Seeing nearly ten thousand wizards joining forces to cast a protective barrier, Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and Glorfindel were filled with awe.
Although the power of each individual wizard was insignificant compared to theirs, like fireflies before the moon, the combined force was overwhelming. Even they knew that breaking through such a barrier in a short time would be extremely difficult. This realization gave them greater confidence in the coming war.
They believed that as long as Sauron himself was restrained, the forces under his command would be no match for the wizard army led by Sylas.
As time passed, the dark clouds in the north continued to gather, their oppressive presence pressing down on the land. Though it was still daytime, the sky darkened, the air grew heavy and stagnant, and breathing became difficult.
The advancing dark clouds were stopped at the edge of the massive magical barrier. On one side, the sky remained clear for miles; on the other, thick black clouds churned endlessly. Light and darkness were cleanly divided, forming a terrifying standoff.
Beneath the dark clouds, on the distant mountain ridges, a vast army appeared, Orcs, werewolves, trolls, undead, corrupted Men, and other twisted creatures. All were steeped in Sauron's power, stronger yet completely devoid of reason, driven only by madness.
The commander of the host was the Witch-king of Angmar, but above them all stood Sauron, riding a monstrous fallen beast far larger and more terrifying than the others. Its body was covered in iron-like scales, its wings vast enough to blot out the sky, and its red eyes burned with pure malice. Its piercing shrieks alone were enough to strip courage from mortal hearts.
At the sight of Sylas and his allies, the Dark Army surged forward in a frenzy. The fastest among them, undead and warg-like beasts, leapt across the river toward the wizard line.
The moment they touched the barrier, they were annihilated.
Their bodies turned to ash instantly, and even the evil spirits bound within them screamed once before dissolving into nothingness.
The Dark Army's advance stalled.
The Witch-king rode forward, dark power surging from him like a black tide as he hurled himself against the barrier. Waves of shadow crashed against the light, but the shield did not break.
His eyes darkened further as he prepared to strike again, only to freeze.
Sauron raised a hand.
The Witch-king immediately bowed.
"Master… I have failed."
Sauron ignored him.
Standing atop his fell beast, Sauron's gaze pierced the barrier and swept across Sylas, Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and Glorfindel, filled with absolute confidence.
"Wizards. Elves." Sauron's voice echoed across the battlefield."You cannot stop me. Hand over the One Ring. I have reclaimed my strength and my form. You are no longer my equals."
As he spoke, a terrifying aura erupted from him. The sky darkened further, the earth trembled, and pure dark power surged forward like a world-ending tide.
The massive barrier rippled violently under the impact. Even protected by it, everyone felt suffocated, their spirits weighed down by unbearable pressure.
Sylas stepped forward.
Raising his silver-white staff, he poured his magic into the barrier. The trembling light stabilized, holding firm against Sauron's assault.
The staff in Sylas's hand was his greatest creation, its shaft carved from a branch of the original White Tree of Valinor, descendant of Yavanna's sacred trees, imbued with ancient light.
The Silver Tree of Valinor was created from a shoot of Telperion itself. Though smaller than its parent and no longer radiant with its own light, it was a sacred gift bestowed by Yavanna upon the Elves and planted in the Star Court of Tirion, becoming the ancestor of all White Trees beyond Valinor.
When Glorfindel was ordered to return to Middle-earth to oppose Sauron once more, he broke off a single branch from this sacred tree before departing Valinor, carrying it with him as both a token and a vow.
In the decades that followed, after Glorfindel and Sylas became acquainted, Sylas shared with him deep arcane knowledge and personally forged a staff for him. In return, Glorfindel entrusted Sylas with that branch of the Silver Tree.
As the first White Tree shaped directly by Yavanna's will, the branch was divine in nature, brimming with vitality and sacred power. Even after being severed and carried across the Sea for thousands of years, it remained fresh and living, as though it had only just been cut from the tree.
Using this divine branch as the core, Sylas combined ancient staff-forging techniques with rare alchemical bindings and dragon-fire-tempered enchantments to create the staff he valued above all others.
The staff was pure silver-white in color, fifteen inches in its dormant form, inlaid with a refined dragon-spirit filament and set with a polished spirit-jade gem at its tip. At Sylas's will, it could extend instantly, growing into a full staff nearly two meters long.
Neither purely wand nor purely staff, it united the precision of a wand with the raw amplification of a staff, elevating it beyond ordinary artifacts. In power and refinement, it far surpassed even ancient relics once revered as holy weapons.
It was because of this staff that Sylas now had the confidence to face what stood before him.
Sauron had returned at the height of his power.
After reinforcing the great barrier, Sylas raised his staff and called out coldly:
"We cannot allow them to breach the line. We strike first."
He stepped through the barrier and advanced alone.
Raising the staff, he unleashed a killing curse, hurling it directly toward Sauron.
Decades of discipline and mastery had honed Sylas's power far beyond what it once was. Empowered by the Silver Tree staff and bound enchantments within it, the curse carried a weight of death far greater than any ordinary spell.