Story Update: The Results Are In!
Hey everyone! We've tallied the votes from our P*****n poll regarding the big decision: whether or not to switch to Leon's side.
Out of 16 members, 7 of you cast your votes. Here is the final breakdown of the points:
Votes for "Yes":
Free Members: 0 votes (0 points)
Supporters Tier: 2 voters (6 points total)
Companion Tier: 0 voters
Ancient Supporter Tier: 1 voter (7 points)
Total Score: 13 points
Votes for "No":
Free Members: 3 voters (6 points total)
Supporters Tier: 1 voter (3 points total)
Companion Tier: 0 voters
Ancient Supporter Tier: 0 voters
Total Score: 9 points
The Verdict:
Since the "Yes" votes took the lead, we'll be following the story from Leon's perspective for the next few chapters.
Thanks to everyone who participated and helped shape the story!
---
When the preparations were finally complete, the party carefully carried the wounded twins and their horses, setting off on their journey back. Just then, Zoltan and his accompanying crew rapidly approached on their rams and joined them. Seeing this sudden arrival, Igris first raised his eyebrows in sheer astonishment, but upon witnessing the scene unfolding before him, he quickly grasped the situation, deciding to remain silent and stay out of their way. A furious and intensely harsh dwarven voice was relentlessly scolding someone, sounding exactly like a grumpy, old father.
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND! @#*##@@! WHY DID YOU JUMP INTO A BATTLE FOR NO REASON, LITTLE GIRL! AND WHILE YOUR BODY HASN'T EVEN FULLY HEALED YET! DO YOU WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK?! WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU?! YENNEFER WOULD HAVE TURNED ME INTO A TOAD! AND GERALT? I COULDN'T EVEN LOOK THE MAN IN THE FACE!"
Ciri, in her early twenties, who had carefully hung the new, high-quality crossbow Igris had stolen from the enemy and gifted to her on her saddle, and was peacefully eating the warm rations she had also received from him, experienced a brief moment of shock when she suddenly saw Zoltan before her. However, noticing the dwarf's face flushed crimson with rage and the veins bulging prominently on his forehead, she could only utter a single word in her mind:
'Uh-oh...'
From that moment on, for seven whole minutes, Ciri had been scolded like a little child, unable to open her mouth to utter a single word. She had learned through bitter experience just how pointless and dangerous it was to stubbornly argue with an angry dwarf, especially if that dwarf was Zoltan. Therefore, she chose to simply stay quiet and take the dressing-down in silence. Everyone else in the convoy made a point of walking at a distance from this duo, as if they had made a secret pact, granting them a wide personal space where they could comfortably carry on with their shouting and yelling. Even Kargan, Fili, and Gloin maintained their distance in the same manner. During these noisy moments, Igris was trying to make small talk with the twins lying on the stretchers... Or, more accurately, at least with Elrohir, who was in a condition to speak.
"...So, lately, the number of monsters has increased, and entirely new species of monsters have begun to emerge..."
Elrohir spoke with utmost calmness. Since the paralysis in his body had not yet completely worn off, he still couldn't move and was thus forced to lie on a simple stretcher carried by the red archers.
"Yes, my grandfather kept sending the two of us out on hunts accompanied by an elite elven unit."
Igris tilted his head to the side in curiosity at what he heard, wanting to dig deeper into the matter.
"What about that dark magic-wielding elf witch we hunted together?"
Elrohir paused for a brief moment before answering, gathering his scattered thoughts before continuing to speak.
"That was a different matter entirely. She was researching how these monsters came to be. For a long time, she couldn't find anything. Because of this, she abandoned her normal research, asked my grandparents for permission, and began to study the dark magic records they had collected and sealed away..."
Igris already knew where this was heading; after all, in his own world, he had read hundreds of fantastic and tragic stories that ended exactly like this.
"It seems she couldn't resist the alluring temptation of dark magic."
Elrohir gave a slight nod of confirmation and let out a deep, heavy sigh.
"Yes..."
Remembering this witch incident anew, Igris scratched his head thoughtfully. The main reason he had suddenly attacked Arwen when he first woke up from his coma was directly linked to this exact traumatic event. Thinking about how he had punched and bruised Arwen's delicate arm during that chaos, Igris swallowed nervously.
'...The twins won't flay me alive when they find out about this, right?'
Just that thought alone was enough to make Igris shiver slightly. He cast a nervous glance at Elrohir lying on the stretcher; frankly, he was quite intimidated by him. Elrohir, completely unaware of this internal turmoil, was busy gazing at the brilliant stars in the night sky from where he lay. However, feeling Igris's gaze upon him, he pulled his eyes away from the heavens and turned toward him.
"Is there a problem?"
Igris swiftly suppressed the minor panic rising inside him and spoke as calmly as humanly possible.
"No, I was just thinking about something."
Elrohir looked at Igris's face in silence for a moment, then, without dragging the subject on, he let out a deep sigh.
"Igris, I say you should drop this Smaug business. This time, it's way out of your league."
Instead of answering immediately, Igris stayed silent for a while, continuing to ride forward on Shadowmane's back. He understood Elrohir's sincere warning perfectly well; Melkor's dragons had left deep, bloody wounds in the elves' history that would not be easily erased. After weighing these risks in his mind for a few more seconds, he scratched his hair with a mix of frustration and sheer stubbornness.
"I have a few plans. I'm not going to blindly fight a monster as powerful as Smaug... If I can't win, I'll just run away."
At these relaxed and nonchalant words, Elrohir frowned. Despite lying paralyzed on a stretcher, he spoke with obvious anger echoing in his voice.
"It is not that simple, Igris! You can't just toy with dragons on a whim! You're going to get yourself killed!"
Faced with his friend's justified concern, Igris took a deep breath and sighed.
"Don't worry, I know things you don't. Otherwise, I wouldn't jump into this out of nowhere."
Hearing this, Elrohir raised his eyebrows as if suddenly intrigued, and asked with a burning curiosity gnawing at him.
"And what exactly are these things you know?"
Igris paused for a moment, wary of the possibility that there might be unwanted ears listening in the darkness of the forest. After gathering the sentences he was about to construct in his mind, he leaned a bit closer to him and spoke in a very hushed voice.
"The last King of Dale didn't miss every shot when he tried to strike Smaug with the black arrows."
Elrohir furrowed his brows, trying to understand. Igris had managed to capture his full attention with this piece of information.
"Go on."
Igris took a deep breath as if to emphasize the gravity of the subject.
"One black arrow hit its mark, and the scales on Smaug's left breast fell off because of it. Which means there is no scale protecting the dragon's heart—only soft flesh and hide waiting to be pierced."
Utterly stunned by this revelation, Elrohir asked.
"Are you sure about this?"
Igris nodded with a dead-serious expression that held not a single ounce of doubt.
"I am absolutely certain."
Seeing Igris's unjoking, solemn demeanor and his profoundly confident attitude, Elrohir stopped for a moment to ponder the seriousness of the matter instead of questioning him. He didn't ask where he got such information from or how he could possibly know it. From time to time, Igris would know bizarre and mysterious things that no one else did, and what's more, this knowledge usually turned out to be completely true at the end of the day. Because of this trust they had built between them over time, Elrohir didn't pry into the source of the information at all.
"Then there might be a chance... but it is still highly risky. You have to catch him off guard, and you must avoid his fiery breath... so, what is your plan?"
Igris slowed his pace, and after gathering his thoughts and the complex chain of events in his mind, he calmly began to lay out his strategy.
"Simple. Catch the overgrown lizard off guard, thrust swords coated in potent poison into his eyes to blind him, throw mixtures of poison and foul stenches into his nostrils, toss another open bottle of poison into his mouth when he opens it, and when the opportunity arises, plunge your sword into the gap on his chest... if necessary, shove a poison-tipped spear up his rear end."
Upon hearing these ruthless and dirty tactics, Elrohir's skin crawled, and he shuddered involuntarily. This was most definitely not the graceful and fair fighting style of an elf; furthermore, it wasn't even the honorable style of a human bound by the codes of chivalry. Remaining completely speechless, he merely stared blankly at Igris's face.
"..."
Faced with the man's prolonged silence, Igris tilted his head in curiosity, acting as if he didn't understand what was wrong.
"What?"
Elrohir spoke in a strange, judgmental tone, as if he couldn't believe his own ears.
"Do you seriously intend to use poison? You! The one who always loves clean and intense battles?"
Igris, feeling somewhat resentful that his intentions were misunderstood, looked at his friend on the stretcher with an unhappy expression.
"What? There's a massive dragon against me! What did you expect me to do? Wrestle the dragon?"
Elrohir continued to stare right into Igris's eyes without giving any answer. Honestly, he was as sure of his own name as he was of the fact that the man before him possessed enough potential madness to actually attempt wrestling a gigantic dragon with his bare hands. Seeing his friend's judging and blank stare, Igris's mood soured, his face darkening slightly. He was just opening his mouth to shoot back a defensive remark when he felt eyes upon him. Turning his head, he locked eyes with Galadriel. Galadriel simply gave him a meaningful look, then with a graceful movement, she steered her horse and rode toward the very front of the group, putting a certain distance between herself and the others. Grasping the meaning behind this silent summons, Igris swallowed his half-finished sentence and turned back to Elrohir.
"We'll talk later. It seems your grandmother wants to have a private word with me."
Hearing this, Elrohir raised his eyebrows in surprise but chose not to say anything. Still, deep down, he couldn't help but wonder what someone as wise and powerful as his grandmother would want to discuss privately with a strange man like Igris. Igris, meanwhile, turned his own horse, Shadowmane. With a light touch of his heels, he urged the steed forward and made his way to Galadriel's side. By the time he reached the side of the noble elven lady, enough distance had formed between them and the main group trailing behind so that their conversation could not be overheard. Looking curiously into Galadriel's bright eyes, Igris was the first to speak.
"What was it you wished to discuss with me, my lady?"
Galadriel spoke calmly, without breaking her ever-peaceful yet profoundly authoritative demeanor.
"There are two things. First, where do the elves by your side come from? I have never seen them before. I am acquainted with every elf in Middle-earth, yet this is the first time I lay eyes on these ones. Furthermore, the armors, weapons, and techniques they use are all completely different. The dark sense of despair I felt when they arrived in Rivendell is something I have rarely experienced in my entire life, and those were truly dark ages."
Igris paused for a moment in the face of this pinpoint observation. He had planned to inform Galadriel about this very topic as soon as they returned anyway, but he certainly hadn't expected her to take the initiative so quickly and question him about it while they were still on the road. Before getting into the main issue, he wanted to find out the other question on the lady's mind.
"And the second question?"
Galadriel answered with a completely expressionless face that never betrayed a hint of emotion.
"The matter you discussed with Mithrandir the other night."
"..."
Having somewhat anticipated this question, Igris fell entirely silent. He absolutely did not expect that old wizard, Gandalf, to blabber about their private conversation to Galadriel so quickly, without even letting twenty-four hours pass. His brain was still struggling to digest this gossip-flavored betrayal committed by the wizard. Normally, he would constantly make jokes about the strange and close relationship between Galadriel and Gandalf, relentlessly teasing Gandalf to get on his nerves. But if it weren't for his knowledge of Middle-earth from his past life, he could have sworn on his life that Gandalf was just a henpecked husband trembling in fear before Galadriel. With these thoughts swirling, he let out a deep sigh. It seemed that on this journey back to Rivendell, he would have to accompany Galadriel and answer every single one of her questions. He began to speak in a calm but lazy tone.
"I want to answer your first question initially. You see, I have a special ability..."
--- East of Erebor --- --- Leon's Temporary Camp Area --- --- A Few Hours Earlier ---
Deep within the forested area where the night had fallen, there lay a rugged terrain about a hundred to a hundred and twenty meters away from the main camp. While dense bushes, trees, and moss-covered rocks stood silently in the darkness, a group was approaching, disrupting this peaceful scenery. Twenty savage orcs were slowly advancing along the narrow path, led by their chieftain riding on the back of a Warg. They were all clad from head to toe in foul-smelling, crude leather armor. Even though they marched in a double-file line that could be considered organized by their own lowly standards, it was glaringly obvious with every step that they entirely lacked any true military discipline. This small orc unit, stealthily slinking through the dead of night, had but one simple goal: to launch a sudden raid on the temporary human camp led by Leon, burning and pillaging everything in sight. An orc walking right behind the Warg rider, whose eyes glowed in the darkness as he scoured the surroundings, quickened his pace slightly and asked cautiously. As he spoke, the ugly and guttural words of the Black Speech spilled from his maw.
