Malphegor
patreon
LOTR: TMCP Ch. 290
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 04:58:17 +0000 UTCThe hot wind blew against hair streaked with black and white.
On the tall tower behind Garrett, Bard lowered the massive bow nearly as tall as a man, took a deep breath, and steadied his rapidly beating heart.
Under Garrett's double thumbs-up of approval, pride lit up his face.
In that moment, the former heir of Dale's lordship, Bard the Bowman, seemed to return to his youth. Once again he was the archer whose skill even the Elves had praised, showing not the slightest decline.
But along with that pride came a small sigh of relief.
"My friend, at last I could be of help to you this time, even if only in some small way..." he muttered softly, then turned toward another watchtower and raised his voice to shout:
"How many points do you think that shot's worth, Bain?"
Recognition won, the old father's first instinct was to boast to his stubborn son. And Bain was clearly taken aback.
Wait, could it even be done like that?
"...Alright, forget about points. This round, you win!"
This time he was utterly convinced, so much so that he unconsciously slipped into formal speech before his own father.
"You've still got a lot to practice."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right."
Bain's face showed helpless resignation.
Looking at the old man who remained the same role model as ever, he suddenly smiled.
Yes, someone worth learning from.
A true warrior faces flowing blood and cruel reality.
Even when confronted by a terrifying foe nearly as unstoppable as a natural disaster, if its target is something he wishes to protect, he will stake his life, embracing the thought of either you die or I do.
That is what makes him like a true leader.
Whether it be a dragon or a Balrog, or even if one day he must face Sauron at the height of his power... or some being darker and stronger than Sauron himself, he would still step forward without hesitation to stand against it, even if only to march bravely toward death.
Fortunately, the chances of such things happening were not high.
Beneath the city walls, Garrett's eyes swept across the cascading system prompts, then turned toward the Balrog's corpse.
This creature had dropped quite a few items.
Garrett crouched down and first picked up a lump of crimson-black flame still flickering on the Balrog's body.
[Flame of Udûn]
This was the item Sauron had used to summon the Balrog.
Udûn meant the underworld; calling it the Flame of the Underworld wouldn't be wrong.
The flame burned without fuel, floating in midair, solid yet granular, its temperature only slightly higher than ordinary firewood flames. Direct contact would surely scald, but thankfully it could be stored in his inventory.
No matter how hot, once inside the inventory it behaved.
Aside from a collection of Flames of Udûn, the Balrog dropped little of real use. Its body, skin, claws, wings, tail, bones, were not particularly strong materials and had little value.
Only the head looked intimidating enough to be worth turning into a trophy.
Still, though the loot was sparse, there was much that could be crafted.
The Flame of Udûn had other uses too. According to the crafting recipes, it could be fused with iron to create a new alloy, Blazing Ingots.
Normally, this was something only another creature, the Blaze, dropped directly, and couldn't be crafted at all.
But it seemed the Balrog's dark fire, the undying Flame of Udûn, shared certain properties with that metal, and so the recipe was created outright.
One lump of Flame of Udûn could be forged into one Blazing Ingot, and the Balrog just now had dropped five in total.
That was the charm of the Looting enchantment.
No matter how many there were originally, you could always obtain a few more.
Five lumps of Flame of Udûn, enough to fully upgrade a set of netherite armor, with one left over.
Aside from forging Blazing Ingots, this flame could also be affixed to a weapon, granting it a new trait similar to Fire Aspect enchantment.
But there was no need, none at all. Better to keep it as a memento.
After collecting the spoils, Garrett dragged the Balrog's corpse away, lest it terrify the townsfolk.
So it ended up deposited by the roadside, dead like some insignificant creature.
"Hey, Thorin!"
On his way back, Garrett waved up at the city wall.
"Glad to see everything ended well."
Thorin came over and embraced him.
"Remarkable, I saw it all. That Balrog was no match for you."
"You don't know, when it came, I felt as though the sky went dark. My vision was filled with a haze of red fire; I couldn't even make out your figure. I've no idea how that father and son managed to aim..."
"This also reminded me, if we'd reinforced Erebor's main gate earlier, it never would have escaped, never would have reached the city wall."
"Hahaha." Garrett let out a laugh, its meaning hard to read, tinged with both awkwardness and resignation.
A faint unease stirred in Thorin.
Then Garrett continued, "As for that matter, I believe you'll have plenty of time to work on it, yes, the whole of Erebor. Honestly, don't you think the original construction was a bit outdated? The inns, the markets, the forges, the great hall... all in use for nearly two centuries now. A renovation wouldn't hurt, don't you think?"
"You're not wrong... but the fact they lasted so long proves how sturdy they are. Wait a moment..."
Halfway through his words, Thorin suddenly realized something.
He looked at Garrett, who turned his eyes away.
At this point, the Dwarves still didn't know that two vigorous combatants had already "renovated" Erebor into a war-torn ruin.
Not only the inside, but outside was a complete mess.
The nearby rivers had evaporated, the trees were scorched black, Erebor's great gate was still smoking.
Boom!
The great bell above came crashing down, the impact making Thorin wince.
The moment the Balrog's death was certain, the Dwarves burst into joy, celebrating the mighty deed.
Some, emboldened, drew close to examine the terrifying corpse up close; others crowded around Garrett with cheers; still others ran straight to the taverns to drink and revel.
It was a scene of festive triumph.
Only Thorin and the other leaders hurried back to Erebor at once. They stood, looking upon their home, shattered from top to bottom, and fell into silence.
"They must have fought fiercely."
Glóin muttered his verdict.
Balin shrugged in agreement: "Yes. Erebor may be in worse shape than Khazad-dûm."
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd think the Balrog fought a dragon..."
Fíli scratched his head, then glanced at Thorin, who was bowing his head, eyes shut, rubbing his temples. "So what do we do now?"
"What else can we do?"
Thorin's voice trembled slightly.
He drew a deep breath, then suddenly spread his hands.
"Come on. Let's go for a drink."
"And here?"
"We'll deal with it tomorrow!"
"...Alright."
