Speaking was easy, but carrying it out was another matter entirely.

“I don’t know what you plan to do.”

Alatar said, “What, are you going to conjure a dragon out of thin air to fight for you?”

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just meant, I have some other ways.”

Alatar shot Garrett a suspicious glance as he collected the splinters of his broken staff with a piece of cloth, saying, “Still, if there’s anything you need help with, my bow and sword are at your service.”

Halbarad added from the side, “And mine as well, my bow, sword, and dagger are yours.”

Alatar gave him a side glance.

Did you really have to mention the dagger?

“If you two can help me keep control over Khand, that’ll be enough, especially that ‘clear-headed’ king of yours.”

“That’s easy.”

Alatar carefully packed away the staff fragments. “I know him well. Once he wakes up, I’ll have a good talk with him about everything that’s happened.”

Persuasion and conversation, that was an Istari’s forte.

“What if he doesn’t want to talk?”

“You know I’m decent with a sword.”

“Alright then, I’ll leave that to you.”

Garrett nodded in agreement.

Say what you will, but this fellow had been in Middle-earth for thousands of years. Even without magic, his skills were nothing to scoff at, on par with the most battle-hardened elves.

“Are there any mines around here?”

“I’ve never been in this area before,” Halbarad shook his head.

“There are some, but not many.”

Alatar said, “Head north out of the city. There’s a small mine up that way. The metal yield isn’t great, though, always mixed with impurities.”

“Impurities?”

“Yeah, impurities. But they’re not completely useless. The Easterlings’ new weapon, the fire bomb, is made from these impurities. They even built an entire grenadier battalion using them.”

“I’ve seen those grenadiers before. Actually, I was already researching that weapon even before heading to the Easterling territories, but progress was slow.”

“Wait a second, these impurities you mentioned, are they easy to ignite? And explosive when powdered?”

“Huh? How do you know?”

Alatar grumbled, “There’s so much of the stuff that we had to open up extra storage space. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s useful and has potential, I’d have tossed it all by now.”

“Don’t toss it. Give it to me.”

“How much?”

Garrett stepped closer and held out his hand.

“All of it.”

—

To the north of Khand was a vast wilderness. Beyond it lay the lands of the Easterlings. To the south, across the river that encircled Khand, stretched a great desert.

A desert meant lots of sand. Tons and tons of it. So much, you could never dig it all up.

In the past few days, desert merchants arriving in Khand had brought with them a terrifying tale: at the edge of the desert, near this land, a giant worm had awakened. It lived by devouring sand and soil, and upon waking, it dug a massive, wide, bottomless pit.

Every nomad and traveling merchant who passed by was horrified, breaking into cold sweats despite the scorching sun.

“How big must that worm be?!”

“As big as me.”

Near the storage area by the mine, Garrett was constantly opening and closing crates, pulling out materials and synthesizing them.

“Alright, forget the rumors outside for now, are you sure it’s safe to put that stuff here?”

Halbarad glanced at the torches on the wall, then at the dangerous-looking things in Garrett’s hands. Memories from years ago surfaced.

That hundred-strong warg cavalry squad, they were wiped out by that stuff.

Those strange red blocks, which could ignite from just a spark.

“It’s fine. They won’t explode.”

“…Okay. So how much of that stuff have you made?”

“A lot. A whole lot.”

Garrett crafted another batch of TNT and said, “Who’d have thought this place would have so much sulfur and saltpeter? And they treat it like waste! Back at my stronghold, I wished I’d find more impurities like this every day.”

With sulfur and saltpeter, gunpowder could be synthesized. Though he didn’t fully understand the principles or proportions, that didn’t matter, the crafting interface handled it all.

“How’s it going with Alatar?”

While working, he asked casually.

“He says he’s getting along great with the king, or so he claims. But I haven’t seen the king around.”

“…Well, as long as things are stable, that’s good. Even if it’s only temporary.”

Clang!

A metallic crash came from the next room.

Halbarad tensed and looked toward the sound, but Garrett waved his hand dismissively.

“What was that?”

“Just some small props I might need in a few days.”

Small props?

Curious, Halbarad walked over to take a look.