"Tollo... are you certain this is a good idea?"
Upon hearing this question, the Warg rider, Tollo, slowed the beast beneath him, craned his neck to glare furiously at the lackey behind him, and snarled.
"Stop acting like a cowardly rat, Korrs!"
Facing this harsh backlash, the questioning orc, Korrs, nervously scratched his filthy head and spoke with hesitation.
"But this camp is swarming with human soldiers."
Tollo grimaced with massive disdain the moment he heard the word 'soldiers', the muscles in his hideous face twitching. A thick, phlegm-filled rumble rose from the depths of his throat, followed by a sickening sound as he spat on the ground. Gripping his weapon tightly, he spoke with a repulsive grin.
"A bunch of useless, rookie human soldiers! You're exaggerating them in your head! Tonight, we feast on fresh man-flesh!"
Their appetites whetted by the prospect of fresh meat, the orc pack trailing behind let out a collective, savage howl of joy.
"HHHHHHHHAAARRRRGGGG!" X18
However, due to their own sheer ignorance and arrogance, there was one fatal detail they didn't know; they were already being watched from amidst the dense bushes just a few meters ahead. Perfectly scattered along the right and left sides of the path, exactly ten men—smeared from head to toe in forest mud, crushed plants, and muck like animal dung to mask their scents—waited in hidden silence, holding their breath. Some of the soldiers laid in ambush among thorny brambles, others crouched behind a wide-trunked ancient tree, and some nestled at the base of large boulders or inside shallow, dug-out trenches. Leon, positioned on the left side of the trail, saw the noisy orc unit inching step by step closer to the trap. Without making a sound, he simply made a hand signal to the opposite side, asking if his men were ready. Kevin, concealed on the far side, replied with the same dead silence, slightly raising his hand to give his own signal, confirming that everything was going exactly according to plan. Both of them had blended into their surroundings so flawlessly that, with the layers of foliage, mud, and filth covering them, they looked like a natural part of the forest. As Leon tightly gripped his crossbow and stared at his approaching prey with cold-blooded focus, his thoughts drifted involuntarily to the heated strategy meeting he had held in his own tent just a few hours prior.
--- Flashback ---
Right in front of the command tent that Leon used as his headquarters, Imperial veteran crossbowmen had formed a circle around a camp map detailed on a piece of rough parchment resting on a stump. Out in the open area, the Swadian militias were working feverishly among themselves, smearing wet forest mud, crushed fresh grass, fragrant flowers, and even animal dung all over themselves to mask their scents completely and escape the sharp noses of the orcs. It was a vile but absolutely vital preparation. Inside the tent, a tense yet dead-serious atmosphere prevailed among the high-ranking commanders focused on the camp map laid on the table. Leon leaned over the map, using the sharp tip of the dagger in his hand to point out eight different critical spots around the camp one by one as he explained his master plan.
"There are 8 different routes through which enemy forces could reach our campground. Although only three of them are proper paths, we cannot afford to ignore the remaining five. We will form 8 groups of 10 men each and lie in wait at the ambush points designated by Kios and Apollo."
Finishing his sentence, Leon lifted his head from the map and looked at the faces of his colleagues around him one by one. He silently probed to see if anyone objected to or opposed the formation he presented. Seeing that not a single voice of dissent arose and the plan was implicitly approved, he turned his gaze directly to Kios right before continuing his speech.
"Kios, you marked all your traps on the map and had the militias with you memorize them, right? I wouldn't want us falling into our own traps."
Hearing this question, Kios didn't answer immediately; instead, he fell into a momentary silence and leaned over the parchment on the table, which depicted the camp and its broad surroundings. He scanned the various danger signs and crosses he had placed on the map with his own hands. All the other commanders in the tent were also silently waiting for his answer. After Kios carefully ran through every route, every pitfall, and every hidden trap in his mind and confirmed their accuracy, he raised his head, looked confidently into Leon's eyes, and nodded.
"Yes, I am sure."
Receiving this clear confirmation, Leon nodded in satisfaction and returned his attention to the map on the table.
