“Why the hell did you have to steal the kill?”

Garrett sheathed his sword helplessly.

“You really know how to show up at the right time.”

“Ah haha! A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to,” Gandalf replied.

While speaking, he tapped his staff against the three troll statues frozen mid-flight, nodding approvingly, clearly pleased with his handiwork.

“Fortunate that no one lost life or limb.”

“That’s thanks to your burglar, and to Garrett.”

Thorin approached slowly and acknowledged Gandalf as well, as if their earlier dispute had never happened.

“These trolls must have descended from the Ettenmoors.”

Gandalf looked down at the dark blood dripping from Garrett’s blade and spoke gravely.

“This is not a good sign.”

The Ettenmoors, a bleak, shadowy region bordering the ruins of Angmar and the Misty Mountains, was one of the places where trolls commonly dwelt.

“For trolls to come this far south… the last time that occurred was during the dark years when evil ruled.”

That was, during the grim era when the Dark Lord Sauron still commanded vast armies.

He looked at Garrett.

“Nothing is certain. Perhaps circumstances truly are as you suspect,” Garrett said, in words only Gandalf could fully comprehend, leaving the others visibly puzzled.

Sauron… was not one to perish easily.

Even if he were reduced to mere shadow, he could return one day as darkness made manifest. Though the Ring was destroyed, none could say with certainty that he had truly vanished from the world forever.

At this point, only Garrett could be certain that the Dark Lord still stirred.

Gandalf shook his head and temporarily set aside his concerns, turning to survey the nearby terrain.

“Trolls cannot move forth in sunlight, there must be a cave nearby.”

Even as Gandalf spoke, Garrett had already nimbly climbed over a small rise and discovered a foul-smelling, fly-infested cave entrance.

“Over here!”

Garrett held up a torch, leading the way into the darkness.

“What is this place? It stinks…” The company of dwarves covered their noses, and several began coughing from the putrid air.

“A troll hoard.”

Clatter.

When they reached the deepest chamber of the cave, suddenly the ground beneath their feet changed.

Chests of jewels and precious artifacts were stacked in corners, and gold and silver coins formed gleaming mounds upon the floor, glittering in the torchlight.

“We’ve struck a fortune.”

Several dwarves retrieved tools and buried the treasure they couldn’t transport, to prevent others from discovering and claiming it.

Thorin, meanwhile, selected two matching swords from a dusty, web-shrouded corner and examined them closely.

“These were not forged by troll-hands.”

“Nor by any smith of Men.”

Gandalf took one of the blades, brushed away the dust, and studied it carefully.

“This sword is from Gondolin, wrought by the High Elves in the Elder Days.”

The moment he learned it was crafted by Elves, Thorin immediately released the sword in disgust, as if it had suddenly become contaminated…

“Yet there are no finer blades in all Middle-earth than these.”

Suddenly appealing again, isn’t it?

Thorin retrieved the sword, drew it from its sheath, gave it several glances, and nodded with satisfaction.

Glamdring and Orcrist.

Garrett recognized the two legendary blades immediately. The former had once belonged to Turgon, High King of the Noldor and lord of Gondolin; the latter, its twin, was wielded by an unknown but undoubtedly mighty Elf-lord.

Both weapons had slain countless orcs and earned their own storied reputations.

“May I take a look?”

He asked the two companions.

Without hesitation, Gandalf offered his sword. Thorin followed suit, presenting his blade to Garrett as well.

Garrett held both weapons and studied them carefully.

[Glamdring: Attack Power +9]

[Orcrist: Attack Power +9]

Same damage rating as his own ancient blade, weapons of the highest caliber, without question.

“What is your assessment of this sword? If it pleases you, claim it. I believe it would serve better in your hands,” Gandalf offered, seeing Garrett carefully inspecting the blades.

His staff served him well enough, he had little need for an additional blade.

“It’s an excellent sword, but not necessarily better than mine.”

Garrett returned both swords and drew his own ancient elven blade.

Even within the dim cave, as the weapon left its scabbard, it gleamed like starlight, keen, cold, and brilliant. Compared to the other two swords, this one radiated a more intense, chilling presence. Regardless, all three were far stronger and sharper than any lesser alloy could achieve.

After concealing the remaining treasure deeper within the cave, the company began making their way toward the entrance.

During their exit, Gandalf spotted an elegant elven dagger on the ground. He retrieved it and presented it to Bilbo, offering words of advice.

“True courage is not knowing when to take a life, but knowing when to spare one.”

“Something’s approaching!”

Suddenly, someone called out from beyond the cave. Gandalf immediately rushed to investigate, and Bilbo, still examining the dagger, followed shortly after.

But it proved to be a false alarm.

Radagast the Brown had arrived.

“Gandalf, something is gravely amiss in Mirkwood. There’s been an outbreak of giant spiders, I’m certain they’re spawn of Ungoliant.”

Ungoliant, a primordial creature born of the Void before the world’s making, an entity of pure malice. Her current whereabouts remained unknown, but even her offspring, such as Shelob, were so formidable that even the Dark Lord did not provoke them, occasionally sending orcs merely to appease her hunger.

“I ventured to Dol Guldur, it was… terrifying. Oh, and I discovered this.”

Radagast pulled out a tightly wrapped blade.

It was… the Morgul-blade of the Witch-king of Angmar.

Gandalf’s expression grew deeply troubled.

Howl!

Suddenly, a wolf’s cry pierced the air. A warg leaped down from above, Garrett struck it down with a single blow. More followed, attacking as a pack, but they too were swiftly dispatched.

“Warg scouts, which means an entire war-band of orcs must be nearby!”

“We must depart immediately!”

“We cannot! The ponies ran off in fear!” a dwarf rushed over in alarm. Then added, “Save for Garrett’s mount.”

Bilbo sighed heavily.

Great. All that effort for nothing.

“I’ll draw them away.”

“I’ll destroy them.”

Radagast and Garrett spoke simultaneously. The two glanced at each other, uncertain of the other’s intentions.

“Those are Gundabad wargs, they’ll overtake you,” Gandalf warned Radagast.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits. I’d like to see them try.”

There was no time for further debate. Gandalf looked between Radagast and Garrett.

“I say… why not employ both strategies?”

—

Moments later, across the plains, half the warg pack was being hunted down and slaughtered by Garrett on horseback; the other half pursued Radagast as he sped away upon his rabbit-drawn sled.

Meanwhile, Gandalf led the dwarves and Bilbo in a third direction, evading a squadron of warg-riders commanded by an orc chieftain.

“Abandon the wizard with the rabbits! Pursue that human and delay him, we’ll slay the dwarves first!” the orc leader snarled in frustration.

As Radagast’s pursuers began withdrawing, the pressure on Gandalf’s group increased significantly, though they could still manage for the present.

“So that fellow wasn’t merely boasting…”

Behind a boulder, Bofur peered out, watching wargs yelp as they fled from Garrett’s relentless assault.

“Can’t believe there being a Man in this world that strong, never heard of anything like it.”

“There’s much beyond your knowledge. Now move, we must escape this place!” Gandalf urged, leading the dwarves toward a concealed passage.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep