The northern regions of Middle-earth had been quite eventful in the past two years.

Smaug was slain, the King under the Mountain had returned, the vast orc armies from the Misty Mountains and Moria were defeated, and a shadow rose above Dol Guldur, surging into Mordor.

Soon after the return of the King of Erebor, a new realm was established, known as the Free Settlements, spanning many towns on both sides of the Misty Mountains. Its people lived in prosperity and peace, content and harmonious.

“Though Dale is said to be the largest and most prosperous of the free cities, there’s a rumor that it might not be the capital of the Free Settlements.”

“Oh? The most prosperous and expansive place isn’t the capital? Then where is?”

In a tavern somewhere in Gondor, Halbarad indulged himself for once, ordering two frothy ales rich with malt aroma, along with a plate of roasted meat and some vegetables.

A well-balanced meal: meat and greens.

Seated across from him was another ranger, a member of Gondor’s border guard.

Recently, the pressure from Mordor had mysteriously lessened, granting these rangers, who usually patrolled the frontlines, a rare moment of leisure.

Halbarad handed one of the ales to the ranger across from him.

The ranger took a sip and continued, “They say it’s a wondrous stronghold, built seemingly overnight by a powerful lord with strange abilities. Its name is something like… Wayfort?”

Pfft.

Halbarad choked on his ale.

He laughed and said, “Ha! That sounds like tavern gossip.”

“You’re not going to tell me that person’s name is Garrett, are you? What next, he’s the one who killed the dragon and defeated the orc armies too?”

“Well, haven’t you already heard all this? Then why ask me?”

The ranger shrugged and downed the rest of the ale Halbarad had bought him, savoring the malt flavor with satisfaction.

But Halbarad couldn’t laugh anymore.

Wait, what?

Wasn’t it supposed to be just a jest?

“Hold on, don’t leave.”

He grabbed the ranger, who was about to rise, and said, “Let me buy you another drink. Can you tell me more?”

“Well, I’ve got time to spare. I can talk a little longer.”

The ranger sat back down and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

The ranger leaned back slightly.

“That’s quite a tale.”

“I’d be glad to hear it.”

Halbarad looked at him intently.

Seeing how earnest this distant kinsman was, the local Gondorian ranger felt inclined to share more. He responded, “First, let me say that all I have is hearsay, stories from wandering refugees, distant merchants, and even captured orcs from the northern reaches. I can’t vouch for how accurate it all is.”

“But they all mentioned that man.”

“The refugees call him the Savior of Dale. The merchants refer to him as ‘the generous and great lord whose coffers seem endless.'”

“As for the orcs, they fear his name, referring to him only as ‘Him’.”

As the ranger continued, a story began to unfold, pieced together from scattered rumors. The more Halbarad listened, the more astounded he became, so much so that he didn’t even notice his food growing cold.

—

It was a poor habit to become distracted during meals. But that wasn’t a problem for Garrett.

Unlike most people who eat three regular meals, or hobbits with their seven or eight meals a day, he simply ate whenever he was hungry. Mealtimes were based on when his hunger level dropped.

He only took the time to prepare elaborate meals when he had ample free time. Most of the time, he’d just bite into some jerky or bread to keep himself going.

After bidding farewell to the dwarves, he didn’t stop anywhere else. He returned immediately to his stronghold to assess the gains from this journey.

There were really only two main acquisitions: One was mithril, the other was a mallorn tree seed.

In an open field near the fortress, he gave Wormi’s head a few gentle rubs and gently moved the curious dragon away to keep it from interfering. Then, after stepping somewhat farther away, he carefully planted the mallorn seed.

Next, he retrieved some bone meal from his inventory.

Swish swish swish.

Green sparkles appeared, showing that the bone meal was indeed accelerating the seed’s growth. As the bone meal gradually depleted, the seed finally began to change.

It sprouted into a sapling.

“So hungry for nutrients?”

He wiped some sweat, realizing one batch of bone meal might not suffice.

As expected of the most vigorous magical tree species in all of Middle-earth. It had taken more than ten bone meal applications just to grow it from a seed into a sapling.

So to grow it into one of those towering trees of the Golden Wood, would it require a whole chest of bone meal?

