“It just feels a bit too quiet.”

Halbarad was vigilantly scanning their surroundings as he rode ahead. Ever since they had mounted their horses and set off, he hadn’t let his guard down for a moment.

“In my experience, there should be plenty of orcs around here. Or perhaps some goblins emerging from their holes, they love ambushing travelers.”

“There might even be wargs prowling at night.”

“In the past, I would never take this route unless absolutely necessary.”

“Your experience is outdated.”

Unlike the ever-alert Halbarad, Garrett didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings, not to the sides, nor overhead.

“There aren’t likely to be orcs around here anymore. I’ve already sealed off the Front Porch of Goblin-town.”

“As for the orcs and wargs that usually roam the mountains, the orcs took a huge loss in the Battle of Five Armies. Most were slaughtered. It will be a long time before they recover.”

“How many orcs perished in that battle, exactly?” Halbarad asked.

“Didn’t keep count. Maybe tens of thousands.”

“Tens of thousands…”

All the orcs across the entire Lone-lands probably didn’t even add up to that number anymore…

With that many dead, it was fair to say the Misty Mountains had been completely purged of their presence.

And with Goblin-town sealed off…

“Now I understand why it’s so quiet.”

Even as he said that, this seasoned Ranger didn’t relax his vigilance one bit.

A true professional.

The two continued traveling like that, encountering no disturbances, until they reached the Vales of Anduin.

“It feels quiet here as well. In my memory, this area used to be filled with orc camps and strongholds, they were a constant menace. But now, they’re all gone.”

“Well, Gandalf, you know, the Grey Wizard, and I came through here not long after you left. He was in charge of evacuating the civilians. I handled clearing out the orcs.”

“And?”

“We both completed our tasks quite well.”

“…I see. Understood. But we’ll need to change direction now.”

Halbarad explained, “Ahead lies Mirkwood. The path there has been swallowed by thick undergrowth, we cannot pass through. We should head south first, circle around the forest, and then make for Lake-town. That route’s safer.”

“No.”

Garrett reminded him, “We need not worry about safety out here in the wilderness. There’s only one thing we should care about, which route gets us there fastest.”

“…Very well. We’ll do it your way.”

Their original plan to visit Lake-town was set aside.

The two of them skirted the edges of Mirkwood and rode swiftly eastward across the wilderness of Rhovanion, stopping only at night for brief rests.

Although for a battle-hardened Dúnadan like Halbarad, even without a horse he could have kept running continuously for days without rest, there was no need for such extremes now. This wasn’t an emergency.

What they needed more was to conserve their energy.

Still, they made incredible progress.

Before long, they had left the wilderness of Rhovanion behind.

One evening, a road showing signs of modest maintenance appeared before them.

It was a crossroads.

They tied up their horses nearby, then each found a spot to rest by the roadside and began their discussion.

“Let me recall,” Halbarad said, searching his memory. “This road was built by the Dorwinions. They call it the ‘Wine Road.'”

“Far to the north from here lies Dale. To the west stretches the great wilderness of Rhovanion. To the east sits one of Dorwinion’s major trading ports, where there are quite a few Elves dwelling. To the south lies the main region where the Men of Dorwinion are active. Go a bit further south from there, and there’s a ferry crossing, from there, you can slip into the lands of the Easterlings. But it might not be so simple to enter now, the Easterlings have been on high alert of late.”

“No need to worry about that,” Garrett replied with confidence.

High alert? Simply avoid being seen, straightforward enough.

“So we’re heading south?”

“Indeed—”

Twang!

Just as Garrett was agreeing, Halbarad suddenly drew the longbow from his back and loosed an arrow into the grass beside a tree.

A sharp cry rang out. That single arrow seemed to trigger something, suddenly, a horde of orcs burst from the undergrowth. Among them, wargs with dark fur rushed forward, leaping at the travelers.

?!

He quickly drew his sword to meet them. With a clang, he blocked the gaping jaws and fangs of one of the wargs, then pushed back hard, overpowering it with sheer strength and shoving it aside, then slashed downward.

Whoosh!

Flames erupted along the warg’s body as it let out a wailing howl.

Before setting out, his gear had been enchanted. The sword in his hand was now not only razor-sharp but also imbued with effects like Knockback, Sweeping Edge, and Fire Aspect.

Still, the pressure in battle was intense.

It was clear that both the orcs and the wargs recognized the need to target the seemingly weaker prey first.

Compared to the man in pitch-black armor, this Ranger appeared much easier to overwhelm. If they could eliminate him first, they could then surround the other one and wear him down…

Thud!

Several burning wargs flew backward through the air and crashed into a group of orcs, bowling them over.

“Haven’t seen orcs with this much resolve in a long time…” Garrett said calmly, holding his sword, which glowed with bright blue radiance, strikingly visible under the night sky.

Whether orc or warg, the moment they saw that weapon, their hearts trembled. Then they looked at the man wielding it, they didn’t know who he was, but he radiated an aura of pure menace, deeply unsettling.

“Mordor’s orcs,” Halbarad stepped back and offered a warning.

“That explains it.”

These were orcs and wargs directly under Sauron’s dominion. Perhaps not as savage as those from Moria, but far more resolute in purpose.

And better equipped, too.

Their armor was black and sturdy. You could feel the difference the moment your blade struck it.

Roar!

The orcs didn’t retreat. If anything, after losing several comrades, they grew even more ferocious, the wargs included, howling as they pounced.

If the wargs from the Misty Mountains still resembled wild beasts, then these black-furred wargs from Mordor were something else entirely, their eyes glowed with pure crimson malice.

Halbarad cut down several charging orcs with swift, precise strikes, weaving skillfully between weapons and fangs. Occasionally, he would suddenly nock an arrow and loose a rapid shot behind him, without any warning, an orc archer attempting to ambush them would suddenly collapse, an arrow through its skull.

Strength and agility in perfect balance, capable of fighting both at close quarters and at range.

Soon, there were no enemies left standing near him.

When Halbarad turned to check on Garrett’s progress, he found him standing atop a fallen warg’s head, slowly pulling his sword free from it. All around him, in the trees, in the grass, throughout the clearing, lay scorched corpses.

At least twice as many as those he had faced. Halbarad sheathed his sword and could only offer one assessment:

“Well fought.”

If he hadn’t been watching the whole time with his own eyes, he’d have thought it had rained orcs from the sky.

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