While the great battle between the Elves of Rivendell and the Orc Legion raged on, far from the thunder of clashing armies near the Misty Mountains, three separate struggles were unfolding simultaneously within the ambush site: a deadly hit-and-run game between Ciri and the Dark Elves; a fierce defensive battle between the twins and the Dark Elves; and finally, a brutal duel between Igris and the Dread Lord.

  Setting aside the turmoil in the other two locations for a moment, the fight between Igris and the Dread Lord continued with relentless intensity. As the Dread Lord grew increasingly furious, Igris was experiencing rather complicated emotions. Deep down he was enjoying the fight, yet every new scratch and dent appearing on his armor made his heart ache. It felt as if someone had taken a key and carved deep scratches across a sports car he cherished like the apple of his eye—you can imagine his anger.

  His armor was already battered and scarred, and the Dread Lord had managed to open several shallow cuts on Igris's body as well. Even so, that was the best the Lord had managed throughout the entire duel. Igris, meanwhile, fought with the precision of a professional surgeon. He took no unnecessary risks and did not attack blindly in an attempt to kill. Frankly, Igris was certain that if he had been an ordinary human or even a typical Dúnedain, he would have died at least seven times by now in this fight.

  The two opponents stood facing each other, taking short breaths as they locked eyes. To an outside observer it might have looked like some sort of staring contest, but in truth they were weighing one another.

  Inside his mind, Igris was grumbling bitterly:

  Idiotic twins! Brain-dead twins! Old Don Quixotes! Was there really no better time or place to fall into an ambush?! My armor is getting ruined! Damn it. My. Armor. Is turning. Into scrap! This time there won't be any friendly bets! You're going to compensate me! If you're princes, then pay for my financial losses! OR TONIGHT I'LL MAKE ELF STEW! AND THE PREMIUM KIND AT THAT!

  While these thoughts raced through his mind, he suddenly realized something and froze in surprise.

  Wait a second… money! Dark Elf equipment is extremely rare in Middle-earth! This ambush is full of different kinds of Dark Elf weapons and gear! Even the Elves would pay a fortune for these!

  Igris carefully examined the armor of the man before him: the shield, the sword, the crossbow lying on the ground… In his eyes they all suddenly transformed into glittering bars of gold. His eyes sparkled strangely.

  Those gleaming eyes only made the already furious Dread Lord even more uneasy. The Lord suddenly shouted in irritation.

  "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

  Igris voiced the suspicion forming in his mind.

  "Hey! Mister Eggplant. You're a Dread Lord, right?"

  Upon hearing the word eggplant, the Dread Lord's face shifted from purple to the furious red of a pepper. Realizing that he had wasted so much time fighting someone who did not even know who he was left him momentarily stunned. He stared at Igris with strange eyes.

  "…You only just figured out who I am?"

  Igris spoke with the excited energy of someone who had just hit the jackpot, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

  "So you really are…"

  For a brief moment the Dread Lord thought the trembling in Igris's voice was fear—but he knew very well that the man he had been fighting for nearly an hour would not tremble from fear. A strange chill ran through him; those excited eyes of Igris genuinely disturbed him.

  "Why are you looking at me like that, rat?"

  Igris studied his opponent again: the sword, the shield, the armor, and finally the crossbow lying on the ground.

  Then he asked:

  "How much gold do you think all that equipment is worth in total?"

  The Dread Lord, caught off guard by such an absurd question, answered with instinctive arrogance.

  "More than someone like you could ever see even in your dreams."

  Even that short sentence was enough to ignite a fire inside Igris. At that moment he needed money more than anything else. Why would he turn away such merchandise that had practically walked to his doorstep? Besides, he was certain that if he killed a Dread Lord and delivered the head to the White Council—or to the Elves—he would receive a hefty reward. There were already several bounty notices for Dark Elves anyway. In other words, Igris could make serious money here.

  Looting dropped items and enemies would be far easier.

  But he quickly shook his head and regained his senses, pushing aside his greed and focusing on his opponent again.

  Don't be stupid and let greed blind you. There's no way I can kill this guy alone… Reinforcements should arrive soon.

  Meanwhile, the Dread Lord had already guessed Igris's thoughts from the question he had asked, and his anger intensified further. He saw it as a personal insult. Spreading his aura throughout his body, he lunged forward. Igris did the same, channeling his own aura through his body as he prepared to receive the attack.

