---Apollo's Point of View---
There are forty meters between me and the orcs. I crept closer, trying to get a clearer look. I made no sound, barely even breathed. Every step mattered—one wrong move, one crack of a branch, and the Warg riders would leap upon me. And I only had a single arrow left to fire. Fifteen orcs stood before me. My chances of winning were low. I could escape, maybe—if I used the dense parts of the forest and the rough terrain to my advantage. But the odds were even: fifty-fifty that the Wargs would catch me. I wasn't eager to take that risk.
I'd closed the distance enough. From here, I could study the marks on their armor. If they all bore the same symbol, a single tribe was before us. But if there were several symbols, or variations of them, then either the tribes had formed an alliance—or worse, we faced a Legion. Both were dangerous, but the Legion meant greater numbers of elite warriors, a proper army unit at full capacity. And we—what did we have? Not even a proper company. Barely a ragtag group of militiamen. Hardly worth calling an army. The timing could not have been worse.
At last, I got the view I needed. I focused on the orcs' insignias. On their armor, I saw the shape of a skull, decorated with two slashes. I'd noticed it earlier, but it hadn't seemed important then—the lack of messengers had been the real issue. I hadn't wanted to report uncertain information. But now, I realized the Warg riders bore the same mark as well. That eased me slightly. It likely meant we were facing a single tribe. I began to withdraw quietly—only to freeze at the sound of movement nearby.
Not a muscle moved. Ten meters to my left, a Warg rider stood. That meant there were five riders in total. The beast halted, sniffing the air. It growled. Its rider sniffed too, then smacked the Warg's head and barked angrily in the Black Tongue:
"Snaga kurûk! Lug-burz globûrz hai! Dûmpatûrz shâk! Shaku-ob ghashûrz, agh lat ûglúk? Globûrz ghashûrz burzum. Lat snaga, lat dush-ob! Dûmpatûrz lat, agh azgûlûrz lat-ishi!"
(Stupid dog! There's a human camp nearby—that's why there's a scent here! Can't you tell how faint it is? Waste my time again and I'll kill you and eat your flesh!)
The Warg whimpered, then moved on. Just when it seemed it would pass, its eyes narrowed and locked on me. My heart hammered in my throat. Those sickly yellow eyes pierced my soul. Never before had I encountered a creature so feral. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But I forced myself to stillness, silencing that desperate urge. Inside, only one furious thought echoed:
'Damn you, Leon! If I die here—while still this handsome, before marrying a beautiful young woman—my ghost will haunt you! I'll curse you every night so you stay a bachelor forever!'
Had the Warg seen me? I couldn't be sure. It growled and barked in my direction. But then the orc rider smacked its head hard and snapped:
"Shut-ob, snaga kurûk! Lat ûglúk! Dûmpatûrz ghashûrz ghâshûrz! Globûrz lat ghashûrz!"
(Shut up, you stupid dog! Don't waste my time!)
The beast whimpered sadly, lowered its head, and moved on. They hadn't seen me. Relief washed through me like cool water. I pulled back, returned to my observation post, and continued watching. For half an hour, I didn't blink, didn't move, didn't allow myself distraction. Though, in my head, I cursed Leon relentlessly for making me endure this sleepless, nerve-wracking night.
Just you wait, Commander of mine. Once this is over, you'll pay. I was this close to becoming dog food! There are no wolves like these in Calradia—these things are warped, twisted mutations! What other horrors will we face?
I sighed deeply. Just then, I noticed the Warg riders heading east. All five. Finally, I let out the breath I'd been holding. The fear of them catching my scent had been suffocating. I kept my watch, until suddenly—
Rustling behind me.
In a flash, I yanked Veronica back, crossbow raised.
"Easy, Apollo. It's me."
"Damn it, Renault! You nearly scared me to death!"
Renault chuckled. How someone his size could move so silently was beyond me. Still… I was relieved. Reinforcements at last. I glanced him over. Like me, he'd taken measures to mask his scent—mud, flowers, and… yes, dung. The sight made me laugh.
"You used it too."
"…I'd rather not talk about it. Bad memories."
"Oh-ho! My nose smells a good story."
"Are you sure it's not just the dung you smell? Do you like it that much?"
"Shut up!"
I shot him a glare. He gave me a mischievous grin. We both ended up chuckling. Having an ally I could rely on was a comfort. Jeros was trustworthy too, but he couldn't cover me from afar like Renault could.
"What's the situation?" Renault asked quietly.
"Eleven orcs. Mid-grade armor, all Mordor-made gear. Pure infantry, no archers. Three minutes ago, there were Warg riders. Five of them. But they're gone now… I hope."
Renault considered this, then nodded slowly.
"We need to be sure they've truly gone. Their presence nearby is dangerous. They could ambush our patrols, and that would ruin our position. What else did you learn?"
"The insignias on the riders and infantry matched. If the intel that sent us here was correct, then it's likely we're facing a single tribe. Still, we can't be certain…"
I fell silent. My plan had holes, but we needed information. Renault looked at me expectantly.
"What are you thinking?"
"…We need certainty. Who are we up against? How many? Where are they coming from? Are they one tribe or more? Do they have shamans, ogres, trolls? At first, I thought of following the messengers. But with Warg riders, that's impossible."
Renault agreed. "Right. Without horses, we can't tail them. Even with horses, it'd be tough. These creatures hear well, smell better. They're wolves the size of horses. Tracking them is near impossible."
"Exactly. Yellow dead eyes, thick fur, fangs like daggers… When I went down earlier, one looked straight at me. Nearly pissed myself. Thought I'd die right then."
Renault patted my shoulder with a sly smile.
"A shame. Veronica would've been mine. But alas, my chance slipped away."
I nodded, eyes still on the orcs. But wait—what did that bastard just say!? My head snapped to him.
"What did you just say!?"
"…Nothing."
"You traitor! And I thought I could trust you to guard my back! You've got your eyes on my crossbow, don't you!?"
"…No… maybe… partially."
"Get lost!"
"Come on! Don't be so sensitive—it was just a joke."
"There's a limit to jokes! You've set your sights on my beloved! Make your own damn special crossbow!"
I hugged Veronica tightly, stroking her lovingly. If I weren't smeared with filth, I'd have kissed her. My precious crossbow. Renault gave me a teasing look.
"…I'm not the only one, you know."
I froze. My brain stalled.
"Kios and Konex want Veronica too. If you die, the three of us agreed to compete for her."
His words hit me like spears to the chest. Betrayal! Snakes in my bosom! My so-called comrades digging pits behind my back!
"You pack of traitors! I'll smash Veronica to pieces before I let you have her!"
"Survive first, then we'll see."
We glared daggers at each other. Then, slowly, we both smiled.
"It's good you're here, Renault."
"Likewise, Apollo. But I'm serious about Veronica—I want her."
"…Bastard."
Yet I smiled. The man spoke little, but when he did, it was either joy or chaos. Then Renault dropped the mischief and grew serious.
"What's your plan?"
"…Capture an orc. Interrogate him. Preferably the leader of this scouting party."
"That'll be tough. We don't know when the main force will arrive. Kios is busy setting traps. If we capture their leader, the orcs will notice, warn their tribe. We'll lose the element of surprise."
"That's why we kill all but the leader."
"And the Warg riders? What if they return to deliver new reports?"
"Then we ambush them. I have a plan for that."
"But the orc leader will realize something's wrong once the riders don't return."
"By then, we'll have bought time."
"…I don't know, Apollo. Too many risks."
"There are risks—but if we wait, they'll strike us first."
"We don't even know if they're here for us. What if they're on a different mission, and just happened to stumble across us? They could simply be observing. Do we really want to provoke them unnecessarily and endanger the camp?"
"They're orcs, Renault. They don't exist in our world, but the intel we got before arriving here described them well enough. The chance they'll attack us is high—especially since we don't have a proper defense."
"…You might be right. But let's get Leon's approval. His word will be final."
"I agree. Where are the men?"
"One kilometer back. Waiting with Jeros. He was trying to smear dung on them."
When I heard that, I chuckled. So, he didn't want to sink alone. Renault spoke again.
"Go on, send word to Leon with them. I'll take over the watch."
"Understood."
After finishing my words, I pulled back to meet Jeros and his men. Things might soon get out of hand. But the banner is no longer in my hands—it's in those of our beloved commander Leon. Let him decide. I am just a lazy, handsome soldier. Leaving decisions like this to Leon is the wisest thing to do.
--- At the same time, within the Oakshield Company ---
--- Bilbo's perspective ---
Haaah… life was so much simpler back in the Shire. My routine was set: I would wake in the morning, have my breakfast, take a walk and buy food at the market, greet my neighbors, eat lunch, spend some time in my little activities, sip tea, enjoy my dinner, and watch the stars. Now, I find myself in the middle of an adventure. We have been on the road for a week and a half, and there has been no shortage of action. In these days I've laughed, I've cried, and I've vomited… plenty. Without realizing it, I've grown attached to this group.
The times I worked with my two teachers were precious beyond words. I'll never forget them. But my adventure has only just begun.
Right now, we are heading toward Rivendell. Nori, Bifur, and Igris are severely wounded. Bifur and Igris are carried on stretchers tied to their horses, while Nori somehow manages to stay on his feet. The saying that dwarves' stubbornness can pierce through mountains—how true it is. Nori proved it. He has lost so much blood, his face pale as ash, yet he sat upright in his saddle. Bifur couldn't endure as long and fainted, but he still breathes. Thanks to Gandalf, many of our wounds were healed, but the three gravely wounded need Elvish healing. Healing magic is not Gandalf's strongest domain, and after the battle with the vampire woman, he looked drained himself. Now he seems better, though lost in thought, constantly muttering about the Arkenstone—or sometimes about Saruman. His mind is completely occupied.
