"They ran? For real? They're not even going to finish the fight?" Omsk called out after seeing no further movement, hoping to stall them. Unfortunately, only his own voice was carried away by the wind.
"That's... seriously cowardly, isn't it? How the hell did that guy even become the Fourth Nazgûl?" Omsk was honestly stunned. He'd never seen a Nazgûl flee after taking just a bit of damage—especially not this decisively. It was honestly impressive in a weird way. Omsk scratched his head. His strike shouldn't have been lethal, right? Sure, it made the Nazgûl look like a mess, but Amorasor, shrouded in darkness, could easily draw upon shadow to heal himself. There was no reason to retreat! They could've at least exchanged a few more blows!
"What's the situation?" Rynar ran up quickly, eyes wide with concern as he grabbed Omsk, who was drenched in blood, and began checking him over.
"I'm fine. We've confirmed the enemy—Amorasor, the Fourth Nazgûl," Omsk nodded.
"Where is he now?" Rynar asked anxiously.
"Gone. And the orc army seems to be retreating too," Omsk shook his head.
"You beat him?" Rynar asked, visibly excited.
"No, no, no. At best, it was a draw. Honestly, we were evenly matched. I might've been able to wear him down, but it would've taken days. Still, the guy… he was way more chicken than I expected. Just turned and ran," Omsk said, rubbing his face, completely at a loss.
"What? That's it? The Fourth Nazgûl runs off just because he took a hit?" Caslow was just as stunned. He'd always pictured the Nazgûl as brain-dead murder machines—see a living being, want to destroy it. If they saw a heroic human? Obviously try to smash his skull in, right?
"Let it go. It's better this way. We came to reclaim Moria, not throw ourselves against Gundabad's orcs in a suicidal brawl," Balin exhaled deeply. Without siege equipment, the dwarves had been struggling against the warg cavalry.
"Alright, everyone stay sharp. After we hold the line through the night, we'll rest in the morning and move out at noon," Rynar said, noting the fatigue on the soldiers' faces.
"Your Highness! Thank you for your mercy!"
"Thank the heavens…"
Looking at the exhausted troops, still on edge from a full night of tension, Rynar couldn't help but pull a face. Damn it all! Look at this mess! These poor bastards have been wide awake all night playing cat-and-mouse. If they had any guts, they'd come at us in broad daylight when we're all well-fed and rested!
"Your Highness, you should rest too. Omsk and I can take over the watch," Caslow suggested.
"I'm fine…" Rynar shook his head.
"Your Highness, you're still injured. Blunt force trauma can cause internal bleeding, and that's not something that heals easily. Even though you've used holy light to treat it, there could be lingering damage, hidden wounds. That could interfere with your path to advancement!" Caslow warned ominously.
"Uh… yeah, I think you're right! I'll go rest now. Thanks for the reminder!" Rynar quickly turned and left. In this forsaken land of Middle-earth, strength was the ultimate currency. Rynar still had ambitions of becoming a true hero. If some minor lingering wound ended up derailing his future? That would be tragic.
"Wait—are you seriously lying to His Highness like that? Aren't you afraid he'll find out and cut you down? Divine power's one of the highest-tier forces! You think holy light healing leaves behind hidden damage? What are you trying to do, get murdered by a bunch of paladins and priests?" Omsk stared at Caslow in awe. No wonder this guy was one of Rynar's favorites. Just straight-up nonsense without even a second's hesitation. No prep required!
"Ahem, hush. Keep it between us, alright? If we don't mention it again, the Prince will forget with time…" Caslow coughed and gave Omsk a meaningful look.
"Wow. You're trying to drag an innocent man down with you? I'm not boarding your pirate ship. If the Prince asks, I'll tell the truth…" Omsk narrowed his eyes at Caslow with a sly grin.
"Oh? So our friendship means nothing to you?" Caslow asked, voice soft but loaded.
"No, no! It's not about friendship. I just really want to see the look on your face when His Highness slaps you around," Omsk gave a devilish smile. To Caslow, it felt like a winter chill had just crawled up his spine.
"No worries. If I go down, I'm dragging you with me," Caslow said with a warm smile, though his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes said otherwise.
"Oh Dragon God above! You can't drag me down! In His Highness's eyes, I've always been the picture of a hardworking, reliable, unshakably composed knight of the Zaltarion Empire! You can't destroy my reputation like this!" Omsk's eyes widened. His honor! A knight values his honor more than his life—and now this conniving bastard Caslow wanted to drag his name through the mud?
"Wait, fine, I'll keep quiet!" Omsk finally gave in under Caslow's "threats." Forgive me, Your Highness—this betrayal wasn't my will. Blame Caslow for being a damn menace...
"Now that's more like it! I wouldn't call it a lie… more like a noble deception," Caslow said, smugly satisfied.
"Isn't that still treason?" Omsk groaned. His brain hurt. His king and the king's most trusted bodyguard were acting like a pair of scheming jesters. No—more like... a cunning dragon and a plotting phoenix!
"Stay alert. His Highness is kindhearted. He won't hold this sort of thing against us," Caslow waved it off. He had followed Rynar since the very beginning, even before the prince's rise. As his first commander, their bond was more like brotherhood than royalty and vassal. The two could joke and bicker like equals—something newer followers couldn't quite grasp.
"Sigh… So this is what loneliness looks like," Caslow thought to himself, watching Omsk's careful, respectful manner. When one climbs too high, true friends become few and far between. In that moment, Caslow truly understood Rynar's solitude.
"Maybe it's time His Highness spent more time with Duchess Nyx. Only when he's with her does he seem truly happy... He shouldn't be out on dangerous campaigns like this." Caslow quietly made a mental note. This whole disaster had started just because of a single royal banner! If Omsk weren't so powerful, and if that Fourth Nazgûl weren't such a coward, tonight could've ended in tragedy.
"Ah... Empire, my Empire… How am I supposed to protect you?" Caslow whispered into the darkness, gripping his dragon-horn flute tightly. The world was far too deep and treacherous—even someone like him, a Dragon Knight General, still felt like a small fish in a vast ocean.
"The long night will end. And light shall return! I will stand beneath the dragon-banner and fulfill the vow I once made!" Caslow lifted his head to the pale light rising in the east and broke into a smile.
"Morning's here! Leave enough men on watch, and let the others get some rest!" Caslow sprang to his feet, brushing dust from his armor, his voice booming with his usual gusto.
The camp stirred into action, alive with a warm and steady energy.