I reforged the glory of the magic ring in Middle-earth

Chapter 181 The Battle of the Black Gate (Part 6)

Upon seeing this, the captain of the rangers first ordered the rangers who were still able to move to use all the arrows they had to shoot the people climbing up the slope along the broken log, and then anxiously looked at the knight Rodel beside him.

He asked, "Can you still use those lightning-fast spells, Your Excellency?"

Knight Rodel shook his head slightly and said, “Witchcraft? Oh, you mean the lightning gun? Unfortunately, my magic power was almost depleted just now, and another knight comrade is at the front line defending against the Orks. Unless there are more Knights Rodel or people who specialize in prayer, you will have to wait until my magic power recovers a little.”

The ranger captain didn't dwell on the difference between the other person's "prayer" and his own "witchcraft," and seized on the other person's last question, asking, "How long do you need to rest?"

Knight Rodel replied, "I can use Lightning Gun again in about 5 minutes."

The ranger captain's voice was resolute and unwavering: "My men and I will buy you these five minutes!"

He then whirled around, his hoarse roar instantly drowning out the fighting on the city walls: "Abandon ranged attacks! Everyone! Block the breach! Use your blades and your bodies to nail it there! Five minutes! We just need to hold out for five minutes!"

The captain's order was like a bucket of ice water poured over their heads, instantly sobering up the exhausted rangers.

But they did not question or back down. The rangers immediately unleashed their last remaining arrows at the Orc vanguard surging up the broken log slope, not even seeking to kill, but only to slow down the most turbulent first wave of attack.

The rangers unleashed their final barrage of arrows, instantly turning the first few rows of Orks into pincushions, their corpses rolling down and slightly hindering the subsequent waves.

But that was far from enough. More Orks, stepping over the corpses of their comrades, brandishing rusty knives and axes, howled as they charged up the slope and surged toward the section of the defense that was about to be torn apart.

"For our comrades! For the Black Gate!"

The ranger captain drew his scimitar and was the first to pounce, slashing down a newly emerged orc.

"Block it!"

"Get on top!"

A cacophony of roars erupted as the surviving wanderers, like moths drawn to a flame, used their last ounce of strength to form a dam of flesh and blood, desperately blocking the junction of the broken log slope and the city wall.

They abandoned their original agile fighting style and chose to use their bodies to withstand the impact of the Orcs, their chipped scimitars clashing wildly with their rusty axes, sparks flying.

A ranger's scimitar was knocked away by the force of the impact, but he rushed forward without hesitation, using his shoulder to brace against the shield of an Ork, letting the axe of another Ork beside him cleave into his side, all to buy his comrade behind him a chance to deliver a fatal blow.

The knights' bright red blood soaked into the bricks beneath their feet, making them so slippery that they could barely stand.

But when someone falls, the next person immediately fills the void with hoarse cries, even if it's stabbing with a broken spear as a short spear, or even tearing with their teeth.

It was only five minutes, but time seemed to drag on forever. Blood and lives were repeatedly smeared on the rangers' defensive line, but the seemingly crumbling line never fell.

The Rodel Knight who spoke with the Ranger Captain was initially stunned by the Rangers' decisiveness and efficiency, but then, seeing the Rangers withstand the Orc Impact with their bare flesh and blood, a burning respect flashed in his eyes.

Knight Rodel leaped from his spot, drew his greatsword adorned with golden tree patterns from his back, parried a rusty axe aimed at a ranger's side with his heavy arm armor, and with a powerful backhand strike, cleaved the orc in two from above. "No need to defend me to the death."

Rhodes Knight's voice remained clear and powerful amidst the clash of swords. His imposing, golden body, like a rock, embedded itself into the rangers' crumbling defenses, allowing them a brief respite to regroup.

He glanced with regret and heartache at the three fallen Dúnedan Rangers, and while using his greatsword to cleave the surging Orks off the city wall, he said in a deep voice, "I apologize to you brave warriors for not joining the battle in time. I misjudged your determination and courage."

Then, Knight Rodel's gaze fell upon a young ranger beside him who had been stabbed in the abdomen but was still clinging tightly to Oak's leg, allowing the other rangers to finish him off. He then delivered a thunderous exclamation to all the rangers who were fighting valiantly: "I swear in the name of the Golden Tree, the bravery of you Dunedan people is enough to move even Rodel's proudest knights!"

The agonizing five minutes finally ended. The ranger captain hoarsely threw his already dulled scimitar at the head of an Orc. As he drew his last remaining dagger from his waist, he suddenly felt that familiar thunder rumble behind him.

He glanced back briefly and saw that the Knight Rodel had retreated a few steps to a relatively safe distance, and his raised right arm was gathering dazzling, leaping golden lightning, which eventually condensed into a brilliant lightning spear as thick as an adult's arm.

"retreat!"

Knight Rodel let out a thunderous roar, and at the same time, his long-prepared right arm hurled forward.

A golden lightning bolt, tearing through the line of sight and accompanied by a shriek, instantly pierced the center of the broken log that served as the core of the slope.

Without pausing, the lightning gun unleashed a deafening burst of lightning the instant it struck the broken log. The thick log, as if filled with explosives, was blasted into countless fragments of burning golden sparks in an instantaneous roar.

The Orcs climbing the broken logs screamed as they were thrown and torn apart, along with dozens of other Orcs on the slope, turning into charred, mangled corpses in a dazzling flash of lightning, leaving behind a charred crater and wisps of smoke on the ground.

The shattered wood chips also caused secondary damage to the nearby Orks, with many Orks being blinded or having their fingers broken by those seemingly insignificant debris.

The breath that the ranger captain had been holding in his chest for so long was finally exhaled heavily as the broken log slope turned to ashes, and his shoulders subconsciously relaxed for a moment.

He wiped the sticky blood splattered on his face and was about to turn to express his heartfelt gratitude to the Knight of Rodel when a hand encased in cold metal slammed heavily onto his exhausted shoulder.

Knight Rodel's voice was deep and steady: "I regret to inform you that now is not the time for apologies and relaxation, brave ranger, the enemy is still attacking."

Knight Rodel's tone showed no sign of complacency after victory, just like the greatsword in his hand that was still dripping with Orc blood.

These words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing the faint joy in the captain's heart. He looked up sharply, his gaze passing over the crenellations riddled with gaps and scorch marks, and landing on the city wall below.

As far as the eye could see, there was still that despairing, churning, gray-black ocean.

The destruction of the log ramp caused only a brief, insignificant vortex in this filthy wave of Ok.

More and more Orks, like an endless swarm of maggots, are frantically rushing toward the remaining siege ladders and climbing points, and are even beginning to climb upwards by scratching at the rough surface of the city wall with their bare hands.

Meanwhile, on the distant horizon shrouded in smoke and dust, an even larger array of Orcs slowly pressed in like a moving shadow.

(End of this chapter)