Everyone discussed that mysterious ring endlessly, especially those who had personally witnessed it—they vividly described the ring's incredible magic to anyone who would listen.
Such widespread discussions naturally attracted certain interested parties' close attention.
In a dimly lit Hogsmeade tavern, a heavily cloaked figure sat hunched in a dark corner, quietly listening to the conversations around him. A black staff leaned inconspicuously against the wall beside him.
If Kael were present here, he would be utterly shocked.
The mysterious cloaked figure was none other than Saruman the White himself!
Saruman had carefully disguised himself as an ordinary traveler, his distinctive white staff cleverly transformed into what appeared to be a simple walking stick.
Since Hogsmeade regularly hosted many traveling merchants conducting business, pilgrims viewing Weathertop Castle and the legendary Trees of Gold and Silver, wandering bards, adventurers, and other transients, Saruman's presence didn't attract any unwanted attention.
Saruman's visit here wasn't at Sauron's command but a secret mission of his own devising.
His purpose was clear enough—he sought the One Ring.
Saruman wasn't truly loyal to Sauron like the enslaved Nazgûl but harbored his own ambitious schemes for power.
After learning about the One Ring's potential location, Gollum had come first, and Saruman had followed right after in secret.
Though Sauron had promised to forge a Ring of Power specifically for Saruman, given the wizard's insatiable greed, even the strongest Ring of Power couldn't possibly compare to the One Ring itself—it would never satisfy his appetite.
Compared to submitting to Sauron as a servant, Saruman greatly preferred seizing the One Ring for himself, then replacing the Dark Lord, ruling this entire world with the One Ring's absolute power.
Now hearing rumors that Gollum had stolen a gold ring suspected to be the One Ring, even causing citywide awareness and panic, Saruman with his considerable wisdom, naturally doubted this convenient news.
But he was already consumed by the One Ring's seductive temptation. Confident in his own strength, he prepared to first find Gollum himself, confirming whether the creature actually possessed the One Ring.
If the rumors proved true, he would obtain it effortlessly from that pathetic wretch.
With the One Ring in his possession, he would no longer need to depend on Sauron anymore—forget merely recapturing Isengard, even ruling the entire world wouldn't remain a dream.
His only concern was operating in Kael's territory—he couldn't make too much commotion or easily use obvious magic. Otherwise, once detected by Kael in the castle, his entire plan would easily fail.
If exposed here, he would likely face Kael's direct targeting—not only failing to obtain the One Ring but also facing Sauron's terrible reckoning.
After all, he had made completely different excuses for this unauthorized trip.
Once Sauron discovered him here, the Dark Lord would immediately guess Saruman was also seeking the One Ring.
Then he would be caught between enemies, having no foothold in either light or darkness.
Meanwhile, far to the west at the desolate Barrow-downs.
The Witch-king of Angmar surveyed the empty Barrow-downs without a single barrow-wight's trace, falling into ominous silence.
The place he had once cursed and deliberately filled with concentrated dark power was already completely purified.
Only some extremely weak barrow-wights remained, quietly lying in underground tombs, fallen into what seemed like eternal sleep.
His greatest masterpiece thus destroyed, the Witch-king of Angmar felt extreme rage building.
He radiated a thick dark aura, chanting ancient dark incantations in the Black Speech.
The sky darkened dramatically overhead, dark clouds covering it as evil power was once again resurrected at the Barrow-downs.
Streams of black mist radiating palpable evil aura appeared around the Witch-king—these black mists were corrupted evil spirits under his absolute control.
Countless evil spirits, thousands strong, all burrowed deep into the ground and ancient tombs, possessing those dry bones.
Under concentrated evil power's erosion, resting bones once again opened evil red-glowing eyes. Their bodies emitted black mist, bones becoming hard as iron, and skeletal hands growing hard and sharp enough to easily tear people apart.
The bones possessed by evil spirits transformed into barrow-wights, climbing from their graves. Their bodies moved stiffly yet with swift purpose, releasing low, gloomy roars filled with malevolent aura.
The Barrow-downs' temperature plummeted dramatically, becoming extremely cold and bone-chilling. Thick mist permeated the area, shrouding the hilltop, making it ominous once again.
In the nearby Old Forest, Tom Bombadil and his wife Goldberry both sensed something wrong, looking with concern toward the distant Barrow-downs.
Goldberry showed an obviously worried expression.
But Tom Bombadil remained cheerful as always, as if nothing could make him unhappy. He danced around, comforting his wife with a song:
"Come now, dear Goldberry, don't worry about these passing things. Just like flowers bloom and leaves fall, spring returns after cold winter—everything will pass in time. Let's think about what to make for dinner instead!"
Hearing this, Goldberry withdrew her troubled gaze, gently reminding Tom, "These spirits are seeking the Ring. Tom, don't lose it carelessly and cause trouble for Kael and the others, understand?"
Tom pulled out the One Ring, playfully juggling it in his hand before putting it on his pinky finger. He spoke with complete confidence, "Dear Goldberry, rest assured—old Tom will keep it perfectly safe.
Just these past days, this troublesome little thing has been restless, always wanting to attract those spirits and that poor hobbit Gollum. So I must make it behave properly! I don't want my beloved Old Forest disturbed by those foul spirits!"
At the Barrow-downs, the Witch-king remained completely unaware of events in the nearby Old Forest.
