon of gold.
"Alright, we're moving out. So... where exactly are we going?" Caslow finally blurted out, his face turning red from holding back.
"Uh... where? That's a good question! So... the dwarves didn't tell us where to meet them?" Rynar's face stiffened with embarrassment. He had completely forgotten to arrange a rendezvous point with the dwarves.
"Oh, Dragon God... Ancestors of Zaltarion..." Omsk covered his face in disbelief.
"I'll go ask them... If they've already departed, I'll track them down along the way," Caslow offered, saving Rynar from further humiliation. If the dwarves hadn't left yet, they could be informed. If they were already en route, he could locate them and establish a meeting point. Given a dragon's speed, such a short trip was no issue.
"Your Highness, being this reckless could lead to major problems..." Omsk whispered, barely containing his frustration. The entire city had gathered to cheer on the expedition, only for their king to make a fool of himself with this blunder.
Dwarves might be forgetful, but their king shouldn't be... Omsk was close to tears, but he had no choice. With a heavy heart, he took command of the army and led them out of the city, silently cleaning up the mess his king had made.
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