Forest, forest, endless forest.
Noon sunlight filters through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled shadows on the ground.
But what should have been a beautiful moment is instead filled with violence and panic.
Thunderous hoofbeats echo—fine steeds race through the woods. These are the top-quality horses bred in Rohan, a kingdom famed for its cavalry. They can travel a thousand miles a day, cross mountains and rivers. But the riders aren’t Rohan’s knights—they’re elves, clad in ornate armor and wielding weapons that gleam with magical craftsmanship.
These golden-armored elves are light and agile, making the steeds even swifter. Proud creatures, they know the forest like the backs of their hands—no amount of tangled undergrowth could ever get them lost.
But right now, their faces are grim—none of them look like they’re out for a pleasant ride.
"Woooo—wooo—"
The sound of a horn comes from ahead—the scouts have sent a signal. Blessed by elven magic, these horns play notes only friends can hear. Instantly, more than a hundred elven knights ready their longbows and moon blades. Thanks to masterful elven craftsmanship, these deadly weapons are as stylish as they are lethal—in other words, high stats and high fashion.
Chatter drifts on the wind—the enemy is close. The white-robed wizard leading the charge instantly identifies the threat: "Orcs! There’s a camp of orcs ahead!"
Riding beside the wizard, the lead knight in a billowing cloak squeezes his horse’s sides and shouts a command to attack. Instantly, the horses surge from cruising speed to full-on charge. Blades raised, horses leaping—the ugly enemy appears in their sights.
Steeds leap in graceful arcs, and at the apex, elven sharpshooters send arrows straight into the faces of stunned enemies. In a flash, they stylishly stow their bows and draw their moon blades, using the force of the horse’s leap to crash right into the orc ranks.
The sound of blades slicing flesh rings out again and again, and the orcs’ filthy red-black blood splatters the forest in an instant.
These are elite elven knights—cold, efficient, and clearly not just pretty faces with fancy gear. Over a hundred knights charging at full speed against a scattered mob of ordinary orcs, catching them totally off guard. The result? Not much to say, really. In no time, Middle-earth is short a batch of ugly, vicious monsters.
But even with such a decisive victory, the white-robed wizard doesn’t smile. His name is Gandalf—Mithrandir in Elvish—one of the wisest minds in Middle-earth. His robes are pure white, a faint halo swirling around him, making him look mysterious and powerful. Yet in his eyes, there’s a shadow.
"Quick, don’t bother cleaning up the battlefield. Evil is growing, the shadows are coming—we can’t stop now!" Gandalf, master of dramatic speeches, makes even the cheesiest lines sound like deep wisdom: "Forward, knights! Head that way! Stop everything—before it’s too late!"
So, the elven knights don’t rest for even a second—they just keep marching onward.
Through woods and streams, the forced march continues, with the two leaders up front quietly talking.
"Elves may not have battle aura, but their magic is a powerful weapon against demons. These elves have long lives and have seen kingdoms rise and fall. Brave, strong, loyal—they fought in the Battle of Black Mountain and slaughtered countless orcs. But my friend, what’s ahead is beyond even their limits." Gandalf uses some kind of secret voice magic to whisper to the cloaked knight beside him: "There’s darkness growing in this forest. Behind us, ahead—everywhere, decay is spreading."
"So, just like you said, old buddy—we can’t stop." The cloaked knight is totally unfazed, his voice steady, warm, and strong. Just hearing him makes his followers feel a surge of faith and strength.
The knight lifts his hand and throws back his hood, revealing black hair and dark eyes. His face is rugged and handsome at the same time. The elves around him all turn to look, eyes full of respect and admiration. He wears plain clothes, no fancy armor, but no one mistakes him for some lowly drifter. In today’s Middle-earth, his name is as noble as any king, his honor as dazzling as any legendary hero.
His name is Jasper Xiao.
Jasper Xiao said to Gandalf, "And we’re not alone. Not only is all of Middle-earth united, but my old friend—my most powerful ally, my strongest support, my most reliable sister—is coming too. With her here, there’s no way darkness will swallow up our future."
