"Open the gates!"
At dusk, all Rangers wandering outside returned, changing equipment and climbing the walls to join the garrison army.
Compared to soldiers who came from Roadside Keep for support, these Rangers were obviously more composed, having grown accustomed to combat. They were used to wandering the wilderness, tracking, and fighting every few days.
"I should have gone to study the Ranger profession too," some soldiers couldn't help thinking.
But combat, a matter of life and death, was never easy work.
When truly on the battlefield, that would be a different mindset... right?
"The situation is serious. The orc army is approaching. We'll probably see them before sunset."
"Indeed very serious."
In the camp, a soldier looked at the steak in his hand: "This meat is overcooked and hard to chew."
"Have you considered stewing it?" Another soldier delivering messages began suggesting solutions.
"Probably no time."
"That's really bad. Let me think... how about finely chopping it into bits, adding some spices, and eating it sandwiched in bread?"
"I've heard of this eating method. Our lord calls it 'meat sandwich.'"
"Sandwich?"
"A different kind of flatbread."
"Sounds pretty good. I want to try it too."
"Then let's try it. While we still have some time, we need to hurry."
"Good!"
With that, they found a wooden board, placed the meat on it, and drew daggers, pondering the best angle to start.
Unfortunately.
"Assemble!"
A shout terminated the two soldiers' actions. They quickly ran toward the voice's direction, still hurriedly munching bread while running.
Too focused on researching meat sandwiches, they'd delayed eating.
"You two..."
An instructor looked at the bread crumbs around their mouths, speechless.
"Wipe your mouths."
"Yes!"
Both complied.
These kids...
The instructor was quite helpless.
May courage and good fortune favor you.
The walls returned to silence as soldiers' nerves tightened, all senses fully engaged, intensely perceiving everything without missing any detail.
Rumble, rumble...
Tremors came from the distant earth.
Hiss!
Terrifying cries rang out. Clearly, the soldiers' spirits wilted, many gasping, including the Dúnedain.
"Courage, my brothers!"
Sensing their forces being affected, Gandalf and Falodan walked back and forth on the walls. Wherever they passed, soldiers' morale soared.
Like a fire on a winter night, driving away the cold.
But even the largest fire couldn't illuminate the entire night. When they left, fear would quickly spread again, rapidly climbing into hearts.
"This is much more intense than Barrow-wights."
A Ranger squad leader with an excellent graduate badge looked at the three dark, profound figures in the distance, his breathing unconsciously quickening.
"Hold your minds!"
Gandalf shouted repeatedly on the walls, running everywhere, using his magical words and the gleaming ring on his hand to kindle hope in people's hearts.
Cold winds howled, but the flames stood firm and unextinguished.
Even if they swayed and trembled.
"Wizard, your power cannot match ours!"
Ugly laughter came from afar as the orc army stopped at a certain distance from the walls, just beyond the maximum range of firework rockets.
When the great army stopped, over ten steel-armored giant beasts reached the front of the battle formation, serving as powerful vanguard units.
"Roar!"
Seeing the giant vanguard in position, some orcs couldn't help roaring and becoming restless.
Only when a Nazgûl glanced back did they return to quiet.
Gandalf narrowed his eyes.
Whether it was his imagination or not, this army from Moria seemed somewhat insubordinate.
The great army had reached the city walls, but Levi was still nowhere to be seen from the north.
"Balin."
"Hm, ah?"
Hearing Gandalf call his name, Balin snapped back to attention, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.
He withdrew his gaze: "What is it, Gandalf? Do you want me to jump over there and give those three fellows a whack each?"
"You'd better be able to."
In no mood for more jokes, Gandalf said: "You'll need to appear calmer in a moment. I believe you can do it."
"Good, don't worry. Definitely can."
Whoosh.
Balin exhaled deeply, returning to his usual state.
"That's good."
While speaking, Gandalf led him above the main gate, where they sat staring at the Nazgûl.
"I feel something's not quite right. Until Levi returns, we must hold this place."
Fifteen thousand orcs wasn't much. If it were only orcs, their forces could even charge out for open battle instead of defending the city.
The key was those big guys standing in front and the Nazgûl.
The Nazgûl issued another intimidating cry, but Gandalf made no response, simply sitting on the wall, calmly watching the army below.
He even had leisure to sip some wine.
Projecting calm composure in the face of danger.
Beside him, Balin also smiled meaningfully at the enemy army below.
Though he didn't know why he was doing this either.
"Gandalf, what are we doing?" Balin asked quietly while maintaining his smile.
Without turning his head, Gandalf replied:
"Levi once told me some interesting stories. I think some methods in them might be worth trying."
"So we're...?"
"Buying time."
Boom!
War drums sounded, but the orcs didn't advance to attack.
Three Nazgûl on horseback stopped before the battle formation, looking at each other without immediate action.