That amount could probably cultivate an entire forest of normal trees… Despite the massive consumption, bone meal was never scarce at his stronghold.

All thanks to the orcs and wargs, they were still proving useful, even in death.

Gently moving Wormi back again before it could inch closer, he continued nurturing the sapling.

As stacks of bone meal from his inventory dwindled, the mallorn sapling grew rapidly before his eyes, sprouting smooth white branches and golden buds.

When it reached about human height, the grass around it began to change color, turning from dark green to a vibrant light green, full of vitality.

That day, the townsfolk chatting in the square suddenly turned their heads and noticed a dazzling golden hue had appeared in their view.

A tree.

A massive tree had seemingly appeared from nowhere, near the castle.

Its bark was smooth and silver-grey, its leaves glowed a brilliant gold, and golden blossoms bloomed among its branches.

“So beautiful…”

More and more residents gathered around the lush grass affected by the tree’s aura, quietly gazing up at this never-before-seen sight.

Rustle.

Leaves rustled high in the crown of the tree. He broke off a few of the more crowded branches to use as thaumic materials.

The tree was simply too beautiful, he couldn’t bring himself to cut it down.

Of course, he could plant another if he did.

But for now, he only needed a little. Better to leave the rest, just as he always taught his people: Take only what you need, no excessive hoarding.

“Roar!”

While climbing the tree, a young cry suddenly came from below. He looked down and saw Wormi happily frolicking around the base of the tree.

It was pawing at the trunk with its claws and stubby legs, clearly trying to climb up. From how excited it looked, it probably wouldn’t leave until it succeeded.

With a sigh, he climbed back down and set up a ladder, then personally carried Wormi up.

The moment it reached the top, the little dragon became ecstatic, sniffing here, rubbing there, exploring everything. After a while, seemingly tired, it flopped onto a thick branch and closed its eyes to nap.

“Don’t fall asleep now.”

Garrett picked it up, interrupting the nap.

“If you sleep now, how do you plan to get back down later?”

Wormi clung to his leg with its large round eyes, looking up at him pleadingly.

So you want to turn this tree into your nest, huh…

“Sigh, alright.”

Garrett set Wormi down and let it doze in peace.

He then went to the warehouse to fetch some materials.

A short while later, a spiral staircase, styled after those of the Golden Wood, was completed, connecting the base of the tree directly to its crown.

Now Wormi could climb up and down on its own.

After building the staircase, Garrett even trimmed the treetop and constructed a few small platforms.

Perfect.

Hands on hips, he nodded with satisfaction.

No wonder the Galadhrim chose to build their homes in trees. The mallorn tree’s canopy was much larger than average and incredibly sturdy, with excellent weight-bearing strength.

It was essentially a natural foundation, absolutely ideal for construction.

Of course, he didn’t plan to live there himself.

Since Wormi favored it, it could have it as a nest.

Once Wormi was settled, he climbed down and made a brief appearance before the townsfolk, then headed straight for the Infusion Altar in the tower.

The mallorn branches were placed at the center of the altar. On side pedestals sat fragments of the six primal aspects, plus a seventh fragment formed from their fusion, an Ordo aspect. The surroundings were filled with jars and vials of distilled essentia.

The recipe and components were identical to before, only the main material had changed from silverwood to mallorn.

Crack!

A spark of deep violet flickered from the runic matrix, making him flinch.

What? Was it going to fail?

Hummmm…

The matrix activated normally, drawing in vis and beginning the infusion process.

Whew.

He patted his chest.

That was close.

As long as the infusion process ran, he could treat it as stable.

If it works, don’t interfere with it.

Even if something seemed amiss, as long as it didn’t fail catastrophically, best to leave it alone.

As the mallorn branch absorbed more vis and aspect energy, it slowly transformed, becoming smooth, symmetrical, and glowing with a silver sheen.

A moment later, the infusion ritual was complete.

He picked up the branch, no, the staff core, now.

As he held this newly forged implement, a new, never-before-seen research entry appeared in his Thaumonomicon:

[Mallorn Staff Core: A special material brought back from the Golden Wood by the wandering thaumaturge. It is even more attuned to magic than silverwood, with far greater purifying power. It can serve as a superior replacement for silverwood. When the core resonates, a light of Valinor emanates from within.]

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