“Go on, go on!”

The sound of cheering drifted through the open window.

“What’s happening out there?”

Inside the stronghold, Garrett, who had been comfortably leaning back in his chair reading a book, suddenly turned his head, his brows slightly furrowed. He closed the book, set it on the table, walked to the window, and leaned out to look in the direction of the commotion.

When he saw the scene below, he was utterly dumbfounded.

Saruman and Wormi were engaged in a tug-of-war over the wizard’s staff, while a group of townsfolk stood around them offering enthusiastic encouragement.

“Well, that’s quite the spectacle.”

Once he recovered from his surprise, he nodded, leaned against the window frame, and watched with considerable amusement.

When the contest reached its climax, mainly because Saruman’s aged face had turned crimson with exertion, Garrett even extended his hands out the window and began applauding.

“Garrett!”

Saruman nearly collapsed from indignation.

“You’re just standing there watching? Control this impudent dragon of yours at once!”

“What?” Garrett looked genuinely puzzled.

What, was he supposed to declare a winner?

“I said, restrain your dragon! That is my staff, mine!”

Now Garrett understood.

He vaulted straight out the window, waved to the crowd, and said, “All right, everyone, the entertainment’s over. Nothing more to see here.”

The townsfolk quieted down and dispersed with good-natured grumbling.

Wormi also released the staff and let out a disdainful snort in Saruman’s direction.

Saruman returned the gesture, clutching his staff protectively as he declared, “You should know full well what a dragon is. I hope you’ve made proper precautions in raising this creature.”

“Wormi isn’t one of those evil dragons. Surely you can sense the difference between Wormi and those wicked beasts.”

Prompted by Garrett’s reminder, Saruman paused.

Indeed.

This dragon was… different.

If it were one of those inherently vicious dragons, especially a young one, engaging in a tug-of-war with a staff?

No, it would have gone straight for his throat, regardless of its master’s presence.

Of course, in most cases, those who could tame such dragons were themselves more brutal and cruel than the beasts.

But this dragon called Wormi…

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

Truly peculiar.

For a dragon, its emotions were far too stable, its temperament far too gentle. He found himself unconsciously treating it like some ordinary animal, even though it had already grown larger than a prize bull.

“Of course you can sense it. But I still advise you to keep close watch on it, lest something go awry.”

“You don’t need to remind me. Besides, Wormi has received proper education. It’s a dragon with culture and refinement.”

Garrett stroked Wormi’s iron-hard scales, and the dragon leaned its head close, rubbing affectionately against his hand.

Looking at it now half-grown body, Garrett felt a wave of nostalgia.

He suddenly remembered something.

Had Wormi already developed its fire-breathing organs?

He would have to check later…

Pulling his attention back, he asked, “In any case, what brings you here? Did you come for a specific reason?”

“Must I have a reason to visit? I’m simply following your own advice. You said if I wanted to know something, I should come see for myself. So I came. I took a tour through that tower of yours, but I didn’t find what I was seeking.”

At this, Saruman finally got to deliver the line he’d been rehearsing, “So you do have a petty side after all, couldn’t even bear to leave out a scrap of information…”

“What information?”

“About that beacon. And those mysterious artifacts you possess.”

“Oh, that.”

Garrett shook his head and opened the stronghold doors.

“Come inside first.”

Standing about at the entrance wasn’t ideal.

Unlike Saruman’s austere tower, Garrett’s stronghold radiated a bright and welcoming atmosphere. The lighting was excellent, and the furniture was all handcrafted by Garrett himself. Perhaps not luxurious by some standards, but certainly comfortable and pleasing to the eye.

As soon as Saruman sat down, he realized something else, perhaps it was time the rigid chairs in Orthanc were replaced.

Sitting in a chair like this, reading a book or conducting research, now that was genuine comfort.

Once inside the quiet, cozy hall, certain words could finally be spoken openly.

Garrett explained, “I don’t expect you to fully understand, but some knowledge is dangerous by its very nature. Once known, it brings misfortune upon those who carry it. I call it ‘forbidden knowledge.’ Even you, one of the Istari, would be better served not knowing it. At least, not while you remain in Middle-earth. Of course, its dangers are not insurmountable. As long as one handles it with care and performs regular purifications, even ordinary folk could withstand it. But I cannot say with certainty whether darker beings have already set their gaze upon this place, nor whether they have truly vanished. So I usually don’t permit others to learn such things. Sometimes, ignorance is a form of protection.”

Saruman could more or less comprehend these words.

Even setting aside Morgoth, the banished Vala who opposed Ilúvatar himself,

There was Sauron. At the height of his power, the mere utterance of his name tested ordinary people’s will; those with weaker resolve would collapse instantly into terror.

Even now, when Sauron was at his weakest, people still avoided speaking his name directly.

But still…

“Are the secrets of the beacon, and the star within it, also forbidden knowledge?”

“Oh, not at all.”

Garrett waved his hand dismissively.

“I simply couldn’t be bothered to write them down.”

After all, aside from him, no one else in this world could obtain a Nether Star. And likewise, no one but him could make proper use of it.

Saruman said, “My research has reached a critical juncture recently, and I’m quite interested in that sort of knowledge.”

Having said that, he waited for Garrett to name his price.

“Oh?”

Sure enough, just as Saruman expected, Garrett’s eyes lit up.

“I didn’t think you’d actually manage to learn anything from it.

What have you discovered? Did you melt it down into liquid to weave into cloth? Or use it as the core of some enchantment? Or perhaps you’ve extracted some hidden truth from it?”

“…None of those.”

“Really? Hmm.”

Garrett looked slightly disappointed.

But he didn’t tease or haggle, he cut straight to the point, “As for the beacon, and the Nether Star within it, both originate from an immensely powerful creature I call the ‘Wither.’ From what I understand, the Wither is a conglomerate formed from the remnants of some great undead sovereign. And though it consists of mere remnants, when it awakens, the whole world can hear its roar, accompanied by an explosion powerful enough to bring Orthanc itself crashing down. It wields the power to make life wither. All living things are its enemies. Wherever the Wither kills, a black rose blooms upon the corpse, and anyone who approaches that rose quickly falls into decay themselves.”

Listening to Garrett’s account, Saruman was taken aback.

Partly because of how extraordinary it sounded, and partly because he hadn’t expected Garrett to simply share such secrets openly, without demanding payment.

“That doesn’t sound like something native to this world.”

“It isn’t.”

Garrett offered no further explanation of the Wither’s origins.

On the one hand, he wasn’t entirely certain himself. On the other, there was no need. Saruman could grasp the concept.

After all, Arda’s own history included an intruder from beyond this world: the spider-shaped entity Ungoliant.

That monstrous being was formidable indeed. She had fought Morgoth so savagely that his cries for help shook the Balrogs from their slumber deep underground, and only through their timely arrival, and their elemental advantage, was she finally forced to retreat.

Ungoliant’s ultimate fate remained unknown. None could trace her, but for several ages she had not reappeared.

So far, everything Garrett described remained within Saruman’s scope of understanding.

Garrett continued, “The Nether Star is what forms when the Wither is destroyed. Strange, isn’t it? That a terrifying undead monster, master of the power to wither all life, should leave behind, upon its destruction, a flawless crystal, pure and radiant, brimming with vitality like a star itself.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep