On the battlefield of Wayfort, when Garrett returned with thousands of cavalry and the Nazgûl were slain, the outcome was already decided, there was no longer any chance of reversal.

By sunrise, all the orcs had been completely wiped out, leaving only the soldiers clearing the battlefield.

“Quickly now, carry the wounded back!”

“Give the healing potions to the severely injured first.”

“Don’t give up on anyone! That fellow over there with his ribs stove in, he’s still breathing. Set his bones straight and get him a potion!”

“Hold fast!”

The land after battle is always scarred.

In terms of casualties, the defenders of Wayfort together with the cavalry reinforcements had suffered heavy losses.

For some reason, everyone had fought with reckless abandon, and when the war was over, nearly every man bore wounds, and not light ones.

This meant that the blood shed by Wayfort’s forces was hardly less than that of the orcs.

“Captain, I… I…”

With dawn’s light, a soldier collapsed onto the ground. Clutching his side, crimson dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with his tears.

Scarlet blood and crystal-clear tears reflected a dazzling glow in the morning light.

“What’s wrong with you, lad?”

A ranger dropped to one knee, cradling the soldier’s head, panic flickering in his eyes.

“Easy now, breathe steadily. Don’t move. Don’t aggravate the wound. I taught you this…”

“No, Captain, I must say it now, if I wait, it might be too late…”

The soldier clutched the ranger’s arm, his eyes full of reluctance. Trembling lips formed each word:

“The healing potion tastes wonderful!”

The ranger’s face went completely blank. He tore open the soldier’s armor on the spot, only to see the wounds already healed.

“Get out of my sight!”

The soldier was unceremoniously dumped to the ground.

A moment later, perhaps still fuming, the ranger stormed back and delivered a solid boot to the soldier’s backside, making him yelp and spring upright.

To make an old ranger nearly two hundred years of age this furious, it was clear these soldiers had picked up more than a few bad habits from Garrett.

Yes, the soldiers of Wayfort had suffered grievous injuries. But injuries were just injuries, none of them had died.

Fragile in appearance, wounded at every turn, yet astonishingly resilient when it mattered.

Whoosh.

A great eagle took flight, bearing upon its back a man in dark armor.

Garrett departed upon the eagle.

Thus, the cleanup of the battlefield was left by default to the remaining commanders and a certain wizard.

“Since he’s gone, there’s no need to worry about the eastern front.”

Gandalf drew Balin’s attention back with these words. “Our company’s journey must continue. And now we have fresh tales to tell Bilbo.”

“Aye, that we do.”

Balin sat down heavily, his grizzled beard still stained with blood, orc blood, and his own.

But beyond the stains…

He stroked his beard and suddenly realized a section on the right side was missing.

A neat patch, prickly to the touch.

“No… by my beard, no…”

He shook his head frantically, trying to recall when this had happened.

The Nazgûl.

It was during the fight with the Nazgûl, when battling the wraiths, he hadn’t judged one blade’s reach properly and nearly lost his throat.

What he had lost… was part of his magnificent beard.

He shut his eyes.

“Don’t fret, old friend. It will grow back.”

Gandalf offered comfort at his side.

“Easy advice for those young ones barely past their first century. At my age, beards grow back slowly, Gandalf.”

Balin shook his head mournfully.

Gandalf glanced at him and merely shrugged.

Who could say for certain?

He stroked his own long, flowing grey beard, quite impressive even by dwarven standards.

At least it wasn’t my beard that got shortened.

Glorfindel departed with the Rivendell cavalry.

Garrett, catching a ride with the eagle, quickly returned to Wayfort. The moment he landed, he stepped through the Nether portal, setting out toward Dale.

Whoosh.

—

On Dale’s city walls, Dwarves manned heavy crossbows, raining bolts downward and forcing the steel-armored Olog-hai back.

Yes, forcing them back.

Their armor was comparable to Garrett clad in unenchanted diamond gear. Coupled with their massive natural resistance from sheer size, even heavy crossbows needed concentrated volleys to inflict real damage.

That was strength surpassing even iron golems.

Speaking of which, inside the walls stood thousands of iron golems, the city’s last line of defense.

They would show the enemy the true meaning of despair.

“How fares the battle?” a voice asked nearby.

“Very well, we can hold easily. Their siege towers can’t even approach,” Thorin replied instinctively.

“Hmm?”

He spun around sharply. At some point, a familiar figure had appeared behind him.

“Garrett! When did you arrive?”

“Just now. Heard there was fighting here as well.”

“…Right then.”

Thorin accepted it. Strange speed, yes, but hardly unprecedented.

“How went things on your end?”

“Quite secure, just like here. We hardly suffered any losses.”

“Peculiar.”

Thorin peered down at the lopsided battle, puzzled.

“I think so too.” Garrett didn’t rush into the fray, but stood on the wall observing.

“At first, I thought this was a diversion.”

“A diversion aimed at Wayfort?”

The Misty Mountains’ western side had been attacked first, then Dale.

“Don’t worry about such details. We should grasp the hidden meaning behind actions, not their surface appearance.”

“…Fine, whatever you say.” Thorin answered and fell silent, allowing Garrett to continue his reasoning.

“Initially, when I got word, I really believed Wayfort was only a diversion, and this was their main objective. But when I saw their forces, I changed my assessment.”

“And what do you think now?”

“I don’t know.” Garrett shook his head.

“I can’t guess his intent. If I had to guess, this is just a probe. And a rather foolish one. Wasting so much manpower for nothing. Unwise. It doesn’t match the Sauron I know.”

The force assaulting Dale was less than half the size of that which had struck Wayfort.

Most were Uruks, with equipment styles he recognized, likely the same forces withdrawn from Gondor’s borders.

The rest were Easterling warriors, unremarkable at first glance.

The composition was strange.

“I agree completely.”

“The assault has continued for some time, yet we’ve taken no meaningful losses, while they keep bleeding strength. If this is all they can muster, we’d manage fine even without your return.”

“Could it be that both Wayfort and Dale were never their true objective at all, that the real blow is meant to fall elsewhere?” Thorin asked.

“Unclear. I consulted the great eagles. Besides Wayfort and Dale, Sauron also sent forces against Lake-town, but the Elves intercepted them. Now the Wood-elves and Lake-town’s defenders fight together. Other than these three points, nowhere else was struck.”

“I see.”

Understanding dawned on Thorin.

“I confess I thought those Elves would remain idle.”

“Give allies more trust. I have faith in them, just as I have faith in you.”

“…Aye.”

Thorin lowered his head, as if reflecting.

Among the Dwarves, opinions of the Elves had begun shifting slightly for the better. Perhaps it was time for his own views to soften as well.

“Time to end this.”

Garrett drew his sword and strode toward the city gate.

The great gates swung wide.

The Uruks’ eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty excitement the instant they opened.

But when they saw who emerged, excitement turned to terror.

—

—

Completed at Chapter 405!

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep