LOTR: The Mincraft Player

When a raid expects you to follow the mechanics, but you insist on brute-forcing it with overleveled gear, that's pretty much what this situation had become.

Facing off head-to-head against such overwhelming numbers was honestly unbearable. In this whole world, only Garrett would play like this.

Defending? That could definitely be done.

Grinding it out? Yes, they could definitely outlast these orcs.

Judging by the defenders inside the city, they were clearly prepared for a long-term siege. They weren't lacking food or water, and the longer the fight dragged on, the more the enemy would suffer. So be it, let them come.

The first side to collapse in morale would definitely be the orcs. But dragging a war on for several months, or even over a year? That was just miserable.

And he wasn't exactly confident that continuing like this wouldn't lead to more surprises. No, something unexpected had already happened.

Looking at the distant orcs constructing massive siege ladders, he sighed again, "I get the feeling this battle has dynamic difficulty scaling."

"What do you mean by that?" Gandalf asked, having just cut down another orc and now standing beside Garrett atop the city wall.

"I mean to say… this whole thing needs to end."

Once the dwarves finished mopping up and returned, the city's leaders regrouped at the main gate. During this brief moment of respite, Garrett was the first to speak, "I don't think we can keep stalling."

He pointed toward the rear of the orc army, at the engineering corps.

"They're building something different."

"Those are assault towers," Thorin identified.

Thranduil added, "When it comes to crafting instruments of war and torment, orcs have a terrifying kind of talent. It's what they were bred for."

"They won't make it up here," Bard said, gesturing to the firework-crossbow unit behind him. "Those towers, they send one, we'll blow one up."

"That may be true," Gandalf interjected, "but don't forget—there are so many orcs you can't even see the end of them. How many shots do your ballistae have?"

Bard looked to Garrett.

Garrett looked to Thorin.

Thorin looked around, then finally muttered, "We never had much gunpowder to begin with."

After Garrett's past comments, he no longer claimed things like "Erebor has limitless supplies." Besides, in this age, where firearms were a rare curiosity and explosives hadn't been invented, gunpowder wasn't in high demand. The powder stored for making flash bombs was basically all Erebor possessed.

Truth be told, they never treated gunpowder as a critical resource. Having this much was already lucky.

"What do you plan to do?" Gandalf asked Garrett.

"Same plan as before, cut off the head."

Orcs were naturally chaotic. Without a strong leader to suppress them, they'd implode on their own, even without an external enemy.

Gandalf knew this well, he'd often exploited that fact to stir up chaos in orc camps.

"After taking hits for this long, it's about time we went on the offensive."

Can't let all this gear go to waste without causing some real damage.

But... the enemy's command center was heavily guarded.

The skies were swarming with fell beasts, and the platform was surrounded by archers. Flying in with elytra wasn't realistic. So the aerial route was was out.

Charging straight across the ground? Also tough. With tens of thousands of orcs just standing there, even without fighting back, they could block the path completely.

Unless...

Garrett looked at his pickaxe. Dig deeper, maybe he could avoid the were-worms below. Then launch a surprise attack from beneath. That would definitely surprise Azog.

The only problem: it would take time. The distance, the mountain's thickness, this wouldn't be completed in a day.

And no guarantee he'd dig to the right spot either. It's not like he had a 3D terrain map.

"We can provide cover."

Dáin suddenly stepped up as Garrett was deep in thought, pointing down from the wall.

"See those war-chariots? I guarantee their battlefield-cleaving power will exceed your expectations. Apart from the great beasts, nothing can stop them."

"They don't have many great beasts left anyway."

Most of them had already been spent during the siege.

"My lads can cover you all the way to the ruins at the mountain's base. From there on... I trust you can handle it."

While clearing the city earlier, the Lord of the Iron Hills had personally witnessed Garrett wipe out groups of enemies in one strike. That armor of his, completely impervious to weapons, made people itch to take it apart just to study the material.

But let set all that aside, what mattered was that both Dáin and his war-hammer believed Garrett could succeed.

"Let me join as well."

Thorin suddenly spoke up. When it came to slaying Azog, there was no way he'd miss out, even if it cost him his life.

"We'll go together."

Seeing their king volunteering for battle, Kíli and Fíli exchanged glances and immediately stepped forward.

"Count us in."

"Us too, we can be the chariot drivers!"

The rest of Thorin's company stepped up. Having gone through numerous battles, they had long proven themselves to be elite among dwarves, worthy of major responsibilities.

Balin smiled faintly and said, "I may be old, but my aim hasn't deteriorated. I won't waste a single bolt."

"Good. That's the spirit."

Though a bit unexpected, Garrett decided to go with the suggestion.

Victory would be assured. He nodded, then glanced at Gandalf, who gave him a reassuring look.

"Leave the city walls to me. If any more siege-beasts show up, I'll deal with them. Just focus on your mission."

"Understood."

And just like that, the battle plan was set.

Thranduil, Bard, Dáin, and Gandalf would remain behind to defend the city and provide covering fire. Garrett, Thorin, the members of the company, and a dwarven shock-trooper squad would head out on a strike mission to carry out the decapitation strategy.

As the team finished preparing, loading their crossbow bolts and getting ready to depart, a voice suddenly called from behind, "Count me in too."

Bilbo.

That immediately made Thorin chuckle. He jumped down from the chariot and walked over to Bilbo, speaking earnestly, "This isn't something you should be involved in. As a hobbit, you belong in a garden party, in a comfortable armchair, with a peaceful reading nook, not on a battlefield full of peril and death."

Bilbo opened his mouth, unsure what to say.

"I..."

"This is farewell for now, we'll meet again."

"I can help! Really, I can!" Bilbo called out, unwilling to give up, chasing after them.

But Gandalf stepped in to intercept him.

"Bilbo, I've never doubted your courage. But do you know what lies beyond these walls? That means war. Blood. And death. You've already done more than enough. Truly. For now, what we need most... is to trust our friends."

"You there."

Gandalf pointed to the nearest human soldier, who appeared rather nervous.

"Watch over this hobbit for me. Don't let him leave the city."

"Y-yes! I promise I'll take good care of him!"

The soldier hurried over.

For some reason, he kept his head down, never showing his face, as if afraid of being recognized.

Gandalf didn't think much of it. After giving his orders, he returned to the city wall, frowning and gazing up at the sky, as though waiting for something.

That brief episode passed quickly.

At the city gate, the war-chariots were lined up in formation. Soldiers on the walls gripped the lever handles, eyes locked on those below.

"Sons of Durin!"

Thorin drew his sword and shouted to the members of his company and the dwarven shock squad.

"Charge with me!"

Clang!

The levers were pulled, and the gates opened.

From them burst five fearsome-looking war-chariots, each one fitted with powerful armor-piercing repeating ballistae.

These weapons of destruction had seen little action during the siege. Now, it was finally time to unleash their fury.

Right behind the chariots came a squad of dwarven goat cavalry, their heavy hoofbeats pounding the ground.

Each dwarf in that unit had been personally selected by Dáin, veterans whose shields were stained with orc blood and whose war-goats bore the strongest horns.

The elite of the elite.

"Surround them!" Azog roared, issuing orders in fury.

There was a perfectly defensible city to hold, and yet these fools had come to die?

Did they even see how many troops were out here?

What gave them such courage?