Reddish gave a frightened whinny. Aedric sensed something wrong. When he turned around, an agile black shadow had already leaped over the stone walls. Like a ghost, it crossed the rubble pile in the middle, opening its mouth wide to reveal extremely sharp fangs that looked ghastly pale and terrifying even in the darkness.
"What the hell is that?" Morgan also heard the commotion. Turning and seeing it, he raised his crossbow without thinking and fired.
The bowstring released with a sharp twang. The warg's body jerked violently, then slid forward three meters, collapsing on the ground with a trembling bolt lodged in its shoulder. Wounded, but not fatally—for an extremely fierce beast, even less so.
A vicious howl rang out. The warg quickly rose, its eyes full of cruelty, muscles tensed throughout its body, and charged again, rushing toward the Hobbit bent over loading his crossbow.
At this moment, the Black Landers below the mountain seemed to hear the commotion atop Weathertop. Knowing the wargs had broken through, they became restless again, climbing toward the summit, preparing a pincer attack.
"Leave the back to me!" Aedric shouted, drawing Mithreleth from the wall corner. The diamond runes emitted faint white light, like lightning tearing through the night.
The warg's steps halted. It inexplicably felt a sense of oppression, like an orc encountering the long-lost Glamdring and Orcrist. The injury on its left shoulder plus the lack of companion support made its steps slower and slower, finally stopping completely, standing motionless in place. Fear, like an endless lake, submerged its spirit. It knew this was wrong but was powerless to resist.
Desperately wanting to struggle, the warg thought, but before it could break free, that white light had already reached overhead.
Then it fell sharply. The ferocious wolf head was split in two.
Having struck successfully, Aedric didn't linger or wonder why the opponent stood motionless, waiting to be killed. He moved extremely fast, flying past the corpse. Even the spurting black blood couldn't catch his coat hem.
Accompanied by howls, two more black shadows jumped up. One landed right in front of Aedric. Before it could stand firm, a sword light had already struck. Frightened, its four legs scrambled as it hastily dodged. The result was only dodging its front half—a large piece of flesh from its hindquarters was sliced off by Mithreleth. Foul blood gushed out, exposing bone-white stumps.
Aedric was about to finish it off when, from the corner of his eye, he caught a black shadow lunging at him. His left hand released the sword hilt, pulling a pebble from his waist pouch and flinging it out with a whoosh, hitting the opponent's glossy black nose dead center.
Intense pain made this warg bounce in place, emitting a sound that was both aggrieved and shrill. Finally, it even lay on the ground, very humanly rubbing its nose with its front paws to ease the pain.
Aedric had no time to deal with it, turning to pursue the bleeding warg with large strides, thrusting his sword to pierce its heart. Just as he prepared to turn back to deal with the other one, two more black shadows leaped into the stone walls.
The towering cliffs surrounding Weathertop were an insurmountable barrier for humans. But for wargs with powerful limbs and agile bodies, they meant nothing—just more troublesome, unable to rush up all at once. If these were dwarf goat cavalry, they'd climb even faster.
Aedric didn't rashly attack but stood in place breathing slightly, recovering stamina consumed by continuous attacks. Now, whichever one he attacked, the other would definitely seize the opportunity to strike. He was waiting—waiting for an opportunity.
The two wargs likewise didn't immediately attack but circled Aedric slowly. The white glow on the longsword, the miserable wailing of their kind, and the bloody scent dissipating in the air made them understand this human was not easy to deal with—far exceeding those farmers with pitchforks. They too were waiting—waiting for more companions to converge.
This was a clever move, but not clever enough—at least not as clever as real humans.
At this moment, the Hobbit who'd loaded his crossbow bolt looked up to see this scene. Without thinking, he raised the Black Thorn crossbow, aimed at one, and pulled the trigger. The string rang out, the bolt shot forth, directly piercing the warg's throat.
Hit! Morgan clenched his fist, a surge of excitement in his heart. Looking down at the crossbow in hand, this thing was really very useful. I've practiced for not very long yet could accurately hit within dozens of meters. If only its appearance could be changed.
How about spending some money having dwarves help modify it? No, too expensive! If asking Gimli, could I get a discount? Wait! Quick, load the bolt! I'm still fighting!
In just half a second, Morgan's thoughts leaped like lightning, then he again picked up tools and bent to draw the string. This was the opportunity Aedric waited for. Hobbits had low strength. To draw the Black Thorn crossbow required bracing against the wall, bending with full effort. This way, when he raised his head, he could spot the situation.
The situation was as he'd predicted. Arms raised, Mithreleth lifted high overhead. Aedric assumed a downward strike posture, right foot stepping forward, rapidly sprinting over ten steps, entire body weight forward rather than down, arms swinging—one sword slashing toward the warg.
Seeing white light flashing overhead, the evil wolf's four limbs kicked the ground, dodging right to avoid Mithreleth's downward strike trajectory. Just preparing to open its jaws and bite, it discovered the originally downward-striking sword light suddenly turned, becoming a diagonal slash.
When striking down while maintaining forward weight, more remaining strength could be preserved to change attack direction. This time the evil wolf had nowhere to dodge. Its pitch-black eyes instantly turned fierce, opening its fang-filled mouth, desperately biting toward the human's left leg.
Aedric's expression grew stern. His left leg shifted to avoid the bite, then lifted and kicked hard, hitting the warg's chest squarely, sending it aside.
Chaotic footsteps sounded from behind, closer and closer. The warg hit in the nose charged madly, wanting to ambush from behind. Aedric didn't hesitate, gripping the sword hilt with both hands and swinging backward. Brilliant sword light flashed past. Slight resistance transmitted from his wrist, then unobstructed passage.
When Aedric turned around, a spray of black blood gushed from the warg's remaining neck cavity, splattering him all over. The corpse, borrowing momentum, collided fully with him.
Aedric felt his breath catch, retreating several steps, the longsword no longer maintaining posture, his chest completely exposed. Before he could steady himself, the warg struck in the chest howled and pounced. Sharp teeth went straight for the throat. Black blood dripped from its open mouth. The original foul stench from its mouth, plus the black blood's fishy smell, rushed toward him like poisonous gas.
Aedric hastily held his breath, gripping the sword hilt with both hands, then flipping his wrists upward. Mithreleth's extremely sharp edge drew a bright fan-shaped light curtain, starting from the warg's tailbone, running straight to its chest. Aedric still wasn't reassured, exerting force with his forearms, thrusting upward. The blade silently pierced the heart. With a crack, it severed the spine, stabbing out from the warg's back.
While his throat felt cold, he'd killed the opponent one step ahead. Then he was pinned to the ground by the warg's massive corpse.
"Boss!" Morgan pulled the trigger, one arrow repelling a warg that had just jumped onto the stone wall. His calves moved, running two quick steps. He threw down the Black Thorn crossbow, using both hands to move the wolf leg with effort.
Aedric also struggled to free his right arm, working together with the Hobbit to push the wolf corpse off. Then he immediately felt his neck. A slight stinging sensation came. Fortunately, just broken skin, not bitten through.
On Weathertop's north side, waves of wolf howls came. The wargs originally jumping upward from all sides turned and ran toward the darkness below the mountain.
"Aedric!" At this moment, Luna called out. Aedric hastily turned and came to the stone wall to look down. With the Twilight Gem's help, night couldn't obstruct his vision.
Those two wooden shields had been smashed to pieces by rubble but still stubbornly reached before the passage. Dense black shadows, using the protection, were climbing up ladders. The cliffs on both sides of the passage were probably filled with enemies, aiming black crossbows overhead, ready to shoot immediately upon discovering abnormalities.
Over a dozen corpses lay on the twisting narrow path. Judging by clothing, over half were Bree ruffians. From wounds, they'd all been killed from behind by allies. Big Bill's bald head was prominent among them—probably due to excessive pressure; unwilling to continue forward, he'd been killed on Wulf's order. Making an example of him.
A small portion were Black Landers holding black crossbows and longbows. Clearly they'd died from arrows during crossfire. Now no one was willing to stand out and exchange fire with Luna. Large amounts of rubble filled the narrow path. While using arrows to suppress the opponent, Luna also threw rubble to obstruct their upward climbing speed. Only her luck didn't seem very good—most rubble rolled elsewhere without hitting targets.
"How about I rush down to block them, and you quietly climb down with rope." Luna drew two willow-leaf daggers from her waist, her bright starlike eyes flashing with resolve.
"No!" Aedric quietly peeked down at the enemies below—at least twenty people remained. Then he immediately pulled his head back. A crossbow bolt immediately shot over, grazing his forehead. Whether illusion or not, the wind it brought even faintly stung his skin. Ruthless and decisive!
