Chapter 400: Dragon Rider
Boom!
Like a silver torrent crashing into black rock, the allied army of Men slammed into Mordor's dark host, and in an instant, the fighting turned savage.
The leaders of Men led the charge.
Many soldiers were startled during the advance, though not by the enemy. What surprised them was how fast the ancient-looking wizard ran.
Gandalf moved as though his feet barely touched the ground, kicking up a trail of dust behind him, with more energy than men half his age.
"Hah!"
Aragorn swung with everything he had, and the force of the blow sheared through an Orc's weapon. A second swing split the creature's helmet open. He was unstoppable.
His performance sent a surge of fighting spirit through the soldiers behind him. Their own strikes came harder, fuelled by his example.
Of course, compared to Levi on the other side of the field, it looked almost modest.
Levi shouldered the Dragonflame Steel greatsword and carved a path straight through the Orc ranks, driving toward every large target in sight: Trolls, Olog-hai, war beasts. One after another, the heavy vanguard units fell in his wake. Not one of them could withstand the weight or edge of the greatsword.
After clearing roughly half of the first wave of heavy units, the Free City-States' elite troops pushed forward to fill the gap. The finest among them, veterans and champions alike, turned their attention to the remaining high-value targets, executing them before they could inflict serious casualties.
Boom!
Levi swept another cluster of Orcs aside, then snapped his gaze toward the rear of Mordor's army.
Sauron was gone.
"Where did he go?"
Sauron had not led the charge. The moment the battle was joined, he had vanished.
He was deliberately avoiding Levi altogether. Even though no such proverb existed in this world, Sauron understood the principle perfectly well: match your strongest against their weakest.
He would go after the ones who were comparatively vulnerable but whose loss would cripple the enemy.
Clang!
The massive mace cratered the ground.
Aragorn threw himself aside, heart hammering.
Using his own army as cover, Sauron had come for him first.
Aragorn put distance between them, raised Andúril, and called out, "Take a good look at this sword. Remember it? This is the blade that cut the Ring from your finger and brought you to where you are now!"
That hit a nerve. But Sauron gave nothing away. He simply laughed twice and answered, "A mere sword. Even reforged, what can it do?"
"You will meet your end. You, and your beloved, together..."
As he spoke, Sauron played his old trick: he conjured a vision for Aragorn's eyes alone, showing him Arwen—weakening, fading, dying.
This time, Aragorn was the one who broke.
"This time it won't just be a finger. I'll take your head!"
"Aaaargh!"
He roared and hurled himself forward, resolved to fight Sauron to the death.
Clang!
In his fury, he actually caught Sauron's crushing blow on his blade. But it could not hold. The pressure drove him back step after step until he had to roll away just to shed the force.
No matter how angry he was, the gap in raw power was still there.
The fight was all but one-sided. Aragorn dodged, wove, and scrambled to defend, looking thoroughly battered. He knew he had no real chance. A single clean hit would leave him on death's door.
Sauron, meanwhile, pressed forward at his own pace. One swing of the mace demanded an entire sequence of desperate responses from Aragorn. And when Aragorn finally found an opening and landed several strikes of his own, they left barely a scratch on that armour. It was impossibly hard to damage.
Fighting Sauron reminded Aragorn of his days sparring with Levi at Roadside Keep. The same helplessness returned.
Except Levi had always held back. Sauron would not.
Before long, Aragorn was sent crashing to the ground, trapped in a killing position.
The great mace came down again.
Whoosh.
Between life and death, an arrow streaked in and struck Sauron square in the head. It only knocked his helm aside.
But that was enough. The mace's trajectory shifted just slightly. Aragorn seized the opening, jammed his sword against the blow to redirect it, used the momentum to roll clear, and scrambled to his feet.
He fixed his gaze on Sauron, who was already closing in for another strike. Then Aragorn's grim, bruised face relaxed. He raised an eyebrow at the Dark Lord.
And glanced past him.
Sauron's instincts fired. He whipped around with a backhand swing and met a massive black-and-crimson greatsword.
"Having fun picking on the kids, are we?"
Boom!
Levi stepped back, then launched into a leaping overhead slash that drove Sauron's legs into a buckle, his iron boots sinking into the dirt.
At the same moment, Legolas, who had fired the saving arrow, arrived alongside Gimli and Boromir. They covered Aragorn as he pulled back a few steps.
Aragorn caught his breath. "Don't worry. I'm not that fragile."
Then he threw himself back into the fight.
The duel between Sauron and Levi resumed. But Sauron had no love for fair fights, especially not under uncertain conditions. He would never charge in on a rush of hot blood, looking for a glorious showdown.
He rarely took risks. If he could guarantee a result, that was the only path he would take.
Screeee!
At Sauron's silent command, the remaining eight Nazgûl descended on fell beasts, swooping toward the allied army.
Against ground forces, especially Men, they were a nightmare from the skies. The advantage was overwhelming.
Out of fear and respect for the wizard, the Nazgûl spread wide, attacking from multiple angles to avoid being caught together in a single blast.
The tactic worked. The Nazgûl threw many sections of the army into disorder, and the defenders struggled to respond.
But then...
In the open ground between the two hosts, Levi took a small step back and raised an eyebrow at Sauron.
Sauron's nerves fired at once. He spun and lashed out behind him, expecting another ambush.
But there was no one there. He had been baited.
"Useless tricks..."
He was about to taunt Levi when a fresh wave of dread washed over him.
"Rooaarrr!"
A thunderous roar split the sky. Close behind it came a torrent of orange-red flame that burned straight through the dark clouds and incinerated two Nazgûl who had been flying too close together.
"It's Pinky!"
Pippin and Merry, their short swords stained with enemy blood like everyone else's, looked up and shouted with delight.
Gandalf kicked an Orc off its feet, then called over his shoulder, "Remember, when you're in public, call him Beherdan! Or Pinky will make you regret it!"
Pippin and Merry opened their mouths, then thought better of it.
"Your doom has come, Sauron."
On the other side, Levi sheathed the Dragonflame Steel greatsword. He leapt backward, and Beherdan, diving at exactly the right moment, caught him on his back in one fluid motion. For the first time, Levi appeared on the battlefield riding a dragon.
Many who saw it found themselves saying a word that had never existed in this world before:
"Dragon Rider!"
After a single circuit of the battlefield, Levi pointed down at Sauron and gave the order.
"Burn him!"
Whooom!
Superheated dragonfire poured downward against the wind. The army behind Sauron scattered in panic, leaving him standing alone.
Sauron, to his credit, was tough. He raised his mace before him, and it was clear he had no intention of dodging.
Levi soon found out why.
At the end of the day, Sauron was no mortal. He was a Maia, one of the divine spirits. Even as one not made for combat, his arsenal ran deep.
In the instant before the dragonfire reached him, a shroud of black mist erupted around Sauron's form. He stood there and took the full blast of superheated flame, and even after Beherdan had emptied his lungs, the dark mist had not thinned in the slightest.
"What?"
For the first time, it was Levi who looked surprised.
(End of Chapter)