For Legolas, who had generously demonstrated his combat skills and even helped him unlock a new mod, Garrett offered a golden apple as a token of gratitude.

Elves seemed quite fond of these things, both beautiful and practical.

Although he had been giving out quite a few golden apples lately, he truly couldn’t think of anything else suitable as a thank-you gift. Among everything in his inventory, these were the most appropriate and also relatively abundant.

Come to think of it, there probably weren’t many beings who could refuse a golden apple. They struck just the right note aesthetically for most creatures, even orcs had good things to say about them.

After acquiring Basic Sword Technique, Garrett hadn’t returned to the training grounds, which left Legolas somewhat puzzled. Why had this man stopped learning after just one day?

Still, as a temporary instructor, he was somewhat comforted by the fact that Garrett had since frequently gone out to eliminate spiders and wandering orcs in the vicinity.

Though he always muttered something about “farming drops,” whatever that meant, his actions were clearly noticed by all the elves. Regardless of his motives, what he accomplished benefited the Woodland Realm, and that alone was worthy of respect.

—

“The drop rate today is insanely high.”

Deep in the forest, Garrett cut down another spider, looking troubled.

In recent days, he had slain over a hundred spiders, eliminated several nests, and his inventory was practically overflowing with spider eyes. Yet he’d only managed to obtain one Basic Sword skill orb and one Dodge skill orb.

After leveling Basic Sword Technique to level two and Dodge to level one, he sheathed his sword and returned to the Woodland Realm.

Tomorrow was the Feast of Starlight, the day they had agreed to regroup.

—

“I sensed many orcs positioned near the eastern border of the forest. They appear to be searching for something.”

To the east of the Woodland Realm lay the river leading to Lake-town, an important trade route for the elves. Having orcs lurking there was decidedly troubling news.

Back at the palace, Garrett reported the intelligence to the king. After receiving Thranduil’s assurance that it would be addressed, he set out for Dol Guldur.

The day after Garrett’s departure, a grand feast was held in the Woodland Realm. Barrels of fine elven wine were brought into the banquet hall, and the elves raised their cups in celebration.

Yet on such a joyous occasion, bad news arrived.

“The dwarves have escaped.”

Upon hearing this, Thranduil lost all interest in the festivities and set his goblet aside.

“Legolas, you shall lead a company and—”

He paused momentarily, seemingly recalling something, then continued, “Go clear out the orcs nearby. Do not let them disrupt our celebration.”

“What of the dwarves?” Legolas inquired.

“Let them be. Allow them to follow the river, live or die as fate wills. I care not. And bring back a live orc when you’re finished. I have questions for it.”

Though filled with doubts, Legolas accepted the command and led a group of elves toward the river mouth.

The king remained on his throne, lost in thought.

—

Dol Guldur, once a stronghold of the Woodland Elves, had remained abandoned since the elves migrated northward in the Second Age.

However, in the Third Age, a dark power had taken root there.

Its outward appearance was ruined, the surroundings eerily silent, as if nothing stirred within. But all of this was merely a facade designed to deceive outsiders. Even the rumors of the “Necromancer” might have been deliberately spread, all to mislead and buy more time to grow in secret.

Garrett stepped carefully over brittle branches and rotting leaves, slowly approaching the gates of the fortress.

“Gandalf?” he called out.

“Am I late?”

“No.”

Suddenly, a voice came from behind a nearby stone pillar. He turned his head and saw Gandalf, accompanied by Radagast the Brown, emerging together.

“A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to,” Gandalf said, delivering his characteristic lines.

“That’s right! With my rabbits, it’s always others who arrive late!” Radagast chimed in enthusiastically.

“I’m nearly certain now, Garrett, the Enemy is here,” Gandalf said quietly as he approached. The three of them gathered in a circle and began discussing their plan.

“There’s a concealment enchantment shrouding this place. That means he hasn’t fully recovered his strength yet and doesn’t want to reveal himself openly. Radagast, go bear word to the Lady of Lothlórien. We need reinforcements, we must force the Enemy to show himself. Whatever happens, don’t follow us inside. Understood? Garrett and I will investigate from here.”

Radagast paused, momentarily taken aback. So what you’re really saying is… I’m not strong enough, so you’re sending me to run messages?

“Very well, I’ll go.”

He leaped into his rabbit sleigh and quickly sped away.

As they watched the brown-robed wizard disappear into the distance, Garrett asked, “So what now? Are we going straight in?”

“There’s no alternative. We’ll scout the place, and if anything feels amiss, we withdraw immediately.”

With that, Gandalf drew Glamdring, staff in his left hand, sword in his right, and took the lead, clearing the path ahead.

Garrett followed closely behind, watching their rear.

“Shouldn’t we maybe wait for reinforcements?” he suggested. Honestly, when he recalled certain battle scenes, he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated.

Even if Sauron had lost the One Ring and was now merely a shadow of his former self, the remaining fragment of his power was still no joke. He could at least easily overwhelm Gandalf. And Garrett wasn’t entirely confident whether his armor would hold if things got ugly.

“There’s no time. I must know what the Enemy is planning.” The usually cautious Gandalf had, for once, decided to take a gamble.

“Alright then, but just so we’re clear, if anything goes wrong, we retreat. Don’t stay here too long.”

“I understand. Trust me, my life still has purpose. I’m not planning to waste it.”

Cautiously, the two made their way into the interior of the crumbling fortress.

Here, the sky remained always grey. There was barely any distinction between day and night. As they walked, Garrett looked up and saw iron cages suspended on both sides, filled with bones, some large, some small. It was clear that many had once suffered and perished here.

They might have been tortured for no reason whatsoever, simply because orcs enjoyed torture.

“This is where Thráin was once imprisoned. I encountered him here when I came to investigate ninety years past,” Gandalf said, glancing at the cages overhead and shaking his head.

“He had been tortured here for five full years. None know what he endured. When I found him, he had already lost his reason, couldn’t even recall who he was. After giving me the key and the map, he passed away not long after.”

As he resumed his usual role as Middle-earth’s chronicler, explaining the grim history of the place to Garrett, whoosh, a shadow suddenly flashed by.

Garrett spun around, but saw nothing.

Gandalf looked over as well, about to speak, when, a blade suddenly appeared from behind him, stabbing down fiercely.

Clang!

Garrett’s ancient elven blade and Gandalf’s Glamdring were drawn in an instant, intercepting the deadly strike just in time.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep