When the Uruk chieftain finished delivering the message, a terrifying roar burst forth from the tower, frightening the evil creatures stationed there into trembling with fear.
"I don't go looking for him, yet he has the audacity to provoke me?"
The Witch-king was enraged.
His figure vanished like a phantom, and just as the Uruk chieftain stood frozen in the great hall, not knowing what to do, the Witch-king reappeared carrying a vial.
He handed the vial to the chieftain.
"Go and pour the liquid inside this vial into that man's territory. It carries a curse."
"I will make his land barren, full of poison. He will be corroded even in his sleep and die in agony."
The Uruk chieftain held the vial, cold sweat soaking his back.
"Me... plot against that... that great enemy?"
"What, you refuse?"
The Witch-king's eyes locked on his newly appointed chieftain, his expression displeased.
The Uruk immediately lowered his head and obeyed, "I will do it, master."
"Good."
"It's time to test your abilities. Let me see if you're worthy of this position."
Whoosh.
That night, a great swarm of bats swept across the skies above the territory.
---
Garrett emerged from a newly dug underground chamber, looked up, and frowned.
"What unlucky pests."
He pulled out a crossbow loaded with firework bolts and fired several shots into the bat swarm. The fireworks exploded, and the densely packed bats were struck by the blast, killing a large number instantly.
The few survivors were picked off with precise arrows, their burning corpses falling from the sky.
The Witch-king's vision was cut off.
Thud.
By coincidence, one of the burning bats fell beneath a tree on the edge of the territory, where an Uruk was secretly up to something.
When the flames lit up at his feet, the chieftain's heart sank.
It's over.
Why are these cursed bats here of all places!
"Oh?"
Garrett's gaze shifted toward him, and the chieftain froze on the spot, not moving a muscle.
"You look... familiar."
"Lord!"
As Garrett approached, the balance within his heart tilted once more.
The Uruk dropped to one knee and said, "I have already delivered your message, my lord! No fools will ever offend your territory again!"
"So it was you."
"Hmm, not bad work."
Garrett stepped closer, looking down on him. "Now tell me, what gave you the courage to meddle in my land?"
"It-it was the Witch-king. He gave me this thing, told me to pour it into your territory."
He immediately handed over the vial. Garrett took it and saw it was empty.
"An empty vial?"
"No... wait."
His nose twitched, there was a rotten stench nearby. Looking around, he noticed the grass had already turned yellow.
Behind the Uruk, in a small pit, a puddle of green liquid was slowly seeping into the soil.
Garrett instantly pulled out a water bucket, poured its contents over the puddle, and the clean water displaced the green liquid completely.
The corruption stopped.
"I... it... I—"
The chieftain stammered.
"This is my territory."
The bucket had a special property, at least in Garrett's hands. Any water poured out by him would directly replace whatever liquid was present at the target spot.
Its rule-like dominance was absolute.
"Good thing I caught it early. Otherwise, you really might have succeeded."
As he calmly shoveled away the corrupted turf and replaced it with fresh soil, the Uruk chieftain stood frozen, not moving a single inch.
"Now it's your turn."
After cleaning up the tainted ground, Garrett crouched in front of the kneeling Uruk and asked, "You said it was the Witch-king who ordered you to do this?"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Tell me everything you know, and I might consider sparing your life."
"I've already told you all I know..."
Shing.
The longsword slid from its sheath.
With death pressing close, the Uruk chieftain blurted in panic, "I can pledge my loyalty to you, my lord! I've already been promoted to chieftain, I command a whole army! I can be of use to you!"
The sword's edge stopped just short of his neck.
"Interesting. So you mean to betray your master?"
Something about this was strange.
Garrett's interest was piqued.
By all reason, creatures born of Mordor could never betray. From the moment of their birth, Sauron branded their souls with a spiritual imprint. That imprint ensured absolute loyalty: once Sauron gave an order, even if Garrett himself stood before them, they would charge without hesitation, their morale locked and unshakable.
Sure enough, the moment he posed that question, the Uruk chieftain fell silent.
"Heh..."
Just hollow words.
If it were orcs from the Misty Mountains saying such things, it might have been believable. But not Mordor's spawn. They were manufactured with their very logic chained to Sauron.
For one of them to betray, Garrett would need the One Ring, or at least one of the Nine. Only then could he use the ring's power to forcibly twist their minds and wrest control from Sauron's grip.
"I don't care for your loyalty. It's useless to me."
"Now, you're going to do something else. Deliver this message to your master, the Witch-king: I challenge him to a one-on-one duel. If he has the courage to fight, let him meet me at the crossroads. I'll be waiting there for one day."
"If he doesn't show, then all of Middle-earth will know he's nothing but a coward without his master."
The Uruk chieftain was drenched in sweat, trembling in the most literal sense.
"Do you understand?"
---
No one knew what turmoil filled the Uruk's heart as he returned to Minas Morgul.
But the army stationed there all heard the Witch-king's furious roar.
"Do not go."
As the Witch-king prepared to mount his skeletal black steed and ride out of the dark fortress, a Nazgûl suddenly appeared and barred his path.
"You cannot defeat him."
"You would have me endure a mortal's insult?"
The Witch-king's spectral form twisted more hideously, his rage so thick it nearly overflowed, and even threatened to lash out at the Nazgûl blocking his way.
History's wheel came full circle in that moment.
A thousand years ago, he had provoked Eärnur, the thirty-third King of Gondor, mocking him as a coward and issuing a one-on-one challenge.
Unable to endure it, Eärnur left his crown in the Hallows of the Kings and rode alone into Minas Morgul to face the Witch-king.
He never returned.
The royal line of Gondor was severed, and the rule of the Stewards began. The crown still rests in the tomb, untouched for a thousand years.
Now, through Garrett's hand, that same challenge had come back to strike at the Witch-king's pride.
The irony was bitter.
"The Master commands, you cannot go," the Nazgûl spoke again.
At that, the Witch-king quieted. No matter how unwilling, under Sauron's will he could only obey, even if it meant swallowing this...
"As my Master commands."
"You must not fight."
The Nazgûl repeated firmly, which only added to the Witch-king's vexation.
"No need to remind me again. I know..."
"But I can."
With those words, the Nazgûl turned and walked toward the exit of the dark fortress.
The Witch-king stared after him, at that broken sword still clutched in his hand even after his fall into wraithdom, and memories stirred.
"Interesting."
With his harsh, rasping voice, he called out a reminder, "You had better show true skill. He is the first mortal since you to cause our Master such trouble..."
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150 = +1 bonus chapter
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100+ Advance chapters!