He saw rows of dwarf-style smelting arrays laid out in a square space clearly repurposed for the task. Inside the furnaces, stone was melting. At the outlets, buckets collected the glowing orange liquid.

Lava.

“Alright. This should be enough.”

Suddenly, Garrett stood up, clapped his hands, broke down the crafting table, and pulled a large amount of TNT from the crates, enough to fill his entire inventory.

“Time for the next step.”

—

In front of the royal city of Khand was a flat expanse of sand and soi, dotted occasionally with cacti.

But that didn’t matter.

That day, an order came down from the king’s hall: no one was allowed to leave the city for one full day.

Countless nobles and relatives of the king came to ask why, but each was turned away with no answer.

This didn’t cause much of a stir. After all, it was just one day. Some merchants speculated it might be a manhunt for an escaped criminal. Such things weren’t common, but they weren’t unheard of either.

Everyone went about their business.

The next day, when the city gates reopened, someone stepped outside.

“Is it just me, or is this land flatter than before?”

Staring at the seemingly much smoother terrain, the locals couldn’t shake a sense of unease.

Three more peaceful days passed.

Life continued as usual. People lived as they always had.

“Garrett!”

Early one morning, Alatar came rushing in, shouting, “They’re here!”

“That army, they’re right outside the royal city! You can see them from the walls!”

“The gates have been shut. The soldiers and captains of Khand are extremely on edge. They’re waiting for the king’s decision, surrender or fight.”

“I have to warn you, most of them are leaning toward surrender.”

“And what about the king’s own opinion?” Garrett asked.

“He… doesn’t have one,” Alatar replied vaguely.

“But he probably will soon. Once the army reaches the gates, the power in my words will wear off, and when that happens, he’ll stop believing anything I say.”

Magical persuasion…

Garrett looked at Alatar, half-smiling.

Gandalf had once said that Saruman’s words carried a kind of magic, something that made others unconsciously believe in what he said. This alteration in perception could sometimes influence a person’s entire life, unless they were deeply shaken or had a will of iron.

He had called this power “the Voice of Command.”

As for this “Voice of Command,” Istari all seemed capable of it. Some liked to overuse it, lacing every word with enchantment. Others, however, avoided such manipulation, reserving it only for moments of serious conflict or tension.

And now it appeared that the Blue Wizard could also wield such magic, a type strong enough to reshape perception.

“Then let’s make sure he wakes up completely.”

Hummmm…

As soon as those words were spoken, the sound of war horns rang out beyond the city walls.

Alatar and Halbarad climbed to the ramparts and looked out: below them stretched a vast, densely packed army of orcs and Easterling soldiers in their gold-colored armor.

At the vanguard were massive beasts and armored Olog-hai, with orcs and Uruks forming the bulk of the attacking force. Behind them came legions of Easterling cavalry and grenadiers.

Several siege towers and catapults stood ready on the flattened ground, waiting for the order to attack.

One Uruk, mounted on a warg, rode out from the formation and stopped before the city wall.

Just as he was about to deliver a final demand for surrender, the city gates suddenly creaked open.

From within, a lone figure stepped forward.

“Filthy maggot, ready to surrender?”

The Uruk wasted no time spewing insults.

On the wall, Halbarad reached for his longbow, but Alatar held him back.

“Surrender?” Garrett looked over the army massed on the smoothed plain, then turned to the Uruk atop the warg and said, “I have some new thoughts on what you just said.”

“I’m giving you all one chance.”

“You surrender, and withdraw. Maybe then you’ll live a little longer. But if you choose to fight… Then all that awaits you is destruction.”

The Uruk envoy was briefly silent.

Then, a burst of wild laughter erupted from him.

“Hahahahaha!”

“Even dumber than those stinking snaga!”

He turned and rode back into the formation.

Soon after the Uruk rejoined the army ranks, the war horns sounded again.

“Advance!”

The army surged forward.

Clang!

The city gates slammed shut behind Garrett, who still stood quietly just outside them, unmoving as the enemy closed in.

Halbarad gripped his ancient sword tightly and muttered to the wizard beside him, “We’re just going to stand here and watch?”

“You think you can actually help?” Alatar replied, sweating profusely.