"I know, but that’s exactly what worries me," Gandalf said, troubled. "Ever since Lady Galadriel prophesied your friends would arrive here, we’ve been rushing nonstop. But there’s a lurking darkness on this land. The enemy is growing, my friend—the enemy’s grown so strong it’s scary, and this is already enemy territory. If we don’t find them fast, they’ll be stranded and alone!"
"Ha, don’t worry about finding her." Jasper Xiao sighs nostalgically—he hasn’t seen that platinum-haired woman in ages, at least in his subjective timeline. "She’s never hard to find. Wherever there’s a commotion, that’s where she’ll be."
"But the woods around us are silent—not even birds are singing!" Gandalf starts to argue, then suddenly his face goes sour. "If she’s not in the forest, there’s only one place left…"
"Woooo—wooo—!!" The urgent horn blares up ahead—the scouts have clearly found something troublesome and sent an emergency signal.
Jasper Xiao charges out of the dense woods at the head of the group, and the view suddenly opens up. Ahead are low hills—nothing special at first glance. But Jasper can sense swirling evil inside these hills, especially that big, pitch-black hole on the hilltop, belching out nauseating magic like a demon’s throat.
"Whoa—!" The knights rein in their horses. Gandalf’s face looks like he’s constipated: "This is the place! If she’s not in the woods, she’s got to be here—Mosslit Great Cavern. Just like Moria Mines, this used to be a dwarven treasure trove. Ironically, it met the same fate as Moria—the dwarves dug too deep and unleashed ancient evil. Now, it’s an orc stronghold and home to a major Mordor bloodline. If your friend landed here, well…"
Gandalf doesn’t even finish his sentence before chaotic noises start spilling out of the cavern.
The sounds get louder and closer, mixed with sharp screams and crazed growls.
"On guard!" Gandalf’s face changes as he shouts, "Orcs—lots of Mordor orcs!"
From inside the cavern, along with the shrieks, there are deep, pounding sounds rushing closer. The heavy footsteps make the earth tremble, like a dozen war drums beaten at once—so many, so loud, it shakes you to your core.
This time, Gandalf doesn’t need to remind anyone—the battle-hardened elven knights recognize those signature footsteps right away. Their faces go pale, tense and furious.
"Trolls! Lots of trolls! At least a dozen!"
"Not ordinary trolls—Mordor’s heavy troll battalion!" Gandalf raises his staff and gives the order: "Draw bows! Only magic-piercing arrows can break through that evil armor!"
Whoosh—the elves all draw their bows, arrows nocked, aiming straight at the cavern.
Next moment—crash! A swarm of little orcs come shrieking out of the cave, scrambling over each other. Right behind them is a giant, two stories tall—a massive troll. It squeezes out of the cave, crushing any orc too slow to dodge into a pulp, and squashing iron armor into pancakes. These heavyweights are almost unstoppable on the battlefield.
The elves narrow their eyes, loose their fingers—twang! Powerful bows send precious magic-piercing arrows flying. Thuds as arrows hit flesh—giant trolls and orcs drop with agonized howls. These arrows pack a punch—even thick iron armor can’t stop them.
But there are just too many monsters, and they’re way too reckless. They push aside corpses, kick away their own, and crash through any obstacle—like water blasting out of a fire hydrant, they pour out of the cave in waves.
The elven knights sense trouble—magic-piercing arrows are rare and precious, and there are way too many enemies! They rush out so fast, in the blink of an eye they’re past the shooting range and right in everyone’s faces!
The paladin raises his warhammer, the white-robed wizard grabs his staff—clang, clang, clang—moon blades flash, and the knights grit their teeth, ready for close combat. But then, something unexpected happens: the monsters suddenly part like a wave, totally ignoring the knights and rushing straight for the forest behind.
Up close, it’s clear the snarling faces aren’t filled with murderous rage but... uh—fear?
The knights watch the little monsters tumble and crawl, dropping weapons and armor in panic—everyone’s got a question mark over their head. They’re all thinking the same meme-worthy line: I haven’t even started, why are you down already?
"What’s going on?" Even the worldly white-robed wizard is baffled. Only the paladin laughs, lowers his hammer, and looks back at the cavern: "Told you—just follow the noise!"