Light?

No, that wasn’t it.

Garrett drank a bottle of night vision potion and looked into the distance.

That wasn’t light.

Creak… creak…

The sharp sound of something scraping against metal echoed. Garrett focused his gaze and saw several huge white spiders covered in frost gnawing on a heap of tattered black armor.

That armor style looked familiar.

Nazgûl?

He frowned in confusion.

Yes, it was the kind of armor Nazgûl usually wore. But clearly, the armor being chewed apart was empty. No spirit inside, only hollow shells.

So, Nazgûl had been here before, but the creatures of this place weren’t friendly. They didn’t even spare the Nazgûl.

Whoosh!

The frost-white giant spiders seemed to sense something. With a clatter, they dropped the broken armor and turned in unison. Their gazes locked on Garrett.

Those eyes were filled with undisguised malice and an endless, unfillable hunger.

“Come on then. Eat this.”

He drew his Dragonflame Steel Greatsword.

Clearly, those spiders didn’t have very good teeth. Before long, they were reduced to piles of mangled flesh beneath his sweeping blade.

“What is this place…?”

Carrying his sword, he continued deeper in.

As he walked, a sound stirred in the darkness. A black shadow suddenly leapt out. He blocked it with his sword and struck twice.

“Aaargh!”

The sharp death cry grated on his nerves.

But what was that thing?

He nudged at the charred corpse on the ground, puzzled. It had moved too fast to see clearly before, and now it was burnt to a crisp. No matter. He could just check the loot.

Orcs, Wargs, trolls, they all dropped corresponding bones. Spiders dropped spider eyes.

One way or another, the drop always told you what you’d killed.

[Elf Bone]

The moment he saw the item’s name, he froze.

“An… Elf?”

ROAR!

The earlier cry had drawn a horde of monsters. Orcs, trolls, frost-covered spiders twisted by the cold, and several Wargs lurking in the shadows.

“Be gone!”

Uneasy and irritable, Garrett snapped. The monsters paid for it. What followed was one-sided slaughter and devastation.

Only when everything in the area lay dead did he finally stop.

He slammed his hand down on the last twitching creature.

That one.

That was the kind of monster that had dropped the Elf Bone.

“Let me see what you really are…”

[Tormented Elf 30/30]

He fell silent.

He studied the “Elf” before him and felt an indescribable, overwhelming malice.

Yes, an Elf.

And clearly, not just one of them.

An ancient, evil power clung to their bodies like maggots on bone, keeping them from dying, from escaping. They wandered endlessly in this lightless underground world, suffering without end.

In their twisted torment, their nails had grown long and filthy, their skin gray and coarse, their backs hunched. Their hair had fallen out. Surrounded by endless darkness, they had become hideous, afraid of the sun, and driven into madness by their transformation.

“Be free.”

BOOM!

He drove his sword down, ending the Elf’s suffering.

The tormented soul at last escaped its body, returning to the sacred western lands beyond the world, to the Halls of Mandos, where all dead spirits go, and where healing awaited.

He took a deep breath, calming himself.

Now he knew where he was.

[Faction Unlocked: Utumno]

[Reputation: -∞.]

Long before the First Age, in the Years of the Trees, Morgoth had captured many Elves to mock and defile the Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar. He imprisoned them in his fortress and tortured them endlessly.

To rescue those Elves, the War of the Powers was waged. When Morgoth was defeated and captured, Utumno was destroyed. But many of his evil servants fled into the deepest caverns, waiting for their master’s return.

When the fortress fell, most of the Elves were freed.

Most.

The sages dwelling in Valinor believed that those who had never been found, the Elves whose fates remained unknown, might still be wandering within the countless dark caverns of Utumno, together with the monsters that dwelled there.

Yet, for many reasons, they could no longer be sought out.

“Come,” Garrett murmured softly, “come to me. I shall grant you release and send you home.”

He raised his greatsword and continued deeper into the abyss. Wherever he passed, silence followed. Every monster was purged, and every long-maddened Elf found release.

He seemed to understand, at last, why he had come here.

After walking for what felt like an eternity, he suddenly felt a surge of heat and restlessness in the air.

Beyond a line of crumbling stone steps, the frost around him began to melt, revealing the dark, ancient brick beneath.

THUD!

When Garrett arrived at this point, the ground began to tremble violently beneath his feet. He took a deep breath and pulled out a rarely used shield, raising it in front of him.

