In Lake-town, the people were gone, and the houses were empty. The Master crawled out of a pile of debris, sneezed, and shivered violently.

It was bitterly cold.

“Everyone has departed, Master. We should leave soon as well.”

A familiar voice came from nearby.

It was Alfrid, sitting on the steps to one side. In contrast to his usual arrogant demeanor toward the townspeople, he now spoke to the Master in a calm and composed tone.

He looked mature and in control.

Only in front of the Master could this deputy feel a sense of superiority, whether in intelligence or status. This faint sense of superiority and the feeling of pulling strings from behind the scenes was intoxicating. If it were Bard standing before him, he’d have to rely on tricks and bluster, shouting to assert dominance.

The difference lay in their respective positions. But the similarity was, they both had matching black eyes.

“Leave? Go where?”

“To the Lonely Mountain, of course. There’s shelter there, and weapons too. It can protect the people.”

“Only a fool would go to a place crawling with orcs!”

The Master cursed as he stood up and returned to his house. Moments later, he dragged out a large pile of valuable treasures.

“Master, where are you going?”

“Anywhere is better than here.”

Splash.

The treasure was loaded onto a boat, and the Master paddled northwest. But that direction led to nothing but wasteland…

Alfrid watched the Master’s retreating figure, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing in the end. Eventually, he took a portion of the treasure and headed toward the Lonely Mountain.

—

In the Ruins of Dale, an army of Elves from the Woodland Realm surrounded the city walls. Thranduil sat atop a great elk, looking rather puzzled at the imposing new fortifications before him.

“Is the lord of this city present?”

A head appeared atop the wall.

“Of course I am.”

“Garrett?”

Thranduil’s frown instantly disappeared, clearly surprised by the familiar face.

Boom.

The city gates opened.

“No need to stand outside, come in and let’s talk. I saw you all a while ago, I’ve been waiting for half the day. Oh right, there are some iron golems I created inside. They’re friendly, so don’t worry.”

Thranduil nodded and waved to his soldiers without hesitation, signaling them to enter the city.

The rhythmic sound of marching filled the air. When passing by the iron golems, the troops smoothly parted to avoid them without breaking formation. This display was so seamless it made Garrett genuinely impressed.

Soon, the army spread throughout the streets and alleys, standing in orderly formations.

“Distribute the supplies.”

A group of Elves moved into action, handing out food and provisions brought from the Woodland Realm to the people of Lake-town.

While the townsfolk cheered gratefully, Thranduil had already secured his mount and met with Garrett and Bard atop the city wall.

Looking down at the scene below, Bard was the first to speak to Thranduil, “Thank you for your generosity, I don’t know how to express my gratitude.”

In truth, thanks to Garrett’s pumpkin fields and the food people had brought from home, there was plenty to eat, though it lacked variety.

Now, with Thranduil bringing all kinds of new provisions, some even including wine, it perfectly supplemented what they were lacking. The people’s spirits visibly soared.

With winter approaching and the cold settling in, these warm goods were exactly what they needed.

“No need to thank me.”

Thranduil didn’t think much of it. He said, “I didn’t come merely for you. I came to reclaim what belongs to my people.”

A classic display of elven pride.

Garrett looked at the Elven king with a faint, amused smile.

These Elves always liked to pretend their actions were incidental, so others wouldn’t overthink their motives.

Bard nodded solemnly. He didn’t understand such pride, but he knew that these supplies were real, tangible help.

“By the way, I’ve never heard tell of Dale’s walls being rebuilt. Did something occur that I’m unaware of? These aren’t something that could be constructed in just a few days, and…”

Thranduil drew his sword and tapped the wall beneath his feet.

“It doesn’t even appear to have been built stone by stone. It’s as if someone used powerful magic to raise the stone straight from the earth, forming a natural barrier.”

He fell silent.

There were beings capable of such feats, quite a few, in fact, but such overwhelming power was generally forbidden in Middle-earth.

“Well, that would be me.”

Garrett casually demonstrated by placing two stone blocks down in front of Thranduil.

“See? It’s that simple.”

