“What’s happening? What’s all this commotion?”

Waking up from a deep sleep, the Master of Lake-town felt as though the world had turned upside down. Why was everyone packing their belongings?

They were departing?

Grabbing a leftover buttered mushroom-baked pike from the table and taking a bite, he washed it down with an entire cup of strong wine in one gulp. He wiped his greasy hands on his robes and shouted, “Alfrid! Where is everyone? Can someone explain what’s going on?”

He rushed from his house and grabbed a nearby townsman by the arm. “Where are you all going?”

“The orc army is almost here, we’re seeking refuge at the Lonely Mountain.”

The townsman spoke quickly and immediately swatted away the Master’s greasy grip in disgust, hurrying off in the opposite direction.

“What army? What Lonely Mountain? What are you people doing?”

The Master shouted furiously, “Why wasn’t I informed of something this important?!”

“If you possess any remaining sense, start packing and depart immediately.”

Just then, a familiar voice came from nearby.

“Bard. Aren’t you supposed to be imprisoned? So you’ve broken out, have you?”

“Guards! Where are my guards? Arrest this man at once!”

The Master shouted at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of onlookers. Several guards quickly approached and whispered a summary of the situation into his ear.

The Master finally calmed down. He squinted and studied Bard for a while.

Whether it concerned the dragon or the people of Lake-town, none of it truly mattered to him. What mattered was whether his own circumstances might improve in the future.

A dragon-slaying hero, now that was an excellent tale. It could do wonders for the town’s future prosperity.

“I suggest you organize the guards swiftly to ensure the townsfolk evacuate safely.”

A calm, authoritative voice came from behind him. The Master turned to see an old man in grey robes speaking to him.

He immediately made a disgusted expression and pulled out a handkerchief to cover his nose.

“Where did this reeking beggar come from?”

Gandalf took a deep breath and held back his irritation.

“I’m no beggar. I am a wizard, Gandalf the Grey. A wizard brings counsel and warning, and I ask that you—”

“I care not if you’re a beggar or a wizard. Remove yourself from my sight. I have no obligation to heed your words.”

Shove!

The Master pushed Gandalf aside and began walking back toward his house, calling to the guards as he went, “What are you standing about for? Forget those people, come help me move my possessions!”

The guards looked between Bard and the Master, clearly unsure whom to obey.

Gandalf gripped his staff more tightly.

Bard glanced at the wizard and gave a subtle nod.

Thud!

With a much heavier blow than before, Gandalf slammed his staff onto the Master’s skull, causing the portly man to collapse stiffly onto the ground, crushing a pile of junk beneath him.

“Assist the townspeople.”

Gandalf spoke calmly to the guards. They didn’t hesitate for even a second and quickly ran off.

Scattered applause erupted from the surrounding crowd.

Under the leadership of the dragon-slaying hero and the wizard, the people soon organized themselves, gathered their belongings and sufficient provisions for the journey, and began their march toward the Lonely Mountain.

On the road, Bard was drenched in sweat as he coordinated everything.

For various reasons, both the Master and his deputy had conveniently fainted and missed the departure. At this point, Bard had become the de facto leader.

But before this, he had no experience managing the affairs of an entire settlement. Only with Gandalf’s guidance was he able to keep the caravan moving smoothly without major issues.

The people marched in relative silence. Most of the time, they only ate dry rations, no hot meals for an entire day.

“What is that?”

As they neared Erebor, someone turned and pointed in another direction with a sudden shout, which immediately drew considerable attention.

“Is that a wall? It’s so tall!”

A chorus of exclamations followed.

Gandalf squinted into the distance.

“If memory serves, that direction leads to Dale?”

“That is Dale.”

Bard confirmed firmly, “I know that place intimately.”

“But wasn’t that city destroyed…”

Whoosh.

As he spoke, a firework suddenly burst into the sky above Dale.

Gandalf immediately relaxed.

“Ah, then it’s settled. I don’t believe we need to proceed to Erebor anymore, let’s head directly to the ruins of Dale.”

“Those don’t appear to be ruins at all,”

Bard said in amazement. “Just two days past, there was nothing here. I’m quite certain my memory isn’t failing me.”

“Perhaps that’s accurate. Why don’t we investigate first?”

Bard nodded, choosing to trust the wise wizard.

In truth, he didn’t really know what a wizard was, after all, he had never sat on a ruler’s throne.

But he knew one thing: this wizard was associated with Garrett. The two were often mentioned together in the tales told by refugees, so they were likely trustworthy.

“Is anyone present?”

Before the towering city gates, Gandalf looked up and called out.

Creak.

With the sound of mechanisms activating, three massive iron portcullises rose one after another, and the city gate slowly opened.

“Gandalf.”

Garrett greeted him from atop the city wall.

“I knew you’d be here, Garrett.”

Gandalf knocked on the wall, estimating it to be roughly six meters thick, solid, and nearly thirty meters in height.

But although the wall was tall and thick, there was nothing atop it, just a bare surface, as though massive stone blocks had been stacked without time for finishing details. Still, as a temporary defensive structure, it was more than adequate.

And also… He glanced downward. He felt some heat near the gate, something seemed to be hidden below.

“Don’t just stand there, come in!”

Garrett called down from above.

Bard looked at Gandalf, and only after receiving his nod did he confidently begin leading the townspeople forward.

The refugees stared wide-eyed at the wall that gave them a sense of security. With amazement, they began to enter the city and rest in the open area inside.

“Light fires and prepare meals, we’ll rest here for the present.”

After issuing orders and making sure his family was settled, Bard walked over with Gandalf to meet Garrett, who had just jumped down from the wall.

“This is what you meant by building a wall? I thought you merely intended to reinforce Erebor’s defenses, this is truly unexpected.”

“What’s the point of fixing Erebor’s walls? They aren’t even damaged.”

Garrett shrugged and began placing blocks to construct an impromptu staircase, inviting Gandalf and Bard to climb up and survey the valley.

Dale sat nestled in the valley between the southwestern and southeastern ridges of the Lonely Mountain, with only one side accessible to the outside.

In other words, constructing just one wall was enough to secure the city’s defense, saving him a great deal of effort.

Before the townsfolk had even arrived, he had already completed the wall’s basic structure, and had even installed several lava traps and deep pitfalls. Just a pull of a lever would send enemies on the wall falling in.

Observing the sturdy, imposing wall, Gandalf couldn’t help but light his pipe, thoroughly pleased.

“This is far stronger than typical walls. Most people build theirs stone by stone, but yours appears carved from a single massive boulder drawn from the earth.”

“What are you discussing? What do you mean ‘building a wall’? This wall was just completed?”

Bard finally couldn’t contain himself:

“I can’t imagine it. Even if you mobilized everyone in Lake-town, had unlimited materials and provisions, constructing a wall this tall would still require years.”

“There are many things beyond your understanding.”

Gandalf released a smoke ring with an expression that said “Why should that surprise you?”, leaving Bard opening and closing his mouth, unsure what to say.

The wizard continued, “Speaking of which, since you can build walls, what of those golems you mentioned…?”

“That? Not right now.”

“Then what purpose does that pumpkin field below serve?” Gandalf indicated the farmland beneath the wall.

“I recall you saying you required pumpkins to create those golems, correct?”

“Exactly why I said not right now. I didn’t say never.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that depends upon the future Lord of Dale.”

Garrett approached the still-bewildered Bard and spoke in a persuasive tone, “Lord Bard, you wouldn’t want to see the people of Lake-town suffer… would you?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep