In Middle-earth, because of the wizards’ uncompromising stance against evil and their formidable power, they naturally possessed the right to intervene whenever dark forces threatened the Free Peoples.

Today was no exception.

But aside from just joining the fight, as long as the lords and regional rulers did not forbid it, wizards within the same alliance also carried a certain degree of authority by tradition.

The extent of such authority, however, was tied to their reputation and wisdom.

For example, Gandalf, if the Ruling Steward of Gondor were lost during wartime and no successor was available in the short term, could even assume the Steward’s command on the spot.

After millennia of accumulated tradition, wizards now held a status second only to the highest rulers. Their role was essentially that of universal support, they could be sent wherever they were needed most.

Oh, except for Radagast the Brown. He was a rather unconventional, purely supportive type, not skilled at either command or direct combat. But he could summon animal allies when needed.

“Pay attention! Be especially watchful of the southwest, the orcs are most likely to launch their attack from that direction!”

“Ranger squad, make for the bridge and gather intelligence. Keep track of the orcs’ marching progress, I need their latest movements.”

At Riverside Fortress, Gandalf was making preparations for the great battle to come.

At this moment, he was the highest-ranking commander of the fortress, by Garrett’s express permission.

Standing beside him was Balin, one of the few Dwarves who combined wisdom, scholarly knowledge, and a warrior’s experience. He was a general in his own right: an excellent vanguard on the frontlines, but also a capable commander in the rear.

“Are we simply going to wait here?”

Balin gazed toward Khazad-dûm across the river, his thoughts unreadable.

“If you wish to take some action, there are tasks I can entrust to you.”

“What kind of tasks?”

“Ride to Rivendell and speak with the Elves. Ask them to send reinforcements.”

“I might as well charge into Khazad-dûm myself right now. Besides, didn’t Garrett say he needs no aid?”

“Of course, he needs none,” Gandalf mused. “But if it truly comes to the point where aid becomes necessary, perhaps he won’t even have to ask. Our allies nearby would come of their own accord.”

When great matters arose, if Garrett requested aid, it meant the situation was already extremely urgent, demanding immediate reinforcement.

But if Garrett did not request aid, that would mean he likely had no time to do so, the situation would be even more dire, demanding an even swifter response.

Crash.

Molten lava poured down in glowing cascades, only to be instantly quenched into obsidian by buckets of water hurled after it.

This was the “emergency wall-building method” the townsfolk had learned from their lord. Of course, everyone knew it only worked within the domain empowered by Garrett’s territorial magic; beyond that range, it was useless.

Outside the domain, naturally, they had more conventional methods.

As the first ring of high walls was roughly cast into place, a Ranger who had been sent out earlier for reconnaissance returned. His face bore urgent concern, no longer the calm composure usual to his kind.

“They’ll be here within two days at most.”

Breathing hard, the veteran Ranger reported, “Also, our previous intelligence was incomplete. The size of this orc army is far greater, at least three times the force we can muster on short notice.”

“At least fifteen thousand, with a great number of siege beasts and war-trolls.”

“It appears to be a full mobilization from Khazad-dûm.”

“And regarding those Nazgûl you mentioned, we observed at least three among their ranks.”

“At least?”

“Aye, at least.”

“We were discovered, though I swear our concealment and woodcraft were flawless. But one of the Nazgûl suddenly shrieked and rode straight at us. It was as if he knew exactly where we would normally take cover, or rather, knew our methods all too well.”

At the memory, the Ranger’s face showed lingering dread.

“Fortunately our mounts proved swift and hardy. Even after taking several black arrows, they didn’t falter.”

“Otherwise, we likely would never have made it back.”

Saying this, the Ranger patted the flank of his horse and fed it some grain.

If Garrett had been present, he would have seen the horse’s health slowly recovering, before being fed, it had in fact been hanging on with only a sliver of life remaining.

Those few arrows had nearly killed even a warhorse clad in iron barding with over thirty hit points.

“Horses from Wayfort are all like this, swift, unafraid of pain, unafraid of harsh cold or scorching heat. They can run for long distances on just a little fodder. Even when wounded, feed them some grain and they’ll recover quickly.”

Gandalf offered his own observations.

“The only drawback is that they’re rather… simple-minded. If you’re not riding them or leading them with reins, they won’t respond to commands.”

“True enough.”

Soon, their conversation had wandered into the subject of horse husbandry.

It had to be said, these steeds were remarkably convenient. They required no care whatsoever. When not in use, they could simply be left somewhere like tools; when needed, you just mounted and rode off.

“Wait a moment… isn’t this rather the wrong time to be discussing such matters?”

Balin couldn’t quite relate to their conversation, he rarely rode horses. Dwarves usually rode ponies, rams, or war-goats.

And Garrett didn’t raise any of those.

“Oh, you’re quite right. This truly isn’t the time,” Gandalf suddenly snapped back to his senses.

It was all Garrett’s influence, his people had inherited his temperament. One moment, they were preparing for life-or-death battles; the next, they could casually chat about everyday matters.

Their ability to go off on tangents was frighteningly strong.

“What we should be doing now is strengthening our defenses.”

“Exactly.”

The Ranger agreed wholeheartedly. Without hesitation, he shouldered his pack, slipped naturally into the construction crew, picked up a stone block, and began building.

The other scouting team members, returning throughout the evening, saw their captain hard at work. They too joined in at once.

Gradually, as more and more Rangers returned from the wild, their numbers on the walls surpassed even the construction crew, making them the primary builders.

“Well then, they’ve taken care of everything.”

Balin stared at the rapidly rising wall, momentarily dazed.

“It seems there’s nothing left for us old folk to do. What now?”

This time even Gandalf felt somewhat at a loss.

All the serious work was being handled competently, and not a single problem had arisen. Things were proceeding far too smoothly.

“In that case, let’s have our supper first.”

As darkness fell, the two made their way to the makeshift dining hall and joined the queue for their evening meal.

Though the outpost had been hastily erected, its supplies were surprisingly abundant. There was nearly every kind of food, all in generous portions. Even wine was available, though since this was a time of war preparation, one could drink no more than a small cup with the meal.

The night was anything but quiet. The construction crews worked in rotating shifts, racing to complete the high wall encircling the territory. They even took the opportunity to reinforce the riverbank fortifications, replacing sand and gravel with sturdy dressed stone.

River waters crashed against it, but the wall stood immovable as the bones of the earth.

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