Urgent military alert!
Urgent military alert!
The Mordor Legion has returned. Mount Doom erupts once again. Sauron, the Dark Lord, rises from the ashes! Middle-earth is shrouded in endless shadow, and the lives of people across every nation and race are now in grave danger!
This news spreads at a mind-boggling speed, flying across the entire continent of Middle-earth. Honestly, it doesn't even need much explanation—just look east. Any country close enough can see those thick, inky-black, blood-red volcanic clouds.
Mount Doom has erupted, waking from its slumber, now even wilder and more violent than before. Wherever those thick volcanic clouds reach, the magic turns gloomy and sinister. Wherever the shadow falls, Sauron's magic rules. Where the Legion marches, the Dark Lord's gaze follows. Sauron's magic field expands faster and fiercer than ever. The bigger the field, the more magic he can muster—deeper, thicker, and deadlier.
Sauron, the Dark Lord, is recovering at an unbelievable pace—he's even getting stronger.
Ash clouds keep spreading, like a giant blob of ink in clear water, covering all of Mount Doom and spilling out fast, heading straight for the forest. Boom! The edges of two magical fields clash—magic grinding and colliding, thunder cracking, showing just how brutal this magic war is. If the Dark Lord's clouds beat the forest's green, the Mordor Legion will storm right into the Elven Woods. And then, the elves lose their home turf advantage.
The war between good and evil starts with a clash of magic. The wildest volcanic power in Middle-earth battles the oldest, deepest elven magic. Neither side is backing down.
But the real battlefield is still with the armies. The Alliance of Light has stationed a whole bunch of troops at Mount Doom—about 3,500 strong. These are major forces from every race, no king would dare abandon them. The Alliance brought in a white-robed wizard, who whipped out a crystal ball. After some intense spellcasting, the wizard peered through the crystal and saw what was happening at the foot of Mount Doom—he saw the fate of the garrison.
"I saw slaughter, carnage, fire and blood!" Gandalf's face was as hard as iron—what he saw was just too brutal. "I saw webs snaring, strange egg sacs, parasitism, and splitting! That's an ancient demon from the abyss—Death Weaver! It lays eggs in warriors, hatching spider-monsters from their bodies!"
"What about our men? Are there any survivors?" The Dwarf King roared so loud he nearly blew the roof off. "Are our warriors really that helpless?!"
"No, I also saw brave fighting and resistance, flashes of true heroism." Gandalf's words eased the kings' faces a bit, but then his tone turned grim: "But they can't hold out for long. The few left will have to retreat or be wiped out. Sauron's revival can't be stopped, and as long as Death Weaver is around, his army will just keep growing! We have to unite, hit the Mordor Legion hard before they hatch more spider-monsters!"
The Doom Mountains are a dead, desolate wasteland. If Sauron wants to grow his army, he needs more territory. The kings pulled out a map of Middle-earth, and Gandalf traced his old finger across it, pressing hard on one spot.
Gondor. Ironhold Fortress. It was built to choke off the throat of the Doom Mountains. Now, it's the bridgehead against Sauron, the lifeline for the trapped troops. Reinforcements must move fast—support Gondor, rescue our own, block the Mordor Legion. The fate of the world hangs on this!
"Let's hope that fool, the Regent of Gondor, has at least a shred of guts left, and maybe Sauron's assault gets slowed down a bit." Gandalf stared at Ironhold Fortress on the map, thinking hard. Suddenly, he remembered something: "Oh right, a few disciples of the Sun-Moon Sect and some knights from the Order of the Silver Hand are training there. Maybe they'll pull off a miracle."
Ironhold Fortress sits right by the throat of the Doom Mountains. From here, you can see the roaring mouth of Mount Doom behind the peaks. When Sauron was at his peak, even the eagles wouldn't dare enter the Dark Lord's domain. But now, a group of human warriors is heading out, risking it all.
"You're overstepping your authority! The Regent ordered us to hold the fortress and not send out troops. Are you defying orders?!" The vice-commander, handpicked by the Regent, led his guards forward, gripping his sword. "We won't allow such a breach of discipline!"
"My brothers are screaming and dying inside those mountains, Sauron's black clouds are right overhead! Are you deaf or blind? Still quoting orders at me? To hell with your orders!" The general, armored up, ignored the military police and strode forward, chest out. "Go ahead, snitch if you want, but if you try to stop me, you won't see the sunrise tomorrow!"
The vice-commander hesitated for ages, but in the end, didn't dare act. He figured the general just might cut him down. Still, he protested: "Going out now is suicide! We can't just throw our lives away!"
"Sacrifice? That's a hero's word, not yours! If you're scared, get out of the way, you gutless coward—real heroes will step up!" The general waved, and the gate guards moved on their own, swinging open the castle doors. He leapt onto his warhorse, glanced at the terrifying Doom Mountains, then turned to the camp and shouted, "Who wants to die with me?!"
