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[LOTR] Ch 4: A New Buff
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 23:17:38 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
The moment the notification faded, a warm force rose through Raine's limbs like fire spreading through a forge. It seeped into his bones, muscles, even his spirit, strengthening everything from the inside out.
He opened his status panel instinctively.
)—[Status Panel]—(
↳Name: Raine Owenria
↳Level: 2
↳EXP: 0 / 200
↳Combat Rank: Ordinary Legendary
(Rank Order: Warrior → Elite → Legendary → Epic → Mythic → Exalted)
↳Buff:
◉ Born King: Innate talent; carries a natural aura of leadership
◉ Personal Growth Speed ×3: All personal abilities grow three times faster
◉ Warrior Growth Speed ×3: All warriors loyal to you grow three times faster in skill, physique, and combat talent
---
"Warrior Growth Speed ×3?"
Raine exhaled slowly. That buff couldn't have come at a better time.
His Rangers were strong, but too few. With this, they could grow faster than any army on the continent, taking in new people — and now he could know whether they were loyal or not.
This buff wasn't just a boost to the fighting strength — it was the foundation of something greater.
…
By dawn, what had once been vibrant Desson lay in ruins, still smoldering beneath a sky stained gray with ash.
Those who survived the night wept in the streets. Some searched the rubble with shaking hands, calling out names that would never answer. The air was thick with grief and the bitter smell of char.
On the walls of the keep, Glinvard stood with his arm freshly bandaged, gazing at the devastation below.
He murmured, voice low and heavy, "This is the worst of times."
"And also the best," a young voice replied behind him.
Glinvard turned.
Raine approached slowly, stopping beside him. He rested a hand on the stone of the wall and spoke quietly, "The brightest light always casts the deepest shadow. And in the darkest despair, hope shines the clearest."
He paused, then gave a slight bow. "Raine Owenria. It's an honor to meet you, Lord Glinvard of Desson."
For the young Ranger leader who had saved his town, Glinvard dared not show any pride. He returned the bow with equal respect. "Glinvard Dulord, Lord of Desson. And it is I who should thank you. Without your intervention, Desson would be lost."
"Standing against the dark is the duty of every free man. I only did what was necessary," Raine said plainly, without the slightest hint of boast.
"Many speak of duty," Glinvard said with a weary smile. "Few act on it."
The two stood side by side atop the wall, speaking of the world and its unrest.
Glinvard had lived too long and seen too much. His faith in the world had weathered down to embers.
Raine was different — young, burning with purpose, like the sunrise breaking over the eastern horizon.
Two opposite temperaments — and yet their words blended with surprising harmony.
"You're Dúnedain, aren't you?" Glinvard asked suddenly. "I knew about Arathorn II. A good man. His death in the Ettenmoors ten years ago… a tragedy."
He paused, then added with a note of sympathy, "I've heard of your people's state. Without a royal bloodline to unite you, the Dúnedain split into scattered bands. Your road grows harder."
He looked Raine over with honest eyes. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you weren't just another Ranger. The men behind you — they look at you not as a companion, but as something… higher. They carry reverence in their eyes. A king's aura surrounds you. Yet you have no throne, no city, only a band of twenty-something loyal warriors."
Raine raised a brow, amused. "So you think I resemble a king?"
"I have never seen a true king," Glinvard said simply, "but my instinct says yes."
Raine didn't pursue the subject further. Silence settled briefly between them.
After a moment, he asked, "Desson lies in ruin. What do you plan to do next?"
"Rebuild," Glinvard answered without hesitation. "This town has been burned and broken more times than I can count. Every time, it rises again. Fire can destroy our homes, but not the will that binds us to this land."
He turned to Raine with curiosity in his tone. "And you? I don't believe your arrival was coincidence. You have a purpose."
"We're heading into the Trollshaws," Raine answered directly. "There's something there we need."
Glinvard blinked in surprise. "I don't believe there's anything in that woods worth risking your lives for. The dangers there are beyond imagination."
"There is no safe place in this world, Lord Glinvard," Raine said as he looked eastward. "Some things are only won by those willing to reach for them."
He straightened and made to leave. "We wish to purchase weapons and armor from Desson. I can pay, but I must ask to buy on credit for now. Take time to consider. There's no need to answer immediately."
Glinvard watched him go, silent for a long time. At last, he whispered, "This one carries a king's spirit more strongly than any I have seen."
…
In the end, Glinvard agreed to Raine's request.
Desson, famed for its smiths, had no shortage of weapons. Outfitting two dozen elite Rangers was a small matter.
So Raine's company shed their worn gear and emerged in full new armament — steel-forged armor, fine elven-forged longswords, yew longbows with powerful draw, and iron arrows laced with poison.
In that moment, they no longer looked like wandering Rangers. They looked like the royal guard of ancient Arnor reborn. And in their eyes, a fire had been lit — a hunger for restoration, for the return of Dúnedain glory.
Raine did not interfere with Desson's rebuilding. This was Dulord land, not his kingdom, and he was neither king nor wealthy patron. He had done what he could in their hour of need. The rest was theirs to shape.
Once equipped, Raine and his followers mounted up, ready to leave for Trollshaws.
At the broken gate, the townsfolk gathered in numbers to see them off. Glinvard, leaning on a cane, stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"No matter your purpose, you leave with the blessing of Desson. If one day you truly become a king… may your kingdom rise on the soil of Eriador."
Raine looked at him and spoke without doubt. "That day will come."
He bowed deeply to Glinvard, to Miles, and to the people of Desson. Then he mounted his horse, and the Rangers rode east along the great road, disappearing into the silver mist of morning.
…
Two days after leaving Desson, they reached the Trollshaws.
.
.
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