At this moment, Aedric touched his waist pouch, where five round beads lay quietly. In this situation, if anyone should jump, it's me. Catch them by surprise, charge directly into the enemy pile, then crush an Eye of the Storm, summoning a storm within a five-meter diameter. Could probably end this battle immediately. Right! Do it! If not now, when? The Battle of Five Armies? I'd have to survive first to even think about that!
Aedric gritted his teeth, making up his mind. He pulled hemp rope from his luggage, tied it to a large stone, and called out: "Hide under the north wall; I'm going to pray for Storm Lord Manwë's protection—very dangerous!"
Initially, Luna wanted to stop him. Until hearing Manwë's name, her expression showed great alarm. She directly grabbed Morgan, who also wanted to jump down, pulling him quickly toward the north side.
The Black Landers below suddenly saw someone just jump down like this—they all got a fright. By starlight, after seeing the face clearly, all were overjoyed. Three hundred gold coins jumped into their laps! Such good fortune?
"Are you surrendering?" A Black Lander spoke Common Speech with an extremely heavy accent.
"I'm here to give you a gift." Aedric grinned, white teeth especially conspicuous in the night. His mind moved. An Eye of the Storm in his pocket silently disappeared.
Immediately—wild winds raged!
Howling sounds arose in an instant, forcefully pouring into ears with irresistible momentum, pounding nerves. The surrounding people hadn't yet figured out what the gift was when they directly flew up, people and armor together! Shrill screams disappeared in the violent wind sounds.
Going up with them were also surrounding corpses, siege equipment, and half of Weathertop's south wall. From afar, an extremely fierce tornado appeared from nowhere, then disappeared after a few seconds.
Crash—corpses, stones, dirt, wild grass, shrubs, and various things that went up, with Aedric as the center, came crashing down again. Only all had lost life's breath.
Wulf, hiding at the mountain's base, watching godlike Aedric, was dumbfounded on the spot. A few seconds later, he stabilized, still trembling as he spoke: "Magic this powerful, he definitely can't use a second time. Attack, attack!"
The few trusted subordinates remaining beside him shook their heads repeatedly. One even patted his shoulder, pointing toward the road. Only to see over ten black shadows approaching Weathertop at extremely fast speed, using superior horsemanship to directly ride horses charging up the gentle slope, heading straight for the narrow path.
In the blink of an eye, they drew closer. Bright moonlight reflected on spear blades, revealing killing intent. Each person's figure was tall and strong, expression firm and serious. On their left shoulder cloaks, a silver star-shaped brooch was fastened. They were Dúnedain guarding the Bree region—also Aedric's reinforcements.
On the afternoon when the three checked into the Prancing Pony, a Ranger named Gildor had quietly found Aedric. The two conversed together, deciding to jointly eliminate these pests from the Bree region—a plan formulated by Aedric, with the Dúnedain providing support. Just didn't know why they came slightly late.
The arrival of a third force made Wulf's heart turn cold. Those weren't his people. To capture the wanted criminal Lord Zigûr ordered apprehended, he'd already shown all his cards from the start. So now these were the opponent's reinforcements.
A Hobbit who hadn't returned for ten years! An outsider who just arrived at Bree! An elf—where did they find these reinforcements? Though Rivendell's location wasn't particularly certain, it should be at least twenty days' journey from here. The Grey Havens even less so—it would take one or two months!
Wulf couldn't figure it out and was very unwilling, but he was very clear about one thing—this time, he'd failed!
The wargs' few howls also meant retreat—presumably they'd also encountered tough opponents. His own side was still caught in the middle. Overhead was a never-missing elf archer and a man who could release storms. This side would soon be blocked by those fierce-looking riders.
Not leaving now means becoming meat paste filled with arrows!
"Retreat! Retreat!" Wulf decisively ordered, leading seven or eight remaining subordinates in a mad dash, mounting horses, fleeing desperately toward the southeast.
Aedric did want to pursue, but the surrounding roads were already broken and ruined—going down wasn't easy. Moreover, Reddish was still on the summit. The horses the Black Landers and Big Bill rode were all led away when they fled, looking like even if the horses died, they wouldn't leave them behind.
Finally he could only watch helplessly as they fled, then rest a bit, waiting for the Dúnedain to arrive.
[Translator's Note: Hello readers! I need to clarify that what follows is the author's personal announcement about going on hiatus because of work exhaustion.]