"Between the 8 groups, four men each will observe the area, so we can prevent any enemy from slipping through the cracks or hitting our squads from behind. A total of 112 men will serve in this operation; the rest will stay to defend the camp. We will catch them off guard with our crossbows and ensure they suffer heavy casualties through our traps."
Pulling his dagger back from the map, Leon turned and faced Apollo this time.
"How are the wounded?"
Apollo spoke, letting out a deep sigh laced with the exhaustion of the past few days.
"They are fine. They won't die, but they desperately need to rest."
Over the last four days, they had been forced into active combat at least two to three times with orcs coming in groups of varying sizes, and naturally, they had a few wounded soldiers resting in the tents. As a military strategy, they had primarily used only crossbows to keep the orcs at bay, a certain distance away from the forest edge, purposely avoiding any close-quarters hand-to-hand combat with them. Despite this, due to the sudden lightning raids of the Warg riders, there were still some casualties within their ranks; yet against all odds, the camp hadn't suffered a single fatality. In truth, the minor skirmishes that had taken place were nothing more than delay tactics. The main objective was to buy time for Kios to set his deadly traps deep within the woods, and to give the other workers remaining in the camp under Maximus's supervision the opportunity to reinforce the camp's defensive walls and erect a watchtower along with four guard towers. And this plan had undoubtedly worked like clockwork.
The wooden defensive walls surrounding the camp had been reinforced with thick logs and thoroughly drenched with copious amounts of water as a precaution against the orcs' torch-bearing attacks, ensuring completely they wouldn't catch fire. They hadn't just stopped there; wooden platforms were mounted on the inner side of the timber walls to serve as vantage points for shooting and standing guard. Now, Swadian militias stood alert on these elevated platforms, keeping watch day and night, with wooden barrels filled to the brim with crossbow bolts sitting right beside them as ammunition. Reaching a level of security that could almost be called a small-scale castle garrison, this isolated camp area could now be defended far more comfortably and securely for the soldiers.
Hearing this relatively comforting medical report given by Apollo, Leon nodded in sheer satisfaction. He then slowly turned his head to look at Jerus, the tough-looking leader of the Vaegir group—the only melee infantry unit present in the command tent.
"Jerus, where do you wish to position yourself with your men?"
Frankly, Leon had a completely different headache to deal with right now, aside from the approaching orcs: the endless, ongoing blood feud between the people of the two distinct kingdoms under his command. If, by some terrible chance, the Swadian and Vaegir soldiers succumbed to their mutual hostility and clashed with one another during this critical night battle, a massive migraine would be waiting for Leon.
Jerus, a battle-hardened veteran, was equally aware of the invisible tension hanging over the table. Honestly, he too had been brooding deeply over exactly what he should do and where he should stand with his soldiers during this moment of crisis. Even though he trusted his own blood brothers to the bitter end, the thirst for vengeance and the suppressed hatred stemming from the past could completely blind even the most masterful soldier in the heat of battle. The men on both sides would continuously feel this toxic hatred festering within them until the day they finally reunited with their families and homelands. Crushed under the sheer weight of responsibility, Jerus remained silent, staring blankly at the map on the table for a moment as he weighed the situation in his mind.
'Dammit, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't... If we are the ambushers, there will be distrust towards those protecting the perimeter. There's a slight chance they might stab us in the back, and some of my men will absolutely never accept this position... If we're the group watching the backs of the ambushers, I find it hard to trust my own men, especially since they sneak off to start fights; that trust is even thinner... If we stay at the camp, I can't predict what will happen without Commander Leon and his authority around...'
Contemplating this deeply complex political and military situation under the dim light of the tent, practically racking his brain to find a way out, Jerus quietly made a radical and weary decision within himself—one that would alter the course of his entire military career.
'Man, what is this nonsense! Is being a commander just dying of stress constantly thinking about these things?! Once this job is done, I'm retiring and going back to carpentry! This stress is unbearable!'
Suddenly startled by this rebellion echoing in his own mind, the man lightly shook his head from side to side, snapping out of the suffocating thoughts he had plunged into, and returned to the reality of the command tent. After taking one last, careful look at the map and the options before him, he let out an exhausted sigh and made his ultimate decision.