Facing thousands of respectfully prostrate barrow-wights surrounding him, the Witch-king felt deeply satisfied with his dark work.
The evil spirits inhabiting these barrow-wights were all those who had died under Morgul-blades, with cursed blade fragments piercing their hearts, transforming them into creatures of the wraith-world under the Witch-king's control.
Then, through his dark sorcery, he made them possess ancient skeletons, transforming into barrow-wights.
When the Witch-king was at the height of his power, he had used this terrible sorcery to create massive barrow-wight armies, establishing the kingdom of Angmar, destroying both the Arthedain and Cardolan kingdoms, and rampaging throughout Eriador.
The Witch-king's gaze turned east, falling on distant Weathertop, full of malice and hatred.
Then he turned toward Bree, far closer to the Barrow-downs, commanding the barrow-wights in a voice like death itself, "Attack that prosperous city tonight! Destroy it utterly! Transform everyone there into your servants!"
Hearing the Witch-king's terrible words, the barrow-wights let out eager howls. Their eyes gleamed with malevolent hunger.
Bree, formerly the simple Bree-town, had been completely renewed into a prosperous city with a population of over ten thousand.
Because of its convenient transportation, located at the strategic intersection of the East-West Road and North-South Road, all travelers had to pass through here. So its development had come to rival even Hogsmeade.
Especially since the Barrow-downs wights had disappeared, the road from Bree to the Shire had become much safer, so connections between both places had grown frequent and profitable.
Goods from everywhere gathered at Bree and then were sold throughout the Shire's markets.
Meanwhile, various Shire products—tobacco, malt beer, mushrooms, and more—were transported to Bree. Besides being consumed locally, they were sold to other distant regions.
Shire pipe-weed especially was renowned throughout the land. It sold not only to Gondor and the Kingdom of Rohan in the south, but even the dwarf kingdoms east of the Misty Mountains were eager customers.
The pipe-weed trade alone brought Bree substantial and steady revenue, making Hogsmeade's Mayor Luke extremely envious of this lucrative enterprise.
As a result, Bree had grown rapidly. The original outer wooden walls had been replaced by high stone walls, with over a thousand trained militia defending them.
Some time ago, a bandit gang operating in the South Downs, drawn by Bree's wealth, had attempted to attack the town and plunder its riches.
They were soundly defeated by Bree's well-trained militia, captured, and brought to justice.
This matter hadn't even required Kael's attention. Only when Mayor Butch later reported to Kael did he learn of the incident.
From then on, surrounding bandits and robbers no longer dared approach Bree, nor did they dare obstruct the trade routes to and from the prosperous city.
This day, Bree remained prosperous and lively as usual.
By late night, the city gates finally closed with their usual heavy thud.
But the city remained lively inside, especially taverns, inns, and other establishments still densely populated with patrons.
The Prancing Pony Inn, Bree's largest inn with hundreds of years of operating history, had become a true Bree landmark.
Even now with the city's development and expansion adding several competing inns, the Prancing Pony still enjoyed the most traffic.
Innkeeper Mr. Butterbur seemed never to sleep. Even very late at night, he still sat vigilantly behind the bar, constantly wiping glasses, listening to news customers brought from everywhere, or chatting amiably with familiar patrons.
Recently in the inn, the biggest topic was none other than their lord's stolen gold ring.
Everyone discussed that wretch who had dared infiltrate the castle to steal things. Especially local residents—all denounced that wretch for offending their lord, saying if caught, he would definitely be severely punished.
They also couldn't help being intensely curious about that legendary invisibility ring.
Just as the inn was at its most lively, militia guards at the city gate couldn't help yawning.
But as they drowsily dozed, cold air suddenly jolted them awake.
"Fog rising?" A young militiaman looked doubtfully at distant thick fog spreading this way with unnatural speed.
Simultaneously in the sky, clouds had somehow appeared, blocking the moon completely, making the surroundings utterly dark.
But an older, more experienced militia captain felt distinctly uneasy, immediately becoming alert.
"Attention everyone! This fog is wrong!"
"The fog is wrong? What's wrong with it?" A young militiaman asked doubtfully, peering into the darkness.
The captain shook his head—he wasn't certain either, just felt something deeply amiss about the situation.
Just as others expressed doubt, dim ghostly lights appeared in the fog, flickering eerily.
The next second, an extremely fast shadow barely visible to the naked eye rushed from the fog, directly reaching the gate and heavily slamming against the reinforced wood.
That massive impact force made the militiamen standing on the wall feel distinct trembling beneath their feet.
Everyone inhaled sharply, showing terror.
"What—what is that thing?"
After impacting once, the shadow didn't give up. It heavily slammed the gate again with even more force.
As if vowing not to rest until breaking through completely.
"Quick, throw down an oil lamp to see clearly what it is!" The captain immediately shouted.
A soldier quickly grabbed a wall lamp, throwing it down.
The lamp smashed on the ground directly before the gate, splashing oil and igniting blazing flames that illuminated the area around the gate.
Finally illuminating what was striking the gate with such force.
Instantly, everyone's faces turned deathly pale with terror.
"Barrow-wight!!!"
Just then, countless more wights rushed from the fog—densely packed, thousands strong!
Seeing so many barrow-wights advancing, everyone's hearts seemed to stop for several seconds, fear written across every face.