"Only the wizard. That person isn't here."
"Our spies have no news of him at all."
Sometimes, what was frightening wasn't powerful enemies, but not knowing where enemies were.
Why couldn't he just stay peacefully in his territory?
Even the Nazgûl were troubled by this.
Before the formation, two Nazgûl continuously communicated in shadow, while the third remained quite quiet, sitting motionless on his horse like actual armor.
"What's your view?"
Finally, when the other two Nazgûl had communicated long without reaching a definite decision, they asked this Nazgûl.
"Attack directly."
His answer was quite simple.
The relationship among these three Nazgûl seemed somewhat subtle. The third, more silent Nazgûl seemed insignificant with low status, but once he stated his opinion, the other two immediately chose to execute it.
Status might not be high, but regarding his words, the Nazgûl's attitude was quite consistent:
If there was no better method, it was best to listen.
Swish.
Morgul-blades were drawn from waists with ear-piercing sounds:
"Kill!"
War erupted quite abruptly. With the command issued, masses of stones were hurled skyward toward the walls.
Boom!
Under repeated bombardment, even walls as solid as territory fortifications were struck with several gaps, though these gaps were only the outermost layer, with walls still visible inside.
"Fire!"
Atop the walls, archers drew their bows uniformly, sending wave after wave of arrow rain to the army. Swaths of orcs fell, and the giant beasts charging ahead had every unarmored spot densely filled with arrows.
"Roar!"
Giant beasts roared, trying to mask pain with anger, but the next moment a flaming arrow shot into one's mouth, setting it entirely ablaze.
"Free fire!"
When enemies approached a certain distance, Falodan issued orders.
"Attack giant beasts with fire arrows!"
With another command, several hundred archers with fire-enchanted bows turned direction, concentrating attacks on approaching beasts as towering flames rose.
This time, even if unafraid of arrow-piercing pain, the giant beasts had to endure trials by fire to continue forward.
The frontmost beasts crashed down, struggling and rolling, trying to extinguish bright flames on their bodies.
Seeing charges fail and siege equipment unable to even approach, the Nazgûl exerted themselves again.
Hiss!
Accompanied by terrifying cries, a green-glowing arrow suddenly attacked. Falodan dodged aside but was directly hit by a second arrow.
Clearly, whoever shot the arrows had predicted his evasive movement.
The arrow shattered, transmitting unreasonable tremendous force from the arrowhead. Falodan flew backward like a rag doll. Just as he was about to fly over the wall's edge and fall, at the critical moment, a staff stopped him.
"Cough cough..."
His abdomen began bleeding profusely, life gradually draining away. Everything spun before his eyes as his head uncontrollably tilted aside.
Mortal life was always so fragile. The slightest accident or unexpected loss could greatly bring them closer to death.
"Maintain rhythm!"
When Falodan fell, another experienced instructor immediately took over his command.
"How are you?"
Gandalf quickly examined his injuries.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me."
Glug glug...
While speaking, Falodan quickly pulled out two potions and poured them down his throat, one white and one pink, containing milk and healing potion, respectively.
Moments later, after finishing both milk and potion, he stood up, his body restored. Only his armor's damage and distortion indicated he'd indeed suffered some heavy blow.
"I can still continue fighting."
Flash.
A ghost-like black figure suddenly rushed to the wall's base, quite eerily climbing up the smooth wall with no handholds like flying.
All the way to the top.
"Ahh!"
Screams came from the left as several soldiers fell to the ground with terrified expressions, each bearing at least one wound containing Morgul-blade fragments.
Those fragments would move toward the heart on their own, while the poison and evil power would simultaneously take effect, constantly tormenting the wound's owner, making their pupils reflect not the scene before them but their innermost feared nightmares.
Without treatment, they would be continuously tormented by such nightmares and excruciating pain until death.
And death wasn't the final destination. If unlucky, some would be gradually drawn into the shadow world through this torment, becoming terrifying wraiths, Barrow-wights.
"Stop!"
Falodan shouted angrily, drawing his ancient sword from his waist and rushing over, attacking the Nazgûl with all his might.
Clang!
The Barrow-blade met the Morgul-blade as man and Nazgûl competed, momentarily evenly matched.
Meanwhile, soldiers unfortunately struck by Morgul-blades were dragged away and given milk and healing potions by others.
Even so, some with insufficient willpower still hadn't awakened from nightmares, remaining unconscious despite their bodies returning to normal.
The duel on the walls continued, but having just recovered, Falodan was visibly struggling at certain moments.
In single combat, mortals could almost never defeat Nazgûl. Nazgûl could make many mistakes, but if their opponent was struck once, that person was doomed.
Those struck either needed to quickly muster tremendous courage for a counterattack before nightmares, disease, and excruciating pain began, or be executed in nightmares. Or more maliciously, the Nazgûl would watch them be slowly tortured to death.