“So this is the legendary ‘construction magic,’ then.”

Thranduil reluctantly accepted this explanation.

“It seems our ally is more formidable than expected. I heard Gandalf is here as well.”

“Him? He’s over there.”

Garrett pointed toward the Lonely Mountain.

“He’s talking with Thorin. Probably won’t be back for a while.”

“Then I shall await his return.”

After exchanging a few more words, Thranduil went down to oversee the establishment of camps and the arrangement of other matters.

Bard also followed to help organize the people of Lake-town.

Whoosh.

Garrett leaped down from the city wall, then quickly rose into the air and flew toward the Lonely Mountain.

—

“Bilbo, take this.”

Inside Erebor’s treasury, Thorin took out a shirt of mithril and personally helped Bilbo don it.

“No sword or blade can pierce this mithril armor. It’s no less protective than Garrett’s own gear. You might find it useful.”

“But I’m not a warrior… I’m just a hobbit.”

Bilbo looked uneasy at the prospect.

“This is a gift. A token of our friendship.”

Even under the dragon-sickness that consumed him with greed and made him constantly mutter about not parting with a single coin, Thorin still gave away this shirt of mithril, something that could purchase all of the Shire.

“Thorin!”

At that moment, an old man appeared at an inopportune time, calling out to Thorin from across the chamber.

“Did you summon reinforcements?”

Gandalf approached briskly, patting Bilbo on the shoulder before turning to Thorin.

“Of course, Gandalf. On the very day I obtained the Arkenstone, I contacted Dáin. Don’t worry, he’s already on his way with the host from the Iron Hills. He should arrive today. Once the army is in position, no one will be able to take Erebor’s treasure. No one will depart with a single coin.”

Gandalf frowned deeply.

“You’ve changed, Thorin.”

“Have I?”

Thorin raised his head and said with cold authority:

“You’re right. I have changed. I’m no longer the wandering dwarven lord I once was. Now, I am the King under the Mountain, ruler of this vast hoard.”

Gandalf’s expression grew increasingly grave.

This was troubling, Thorin was becoming just like his grandfather, Thrór.

He immediately recognized the symptoms.

It was dragon-sickness, a curse that afflicted the royal line of Durin the moment they set foot in the Lonely Mountain.

Its allure rivaled even that of the One Ring.

“Thorin, you’re ill. Gravely ill. Put down the Arkenstone, there’s still time to break free of this curse.”

“You’re asking me to surrender the Arkenstone? After everything I endured to reclaim it? To abandon my right to be King under the Mountain? I’ll pretend you’re speaking in jest, Gandalf, but only this once.”

With that, Thorin turned and walked away, not caring one bit about Gandalf’s reaction.

“What, without the Arkenstone, you’re no longer a king?”

“Whether I’m king or not isn’t for some mere wizard to decide. You have no authority to speak to me of this, Gandalf.”

“I…”

Gandalf was so angry his vision blurred, and he hurried to catch up.

“Where are you going?”

“To wait for Garrett.”

“Rather than waste time with a wizard trying to talk me out of my hard-won prize, I’d prefer to meet the one who contributed most to this quest.”

“You’re waiting for him? What are you two planning to do?”

“Garrett said the mines of the Lonely Mountain aren’t sufficient. I think he must have gotten lost and failed to find the proper storage chambers. We agreed to meet now, I’ll guide him there myself.”

The mines aren’t sufficient?

Thinking of the iron golem army stationed in Dale, Gandalf couldn’t help but stroke his beard. His anger inexplicably subsided a little.

That might actually be accurate.

Still, he said nothing. Let Thorin discover the truth himself. At the moment, the old wizard had no desire to speak with that afflicted soul anymore.

After a few more words of encouragement and praise to Bilbo, he left.

And so, the trio of friends quietly disbanded.

—

At the ore warehouse beside the foundry, Thorin raised his hand to signal Kíli to open the gate and strode forward confidently.

“Garrett simply cannot fathom the scale of our reserves. To him, enough ore to fill a single forge might already seem like a lot. But our resources, our minerals, are as vast as the mountain itself—”

His words abruptly stopped.

Thorin quickly stepped forward, gripping the railing with both hands as he stared into the massive, completely empty storage chamber.

His breath caught.

“…I might be lost as well.”

Shaking his head, he took several deep breaths, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Kíli, close the gate. Come with me to the ramparts, I need some fresh air.”

“At once.”

Kíli quickly followed the order, though he wasn’t certain if it was just his imagination, he kept feeling as though Thorin’s voice was trembling slightly.

Was there something terrifying inside?

A moment later, from the air, Garrett spotted two figures standing on the walls of Erebor from a distance. He descended and landed directly before them.

“Well met.”

“Not so well.”

Thorin’s face looked rather grim.

“Unfortunately, Garrett, I believe our ore reserves may have been… consumed by the dragon. I can no longer honor any of your requests.”

That was the most tactful explanation Thorin could come up with. Truthfully, if the person before him hadn’t been Garrett, he probably would have driven them off by now.

Stay calm. Stay calm. One-fifteenth. One-fifteenth…

He kept repeating the phrase silently in his mind.

But just thinking about the treasure in the Lonely Mountain, those precious hoards…

My precious…

Why should any of it go to an outsider?

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense to him.

“Alright then.”

Garrett was indeed somewhat disappointed, but it wasn’t a big deal. He’d done everything he’d come to do, he had merely hoped to expand the iron golem army a little further.

“I just saw Gandalf heading back. What did you two talk about?”

“That wizard said some things he shouldn’t have, then departed of his own accord. At least he had the courtesy to walk away.”

“Oh?”

Garrett looked intrigued and was about to ask more, when suddenly the gates of Dale began rising, and rows of well-equipped golden-armored soldiers poured out.

“Are those… elves?! Close the gates! Stand to arms!”

Thorin shouted at once, sounding the great warning horn of Erebor.

The moment the horn rang, the dwarves rushed to the gate fully armed, weapons in hand.

“It’s the elven army. What do they want?”

Dwalin was the first to identify them clearly. As soon as he spoke, the mood among the dwarves turned dark.

“What else? Those treacherous creatures must have seen that the dragon is dead and now seek to claim our treasure for themselves!”

“I knew those elves were plotting something!”

The dwarves roared angrily.

Clang!

Before long, the elven army had already halted outside the walls.

Thranduil stepped forward from his ranks, lifting his gaze to the group atop the ramparts.

“Thorin, son of Thráin. I have heard you’ve reclaimed Erebor.”

“Your news travels slowly.”

Thorin said with a bitter expression, “Why have you come? To congratulate me? If so, I’ll accept it. Otherwise, if you have no other business, then I suggest, you return to your forest. Immediately!”

His voice echoed across the entire valley, and the dwarves beside him raised their fists in support.

Thranduil raised a hand.

Immediately, the elven army behind him drew their bows in perfect unison and aimed at the wall.

The dwarves quickly ducked behind the battlements, afraid to raise their heads again.

With another gesture from Thranduil, the archers withdrew their arrows all at once and returned to standing formation, completely synchronized, flawless.

He glanced up at Garrett, who gave him a subtle nod.

Only then did Thranduil speak to Thorin with reassurance. “I come with no hostile intent. If you return the treasures that rightfully belong to my people, I will withdraw my host at once.”

“You won’t take a single coin from me!”

Thorin shouted defiantly.

“Thorin, we can’t win this.”

Balin tugged at his sleeve, stepping forward to reason with him. He was one of the very few dwarves who supported returning the rightful treasures to the elves.

At that moment, Gandalf emerged from among the elven ranks and called up to the wall. “These treasures will be your doom, Thorin!”

“They were theirs to begin with, weren’t they?” Garrett added calmly.

Thorin’s face visibly twitched. He clenched his teeth so hard it seemed they might shatter.

Just as he was about to speak again, another figure walked up behind him.

It was Bard.

“Thorin, King under the Mountain, do you still remember the promise you made to me as a king?”

“Why bring that up now?”