This feeling… was familiar.

It’s coming…

BOOM!

The earth caved in, the stone floor exploded outward, and with a loud crash, his shield shattered. The force threw him backward, and he barely managed to brace himself with his Dragonflame Steel Greatsword to lessen the impact.

Crash!

Man and sword slammed hard into the wall.

Through the dust and fire, he saw it: a colossal, winged figure wreathed in flame, surrounded by countless grotesque creatures.

Garrett grinned.

“Come on, then!”

His battle cry echoed through the depths, rolling far into the darkness.

—

“So, it’s one thing if we can’t find Garrett, and it’s understandable that Saruman’s rescue efforts haven’t progressed, but how on earth did we manage to lose Glorfindel as well?”

In Rivendell, Gandalf voiced his frustration to the Great Eagle that had come bearing news.

The eagle said nothing, merely ruffling its feathers.

Complaining to it was pointless. It was only a messenger, and matters like these were beyond its concern.

“Sigh…”

Gandalf let out a long breath.

“But I suppose we should have faith in Elrond.”

Through the eagle’s message, Elrond had said he would return in time to oversee the Fellowship’s departure.

“The Woodland Realm will not stand idly by,” said Legolas, who happened to be beside Gandalf when the news arrived.

“My father will send troops to aid in the assault on Dol Guldur.”

“Yes, I know Thranduil will take action,” Gandalf replied, his brows furrowed. “It’s just that… I worry.”

So many great and small troubles had plagued the old wizard lately that even he was beginning to feel weary.

“If war truly engulfs that region, will we even be able to pass safely through it?”

“Enough of that,” Gandalf sighed, shifting the topic. “Our departure time draws near, and I hadn’t expected so many absences at such a crucial moment.”

“Neither had I. Too many unexpected turns,” Legolas said, shaking his head and frowning slightly.

Whoosh!

With its message delivered, the Great Eagle spread its wings and took off into the clear sky. Gandalf watched it go, lost in thought.

“I understand Elrond’s situation now. He’ll be back in a few days. But Garrett’s whereabouts remain a mystery. Normally, he would never miss such a moment. Something important must be holding him back.”

“What could be so important?”

Both Elf and wizard were equally at a loss.

To confirm Garrett’s status, scouts had ridden out days ago on the fastest horses, visiting every nearby realm.

The result: Garrett was nowhere to be found.

Then the eagle had arrived, reporting that he had gone north, to the Waste, to investigate something.

Since then, there had been no further word.

Before leaving, he had left only a few brief instructions: that every territory should assist the Fellowship when needed, and send reinforcements if called upon. As for the rest, he had said nothing, only that each leader should act on their own judgment when the time came.

A few days later, Elrond returned, and Gandalf finally felt a measure of relief.

“Do not worry, Mithrandir,” Elrond said.

“My return is thanks to Lady Galadriel. Lothlórien, under her leadership, has agreed to join the assault on Dol Guldur.”

“The Woodland Realm too. Thranduil has pledged his aid.”

“And Glorfindel,” Elrond continued, “I left him there to provide support. Mordor’s schemes will not succeed.”

“That is good,” Gandalf nodded, finally setting aside his anxiety.

“It is precisely because of that that I could return to oversee the matters of the Fellowship.”

Elrond dismounted, then asked Gandalf about the current situation.

The Sword of the King had been reforged. Aragorn had given it a new name, Andúril, Flame of the West.

Meanwhile, the Nine Walkers, the Fellowship of the Ring, were fully prepared.

Everything, for now, was proceeding smoothly.

“There is always something each of us must do,” Gandalf said quietly. “Things rarely go perfectly. All we can do is our utmost.”

“Indeed,” Elrond agreed.

Their conversation ended on that note of shared understanding.

And so, on a clear morning, the Fellowship of the Ring set out.

He proclaimed, “The journey of the Ring-bearer to Mount Doom now begins. As for the rest of you, you are bound by no oath. How far you go depends on your own will.”

Oaths, he knew, could bind men to purpose, but also bring tragedy.

Elrond knew this too well. That was why he demanded no vows from anyone. This quest would rest solely on each person’s choice.

“Go then, and farewell. May you remember your purpose.”

“May the blessings of Elves, Men, Dwarves, and all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth go with you.”

And thus, the Fellowship set forth to meet the trials that awaited them ahead.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep