While the delegation from Rohan still stood in stunned silence, the gates of Elariel creaked open—and from within marched forth a hundred-man company, armored and disciplined.

At the fore rode two middle-aged men. One was Norman, the mayor of the town. The other was General Reger, commander of the Kingdom's archer-infantry regiment. Both were mounted, flanked by soldiers marching in step behind them, their formation cutting a sharp line along the East-West Road as they approached the slope where the Rohan emissaries had gathered.

From afar, Will caught sight of them and turned to introduce them to Cenric, saying:

"Approaching us now is the Kingdom's bow infantry—each one trained in both the longbow and the spear. Leading them is Norman, mayor of Elariel and General Reger, commander of the bow-infantry and a descendant of the ancient heroes."

It wasn't long before Norman and Reger reached the hilltop, bringing their hundred well-drilled infantrymen with them.

They dismounted and saluted Will.

Norman stepped forward, his voice warm and formal: "Welcome back, esteemed Minister Will. We have come by command of His Majesty Kaen to greet you—and the envoys of the Kingdom of Rohan."

Will nodded in return. "My thanks, Norman. General Reger."

He turned to the others and gestured politely. "This is Lord Cenric, diplomat of the Kingdom of Rohan. It is he who brings with him the Rohan Royal Cavalry and the renowned Horse-masters. Together, they've delivered a gift of ten thousand warhorses to our kingdom."

"Good day to you, Lord Cenric," said Norman with a respectful incline of his head. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Eowenría."

"Good day, Lord Norman. General Reger. The honor is mine," Cenric replied with equal courtesy.

As pleasantries were exchanged, both parties discreetly observed the soldiers behind one another. It was plain to see—the three hundred Rohan cavalry were veterans of war, their composure calm yet fierce, a quiet menace radiating from them like steel unsheathed.

But the soldiers that Reger had brought were no rabble either. Though they had yet to see real combat, their four to five months of intense training—augmented by the system's triple growth speed—had honed them into a fighting force worthy of the title "elite."

Still, when set against the famed cavalry of Rohan, they seemed a touch lacking. After all, infantry has always stood at a natural disadvantage before mounted warriors.

Cenric exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

This first meeting with Kaen Eowenríel could have gone far worse. At the very least, he had not tarnished the honor of the Kingdom of Rohan.

He turned to Norman and asked, "We have brought with us ten thousand of Rohan's finest steeds. Might I ask where they are to be stabled? Also, I carry a gift entrusted by our king himself—I must deliver it to yours in person."

At his words, Norman and Reger exchanged a glance. A flicker of amusement lit their eyes.

Norman replied with a faint smile, "We are not the ones who will handle the warhorses. That task falls to the Light Cavalry Corps and the Heavy Cavalry Regiment. They will be arriving shortly to take charge of the steeds."

Reger pointed across the wild fields. "Look—they come!"

At his words, everyone turned their heads.

And what they beheld struck them speechless.

From the eastern edge of the forest, a formation of five hundred warriors advanced in unison. They were towering men clad in thick plate armor, armed with heavy lances and broad shields. As the sunlight kissed their steel, it shimmered with a deadly gleam.

Their steps were synchronized, and every footfall thudded against the ground like a smith's hammer on an anvil. Though they numbered but five hundred, the force of their presence was that of five thousand. The very earth trembled beneath them, and even the seasoned horses of the Rohan envoys grew uneasy.

Sweat began to bead on the brows of the Rohan cavalry. They knew in their bones—this was no ordinary military display. This force could utterly annihilate them if it wished.

Will gestured to them with reverence. "This is the Kingdom's Heavy Cavalry Regiment, led by General Sigilion of the Dúnedain. Each man is handpicked and rigorously trained—disciplined, well-armored, and immensely powerful. For months now, they have awaited the arrival of these horses."

But that was not all.

A sudden movement on the western edge of the woods drew all eyes. Another company surged into view—larger than the last. At their head rode a woman with wind-tossed hair and eyes sharp as flint, flanked by fifty cavalry archers.

Will's voice deepened with admiration. "This is the Mounted Archer Corps, commanded by the kingdom's sole lady general—General Cathril of the Dúnedain. Like the bow-infantry, they wield spears and bows and wear chain and leather, aided by round shields. They are swift, agile, and tactically versatile—and they too have long awaited these steeds."

Both military units came to a halt around the herds of warhorses. Thousands of gleaming Rohan steeds stood restless and proud, catching the eyes of every soldier present.

Cathril and Sigilion rode to meet the delegation.

After brief greetings, Sigilion spoke with crisp authority, "Envoy, His Majesty King Kaen has instructed us to receive the horses on his behalf. The agreed payment has already been prepared for you and will be delivered during tonight's banquet."

"Of course, General," Cenric replied with a wry smile. "These horses were brought for your use."

What else could he say?

They were surrounded. Over fifteen hundred elite troops hemmed them in on all sides. Any pretense of superiority had long since been stripped away.

In truth, all of Cenric's diplomatic pride as an envoy of a great kingdom had been thoroughly deflated.

Had Eowenría been a minor fiefdom with a few strokes of luck—some rare mithril and extra territory—then he would've surely carried himself with the arrogance befitting Rohan. After all, the three hundred Rohan cavalry he commanded could easily sweep across nine-tenths of the noble lands in western Middle-earth.

But Eowenría was different.

The archers under Reger, the mounted archers under Cathril, the armored horsemen under Sigilion—every last one of them was elite. And that heavy cavalry? Regular elite troops wouldn't even stand a chance.

How could he possibly act haughty under such circumstances?

It would've been laughable.

To put it bluntly—even if he were to die here, Rohan would likely not retaliate. The distance between here and Rohan was over a thousand leagues. Even marching non-stop, an army would take half a year to arrive. No ruler would be foolish enough to attempt it.

Not even the most addle-brained of kings.

And so, Cenric swallowed his pride.

Seeing this, the officials of Eowenría exchanged glances—then set to work.

With the help of the Horse-masters, Cathril's light cavalry led away six thousand steeds. Sigilion' heavy cavalry took another two thousand. The remaining two thousand were handed over to Norman for breeding purposes—they would be raised at a specially designated royal pasture.

But just as one rider reached for a carriage in the convoy, Cenric suddenly stepped forward, his voice sharp:

"Stop!"

He strode quickly to block the soldier's hand, his expression grave. "This cart contains a personal gift from the King of Rohan to your sovereign. It must not be opened until I've delivered it to him directly."

At his words, Cathril and Sigilion exchanged a look.

Though curious, they did not press further and withdrew their men from the cart.

Thus, the ten thousand Rohan steeds were swiftly and efficiently distributed.

Watching Cenric—sweating and frazzled—Will felt a quiet satisfaction. Serves you right, old snake. All that passive-aggressive posturing along the way...

Norman stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. "Lord Cenric, His Majesty Kaen awaits you at the banquet hall in Elariel. If you would be so kind as to follow us?"

Still reeling from everything he had just witnessed, Cenric nodded numbly.

"Very well... lead the way, then."