“Because I’d like to see that promise fulfilled, return the treasures to the Elves.”

“Don’t even think about it!”

That reply silenced everyone present, even Balin fell quiet.

“Is that your final answer?”

Thranduil gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

“I’ll ask you one last time, do you choose peace, or war?”

Thorin said nothing.

A thrush flew down and landed on his shoulder, lingering by his ear for a moment.

“I think I know the answer now. The reinforcements have passed through Dale.”

He looked up into the distance.

“They’re here.”

Just as Thranduil was about to launch a direct assault, a sudden horn blast rang out.

From a small hill not far behind Dale, a column of fully armed dwarf elite troops had halted. War-chariots lined the front, and behind them, the heavy crossbows designed specifically for countering archers, known as the Iron Hills ballistae, were poised to strike.

They were dwarves, the elite army of the Iron Hills had arrived.

The Men inside Dale were unaware of the past grievances between the parties. Under Bard’s initial call to seek refuge in Erebor, everyone assumed the dwarves were allies.

Once it was confirmed that this dwarven army was indeed reinforcements, the soldiers stationed at the gates opened them immediately.

On the other side, Thorin saw Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills waving at him from the front of the formation and was overjoyed. He was about to shout: “I choose war—”

Thud!

A flying kick slammed into him, knocking him flat on the ground and silencing him instantly.

“Now’s not the time for war, lie down.”

It was Garrett. He had finally found his chance to act.

The sudden development stunned the dwarves. Some opened their mouths to question what had just happened, but the moment Garrett drew his sword, they collectively stepped back in fear, several even nearly fell over.

When a legendary ally, one who could usually resolve any matter with just a few words, suddenly stood on the opposing side, no one wanted to draw their weapon and advance.

That single kick plunged the entire scene into silence.

“Thorin! Hey!”

Dáin was still shouting Thorin’s name from the hilltop, confused by the lack of response.

“Are you there?”

But no one was paying attention to Dáin’s calls anymore. All eyes were now on another person.

Thranduil, standing beneath the city walls, widened his eyes in disbelief. He hadn’t expected such a twist at this critical moment.

Gandalf nodded approvingly, barely restraining himself from shouting, “Well done!”

Bard opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say.

A few seconds later, the dwarves, having recovered slightly, began cautiously shuffling toward Garrett.

“G-Ga-Garrett, what are you doing…?”

“Calm down! Calm down! Please put your sword away. If Thorin has offended you somehow, I apologize on his behalf!”

“Uh, we can all apologize! Whatever compensation you want, we’ll make it!”

Bilbo, however, was not afraid, just startled. He quickly recovered and stepped forward past the dwarves, saying to Garrett. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

Garrett sheathed his sword and shook his head.

“Of course not. Look at how scared you all are.”

“Uh…”

At that moment, Thorin also began to regain consciousness.

Holding his head, he slowly stood up with the help of the wall, his eyes glaring angrily at Garrett. He opened his mouth to speak.

Boom!

Suddenly, the ground at the center of the distant plain began to collapse with a rumbling sound. Massive were-worms burst forth, shattering rocks. One by one, wide tunnels emerged, and from them poured countless orcs and monstrous beasts, sending cold dread down the dwarves’ spines.

“Main army, advance and form ranks!!”

“Fight to the death!”

No one cared anymore that Thorin wasn’t responding. Dáin immediately organized the dwarven army to form a shield wall, spears outward.

They stood in front of the elves. And the elves all turned as one to face the orc army.

This was the unspoken understanding among the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. No matter the conflicts or grudges, when a great enemy appears, they must unite, or at least not add to the chaos.

—

Buzz.

High on a distant mountain peak, Azog operated a mechanism to send flag signals, commanding the surging orc army.

“Curse it all.”

Even though his army had arrived and the situation appeared highly favorable, with the upper hand seemingly his, the most cunning orc commander of recent times was still filled with rage, unable to understand one thing.

“Where in the Nine Hells did all that lava come from underground?”

Several were-worms had been scalded and had to dig exits farther away. Given how rare these giant worms were, the burns meant they wouldn’t be usable again for many years.

