"Forget it, it doesn't matter! As long as they don't provoke us, we'll let it slide. But if they dare cause trouble again, I'll tear their nest apart!" Rynar snorted coldly, his eyes full of disdain.
Without sparing another glance at the goblin corpse, which was rapidly losing warmth and stiffening, Rynar decisively turned away and left the scene.
"The magical beasts in the Misty Mountains are far more terrifying than goblins. There are rumors that a fully grown black dragon once made its lair here... But who really knows?" Balin said while swinging his axe, chopping down the shrubs blocking their path.
"It's best not to provoke the creatures that live here in groups. If they latch onto you, it becomes a real headache!" Balin continued.
"More than magical beasts, the trolls here left a deeper impression on me..." Rynar grimaced. After all, those towering trolls had left an unforgettable mark on him.
"Indeed, those trolls with innate stone skin are truly difficult to deal with!" Balin agreed. There were few creatures that dwarven steel couldn't cut through, and trolls happened to be one of them.
"It's said that some northern humans still reside in the Misty Mountains. They live in hidden sanctuaries, secluded from the world, enjoying a peaceful life," Balin recalled, sharing the tale with Rynar.
"Makes sense. These mountains are vast; the orcs can't extend their reach into every corner," Rynar chuckled.
Just then, a commotion ahead caught Rynar and Balin's attention.
"What's going on?" Rynar turned to ask his royal guard.
"We just encountered a group of goblins. They were using a rocky hill as cover to ambush our forces. Lord Omsk thought it would be fun to toy with them and has likely already led men to surround them!" The royal guard beside him twitched his lips and spread his hands helplessly. What could he do when faced with a hero who suddenly wanted to play?
"Good grief... Let's go check it out! Caslow! Keep up!" Rynar glanced at Caslow, who was dozing off on horseback, then quietly approached and suddenly bellowed at him.
"What the—?!" The half-asleep Caslow was so startled that he leaped off his horse, instinctively drawing his knight's sword and slashing toward the source of the sound.
"Clang!" A crisp metallic ring echoed. Caslow snapped awake, only to see Rynar gripping the hilt of his Dragon Slayer sword, blocking his attack.
"Damn, that was close! Good thing I learned the parry skill!" Rynar wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. If his reaction had been any slower and he hadn't learned that skill... well, the entire Riverguard would have been feasting tonight.
"Your Highness! Are you alright?!" Caslow abandoned his sword, dismounted, and lunged toward Rynar.
"Get off me! Omsk is up ahead playing house with goblins. Let's go check it out!" Rynar grabbed Caslow and dragged him along.
...
"Shields! Hold them up! Did you guys even eat today?! How can a few measly rolling stones break your shield wall? My eighty-year-old grandmother can stand steadier with a shield than you lot!"
"Yes, yes! That's it! Keep up the pressure! Accuracy doesn't matter! Just maintain density and frequency! These wooden javelins are dirt cheap, so don't hold back—throw to your heart's content! Once you run out, chop down the nearest tree and make more!"
"Hey, hey, hey! Rangers, hold your fire! Stop shooting! At this rate, there won't be any goblins left! I went through all this trouble to find you some practice targets—don't kill them all so quickly!"
From a distance, Rynar and Caslow saw Omsk standing with his hands on his hips, looking spirited and commanding the battlefield with great enthusiasm. It seemed his talent for the art of war had awakened at this moment. Watching him maneuver his troops to encircle and gradually grind down the goblins, Rynar suddenly felt that even his trained war dogs weren't as relentless as Omsk.
"Do you realize how much psychological trauma your tactics are causing these poor goblins? They're just a bunch of pitiful creatures!" Rynar said, flipping a goblin that had collapsed from sheer mental exhaustion onto the tip of his spear with a look of mock sympathy.
"Look at them—so easy to communicate with! Not violent at all! They're not even shouting loudly. Such quiet and adorable goblins... How could you bear to cruelly torment them like this?" Rynar lifted the barely alive, trembling goblin in front of Omsk. Blood trickled from its mouth as its limbs twitched involuntarily.
"I prefer to conquer with virtue. Fighting and killing—what's the point? Middle-earth is not just about war; it's about humanity and diplomacy too! Don't you agree, little one? I'll set you free! Don't worry, I swear upon my title as King of Zaltarion that I won't hold your offense against me. Go home, little one! And be sure to tell your friends about my benevolence!" With a flourish, Rynar tossed the goblin away while giving it his heartfelt advice.
"Splat!" The poor goblin landed headfirst, its skull bursting open instantly.
"..." Balin.
"..." Omsk.
"..." Caslow.
"Ah, I really am too merciful. Look, this goblin is so grateful that he's prostrating himself before me!" Rynar marveled.
Omsk swallowed hard. Their king truly understood the meaning of mercy.
"They're running! The goblins have lost their minds! Catch them!" Suddenly, the goblins, unable to endure the relentless torment any longer, launched a desperate breakout in all directions. Their small, pale bodies scattered like fleeing white rats.
The soldiers quickly cut down most of the goblins, but a few managed to escape.
"Oh ho! Look at this lucky survivor!" Rynar exclaimed as a goblin sprinted straight toward him.
"Damn it!" Caslow stepped forward, placing himself between Rynar and the goblin. He silently cursed the incompetence of the soldiers—how had they let this thing get so close to the king?!
"Wait! Don't kill it! This goblin and I are destined to meet!" Rynar stopped Caslow and charged toward the goblin in a dramatic double sprint.
"Boom!" Seeing the goblin's ferocious expression and its crude stone axe, Rynar raised his foot and kicked it away. The goblin soared through the air in a perfect arc before crashing ten meters away.
"By the Dragon God! Look at his injuries! This is all my fault!" Rynar rushed over to examine the goblin. Its chest had collapsed inward, and it was barely clinging to life.
"Holy Light!" Rynar waved his hand and began healing it.
Everyone stared in disbelief. Since when did this devil suddenly grow a heart? And why was he using healing magic on a goblin?!
"Look at this poor little bald head! So pitiful!" Rynar sighed with faux compassion.
"You remind me of an old poem from my homeland..." Rynar mused.
"A poem?" Balin leaned in, curious to hear what this so-called demon king had to say.
"The immortal touches my head... and crushes the skull beneath his iron hand!" In the blink of an eye, Rynar's gauntleted hand snapped forward, violently crushing the goblin's skull. Black and white matter splattered all over Balin's face.
"Durin's beard! You bloody demon!" Balin gagged, finally understanding why Rynar had lowered his visor. If he had known, he wouldn't have come so close!
"Utterly heartless..." Omsk shuddered. Their king truly had a talent for smiling while committing the most gruesome acts.