  The Dread Lord brought his sword down in a vertical strike aimed at Igris's left shoulder. Igris met the blow with his aura-reinforced shield; the impact sent vibrations through the shield and into his arm, yet he held his position firm. The moment the Dread Lord realized his strike had been deflected, he swung the edge of his shield toward Igris's helmet. Igris jerked his head aside and slipped past the blow, then seized the brief imbalance to slam the pommel of his sword into the Dread Lord's armored chest with all his strength.

  The Dread Lord staggered a step backward from the impact. But the Elf immediately retaliated, swinging his sword sideways and smashing it against Igris's shield. The surface of the shield dented slightly under the aura-enhanced blow.

  Realizing that his shield was no longer as reliable as before, Igris dismissed it entirely and stored it in his inventory. With his left hand he seized the arm holding the Dread Lord's shield and yanked it downward.

  The distance between them had now closed completely; there was no room left to swing swords. The Dread Lord released his weapon and threw a punch toward Igris's throat with his free hand. Igris stored his sword in his inventory and caught the punch midair with his right hand. The two warriors locked together.

  The Dread Lord drove his knee hard into Igris's abdomen behind the shield. Igris held his breath in pain but refused to release his opponent's arm.

  Pulling the Dread Lord closer, Igris smashed his forehead forward in a headbutt. The Dread Lord staggered from the blow, and in that instant Igris drove an aura-charged knee into the opening in his armor. The Dark Elf's breastplate bent under the impact, the air leaving his lungs in a painful gasp—but he immediately retaliated with a headbutt of his own.

  The blow left the dark knight momentarily stunned. Seizing the moment, the Dark Elf drove his own aura-charged knee toward Igris's chest. But Igris's instincts flared; releasing his left hand, he punched the incoming knee. The Dark Elf's leg slammed painfully back into the ground.

  Without wasting a second, Igris hooked his foot behind the enemy's leg to trip him and then slammed his left palm into the Dread Lord's chest while releasing the arm he had been holding with his right hand. With this sudden combination, the Dread Lord fell backward in surprise—but his reflexes were swift. As he fell, he grabbed Igris's right arm with his free hand and yanked him down.

  Igris crashed to the ground as well.

  The moment they hit the dusty earth, the Dread Lord rolled swiftly toward where his sword lay, opening distance between them. Snatching the weapon during the roll, he sprang back to his feet. Igris did the same, rolling in the opposite direction to create space before standing up and summoning his sword and shield from his inventory.

  Both warriors breathed heavily. Blood trickled from the Dread Lord's nose, staining his lips black. Igris glanced briefly at the dents in his armor with a wounded heart before focusing on his opponent again.

  Using aura had pushed both of them close to their physical limits. Their muscles burned, and their movements were beginning to slow.

  The Dread Lord cast a quick glance at the sky and saw that the darkness of night was beginning to descend. His bloodshot eyes returned to Igris. He now fully understood that Igris had been deliberately stalling him, buying time for reinforcements to arrive.

  Two difficult choices stood before him: remain here and gamble that his men would capture the twins and escape… or abandon everything and flee, facing the terrifying wrath of Lady Morathi afterward.

  The realization drove his anger to its peak, yet he had already accepted that the plan had failed. If he prolonged the fight any further, the elves would eventually surround him.

  While quickly forming an escape plan in his mind, he studied Igris with sharp eyes and asked calmly:

  "What is your name?"

  Igris hesitated for a moment. If there truly was cooperation between the Dark Elves and Sauron, hiding his name would have little meaning in the long run. It wasn't as if he feared anyone.

  But when he remembered the irritating scratches on his armor, his mood soured again, and he decided not to reveal it. Instead, he answered with a perfectly serious expression:

  "You know who I am."

  That mysterious and mocking answer was the final drop that overflowed the Dark Elf's patience. His eyes twitched wildly, and his face darkened with rage. He stabbed his sword into the ground and reached for his belt.

  Thinking another attack was coming, Igris immediately took a defensive stance—but the blow never came.

  Instead, the Dread Lord pulled a black whistle from his belt and blew it sharply. The shrill sound echoed through the desolate hills.

  As Igris watched in confusion, the Dread Lord pulled his sword from the ground and began retreating. Yet he never lowered his guard and never turned his back on Igris. With a voice full of hatred, he hissed:

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  "My name is Kaelith. Never forget it, rat! Sooner or later I will learn who you are… and when I do, I will repay today's humiliation a hundredfold!"