'This is the best option...'
Tossing aside the invisible burden off his broad shoulders, Jerus slowly lifted his head and looked with unwavering resolve into the eyes of Leon, who was patiently waiting for his answer.
"Commander, it will be better if I stay at the camp with my men... I can lend you a few trusted friends who won't cause trouble if you'd like, but it is best I remain at the camp with my squad... Truth be told, I can't trust them enough to place them right behind the Swadian lads, and similarly, I can't trust the Swadians enough to entrust my back to them. My friends and I can keep our countrymen calm here... but it is highly probable they will stir up trouble when I'm not leading them."
Hearing this brutally honest truth spill from his soldier's lips, Leon took a heavy breath and let out a deep sigh. The only solid and reliable melee infantry force he had at his disposal were the Vaegir veterans led by Jerus; however, as a commander, he was genuinely hesitant to deploy them on the field shoulder-to-shoulder with the Swadians. And to be perfectly frank, he was entirely justified in this massive reservation. This was because the traditions and warrior cultures of the Vaegirs were essentially rooted in the Vikings of the North. Just like the furious Nords, they were combative, deeply vindictive, and men prone to shedding blood at any given moment. After rapidly evaluating this fragile balance and the possible disaster scenarios in his mind within mere seconds, Leon didn't press the matter further. He slowly nodded, accepting this logical proposition, for it was absolutely not worth risking a bloody civil war erupting within their own ranks right in the middle of a vicious orc attack.
"I understand. Have it your way. You will be at the camp with Maximus and the others. Be extremely careful, I do not want any internal unrest!"
Jerus, Maximus right beside him, and a few other veteran crossbowmen officers present in the tent silently nodded their approval when they received this definitive order. Refusing to compromise his deadly seriousness, Leon carefully looked at the faces of all his men in the room one last time and began to handpick the individuals who would lead the ambush squads.
"The ones heading to the ambush points will be Apollo, Kios..."
Pointing at the spots on the map with his finger, Leon consecutively listed the names of seven capable men he found trustworthy for this vital task, before picking up his speech from where he left off.
"Go, select your men, and stand ready. I will arrange the units that will overwatch the perimeter of the ambush groups. Maximus! You are solely responsible for the camp's security while I am away."
Once every single officer in the group nodded their heads to signify they clearly understood their assigned duties, Leon bellowed the final order that concluded the meeting with his harsh, commanding voice.
"DISMISSED!"
The fiercely disciplined military men responded with deep respect to their commander simultaneously, in a loud, resolute tone.
"YES, SIR!" x17
Following this resounding roar, they all swiftly exited the tent and rushed to make their preparations. There were already experienced scouts keeping a close eye on security and standing watch around the perimeter of the camp, so when some of the commanders picked their own operation teams, they would select their men by striking a tactical balance relative to the positions of these existing sentries. Left completely alone in the tent, Leon took a profoundly deep breath to shake off the immense stress of command that was weighing him down. He then pushed open the heavy leather flap of the tent, stepping out into the cool, crisp night air, and strode directly toward Kevin and Tommy, who were waiting for him outside. Upon seeing Commander Leon emerge from the tent and approach them, the two young soldiers instantly straightened their backs and snapped to attention, an ingrained reflex of true military discipline.
"Kevin! Go pick five men you trust, have them gear up. We are heading out on a mission!"
Young Kevin accepted this direct order without a single ounce of hesitation and sprang into action immediately.
"Yes, sir!"
As Kevin sprinted away from them to quickly gather his men, Leon shifted his gaze to the other young man, Tommy.
"Tommy! Tell Junes to find 32 men who are skilled in stealth, tracking, or hunting. Have him divide them into groups of four and then send them to me."
Just like his friend, Tommy bowed his head and broke into a dead sprint toward the heart of the camp to swiftly execute the order he had been given.
"Yes, sir!"
Having set all the pieces on the board and pressed the button for the grand operation to commence, Leon stood bathed in the feeble light of the campfire, calmly clasping his hands behind his back as he waited.
--- End of Flashback ---
Hidden amidst the thick mud and filth, Leon and his ambush squad began to wait in absolute, deathly silence for the approaching orcs to step right into the designated kill zone.