Thorin has grown more reserved. Though he does not show it, one can tell he blames himself for what befell Nori and Bifur. From what I've heard from Balin, the idea of seeking refuge with the Elves is driving him mad, yet he has no choice… Balin, when talking with me, had a burning question: how on earth had Igris persuaded Thorin to go to Rivendell? Balin was bewildered, as though Igris had single-handedly tamed a great beast. Is Thorin really so stubborn? To me, he seems rational enough…
My teachers, Halt and Gilan, were made leaders of the human group by Igris just before he fainted. To see Halt as commander was something else entirely. And Gilan, too, had changed—no longer joking so often, far more serious in his demeanor. Kili said that was natural, for leadership bears a heavy weight. Halt and Gilan truly are charismatic figures.
And Igris… a complete mystery. Traveling with him was vivid, lively. He was kind and respectful toward me, valued my thoughts, and taught me new things. Thanks to him, my ranger training had begun. From what I've seen, it's the perfect role for me. That's why his poisoning and fainting troubles me—it dampens the spirit. I realized something: the harmony of this group came from Igris. He both softened the atmosphere and made it rational. But as for how rational he himself truly is… I still cannot say.
Gandalf assured us his life was not in danger. He explained that Igris's hybrid nature was strong, and that the venom of a black Imogi hatchling caused little more than a fever. Yet, ever since fainting, Igris muttered strange things—sometimes in languages none of us understood, sometimes in the common tongue, sometimes in Dwarvish. Often it was nonsense like:
"We'll beat him up too, doesn't matter!"
"Don't run away, I won't beat you, I'll just caress you!"
"Where the hell is the girl you kidnapped! I'll turn you into a beating maniac, Speak, you dog!"
"I'll beat you up again and again, and the sound will be heard in America, speak up!"
"I will pull out your teeth one by one and feed them to you, where is the child you kidnapped?"
"I don't care if you're a prosecutor! The gun's in my hand! Fix the evidence you tampered with, or it's straight to the grave with you!""Get ready, brothers! We're raiding the mafia boss's den! They've kidnapped the orphans we've been protecting on the streets!"
"If there is no justice, then I will be the justice! Bring me an axe, and also a black garbage bag, a saw, a shovel, and strong cleaning supplies! Hurry up!"
…There are many words and concepts I simply don't understand. But overall, Igris's past seems… colorful. He himself is colorful enough, true, but still—he is like a riddle. He claims he dislikes war, yet laughs in the thick of it. He says he doesn't like killing, yet he never hesitates to strike. I once asked him about this, and he laughed heartily, replying:
"Bilbo, war and death are part of life. No one can stop them. If anyone tells you they will make the world free of war and filled with peace, don't believe it. Such a person is nothing but a fool deceiving both himself and those around him. Long peace may exist, but in the end, war will return. Instead of fearing death and war, accept them and be ready—or, like me, enjoy life through them. My people have a saying: 'Fear does not delay death.' I enjoy struggle and combat. I avoid killing unless absolutely necessary. I do not fight unless it is the last resort. But when I do fight, I enjoy it. That is the way of my people. I grew among them, raised on their tales. Even if we do not love war, for us it is as natural as breathing—for we have many enemies."
I didn't truly understand those words. After all, I don't really know what war is. Halt and Gilan often tell me of its terror and horror, of what it's like, yet they say I can never understand until I live through it myself. The small skirmishes I've faced lately—they say those were nothing, mere scraps. True war is far more violent and vast, they tell me. Balin has shared tales of his battles and losses—especially the last war of Thror. The dwarves lost much in that battle. But me? I only listened. Even if it sounded sad, I felt nothing. Haaah…
Now we've stopped at an old farmstead. I, Kili, and Fili patrol the surroundings, searching for signs of creatures or enemies. Gilan and Halt requested it, and Thorin approved. Now I see how right they were. Four hundred meters from the camp, we found tracks. Big tracks. My bow was in my hands, arrow notched, as I spoke nervously.
"Kili, Fili… what kind of footprints are these?"
Fili ran his hand over the print, sniffed it, studied it carefully, then said:
"Troll."
My voice trembled.
"You mean the kind that are as big as a house, eat anything they see, and could swallow a halfling like me in a single gulp?"
Kili chuckled and said:
"Exactly right, Bilbo."
"What do we do?"
Fili rose to his feet.
"We return to camp and tell my uncle. There are wounded there. Trolls usually travel in groups. If they suddenly attack the camp, it will be a disaster. Their hides are thick. Let's pray our wizard can deal with them quickly."
Led by Fili, we set out back toward camp. It seemed a long night awaited us…