  Just as Igris was staring at him as if to say what the hell is this guy talking about?, he suddenly flinched at the sound of a powerful neigh echoing from the distance.

  He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the sky—and froze.

  Black Pegasus! That bastard is actually trying to escape!

  The moment Igris saw the grotesque creature approaching—gliding swiftly through the air with its skeletal brown head and bat-like wings—he wasted no time and sprinted toward the Dread Lord. Kaelith, however, had already begun running in the opposite direction, widening the distance between them. Gritting his teeth, Igris quickly assessed the situation.

  Damn it! I can’t let him escape. If he gets out of here alive, neither I nor anyone around me will ever be safe again!

  But the gap had already grown too large. Kaelith was about to reach his mount, and the winged beast was descending rapidly toward the ground. Just as the Dark Elf prepared to leap onto the creature’s back, he sensed movement behind him and instinctively glanced back.

  Kaelith’s eyes widened in shock.

  At the last moment he raised his shield and intercepted the one-handed axe Igris had hurled at him. Though the impact rattled him, the sight of his mount landing on the ground barely five meters away allowed him to breathe in relief. Yet at that very instant he noticed Igris lifting a spear high above his head with all his strength.

  Panic flooded Kaelith’s mind.

  NO!

  A heavy thud echoed through the darkness—followed by a shrill, agonized neigh.

  The spear Igris had thrown struck the Black Pegasus directly in the throat—the single key to Kaelith’s escape plan. The weapon pierced through its neck and burst out the other side. The monstrous horse collapsed to the ground with wide, shocked eyes, losing its balance and rolling toward its master.

  The Dark Elf leapt back quickly. For a moment he stared in disbelief at his fallen mount lying lifeless several meters away. But he had no time to mourn. Raising his shield in haste, he blocked Igris’s incoming sword strike as the dark knight rushed him.

  Igris met his opponent’s hatred-filled gaze with a mocking grin.

  “Where do you think you’re going? We were just about to cut the watermelon. You’re leaving too early.”

  Kaelith glared at him in fury. He had already realized that his chance to escape was gone.

  While Igris pinned his opponent in place, Ciri had not been idle. She had neutralized another enemy and swiftly slipped behind a rock for cover. With every shot, her mastery over the crossbow improved slightly. Yet when she glanced at the quiver leaning against the rock, she let out a deep sigh.

  Only six bolts remained.

  Just then she felt a sharp sting in her arm and involuntarily clicked her tongue.

  “TCH!”

  Lowering her head slightly, she looked at her arm and saw the freshly bandaged wound that had yet to stop bleeding. A moment of carelessness had cost her dearly: her arm had been grazed and the sleeve of her favorite shirt torn. A thin line of red blood slowly ran down her arm.

  She had already wrapped the wound in a bandage she always kept on her belt, but the bleeding showed no sign of stopping. Still, one thing reassured Ciri: she felt no numbness in the wound. That meant the Dark Elves’ poison had no effect on her body.

  Of course, that did not mean she was pleased with the situation.

  The Dark Elves possessed far sharper reflexes and far better marksmanship than she had anticipated. Looking down at herself, she counted two fresh tears in the legs of her trousers and three in her shirt. Fortunately, none of them had reached her skin—but seeing the miserable state of her clothes irritated her immensely.

  Fixing these will be such a pain… That guy definitely owes me a new set of clothes! she grumbled inwardly.

  Ciri shook her head slightly, gathering her thoughts as she observed the darkening sky and weighed the situation in her mind.

  I managed to hit eleven Dark Elves… some dead, some badly wounded…

  Her expression darkened further as she recalled the score.

  …Thirty-five bolts fired, and only eleven hit their targets.

  She sighed deeply and continued her analysis.

  Those two men could arrive here any moment… But it’s been more than twenty minutes since the last arrow was fired from the hill. The paralysis poison has probably finally taken hold of the twins. If the other elf is immobilized too, the enemies on the other slope must have already reached them. We have to do something—but what—

  Before she could finish the thought, a thunderous laugh echoed across the ambush site, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.

  When Ciri turned her head, she saw two riders approaching through clouds of dust. Bams?’s unmistakable voice thundered across the valley.

  “HAHAHAHA! FINALLY SOME FIGHTING!”

  Beside him, Do?an wore a weary expression as he drew his bow from horseback. As he released his arrow toward its target, he scolded his companion riding next to him.

  “Our surprise factor just got completely ruined because of your loud mouth, Bear-Strangler!”

  The arrow struck the targeted Dark Elf cleanly in the shoulder. Bams? paused for a moment as he realized the truth of Do?an’s complaint—but he hardly cared. With his usual shameless grin, he replied:

  “A true warior faces his enemy boldly and directly!”

  Do?an glanced at his friend, who could turn anything into philosophy, and answered with forced patience.

  “The element of surprise and setting ambushes are fundamental principles of the art of war. What you’re talking about has nothing to do with heroism!”

  While speaking, Do?an released another arrow and raised his leather shield in front of his face. Within seconds three Dark Elf arrows struck his shield with heavy thuds. Four more arrows embedded themselves into the shield of Bams? riding beside him.

  Yet neither warior slowed down. They continued driving their horses forward without hesitation.

  Watching them, Ciri stared silently for a moment. Then she sighed deeply and covered her face with one hand.

  “Men…”

  Rubbing her temples lightly, Ciri decided not to question the situation any further. Instead she raised her hands and began signaling.

  Do?an, holding his shield firmly before him like a barricade, followed Ciri’s gestures carefully. When she decisively pointed toward the summit of the hill behind her, Do?an understood immediately and turned to Bams?.

  “Brother! The lads we’re saving are on the opposite hill. I’ll take position next to this sister here! You take my shield and charge straight ahead—I’ll cover you from behind!”

  Upon hearing the plan, a huge childlike grin spread across Bams?’s face. Two more arrows struck his shield with dull thuds, yet he did not even flinch.

  “HAHAHA! NOW THAT’S MORE LIKE IT, BROTHER!”

  Spurring their horses, the two warriors thundered downhill at full speed, skillfully deflecting the rain of enemy arrows with their shields.

  Taking advantage of the chaos they created, Ciri immediately dashed out from behind the rock. She aimed her crossbow and fired, striking one of the Slaughterer Sisters directly in the chest. The moment the bolt struck, she threw herself back behind the rock.

  Barely a second later, four arrows sliced through the air where she had been standing.

  As Ciri reloaded her crossbow, she watched the two alps approaching rapidly.

  Just as they reached her, Do?an swiftly passed his own shield to Bams?. With only his bow in hand, Do?an straightened in the saddle and loosed seven arrows in rapid succession. The volley forced the Dark Elves into cover; one enemy died on the spot and two others were wounded.

  The Dark Elves, stunned by the sudden and effective assault, could no longer even raise their heads from their cover.

  Do?an slowed his horse and took position beside Ciri, while Bams? charged relentlessly toward the hill, gripping both shields at his sides.

  Do?an continued firing arrows without pause, forcing every Dark Elf who dared peek out—whether to the left, right, or directly ahead—to duck back into cover. Meanwhile Bams? urged his loyal horse Bora up the slope with all his strength. Against the arrows raining from all sides, he protected both himself and Bora with the shields like living armor. His arms and eyes moved with astonishing speed to block every incoming strike.

  Do?an, on the other hand, kept all ranged enemies targeting Bams? under pressure with a relentless rain of arrows, while deftly evading those aimed at himself with swift maneuvers.

  At the same time, the situation at the summit of the hill had become critical.

  Elrohir and Elladan were now completely unable to move due to the poison coursing through their veins. Their minds remained clear—they could still speak and move their eyes—but even turning their necks had become an impossible agony.

  Elrohir leaned against a hard rock, gritting his teeth. Across from him, Elladan was slumped against another stone, breathing in broken gasps. Both of their quivers were empty; their final arrows had long since been spent.

  As Elrohir bitterly reflected on how they had ended up in this situation, he could not help blaming himself. If he had not been struck down at the very beginning, his brother would never have lost focus and suffered such a severe wound.

  At the same time, he now realized how right his grandparents had been in their warnings about Dark Elves. These people were true masters of ambush and treacherous combat.

  They both understood that they would soon be captured—and they could already imagine the political chaos that would follow.

  Just as they were about to lose hope entirely, two Dark Elves emerged from the rocks behind Elrohir. These were Witch Elves serving under Morathi. Seeing the twins lying helpless, they breathed a sigh of relief and signaled to the units waiting below.

  As the Witch Elves hurried toward the twins to collect their prize, they spoke to each other.

  “At last we managed to package these two. We barely escaped Lady Morathi’s wrath.”

  The other nodded, listening to the sounds of fighting coming from below the hill.

  “Yes, but these cockroaches held out much longer than we expected. The plan almost blew up in our faces. The others are still dealing with enemies down there. We need to leave immediately.”

  “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Just as the two women bent down to hoist the motionless twins onto their shoulders, they suddenly froze.

  The sharp sound of pounding hooves echoed from between the rocks.

  Startled, they looked at each other in confusion.

  “What’s going on?”

  The other one merely shrugged, unable to give an answer. At that exact moment, a massive shadow burst into the air from the towering rocks on Elladan’s side.

  Bams? had arrived—almost as if he had dropped straight from the heavens—together with his loyal horse, Bora.

  The shields in Bamsi's two hands resembled a hedgehog due to the number of arrows embedded in them, yet Bamsi himself was completely unharmed. Bora, however, had sustained a few scrapes, and the poison had already begun circulating in the animal's blood. The poor creature was just minutes away from collapsing paralyzed.

  While the horse was still midair, Bams? assessed the situation within seconds. With a remarkable reflex, he leapt down from the saddle and crashed down like a hammer onto the Witch Elf beneath him. He slammed the edge of the shield in his hand into the woman’s head with such force that she staggered violently and was thrown sideways by the impact.

  Bams? did not stop.

  Spinning around himself like a raging storm, he hurled the shield in his hand like a spinning disk toward the other Witch Elf standing near Elrohir’s head. The second Elf, caught completely off guard, staggered backward as the shield struck her.

  Without wasting another moment, Bams? delivered a resounding slap across the first Witch Elf’s face. The crack of the blow echoed through the rocky terrain, and the Dark Elf reeled in utter shock from the force of it.

  Grabbing the woman by the arm, Bams? yanked her toward himself. With his other hand he seized her by the trousers, hoisted her into the air, and hurled her like a sack straight toward the other Witch Elf.

  This time the second Elf was ready. Regaining her balance quickly, she rolled sharply to the side and narrowly avoided the body of her sister flying toward her.

  The thrown Dark Elf slammed hard against a rock and collapsed to the ground. Meanwhile the other Witch Elf drew the short swords at her waist and lunged at Bams? with burning hatred.

  In response, Bams? hurled the second shield in his hand straight at her.

  The Witch Elf dropped low, sliding on her knees to avoid the incoming leather shield. It whistled past just above her head and crashed against the rocks behind her. At that very moment, Bams? moved with a single clean motion—drawing the blades at his right and left hips simultaneously—and launched a deadly counterattack.

  The Witch Elf who had slid forward on her knees sprang to her feet and swung her short sword in a horizontal arc. Bams? met the attack with one of his blades, parrying the strike, while his other sword descended in a diagonal vertical slash. The Witch Elf dodged to the side and escaped the blow, immediately countering with a horizontal strike of her own.

  The Witch Elf slid a short distance on her knees but wasted no time. She sprang back to her feet in a swift motion and swung her short sword in a wide horizontal arc. Bams? met the sudden strike with ease, raising his own blade to block it cleanly. In the same instant, he followed up with his other sword, delivering a sharp diagonal downward slash toward his opponent.

  The Witch Elf reacted with impressive agility, gliding sideways just in time to avoid the strike by a hair’s breadth. Without giving him a moment to breathe, she retaliated with a swift horizontal counterattack. Bams? stepped back and avoided the blow, then immediately surged forward again, slamming his shoulder hard into the elf without losing his momentum.

  The Dark Elf staggered backward as the impact disrupted her balance. Bams? gave her no chance to recover. He swiftly lashed out with a powerful kick aimed at her waist. With a pained cry, the elf collapsed to the ground and rolled several times from the force of the blow.

  Seizing the moment while his opponent was still down, Bams? leapt into the air. Raising both swords high, he brought them down simultaneously in a brutal vertical strike. Seeing the deadly attack descending upon her, the Witch Elf on the ground clenched her teeth against the pain and rolled to the side at the last possible moment, narrowly escaping the lethal blow.

  She struggled back onto her feet and once again assumed a fighting stance, breathing hard. By then the other Witch Elf had already come to stand beside her. The second elf clutched her injured head with both hands, glaring at Bams? with eyes burning with pain and deep hatred.

  As the two elves stood side by side, trying to regain their composure, Bams? looked at their shaken state and let out a mocking chuckle. Then, without giving them time to fully recover, he lunged forward once again to launch another counterattack.