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Clank, clank—armor crashed together as the soldiers followed the general.
"We're with you." Two knights from the Order of the Silver Hand and three Sun-Moon Sect disciples—five Chosen Ones in total—joined in. One burly Chosen whipped out a massive heavy machine gun from his storage space, cocked it with a loud click, his battle spirit burning as hot as the cigar in his mouth. "Let's go raid the Dark Lord's lair and see what that arrogant bastard thinks gives him the right to spread all this smog and pollute the air!"
"Charge!!"
"Attack!!"
"Support our allies—hit the enemy!"
Boom! About a thousand cavalry thundered out of Ironhold Fortress, racing into the pitch-black Doom Mountains. Under the mighty shadow of the Dark Lord, even their fierce fighting spirit seemed tiny—like a spark in the wind, ready to go out any second. The vice-commander stood on the fortress wall, biting his lip as he watched them vanish into the mountains.
Whoosh! The wind howled, carrying the sounds of brutal battle. Up on the mountain, some massive shadow flashed by—a huge wing, gone in an instant but terrifying enough. The sound and sight hit his nerves hard, twisting his face with sudden rage.
He spun around, face twisted in a crazed scream, voice so sharp it sounded like a woman struck by a snake: "No one leaves without my order! Shut the gates, hold the fortress! We're staying on these walls and not going anywhere!"
"Ironhold Fortress is an invincible stronghold. As long as the fortress stands, so do we!"
"As long as we keep the gates shut, we won't die!"
The vice-commander shouted like a madman, but before he could finish, his adjutant's face twisted in terror—pale, hopeless, panicked, all kinds of extreme emotions flashing across in a split second. No words needed; the vice-commander knew something was wrong. His voice caught in his throat as he slowly turned, scared and curious, to look at the Doom Mountains.
Then his face looked just like his adjutant's.
"Wh-what the heck is THAT?!"
Thud! The ground shook violently.
—Four hours later—
Bernard River.
Bernard River is unbelievably wide—standing on the banks, it feels endless. It's the biggest river in Gondor, a natural barrier. Fortresses sit on both sides, part dock, part key defense against the Mordor Legion. To the west is a vast plain, with Gondor's capital, the White City, at its center. So Bernard River is the last stronghold against the Mordor Legion.
The fortress on the east bank is called Sailhaven Keep—busy, noisy, both military and commercial. Way more people here than at Ironhold Fortress. Now, mobs of merchants and refugees are crowding in, scrambling to cross west and escape, making it even noisier.
As the sun sets and night falls, Sailhaven Keep is in total chaos. Same arguments as Ironhold Fortress—two factions fighting it out. One side wants to rush reinforcements to Ironhold, block the Mordor Legion in the Doom Mountains. There are tons of farmers still working the eastern plains, and lots haven't evacuated yet. Time is running out.
The other side thinks they should follow orders and stay in Sailhaven Keep. They say this place is even more important—if Sauron's special troops break through and take Sailhaven, it's game over for everyone.
"Those guys must be nuts." In a cheap tavern, a burly guy slammed his big mug on the table. "If they won't go, I will!"
The sun-moon emblem on his sleeve made it clear—he was a disciple of the Sun-Moon Sect. And this big guy was none other than the one who'd been bragging about his 'secret move' ever since he landed in Middle-earth. After a year of training, his body was way sturdier, his face more fierce, but he was still just as cocky as ever.
He spat as he yelled at his five buddies: "Listen up, my secret move isn't for duels—it's perfect for war! Mordor Legion, armored giants, bring 'em on! One, I'll crush; ten, I'll wipe out!" He pulled out a weird-looking sword from his storage space. "My motto? Big beats small, heavy beats light, strength beats skill, and I'll bulldoze my way through!"
"Come on, let's back up our brothers and fight our way into the Dark Lord's lair!" Bang—he shoved open the tavern doors. "I don't buy it! What could the Dark Lord's army possibly do to stop my Dragon Warrior—Holy crap, what IS that?!"
The big guy who opened the door saw it: under the murky night sky, a massive figure stood on the horizon.
Compared to the giant trees nearby, it was easy to tell—this humanoid thing was as big as a mountain!
It took a step, and its foot easily cleared three times the height of the treetops.
It moved slowly, each step deliberate, but it was so huge that even the best warhorses couldn't keep up.
It stepped again, still too far away to see clearly. After a few seconds, the ground shook, making every glass in the tavern rattle. Ten seconds later, a thunderous, booming footstep echoed through the air.
Bang! The sound was so terrifying that Sailhaven Keep fell silent for a moment—then the whole city erupted. Screams, running, crying, shouting, all exploded at once, filling every corner of the fortress.
—A thousand miles away, a majestic white horse galloped through the starry night.
"Ironhold Fortress flattened?!" Gandalf raced onward, crystal ball in hand, his face twitching with frustration, resignation, and rage. "Mountain Giant! He actually woke the Mountain Giant? Has he really become a god?!"
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