The orc army from Khazad-dûm had departed early. Gandalf, who had escaped from Sauron’s grasp, anxiously awaited reinforcements from the White Council, while the dwarves had already set out for the Lonely Mountain to begin their quest.

The rhythm of events suddenly accelerated.

Just like Garrett’s pace.

“Something’s wrong. At this rate, the army will arrive before the dragon is even taken down.”

The timeline… was off.

Why?

So far, the only apparent change was that he had rescued Gandalf ahead of schedule, preventing him from being imprisoned and tortured by Sauron.

This had also caused Sauron’s plans to be exposed prematurely, perhaps the Dark Lord sensed a looming threat and decided to abandon his long slumber and preparations, choosing instead to immediately launch a full-scale advance on Erebor.

On the plains at the edge of Mirkwood, Garrett stood atop a high hill, surveying the dense mass of orcs below. To be honest, the sheer number was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the forces from Khazad-dûm, likely even the scattered orcs from the nearby wilderness had been gathered.

“That is…”

He squinted and saw a small unit joining the orc horde. A particularly tall orc, tall even by the standards of Men, ran up to Azog, paused briefly, then also joined the army ranks.

If he wasn’t mistaken, that was Bolg.

Now this army had two commanders, one leading, one supporting.

Rubbing the hilt of his sword, he felt his hands itch for action. He suddenly recalled an ancient legend.

According to some tales, the wielder of Orcrist was Ecthelion of the Fountain, Lord of a House of Gondolin. In the battle during the Fall of Gondolin, he had slain countless orcs with Orcrist, defeated multiple orc chieftains and Balrogs, and ultimately perished in single combat with Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs.

Ever since, orcs would tremble at the sight of that sword and quake at mention of the Lord of the Fountain’s name, even now, two ages later, the lingering terror still remained.

There was no denying that this First Age Elven lord had been truly formidable. If the legend was accurate, he might have been even more powerful than Garrett was now.

But he didn’t feel those feats were entirely beyond his reach.

“Pity, now isn’t the time.”

Staring at the massive army, he shook his head.

If it were just a few hundred or a thousand orcs, he could attempt it. But tens of thousands? That number could easily overwhelm him, he wouldn’t even have space to dig a hole and hide.

He could still attempt a decapitation strike, but whether it would be worth the cost was another matter. For now, the timing simply wasn’t right.

More urgent was the situation at the Lonely Mountain.

Arriving early meant preparing early.

—

Far away in Lake-town, Thorin shared the same urgency.

That night, a group of dwarves sneaked out behind Bard’s back, using the cover of darkness to circle around to the rear window of the armory.

“Thorin, are we truly doing the right thing?” Bilbo whispered.

“This is someone else’s armory…”

“There’s no time to worry about that now,” Thorin replied, taking a sword from the cache they’d extracted from the armory. He drew it slightly, examined the blade, then nodded.

“We’re only borrowing some weapons for now. Besides, I’ve heard tales, the town’s Master and his guards don’t have the finest reputation. Taking these might even count as serving the townsfolk.”

In just a few moments, the dwarves had completed their task and each selected a suitable weapon. The night patrol was approaching, so he quickly urged everyone to depart.

Thus, the company of dwarves successfully acquired what they needed and left before dawn, heading for the Lonely Mountain without a word.

But the next day, someone ended up in trouble because of their actions.

“Bard,” a smug-looking figure blocked the bowman’s path and called out to him.

Bard looked coldly at him. “Alfrid. What do you want?”

“Oh, I have business. Of course I do!”

Alfrid clapped his hands, and a squad of guards appeared behind him.

“A batch of weapons from the town has been stolen. I suspect it was you or your accomplices who did it. Now, please accompany me to the cells and explain everything in detail, Master Bard.”

“Seize him,” he ordered casually.

“What? I had nothing to do with this!”

At that moment, Bard had no idea what the dwarves had done. To him, all of this seemed like another excuse the town’s Master had contrived to eliminate him.

Sooner or later, a day like this was bound to come.

“Alfrid!” Bard clenched his fists and suddenly shouted the name, startling the smug deputy of Lake-town.

“Bain, look after the family.”

Leaving final words with his son, he didn’t resist as he was taken away by the guards.

This was something he couldn’t avoid. Running wouldn’t help, it wouldn’t change anything.

Let’s see what tricks you have up your sleeve…

—

Clang.

Garrett pulled out a pickaxe and broke through the gates of Erebor, slipping directly through the main entrance.

It was hard to imagine that even these stone walls, meters thick, hadn’t been enough to stop Smaug. The dragon had simply charged through and shattered the massive gate without even slowing down.

To actually contain him, they would have needed walls tens, no, dozens, of meters thick.

If everything had gone as expected, Smaug should still be slumbering deep within the mountain’s treasury. That meant this was a window of opportunity. To get out, the dragon would have to pass through a long tunnel, enter the throne hall, and then reach the front gate.

In other words, if he could seal off that tunnel, he could trap Smaug. Perhaps not slay him, but at least keep him contained for a long time.

With plans forming in his mind, he crept forward.

The moment he entered, his attention was immediately drawn to a massive golden dwarf statue. There was so much gold here that, melted down, it could form a flowing river. If he broke it apart into ingots, it would probably fill several large chests.

No wonder Smaug had been entranced the first time he saw the statue.

The wealth the dwarves had amassed was truly unrivaled in Middle-earth.

Garrett shook his head. He didn’t touch the golden statue. In this world, interfering with something that had an owner could easily lead to complications. Even if no one could witness what he did, the world itself would remember.

The Valar were watching, even if no one else was.

Past the towering statue in the throne hall was the long corridor leading to Smaug’s lair. He stood at the end of the corridor, staring into the pitch-black space beyond, and paused.

As expected from dwarven craftsmanship, even this tunnel stretched for several thousand meters.

After a moment of admiration, he retrieved a bucket of lava and a bucket of water. Climbing up a pillar of blocks to the highest point, he poured the lava straight down.

The glowing red lava flowed downward unnaturally, seemingly endless, and when it reached the floor, it spread several more meters before finally stopping. Then, he poured the water beside it. With a loud hissing sound, the flowing lava instantly solidified into stone.

Repeating this process several times, he built a thick stone wall that sealed off the tunnel entrance to the throne hall, like a mountain wall rising from nowhere.

“Still not enough.”

He dug into the floor and buried every last bit of TNT he had with him, carefully hiding them under stone blocks.

“I’ll fix the terrain after this… I promise.”

With the TNT set, he looked again at the corridor and fell into thought.

Arrow dispensers were out, useless against dragons. Lava traps? Even worse, what was just to a warm bath for a fire dragon wouldn’t even tickle Smaug, let alone harm him.

What kind of trap would prove effective?

“Are you finished with your little preparations, mortal?”

“I should be,” Garrett answered instinctively.

…Huh?

A wave of intense heat suddenly rose behind him.

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