“I just hope all those red blocks he buried underground work. We emptied out the mine’s entire impurity storage to make them.”

Click.

As the enemy forces advanced to within a few hundred meters of the city walls, one orc suddenly paused, frowning and looking down. Beneath his foot was a flat wooden board, which had made a faint snap when stepped on.

It was a wooden pressure plate, its only function was to trigger whatever was beneath or nearby.

Hiss…

A strange sound came from underground. But compared to the thunder of marching troops, it was barely a whisper, soon drowned out completely.

No one paid attention.

Until a few seconds later.

BOOM!

The first TNT block detonated, erupting in flame. The orcs at the front barely had time to react before more explosions erupted beneath their feet. One blast led to another like a chain reaction, cratering the battlefield with deafening force. White-hot blasts and shockwaves tore through the entire formation from east to west.

Orcs, giant beasts, armored Olog-hai, even the Easterlings in the rear, were caught in the carnage. No one escaped.

At the same time, lava began to surface from underground, unleashed by the explosions. It spread outward like a tide, incinerating anything in its path and turning the battlefield red with flame.

The sound of continuous explosions roared on. Screams echoed across the plain. Inside the enemy formation, officers and squad leaders shouted desperately, trying to order a retreat, but their voices were completely drowned out.

A force capable of challenging Minas Tirith itself on the Pelennor Fields was nearly cut in half before the battle had even begun, and the losses were still climbing.

In an instant, the armies of both Mordor and the Easterlings descended into chaos, abandoning any thought of attacking.

Explosions, lava, the stench of death, the battlefield became a living hell of charred bodies, howling wargs, collapsed siege engines, and panicked warhorses.

At that moment, the Easterling forces felt immensely fortunate. Delays had kept them behind Mordor’s main army, sparing them from total annihilation.

Some cavalrymen, thrown from their terrified horses, crawled away frantically on all fours.

One of them looked back, and there, standing silently at the gates of the city, was a solitary black figure.

This was all his doing.

That figure burned itself into the eyes of all who saw it, an image that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

“Stand.”

Suddenly, the sky darkened. A sound like wind, or weeping, swept over the battlefield. A crushing shadow fell upon the hearts of the soldiers, burying their terror under an even deeper dread.

Garrett turned to face the source of the sound.

A black horse came galloping toward him, its rider phasing in and out of visibility. Explosions and lava had no effect on it, it soared effortlessly above the chaos.

Khamûl.

This powerful Nazgûl, who had remained hidden in the shadows until now, could no longer remain silent. If he didn’t act soon, the army, despite being bound by the will of the Eye, would collapse entirely. And then, even he might fall here.

Neigh!

The black horse skidded to a halt. The shadowy figure on its back vanished like mist, only to reappear a hundred meters away, materializing directly in front of Garrett.

Khamûl drew his Morgul-blade, its edge trailing ghostly afterimages as he slashed toward the human before him.

But Garrett was ready. He met the strike with his sword.

Clang!

A crisp clang rang out as sparks flew from the clash.

While the two were locked in a standoff, Khamûl suddenly turned incorporeal, including his Morgul-blade, attempting to phase through Garrett’s armor and strike the flesh beneath.

Garrett’s lips curled into a grin. He didn’t retreat or block, instead, he used that brief opening to charge up Armor Break.

Amber runes flared across his body, forming a radiant barrier that stopped the ghostly Morgul-blade in its tracks.

Almost simultaneously, the moment Khamûl re-materialized and slashed with his Morgul-blade, Bane struck, a perfectly timed blow that pierced the black cloak and struck the wraith’s spirit directly.

FWOOOSH!

Flames burst into the air. Khamûl let out a shriek and vanished, even dropping his weapon as he fled.

Runic shield. Fire enchantment. One for defense, one for attack, both perfectly suited to counter Nazgûl and the forces of darkness.

AHHH!!

A piercing shriek tore through the battlefield. Everyone who heard it was seized by terror. Many soldiers on the city walls collapsed, clutching their heads. Some began coughing uncontrollably, struggling to breathe as if struck by sudden illness.

And it wasn’t just the walls, inside the city, civilians fled in all directions, heads in their hands, panic written across their faces.

In the royal hall, the king jolted upright, shame and rage erupting all at once.

This was an indiscriminate area-of-effect attack.

[Poisoned: 5s]

Swish.

At some point, the discarded Morgul-blade had vanished. When it reappeared, it was once again in the grasp of a fractured, shadowy figure.

Garrett’s runic shield activated, neutralizing the poison. He downed a bottle of milk, quickly cleansing the contamination.

A couple of years ago, the status bar might’ve shown a [Fear] debuff too, but now?

He wasn’t afraid at all.

But just because he wasn’t afraid didn’t mean everyone else wasn’t.

Halbarad clutched his chest and dropped to one knee, breathing heavily.

The fear brought by the Nazgûl, it felt like a lucid nightmare. His mind was awake, but his body couldn’t move, as if his very consciousness was imprisoned.

“Have courage!”

Alatar helped him up, his voice deep and steady.

“I’m fine!” Halbarad forced himself to his feet, eyes locked on the Nazgûl, burning with hatred.

“This time… I didn’t fall. And I won’t again…”

Whoosh.

Seeing his fear aura fail, especially against his greatest threat, Khamûl immediately tried to vanish and retreat.

Garrett moved in to strike, but even with his speed, he was just a second too slow.

But he wasn’t the only one fighting here.

As Khamûl’s form began to fade, Alatar raised his longsword overhead. A wave of radiant energy rippled from him.

He shouted, “Let all shadows be revealed!”

And just like that, the dark spirit had nowhere to hide.

BOOM!

Bane struck true, cutting into something solid. Flames surged high as Khamûl howled in agony, rolling on the ground. Moments later, the armor anchoring him to the physical world clattered to the dirt, and his cloak disintegrated into ash.

High attack power, but no defense, that’s the Nazgûl for you.

Of course, that alone wasn’t the real problem. The real issue with Nazgûl was this: As long as Sauron existed, they could return, again and again.

“He’s gone back to Mordor,” Alatar said between heavy breaths, lowering his sword.

He still wasn’t used to not having a staff.

Garrett stepped forward, picked up Khamûl’s fallen Morgul-blade, and studied it. But to the orcs and Easterling army behind him, it looked like he was brandishing the relic of their defeated commander, flaunting it as a trophy.

The one known for centuries as “Shadow of the East, Nazgûl Lieutenant, the Black Easterling, Khamûl” had, for the first time, been defeated on the battlefield by a human.

With their commander fallen and their forces decimated, the armies of Mordor and the Easterlings lost the will to fight, even if the enemy was just one man.

The Easterling general was the first to retreat, not because he feared the man at the gates, but because he worried that pushing forward would trigger more traps. At the very least, a frontal assault on the royal city was no longer an option. If they had to continue the fight, they’d need to find another route.

The Easterling commander thought carefully. The orcs… not so much.

With Khamûl defeated, the shadow of domination he cast vanished. Now, when the orcs looked at Garrett and the sword in his hand, it was like staring into the sun, blinding and painful.

The giant beasts and Olog-hai didn’t understand fear in the usual sense, but after being blasted to near ruin, most of them were injured and hesitated to charge again.

“Useless! All of you, useless!” the leading Uruk commander roared.

But when his eyes met Garrett’s, and when Garrett took just one step toward him, he trembled just like the others, stumbling back several paces.

“We may have just averted a war, and dealt a heavy blow to our enemy,” Alatar said. “Aren’t you the least bit surprised, Halbar—”

Squelch.

His words were cut short as a long, sharp sword stabbed through his back and out his chest, blood spilling bright red.

!!

Halbarad spun around, sensing something wrong.

There stood a tall man in ornate armor, sword in hand, eyes full of fury. He yanked the blade free and kicked Alatar off the wall.

A heavy thud sounded below.

“You cursed mind-warping sorcerer!”

The King of Khand had carried out his revenge.

…Had he?

Garrett rushed over, pried Alatar’s mouth open, and poured in a regeneration potion. Then he shoved a golden apple into the wizard’s mouth.

This time, it wasn’t just a scare, he’d really lost HP.

“Come on, chew faster.”

“Mmmpf!”

Alatar rolled his eyes and flailed in protest.

He was choking!

“How could you!” Halbarad suddenly drew his sword. His companion had just been stabbed right beside him, and he hadn’t noticed a thing.

Rage burned in the ranger’s eyes as he locked onto the King of Khand.

“Heh. Anger?”

The king flicked the blood from his sword and shouted:

“You think your anger compares to mine?”

“I was a king, reduced to a puppet. Controlled and manipulated like an insect, without dignity. The army was already at our gates, and I knew nothing.”

“A king who lives so lowly, who even has to be blamed for seeking vengeance!”

Halbarad was speechless. His fury faded slightly, not because he agreed, but because he saw that Alatar seemed okay.

After all… Garrett was here.

“Cough, cough…”

At the base of the wall, Alatar wiped his mouth and clutched his chest, slowly standing again.

He shouted, “King of Khand! If not for me, how would your nation have become as prosperous as it is today?”

“Even setting aside your kingdom’s growth, you, personally, if I hadn’t arrived years ago, your own brother would have had you killed!”

“Silence!”

The king was beyond enraged.

“You need to face the truth,” Alatar said calmly. “Among all your brothers and sisters, you had the weakest will. That’s why you ended up like this. That’s why you had to be propped up.”

“Shut up!”

The king could no longer bear it. He shoved past Halbarad, storming down the wall and out the gates, sword raised to strike Alatar again.

Thud!

Moments later, this burly king, tough in appearance but soft within, was flattened by Garrett, and couldn’t lift his sword again.

As Garrett raised his blade, Alatar suddenly stepped in front of him.

“That’s enough, Garrett, consider this a personal request.”

“…”

“Fine. It’s your private matter. I won’t interfere.”

“I’ve already cut down enough people. One more won’t make a difference.”

Alatar gave a slight bow. Behind him, the king clenched his fists in silence.

BOOM!

“Hmm?”

The group suddenly turned toward a different direction.

Behind the royal city, in the southern region of Khand.

BOOM!

The sound of war drums echoed. Horns blared. The ground trembled.

The three exchanged glances. Ignoring the brooding king on the ground and the two shattered armies before the city, they rushed toward the rear of the royal city.

There, massive mûmakil, siege engines, hordes of soldiers… and leading them, a mysterious Nazgûl and commanders in the rear.

“The Haradrim!”

Alatar’s heart tightened.

“The third army… Why now?”

“Do you still have those red blocks that explode?”

“Nope. Used them all.”

Garrett shrugged.

“So what do we do?”

“There was no trace of this army in any of my intelligence. No warning signs. It’s like they just decided to show up.”

“Maybe… they’re here for me.”

Garrett pointed at himself.

“You?”

“I’ve always meant to ask, back then, I didn’t actually hit you, did I?”

“No. What you pushed back was never me. It was the shadow of the Enemy.”

“…He saw you.”

“He saw me.”

“So now he has no choice but to send more.”

To Garrett, it didn’t matter how many enemies there were or how few allies he had. What mattered was being caught off guard, with no land of his own, no resources, and no time to prepare.

“So what?”

As the others watched, he walked through the southern city gate and drew his longsword, facing the army head-on.

Three Nazgûl broke from the formation and rushed toward him, only to vanish mid-charge.

Alatar, from behind, raised his sword high and shouted again, “Reveal yourselves!”

The three wraiths reappeared beside Garrett, along with three Morgul-blades slicing toward him.

CLANG!

Garrett blocked one with his longsword. He whipped out a wooden shield to stop the second.

The third was intercepted by a barrow-blade, knocking the wraith back.

The Nazgûl shrieked, but their screams had no effect on Garrett or those beside him.

“I told you, I won’t be ruled by fear again.”

“It’s time for payback…”

Halbarad raised his head, eyes locked on the Nazgûl before him.

On the other side, Alatar had just finished his incantation. Breathing hard, he raised his sword and rushed to engage another wraith.

BOOM!

A blaze erupted. Garrett, standing on one wraith’s armor, pulled his sword free.

Then he grabbed the Morgul-blade that had pierced his chest, clamped down on the wraith’s arm, and with a sharp twist, lopped off its helmeted head.

His ferocity stunned even Alatar.

Nazgûl were powerful… and yet weak. Their strength depended entirely on whether their opponent feared them.

For someone with no fear in their heart, their black magic had no effect. To such a person, a Nazgûl was just another strong fighter.

“Raaahhh!”

Halbarad roared, swinging with all his might. He set the Nazgûl before him ablaze, followed through, and with one more strike, ended it.

All three Nazgûl were defeated.

“Incredible.”

Alatar couldn’t help but offer praise.

“These Nazgûl, any one of them alone could crush an entire mortal army. Mortal weapons can’t hurt them, and all the soldiers can do is wait in fear to be slaughtered.”

“But…”

He glanced at the barrow-blade in Halbard’s hand, an artifact blessed by an ancient kingdom.

Without such a weapon, ordinary attacks wouldn’t even touch a Nazgûl. But effective weapons were just one part. The courage of this Dúnedain warrior was another.

As for the other man… Best not to even look.

The remnants of the Nazgûl scattered like dust in the wind.

With the shadows and protection of the wraiths gone, the Haradrim army wavered. But the confusion lasted only a moment, soon drowned out by their commanders’ roars.

The morale boost from the Nazgûl was a safety net, not a backbone. Their disappearance didn’t mean the army would collapse immediately.

The warriors knew they were facing powerful foes. But they were seasoned, outnumbered their enemy by far, and weren’t about to back down just yet.

That was… until the black-armored warrior charged at them.

WHOOSH.

A single ender pearl flew across the battlefield, landing precisely at the Haradrim commander’s feet. The instant Garrett teleported in, he struck upward, sending both horse and rider flying.

The surrounding soldiers froze in shock. There was suddenly an enemy among them.

But it was already too late.

Whether beast or man, once the flames ignited, their fate was sealed.

“How do you—!”

The commander had no chance to react. He fell in an instant. Without hesitation, his second-in-command took over, signaling for the soldiers to part.

Behind them, a mûmak thundered forward, massive legs stomping the earth as it raised its front feet and slammed them down.

BOOM!

Garrett’s runic shield shattered. His belt’s emergency mechanism activated, unleashing a shockwave so powerful it flipped the great beast onto its back. Nearby soldiers were sent flying like rag dolls.

Squelch.

Bane tore through the mûmak’s thick hide, slicing from head to tail. A wall of fire engulfed the fallen beast, along with the tower of archers and spearmen atop it.

Garrett pulled out his sword, it was still spotless, not a trace of blood.

He stepped out of the flames.

“The Eye… of the Dark Lord…”

“A demon… a monster…”

“Monster!!”

“Silence!”

The Haradrim’s deputy commander silenced the panicked cries, but even he couldn’t help but retreat a step.

What… was that?

Their unstoppable mûmak, killed by a single man’s sword?

And in such an unbelievable way?

A Nazgûl could fight a whole army alone. But this man… had defeated several Nazgûl by himself.

Garrett took one step forward.

The deputy commander immediately shouted, “Attack! Kill him!!!”

Terrified soldiers charged toward the incomprehensible force before them, urged on by weak cries from the rear.

“At the end of the Second Age, when the armies of men and elves charged at Sauron, was this how they felt too?”

“No… They all knew exactly what they were doing. They had the courage and resolve to die for it. But you… You’re just pawns. Driven onto the battlefield by cowards to fulfill his twisted goals.”

“How can you insult our god, you vile thing!”

The Haradrim, sensing the insult in Garrett’s words, exploded with rage. Their anger burned so hot, it burned away their fear.

They surged forward as one.

—

Eastern chronicles record: A warrior of unknown origin came to the East. He destroyed the armies of Mordor and the Easterlings. Beneath the royal walls of Khand, he slew the eastern shadow Khamûl and wiped out all the Nazgûl sent as reinforcements. The Haradrim’s mûmakil and soldiers tried to halt his advance, but they failed too.

In the end, all the armies gathered there withdrew. No one knew where the warrior went, or how he left.

Oh, and he also defeated the King of Khand.

—

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