LOTR: The Mincraft Player

Wooo.

The orcs' war horns sounded one final time, but this time, no signal flags were raised.

Garrett walked to the edge of the command platform and shouted toward the army scattered below the mountains:

"Your leaders are dead, now run for your lives!"

Thud.

Two severed heads were thrown down from the mountain peak. They tumbled and bounced along the steep cliffs for a long while before striking the ground, barely recognizable from when they had been alive.

"I am your bane!"

Crash.

A single stone cast into still water creates a thousand ripples.

Once the orcs confirmed that the heads truly belonged to their supreme commanders, they immediately panicked and lost all semblance of order.

Even the lesser chieftains responsible for maintaining formation could no longer keep their composure. They didn't look at the fallen heads, nor raise their eyes to the figure standing on the command platform.

In the end, all they could do was scatter in every direction like the rest of their army.

The battlefield descended into complete chaos, with no trace of discipline remaining.

"It appears to be over,"

Bard sighed with relief. Perhaps a peaceful life was finally within reach.

"Haha, they've done it!"

"Victory is ours!!"

The dwarves began cheering and embracing one another.

Dáin spread his arms in triumph, but seeing Thranduil before him, he quickly turned and embraced Gandalf instead.

Thranduil paid no mind to the small slight. He simply said calmly, "It is indeed a victory worthy of celebration."

Gandalf replied, "Nearly ten-to-one odds against us, and not only did we prevail, but we suffered almost no casualties. It feels like something from the Elder Days."

"That's thanks to our ally."

"Garrett."

Thranduil raised his gaze toward the figure on the ridge, silently elevating Garrett's status in his estimation, yet again.

"Time to finish them, lads!"

After a brief celebration, Dáin immediately reorganized his forces, preparing to sweep up the scattered, leaderless orcs beyond the walls.

Thranduil came to his senses as well and gave the command, "Prepare to advance!"

"Let us join the pursuit," Gandalf said as he drew his sword, suggesting it to Radagast.

But the Brown Wizard declined, "Oh, you go ahead. You know I'm not suited for this sort of thing."

"I will!"

Beorn roared and leaped down from the city wall, transforming into his great bear shape and charging into the chaotic orc horde.

No one could say precisely how many orcs perished in that rout.

But one thing was certain: the one who fought the fiercest was Garrett himself. From Ravenhill all the way down to the valley floor, he drove the Gundabad army like a shepherd herding panicked sheep. Wherever he appeared, the orcs fled in the opposite direction, as if repelled by some invisible force.

It was quite a spectacular sight.

During the battlefield cleanup, the number of orcs felled directly by his blade numbered no fewer than a thousand. Skill orbs dropped with a clatter.

Even after the orcs had scattered to the four winds and every commander had declared the battle concluded, he was still in pursuit.

When running proved too slow, he switched to his elytra wings. Once airborne, he continued his methodical hunt.

"Isn't this a bit... excessive?"

Even Gandalf couldn't help but comment.

Thranduil turned to him and replied, "Gandalf, since when have you shown such mercy to your enemies?"

"No, no, it's not that I pity those creatures. I simply think... it seems unnecessary."

"Nothing is unnecessary when dealing with orcs."

Thranduil remained unmoved.

In ages past, some of the more battle-hardened Elven lords had done exactly this sort of thing.

During the Elder Days, it wasn't uncommon for a single warrior to cut down hundreds or even thousands of orcs while taking their chieftain's head in the process. Calling them a "one-elf army" was no exaggeration.

But in these latter days, throughout all of Middle-earth, you could count on one hand those capable of such feats.

Garrett now among them.

But beyond his sheer martial prowess, his true strength lay elsewhere entirely...

---

Some distance away from the Lonely Mountain, Garrett collected another skill orb and turned around, satisfied with his work.

"All done!"

Behind him, the surviving orcs screamed as they fled into the forest depths, likely not daring to emerge again for years to come.

"Time to head back."

After such an extensive battle, he had managed to farm at least one of every type of skill orb, and his Basic Sword Technique had even reached maximum level.

Armor Break, Back Slice, Dash Attack, Dodge, Ending Blow, Leaping Blow, Mortal Draw, Parry, Rising Cut, Spin Attack, Super Spin Attack, Sword Beam, and Sword Break.

A total of fourteen skills now filled his ability menu.

Whoosh.

He swung his sword, releasing a bright arc of energy that dissipated a short distance away.

Now that he had acquired Blade Beam, he could finally make ranged attacks with his weapon. Though the range wasn't impressive, no more than seventeen blocks, and the damage was modest as well. At level one, it dealt only 3-4 points of damage and didn't even carry fire enchantment.

Still, it was perfect for cutting weeds.

That said, with proper combo chains, the damage could scale significantly. With more than seven consecutive hits, a single Blade Beam could deal up to ten points of damage.

Fireworks exploded once again overhead, startling the orcs hiding in the forest. But this time, no armored figure descended into their midst.

He had ended his pursuit and was returning to the Lonely Mountain.

---

At that moment in Dale, the elves had relaxed their guard. They sat in small groups, discussing matters of little consequence. Occasionally, someone would raise a cup and drain it of strong spirits.

A dwarf, observing an elf drink a full cup in one gulp without changing narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"He's definitely putting on airs."

Clank.

The city gates were raised once more.

The dwarves immediately erupted in jubilant cheers.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

"Welcome back!"

Dáin was the first to step forward and embrace Thorin heartily. The other dwarves set aside whatever they were doing and crowded around to celebrate.

"We are proud of you, Thorin!"

"My thanks, Dáin."

"But this glory belongs not to me alone, it belongs to all of us. Most especially to—"

He gently pushed Bilbo forward from behind.

"Our master burglar!"

"Ah, well..."

Bilbo smiled awkwardly at the assembled crowd. Suddenly finding himself the center of such celebration, he wasn't quite sure where to place his hands.

"No need for nervousness. You've earned this honor. You saved our lives countless times and helped us reclaim the Arkenstone."

"Hold your head high with pride."

Bilbo nodded, his chest slowly swelling with confidence.

Gandalf, observing the scene, stroked his beard and smiled warmly. Beside him, Radagast, Beorn, and the Lord of the Eagles all watched, paying their respects to the returning heroes.

The dwarves celebrated exuberantly, and the Men of Dale gathered as well, applauding and cheering their liberators.

In contrast, the elves maintained their customary reserve. Though they paused their activities and formed orderly ranks at the gates, they simply stood in dignified silence, observing without fanfare.

They were present to show proper respect, nothing more.

Only Thranduil spoke, "Congratulations on reclaiming your ancestral home. I sincerely hope this realm will flourish once more under the Mountain."

Thorin inclined his head respectfully.

"I trust the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm will not forget our appointed meeting."

"I shall be there," Thranduil replied with formal courtesy.

As the two exchanged diplomatic words, suddenly, Boom, another firework burst across the sky, and an even louder cheer erupted at the city gates.