Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"This group of ignorant peasants is truly infuriating! Now I understand why human spellcasters are so rare…" Jessiava sneered at Lance.

Lance awkwardly rubbed his nose. Indeed, uneducated commoners often mistake naturally awakened spellcasters for demons. 

Unable to control the power from their awakening, these spellcasters often cause accidents—fire casters unintentionally ignite objects, water casters create damp and gloomy conditions. 

Fear of the unknown compels commoners to act violently, leading to clandestine executions of these fledgling magic users.

"There's no helping it. Ordinary folk have no access to such knowledge. In villages without noble leadership, situations like this aren't surprising. 

The saddest part is that most villages lack any noble governance," Lance sighed. This wasn't the Middle-earth of a game. 

Here, even the lord of a small village had at least the rank of baronet. How could uninformed villagers understand the intricacies of a professional's awakening?

"It's truly absurd. By the way, what are you planning to do with that girl?" Jessiava shrugged in resignation. 

Lack of education had dulled the minds of ordinary folk, leaving them to resist uncontrollable natural awakenings with fear and superstition.

"We'll take her with us. Once we reach Rohan, we'll test her aptitude and decide on her profession," Lance replied. 

Leaving the girl behind would defeat the purpose of saving her in the first place.

"Mmm…" The girl stirred, murmuring softly as she awoke on a makeshift bed of hay.

"Ah, you're awake," Jessiava greeted her with what he thought was a friendly smile.

"Ahhhh!" A piercing scream battered everyone's ears.

Lance burst through the tent flap. "What's going on?"

He found the girl trembling in a corner, wrapped in her blanket, and Jessiava staring blankly, utterly baffled.

"Monster… there's a monster!" The girl cried, clinging to Lance for protection.

"Uh, young lady, you've got it wrong. He's my friend. Don't worry, he won't hurt you!" Lance reassured her, giving her an encouraging look.

"Don't be afraid. I'm a goblin king. I don't eat children!" Jessiava said, deeply wounded by her mistrust. 

Those blasted bards who painted goblins as man-eating monsters! While city folk knew better, such tales thrived in rural areas.

"Hello, Mr. Goblin…" the girl said timidly.

"Hello, fortunate young lady," Jessiava replied kindly. 

She truly was lucky—first, she bridged the enormous gap from commoner to professional, and second, Lance and his party had saved her just in time.

"What's your name, young lady?" Lance asked softly.

"Sir Knight, my name is Nina Bourne. You can call me Nina," she answered shyly.

"All right, Nina. But I'm not a knight; I'm a warrior. Call me Lance," he said, amused by her cautious demeanor.

"You can't stay here anymore. From now on, you'll travel with us. We'll guide you toward the most suitable profession," Lance said, ruffling her hair. 

He couldn't help but feel a bit smug—after all, gaining a spellcaster for free would make anyone happy.

"Rest well. We're leaving tomorrow," Lance said, waving as he and Jessiava exited her tent.

"So, my lord, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Jessiava teased as they returned to Lance's tent.

"We'll head back, take a ship south to Argonas, then travel overland to bypass the Rags Falls. 

Afterward, we'll look for another boat to continue downstream," Lance said, spreading out a slightly worn map.

"No Rohan?" Jessiava asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I calculated our current supplies along with what we've recently gathered. We have enough provisions for ten days. 

That should be plenty of time to reach a Rohan village along the river. It'll save us from the slower overland route," Lance explained, rubbing his temples. 

Heavy cavalry marching long distances was a logistical nightmare. Without the luxury of multiple horses per rider, his forces couldn't sustain such intense movement.

"Good idea. Well then, goodnight. I'm off to rest," Jessiava said, doffing his hat with a small bow before retreating to his tent.

Deep into the early spring night, the camp remained under strict vigilance. Hidden rangers from Lordaeron and a few patrolling heavy cavalry ensured security. 

Even while resting in a village, Lance maintained minimum wartime defenses.

"So, Your Majesty, don't you have anything to say?" Dylan leaned forward, hands on the table, glaring daggers at Rynar.

"Ahem, I noticed the magical supplies were running low, so I borrowed some…" Rynar said, blatantly lying through his teeth.

"Borrowed? You cleared out my stock! You took all the potions, fine weapons, and even the spellcaster training resources! That's outrageous!" 

Dylan growled, distraught that Rynar had looted his carefully hoarded magical artifacts.

"Look, I know you like Duchess Nyx, but raiding my stash to woo her is just too much!" Dylan lamented. His precious alchemical potions, meditation aids, and rare trinkets—all gone.

"Ahem. You're a Sixth-Tier Sage, standing at the pinnacle of professionals. Why squabble with a young lady over resources?" Rynar feigned disdain.

"Do I not need to maintain my own state? Do you prefer a gifted young woman or a Sage capable of casting forbidden spells with the help of magical artifacts?" Dylan countered. 

Even a non-combat-oriented alchemist could, when provoked, unleash devastating forbidden spells with sufficient preparation.

"Wait, what? Forbidden spells with artifacts? Aren't those supposed to be incredibly rare and challenging to cast?" 

Rynar was stunned, realizing that forbidden spells were no longer the exclusive domain of elite casters. The once-mythical magic now felt almost pedestrian to him.

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