"Stand back!"
Gandalf raised his staff with great radiance. The Nazgûl fighting Falodan had to retreat into shadow to avoid this light, temporarily withdrawing.
"Now it's two against one."
Forcing back the Nazgûl, Gandalf drew Glamdring. As his ring flashed, flames wrapped around the sword, making the blade red-hot.
Whatever this sword struck would definitely suffer.
Whoosh.
A sinister wind swept by as terrifying laughter echoed overhead. Soldiers couldn't help looking up to see the other two Nazgûl had also climbed the walls, revealing themselves on high.
Those three terrifying figures suddenly descended on everyone's hearts like mountains, bringing the helplessness of facing floods, avalanches, or natural disasters, crushing backs and spines.
Boom!
Simultaneously, the city gate below shook.
Six giant beasts carried a massive siege weapon with evil flames burning at its front, slamming into the gate with tremendous force.
With just one blow, cracks appeared in the gate, showing signs of not holding much longer.
BOOM!
The second blow brought falling debris, with the struck area even showing some bending.
Perhaps the next impact would see the gate's destruction.
The last glimmer of light disappeared from the horizon.
"Your sun has set."
The Nazgûl slowly drew their weapons, making a proclamation.
Shadow shrouded the earth.
Meanwhile, in Rhovanion's wilderness, a mounted figure galloped along the wine road, crossing fords and taking the valley road almost without stopping toward Dale.
When the sun set, the city finally appeared ahead.
Whoa.
The horse breathed heavily, constantly releasing accumulated internal heat.
An elf quickly dismounted, looking around as if searching for something.
"I've never seen an elf like you. You're full of worldly atmosphere."
Just then, a voice came from behind.
"Integrating into the secular world isn't undesirable. There exists much brilliant wisdom among mortals."
This elf instinctively answered before turning to see who asked.
"You are?"
"Legolas, from Mirkwood."
"And you? Where do you come from, and who are you?"
Legolas curiously asked the elf before him.
Most Middle-earth elves liked finding places to stay until the end of time, rarely communicating with the outside world. Over time, they naturally developed ethereal, otherworldly temperaments that couldn't be washed away quickly. Even someone like Legolas, who'd wandered for years, was the same.
But this elf was truly unique. Anyone meeting him would be attracted by his noble, elegant temperament but, upon closer observation, could detect that barely concealed feeling more similar to humans.
That was an openness only cultivated through long-term frequent interaction with the outside world. Or more crudely, looking rather down-to-earth.
"So you're kin from Mirkwood. Greetings."
That elf politely performed the universal elven salute before answering: "Eurohir, from Dorwinion, an ordinary wine estate operator."
"Dorwinion... I know you. The last time Dorwinion elves visited Mirkwood was a thousand years ago. Is everything still well there?"
"Still the same as before."
Eurohir responded, then asked: "Reminiscences can wait. I have urgent business to discuss with this area's ruler."
"Do you know Levi? I heard he's the lord here."
Legolas was startled.
"Of course, we're friends. Also, hardly anyone here wouldn't know him."
"That's wonderful. Where is he now? Could you guide me?"
"What's your relationship with him?"
This question had interrogatory implications, but Eurohir didn't mind, answering:
"Like you, I'm his friend. He once stabled a horse with me. Very peculiar, eating nothing and with a strange temperament, almost impossible to communicate with. It gave my stablemaster headaches for days."
"Alright, I believe you."
Hearing Eurohir say this, Legolas confirmed the elf's identity.
Levi wouldn't entrust his mount to anyone he didn't trust considerably.
"Levi isn't here. The administrator here, or rather his deputy, has also left. They're leading troops to the western Misty Mountains, preparing for a great battle."
"I was also about to go there."
Regarding this kinsman who was both Levi's friend and had dealings with his own realm, Legolas didn't hide much.
But hearing these words, Eurohir became uneasy.
"So this place's defenses are empty with no commanding officers?"
"Yes."
Legolas nodded, suddenly sensing something unusual.
"There's also the Lonely Mountain."
He said: "The dwarven kingdom's army remains. Their king has a good relationship with Levi. If anything happened, they definitely wouldn't ignore it. Do you want to meet him?"
"If what you say is true, then I'll meet him."
Eurohir didn't overthink it.
Dorwinion elves had no grudges with dwarves, naturally no prejudices either. He didn't mind conversing with dwarves.
"Then good, let's depart immediately."
"Take my horse."
Seeing Eurohir's horse didn't look capable of running more, Legolas brought his own horse, indicating he should mount.
So two elves from different regions rapidly proceeded toward Erebor.
"May I ask what matter you wish to discuss?"
During the brief journey, Legolas asked the far-traveling elf behind him.
"Shadows."
Eurohir spoke:
"Shadows from the east are approaching this place."