But that was just a minor setback, it wouldn’t affect the overall battle.

The army loomed like dark clouds over the entire battlefield.

Bard, panic rising in his heart, gave a few quick words to those nearby and rushed back into the city.

“I have to organize the militia.”

On the high walls of Erebor, the dwarves had also seen what was happening below. Kíli immediately stood up and declared, “I’m going out to fight on the field, who’s with me?”

“I’m in!”

“Me too!”

“We’re going!”

The dwarves burst into a flurry of excited shouting.

“Stand by.”

A discordant voice cut through the clamor.

It was Thorin.

“What?”

The dwarves could hardly believe what they were hearing.

“Are we just going to stand by and watch?”

“I said, stand by!”

Thorin turned away and slowly walked back into the great hall.

Soon, his figure disappeared into the shadows, becoming faint and unclear.

Just as Garrett was about to follow and try to knock some sense into the king, Bilbo suddenly called out, “Do you have any rope?”

“No, but I can craft some lead right now.”

“Oh, that’s even better.”

As usual, Bilbo instinctively ignored the parts he didn’t understand and simply nodded. As long as Garrett had lead, that was all that mattered.

“What are you planning to do?”

“I don’t think I can just stand here and watch.”

Taking the freshly crafted lead from Garrett, Bilbo tied one end to a stone, threw the rest over the wall, and began to descend.

“Bilbo.”

Gandalf hurried over to help him.

“You’re joining the fight? Very well, stay close to me.”

Seeing that the hobbit showed no trace of fear, Thranduil, standing nearby, turned his head slightly, somewhat impressed.

“For a hobbit, you’re quite brave. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who stole the keys to the prison right under my nose, aren’t you?”

“Impressive.”

Bilbo couldn’t quite tell if the elven lord was praising him or complaining, elves always spoke in such puzzling ways.

“Thank you.”

After thinking it over for a while, that was all he could come up with in reply.

Seeing him descend safely, the dwarves on the wall began to grow restless.

“No, I’ve got to go down too!”

Kíli stepped forward and was about to descend the rope when a hand grabbed him.

It was Balin.

“No, Kíli. The king… hasn’t given the order.”

Kíli clenched his fists, standing there full of frustration but not moving any further.

The dwarves’ loyalty, nearly to the point of blind obedience, bound them. Without a direct order, they could only stand by and watch.

Clang.

At the front lines, the first wave of orc vanguards had already approached the dwarven shield wall, and battle was imminent.

Bilbo whispered to Gandalf, “What about the elves? Aren’t they going to fight?”

Gandalf didn’t respond.

Instead, Thranduil turned his gaze toward the battlefield.

“Elves never fight behind dwarves.”

Whoosh.

Rows of elves drew their long blades and, stepping on the dwarves’ shield wall, surged forward into battle, catching the advancing orcs off guard and landing heavy blows that stalled their charge.

Their light, agile bodies allowed them to leap over even the heads of dwarves without burden, some elves even fought balanced atop the horizontal spears of the dwarves without disturbing the formation at all.

Silent as snowfall, light as the wind, this was the unique grace of the Eldar.

Once the elves had done considerable damage and looked as though they might not hold much longer, Dáin shouted from the rear, “Charge!”

Rows of dwarves surged forward, completing the relay with the elves.

“A dwarf’s courage will never let others lead the charge!”

“Lads, with me!”

Dáin was the first to charge, swinging his massive war-hammer.

“Welcome to the Mountain!”

He courteously shouted at the orcs, every swing of his hammer crushed an orc’s skull.

Right behind him, Thranduil also drew his long blade and joined the fray.

With the two leaders leading the charge, the first wave of the orc assault seemed to be held back. But that advantage quickly vanished under the overwhelming number of enemies.

“Where’s Garrett?”

“Where did he go?”

At the rear of the army, Gandalf was starting to grow anxious, at such a critical moment, where had their strongest warrior disappeared to?

And what about the other army?

—

“You sit in this grand hall, wearing a crown on your head, and yet you are more diminished than ever.”

