Old friends passed away one after another, like leaves falling in the wind.

In the year 2955, Wade finally couldn’t hold on anymore. He was eighty years old this year, already considered a long life for an ordinary human.

In his final moments, Garrett sat at his bedside, keeping him company with conversation.

They talked about things from the past, about the refugees’ journey from the Anduin River to Wayfort, about their life outside the walls, and their astonishment the first time they saw the fortress.

Both were calm, just as they always had been.

“These past few years, what I’ve seen and experienced has been richer and more wonderful than the decades before. My only regret, my lord, is that my mind can no longer always remain clear, and my body has grown weak. I can’t be of much help to you anymore.”

As if sensing the moment drawing near, Wade added, “A few days ago, I went to the school and learned a phrase from the Elves. Listen and see if I say it right: Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya.”

(May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.)

“I heard this is what they say when parting.”

“My beloved lord, I truly wish we could meet again, but I fear I can only bid you farewell forever.”

“May all the fortune of the world follow you.”

Wade slowly closed his eyes.

“I’m glad to have met you, Wade,” Garrett said softly.

“Goodbye.”

The living gave their farewell.

The departed carried a smile.

Wayfort gained a new grave.

Garrett planted a flower before it. He lifted his gaze to the clear blue sky, not knowing how long such days would last.

In 2956, after Wade, Taber also passed away.

Garrett sat before the two graves, holding Taber’s notebook, flipping through it page by page.

Just as Taber had said, most of it was records of trivial matters around the fortress, with many entries being everyday conversations with Garrett. Reading them felt like returning to those days.

Afternoons in the library grading students’ work, occasional discussions of teaching content, or joyous holiday feasts.

Also the banquet held when the Sky Road was completed.

“The lord, Rangers, and Elves gazed at the starry sky above the darkened walls, with brilliant lights and rejoicing crowds behind them.”

So, he had always been watching and recording these things.

When Garrett reached the final page, he froze.

“With this, I look back upon my insignificant life, and commemorate my encounter with our beloved lord.”

Snap.

The notebook closed.

He hugged the book to his chest, lying back on the grass before the graves.

Closing his eyes, he let out a quiet breath.

—

That same year, in the wilds of Rhovanion, at the edge of the Brown Lands, a lithe figure darted through the tall grass, chasing after a band of orcs.

“Cursed ranger!”

The orcs shouted ahead.

“If you’ve got the courage, keep chasing! Our main camp is just ahead, one way or another, you’ll die today!”

The pursuer said nothing, slipping silently between shrubs and low trees. At times his presence sounded from the left, at times from the right, leaving the orcs on edge.

What was terrifying wasn’t the noise itself, but the fact they couldn’t see him at all, not even sure if he was really behind them.

ROAR.

Just as the orcs ran nervously forward, another kind of roar rang out.

“Great, wargs!”

The orcs stopped in their tracks. At the same time, more than a dozen wargs burst out from one side, drooling as they gazed behind the orcs.

With their eyes fixed that way, the shrubs and grass behind really did fall silent.

The wargs growled at the orcs, as if asking: What’s going on?

And the orcs understood.

“A cursed ranger. He killed eight of our comrades.”

The wargs flicked their heads dismissively, almost mocking them.

For one ranger to slay eight of them single-handedly, what a disgrace.

Even eight pigs wouldn’t be that easy to kill so fast.

Seeing the wargs’ expressions, the orcs’ faces turned sour. They protested: “You don’t know that ranger, he…”

ROAR!

One warg cut them off with a snarl and leapt into the thicket. The others followed close behind.

The orcs blinked, then quickly raised their scimitars and charged after.

Crash.

A ranger was forced out, locked in close combat with them. One moment he had to block a warg’s sharp fangs with his sword, the next he had to watch out for the orcs’ blades. Before long, sweat was pouring down his face, it was clearly a hard fight.

Just as another warg leapt at him from behind, and he was wondering how to deal with it…

Whizz.

An arrow suddenly flew in, killing the warg in front of him. Freed, the ranger spun around in one swift motion and cut down the one lunging from behind.

“He has an ally!”

The orcs shouted a warning. The wargs had already reacted, leaping toward the direction the arrow had come from.

One of them was immediately shot down at close range, but with its death, the hidden helper could no longer stay concealed.

An Elf leapt out, abandoning his bow in favor of two sharp daggers drawn from his belt, plunging straight into the pack.

A ranger and an Elf, side by side, cut swiftly and efficiently through the wargs and orcs.

Though there were only two of them… One orc at the edge couldn’t help but take a step back.

Yet within moments, over a dozen wargs and several orcs lay dead on the ground.

The two killers turned their gaze toward the survivors.

Thud.

Just as the ranger was about to charge, the Elf was a step faster, his dagger flashing through the air, piercing an orc’s skull.

The battle was over.

“Looks like your stealth skills still need work, ranger of Wayfort. Should I call you… little sapling?”

“Little sapling?”

The ranger chuckled, pulling out a medal to show.

“Look closely, Outstanding Ranger Graduate Medal, personally awarded to me by Garrett.”

“Oh?”

The Elf pulled his dagger from the orc’s head as he spoke, “Then it seems my appearance was unnecessary. But wait, you said Garrett?”

“Who are you, and what’s your connection to him?”

“Thorongil. I once studied at Wayfort. My elders are acquainted with him.”

Aragorn hesitated briefly before giving his alias.

“And you?”

“Legolas… from the Woodland Realm.”

Legolas too concealed his true identity, offering only a simple explanation.

“Either way, you helped me. I owe you thanks.”

Aragorn nodded to him with respect.

“Do you have a mission? Perhaps I could assist.”

“Not really. I only came out for a walk.”

“And you, ranger? What’s your mission?”

“Same as you. Just wandering around… cutting down a few orcs along the way.”

Their conversation ended, and silence fell between them.

“I plan to visit Rohan. I’ve heard their new king is quite wise,” Aragorn spoke first.

“Rohan, the land of the horse-lords,” Legolas repeated the name.

“I’ve only ever heard one thing about that place.”

“What is it?”

“Their former king once got badly beaten up by Garrett.”

“…”

Aragorn was stunned into silence at that. It was the first time anyone had told him such a thing.

He knew little about the previous king, but if Garrett had beaten him, then it surely wasn’t undeserved.

“No need to worry. The current King of Rohan gets along very well with Garrett. You can go with confidence.

But as for me, I don’t wish to travel that far. At the end of the year, I plan to visit Dale. I hear it’s lively there.”

“Do Elves feel loneliness too?”

“…Perhaps.”

“Then let’s part ways here.”

And so, their first meeting ended rather abruptly.

Two months later, Aragorn crossed the Anduin River, traversed the Wold, and in Eastemnet came upon a band of Rohirrim locked in battle with a small group of orcs. He immediately joined the fight.

The orcs were wiped out, but the horsemen quickly surrounded Aragorn, questioning him.

When he showed them his Outstanding Ranger Graduate Medal, their suspicion eased, and they directed him toward Edoras.

Fairly smoothly, Aragorn reached the capital of Rohan.

Thanks to years of effort by Thengel, the city had shed its former desolation and was gradually flourishing again.

There, Aragorn successfully met Thengel.

But in the great hall, there was another visitor besides himself.

“I am Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey.”

The old man stared Aragorn up and down, nodding repeatedly, until Aragorn’s skin crawled under the scrutiny.

“Good… you bear the bearing of your ancestors.”

Gandalf clapped Aragorn on the shoulder, leading him toward the front of the hall to introduce him to Thengel.

“Perhaps this young man can be of service to you.”

The wheels of fate began to turn.

—

—

Completed at Chapter 405!

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep