Inside the cavern where the Orcs once mined mithril, every wooden structure had been reduced to ashes.

The stone walls, scorched by fire, now crumbled at the slightest touch.

Kaen descended with a few of his commanders, using ropes to reach the bottom of the great chamber. Torches in hand, they inspected the walls carefully. Soon, they discovered veins of shimmering silver-white ore, crisscrossing like frozen lightning through the cracks in the stone.

Kaen broke off a small piece and weighed it in his palm. It was so light, it felt as though it had no weight at all.

He confirmed, "There's no mistake. This is mithril ore."

Zakri's eyes widened with curiosity. "My lord, what is mithril exactly?"

Mundar and Caden also looked puzzled. Understandably so—they had grown up as hillfolk, and to them, the most precious thing in the world was gold. They had never heard of such a metal.

Cathril, however, was visibly excited. Her eyes sparkled as she explained, "Mithril is the rarest and most valuable metal in all of Middle-earth. It's harder than any steel, yet light as a feather. Once, the ancestors of us Dúnedain—the Númenóreans—used it to craft priceless artifacts. The Dwarves revere mithril above all other treasures. Weapons and armor forged from it are reserved for kings alone."

"Mithril is exceedingly rare," she added. "Even a piece no larger than your thumb could fetch thousands of gold coins."

The three men gasped sharply, their faces filling with awe and disbelief.

Caden blinked in astonishment. "Then doesn't that mean this entire mithril vein is worth more than a mountain of gold?"

"A mountain of gold?" Lairon scoffed and shook his head. "No one in their right mind would trade mithril for gold. That'd be sheer madness."

The others reached out, brushing their fingers over the glimmering silver veins embedded in the walls, wonder spreading across their faces.

Kaen spoke again, his tone calm but alert, "It looks like this vein has been mined for years. But with the Orcs' crude methods, progress must've been painfully slow. They likely didn't know how to refine or shape it properly."

"They probably used raw mithril ore as trade goods with other dark forces," he mused. "Which means somewhere nearby… there might be a treasure hoard."

That possibility lit a fire in everyone's eyes. Compared to this legendary metal, good old-fashioned treasure had a more immediate appeal.

They began scouring the chamber, lowering themselves into adjoining stone rooms with ropes, leaving no space unchecked.

Before long, Zakri's voice echoed out, excited and triumphant.

"Over here! I've found the treasure!"

They rushed over without delay, climbing into the chamber Zakri had uncovered. And when they entered—it took their breath away.

It was a vast chamber, its floor stacked high with stockpiled grain. A rough estimate put it at well over a hundred thousand pounds. And at the center stood several massive chests, overflowing with gold, silver, and glittering jewels.

One of the chests was filled with carefully sorted mithril ore.

"Oh Eru, I must be hallucinating. There's no way I'm actually looking at this much gold."

"Each chest alone must hold tens of thousands of coins…"

"We're rich—truly rich!"

"This grain… it could feed not five hundred, but three thousand soldiers!"

Mouths hung open, eyes gleaming. Even Kaen, whose composure was usually unshakable, felt his heart racing.

He wasn't a Dwarf—he didn't have the luck of stumbling across ancestral treasure buried in some forgotten mountain. Every coin he'd earned had been through grit and strategy. From the ten thousand gold in the Troll cave, to the thirty thousand from Azure spring Town—it had all gone into buying slaves, trading grain, acquiring weapons, and constructing Elrohir. Every coin had been spent with care.

Now, in this cave, lay a fortune beyond his wildest dreams. Dozens—perhaps hundreds—of thousands of gold coins. Wealth that could transform a kingdom overnight.

Kaen took a deep breath, calming his mind. He had once hesitated to make this place his capital. Concerns had plagued him: lack of funds, insufficient population, not enough officials. But now… all of that had changed.

Lairon asked, "My lord, should we have the soldiers haul all of this back to Elariel Town?"

Kaen shook his head, firm and decisive. "No. Leave it here. I intend to build a city in this valley. This will be the capital of our kingdom."

At that, the commanders all froze in astonishment.

Kaen smiled. "Don't you see? This valley is perfect for a capital city."

They glanced at one another, then slowly nodded in realization.

Indeed—it was ideal. Mountains on all sides offered natural defense. A pure water source capable of sustaining tens of thousands. Fertile, flat lands. And now, a mithril vein worth more than any king's ransom.

This wasn't just a valley—it was the foundation of a future.

…

They left the chamber behind.

By now, the battlefield outside had been fully cleared. Fallen bodies were burned, and a portion of the ashes was kept. It was a custom in Middle-earth—to help the souls of the dead free themselves from their earthly shells and pass swiftly beyond the world.

Kaen stationed ten Dúnedain rangers at the fortress guarding the valley's entrance. Then he and the rest of his army set off on the road home, marching in triumph.

It took them two days to return.

As they approached Elariel Town, the messengers he'd sent ahead had already spread the news. The people knew of the victory, and they lined the streets on either side, awaiting their heroes' return.

But not all were joyful. Many wore anxious faces—families of soldiers, praying their loved ones had survived.

When Kaen and his men stepped onto the stone-paved roads of the town, every gaze was fixed on them.

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Long live Eowenría!"

"Long live King Kaen!"

"Our soldiers have returned victorious! This calls for celebration—what a blessed day!"

"There are no flowers in winter, else I would weave a garland for each soldier with my own hands!"

Kaen smiled, greeting his people warmly.

After the soldiers returned to their barracks, he made his way back to the royal residence.

"Welcome home, my dear King,"

"I missed you so much while you were gone."

Tifa rushed into his arms without a second thought, locking him in a passionate kiss. They lingered like that for a while before she pulled back, resting her forehead against his, breathless.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"No."

"That… is the best thing I've heard all year."

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