In front of the king’s throne, Dwalin’s eyes shimmered with tears as he practically used all his strength to speak to Thorin.

“Get out. Get out before I kill you myself.”

Thorin drew his sword and forced the loyal dwarf out. But the words continued to echo in his mind and refused to dissipate.

At the same time, more voices from past companions began to surface in his memory.

Bard: “I hope you won’t end up like your grandfather.”

Gandalf: “That treasure will be the end of you.”

Elrond: “There is madness hidden in their bloodline.”

Thranduil: “Just another mad king.”

Balin: “Are we just going to stand by and watch?”

Garrett…?

Thorin suddenly looked up and saw a figure in the vast, empty hall, he hadn’t noticed when it appeared.

He immediately shouted in anger, “Don’t think you—”

“This is for our friendship!”

Thud!

Before he could finish, Garrett rushed forward and punched him squarely in the face, knocking him hard to the ground.

“You—”

“Enough talking, drink this!”

Garrett pulled out a large bucket of milk, pinned Thorin down, and began pouring it into his mouth.

Gulp gulp gulp…

“Enough!”

A moment of clarity flashed through Thorin’s eyes. He gasped for air and suddenly understood a great many things. His will began to rise above the madness, beginning a battle within himself against the sickness known as dragon-sickness. Except now, in addition to fighting the madness, his body was also struggling against another person.

“I said that’s not enough!”

Guzzle guzzle…

The milk kept pouring into his mouth.

“Stop!”

“You’re not done! Keep drinking!”

“I said stop!”

Thorin suddenly erupted with a surge of strength, shoving Garrett and the milk bucket away.

“Stop! I’ve figured it out!”

Wiping the milk from the corners of his mouth, he shouted hoarsely at the top of his lungs, “Listen to me! I am NOT my grandfather!”

Clang!

The crown on his head was thrown violently to the ground. The King under the Mountain now donned his battle helm.

After that heartfelt roar, Thorin gasped heavily, but his eyes were far clearer.

He looked at Garrett and said in a low, resolute voice, “Let’s go. Let’s fight!”

HOOONNN.

Suddenly, a horn sounded from the walls of Erebor. Its long, deep note echoed across the entire battlefield.

DONG!

Following the horn, the great warning bell rang out, awakening everyone’s spirit. That bell no longer tolled in despair, it rang in triumph, to witness the return of the King under the Mountain.

Creak.

The great gate of the Lonely Mountain opened wide. From within, thirteen determined figures charged out.

“Haha! Thorin! I finally see you again!”

Dáin greeted Thorin excitedly. The moment he saw his cousin, it was like he was bursting with new strength, he could crush a hundred more orcs.

The other dwarves felt the same. In an instant, the orcs were stunned.

What’s going on? Why are these dwarves suddenly acting like berserkers?

It was terrifying.

“Charge!!”

Thorin led the way, sword in one hand, oak shield in the other, displaying the valor and dignity of dwarven royalty.

Kíli and Fíli guarded his sides, clearing a path and fending off attacks.

The tide of battle balanced once more, with the orcs even showing signs of being pushed back toward their tunnels.

At the front lines, Gandalf drew Glamdring and cleaved an orc in two. Beside him, Bilbo pulled out Sting and, with great effort, stabbed and took down an enemy.

Even as he fought, Gandalf kept glancing back, searching for a certain figure.

Finally.

From the opened gates of Erebor, a warrior in dark armor stepped out, holding an elven longsword, slowly emerging into the sunlight.

The surrounding orcs instinctively backed away, their hands barely gripping their weapons.

Gandalf’s lips curled into a smile.

“At last, you’re here.”

—

—

[Battlefield Overview]

Free Peoples: Men, Dwarves, Elves

Evil Forces: Orcs, Wargs

Commanders of the Free Peoples:

Gandalf, Thranduil, Dáin Ironfoot, Bard the Bowman, Thorin Oakenshield, Garrett (and others)

Commanders of the Orcs:

Azog, Bolg

Troop Ratio (Approx.): 1 : 5 (Free Peoples : Orcs)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep