"Kill!"
Under Kaen Eowenríel's command, the golden tide of Eowenría surged forward like the wrath of heaven itself. His army split the chaos in two, their armored cavalry crashing into the enemy lines with earth-shaking force. Orcs, Trolls, and Warg-riders alike were crushed beneath the relentless advance, their formations torn asunder.
The cavalry in the vanguard wheeled aside at Kaen's signal, allowing the heavy infantry behind them to charge into the gap. Blades met flesh, shields clashed, and the ground trembled beneath ten thousand pounding feet.
Across the field, Caden and Mundar, bloodied but unbroken, raised their weapons high. The sight of the golden banners filling the horizon drew new fire into their hearts.
"For Eowenría!" Caden roared.
"For the King!" answered Mundar, his voice raw with exhaustion and fury.
The cry spread like wildfire through the ranks. Warriors who moments ago had been moments from death now surged forward anew, cutting down their foes with renewed vigor.
And at the center of it all, Kaen rode alone toward the fallen dragon.
His target was clear.
He would slay the beast himself.
The Cold-drake—massive, its wings shattered, its scales glittering like frozen mirrors—lifted its head at his approach. Through the storm of its pain, the dragon sensed something in the human's presence. A light. A threat.
It reared back with a thunderous roar.
"ROAAAAR!"
From its fanged maw erupted a torrent of icy breath, a storm of frost and razor-sharp spears of ice. The air crackled, and the snow beneath Kaen's steed turned to glass.
But Kaen merely raised his hand and began to chant, his voice steady amidst the chaos:
"O holy radiance, descend from the heavens.
Shield the righteous, banish the wicked."
From the sky fell a pillar of golden light. It enveloped Kaen, forming a shimmering wall that turned aside the storm of ice. The frozen spears shattered harmlessly against it, scattering into glittering dust.
The dragon bellowed in fury. Its tail, thick as a tree trunk, lashed out like a whip.
Kaen's steed, his faithful Mearas, reared high and leapt. The whip-like tail slammed into the ground where they had stood, shattering stone and snow, but Kaen landed lightly, riding the beast's momentum forward.
The Cold-drake's eyes narrowed. The closer Kaen came, the stronger the dread that clawed at its heart.
It struck again, claws like scythes slicing through the air. Kaen ducked low, his horse darting beneath the beast's belly.
He raised his sword, the ancient runes upon its blade gleaming faintly. He struck upward.
"CLANG!"
The sound rang like struck iron. His blade glanced off the dragon's frozen hide, the scales and frost too thick, too strong.
But Kaen's voice came again, low and commanding:
"Metal that lies between heaven and earth—
Become my edge, gleam with divine light!"
The sword flared white, blazing like the morning star. Kaen turned in the saddle, timing his swing perfectly.
"SHHK!"
The blade carved through frost and flesh alike, slicing open the dragon's belly as he passed beneath. Blood—black and steaming—poured out, splattering across the snow.
The dragon's scream tore the sky in half.
It thrashed wildly, wings twitching, blood gushing from its wound. At last, with one final shudder, it collapsed into the ice, sending a shockwave through the field.
Kaen dismounted. His sword gleamed faintly, dripping with dragon's blood. He stepped to the creature's massive head.
The Cold-drake's eye, vast as a shield, stared down at him, filled with something that looked almost like fear.
"Rest now," Kaen murmured. "Your master's shadow ends with you."
He drove the sword through its skull.
The dragon's body spasmed once, then went still.
In Kaen's mind, the familiar echo of the system whispered:
EXP +80.
Level: 5 (544 / 600).
He blinked. Eighty experience points, for a single creature. Even Ringwraiths had granted less.
"A fine kill," he thought, eyes narrowing. "A creature of legendary might, but not beyond me."
Then his gaze lifted to the battlefield, still raging, still burning with the chaos of war.
He swung onto his horse once more and rode into the fray. Wherever he passed, Orcs fell like wheat before the scythe.
EXP +3.
EXP +3.
Their strength, bolstered by Morgoth's corruption, could not stand before him.
The numbers blurred. The sword danced.
And then,
Level: 6 (1 / 700).
The world stopped.
For a single heartbeat, Kaen felt everything freeze—the wind, the battle, even the snowflakes hanging in midair. His spirit rose above his body, weightless, suspended high above the world.
He could see everything, the entire battlefield, the terror in the eyes of the Orcs, the fire in the hearts of his soldiers. Every detail, every heartbeat.
He could hear their voices—
"For Eowenría!"
"Our king protects us!"
"For the light!"
Thousands of voices crying out in faith, in devotion.
A calmness spread through him, not cold, but pure, perfect clarity. Logic without emotion. Divinity without pride.
And then Kaen understood.
This was divinity.
The power that touched gods and heroes alike, the same light that once shone in Glorfindel when he faced the Balrog, the same divine fury that had burned in Galadriel's heart when she stood before Sauron in the original tale.
"Is this… the power of a mythic hero?" Kaen whispered. "Or is this something that belongs only to me?"
His awareness sank back into his body.
The world resumed its motion. Time flowed once more.
Kaen opened his eyes. The air around him trembled. Every movement, every breath felt infinite. His sword moved faster than sight, cutting through enemy after enemy, even as his mind lingered on the voices that filled his thoughts.
The loyalty of his people.
Their courage.
Their faith.
That faith became power.
The golden and silver light around him flared once, then drew inward, into his body, into his soul.
The ground quivered. The air thrummed with energy. Even the Orcs stopped, sensing something vast and terrible awakening.
"Lord Kaen!" cried Aragorn, spurring his horse forward with the King's Guard.
He saw his king sitting still, eyes closed, sword resting lightly in his hand. Around him, the very air shimmered, repelling any who dared draw near.
Aragorn hesitated. His instinct screamed: Do not disturb him.
Then it happened.
A pulse.
A wave of invisible force rippled outward from Kaen, crashing over the field like a storm of light.
BOOM.
Gold. Silver. White.
The shockwave swept across the battlefield, hurling Orcs through the air, forcing even Trolls to stumble back.
Kaen opened his eyes.
Golden fire burned within them.
And when he spoke, his voice rolled through the hearts of every living soldier, echoing across the plain:
"All who are mine, be protected."
Every Eowenrían warrior, whether bathed in light or fighting in shadow, felt the power take hold.
Wounds closed. Strength flooded their limbs. The cold vanished from their bones.
Mundar, who only moments ago leaned on Caden for support, felt the pain in his leg vanish. He glanced down in astonishment—then up, toward the radiant figure at the heart of the battle.
A smile touched his lips. He lifted his spear high and shouted with all his might:
"For Eowenría!"
And the cry rose again, from thousands of throats, shaking heaven and earth, a hymn to their living god-king beneath the storm.