Malphegor
patreon
LOTR: TMCP Ch. 188
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 00:21:30 +0000 UTCAfter confirming that there was nothing particularly urgent, the two elders departed and returned to their respective duties.
One went to the school, the other to oversee the farms.
Wayfort hadn't been established for very long, yet its population continued growing steadily, day by day.
Now, they could already muster a respectable-sized garrison.
And so, a military camp had been constructed.
On the training field, soldiers were focused on their drills, not a single one distracted or glancing elsewhere, their discipline was exemplary. So much so that when Garrett arrived, the first to notice him was a Ranger who happened to be resting nearby.
He greeted Garrett respectfully.
With this Ranger taking the lead, the others began to notice as well.
At a signal from a Ranger instructor, the soldiers immediately ceased what they were doing and assembled, forming neat ranks with impressive speed and precision. Then, in perfect unison, they straightened their backs, lifted their heads, and fixed their gaze forward, standing motionless as statues once positioned.
Garrett took a step forward.
Snap!
The soldier closest to him at the rear of the formation instantly pivoted in unison with the others and stepped aside, opening a clear path for him to pass through smoothly.
The movement was flawless.
As he continued forward, the soldiers ahead neatly moved aside, while those behind returned to their original positions as soon as he passed.
In this fluid choreography, he soon reached the very front without any obstruction.
When he turned to look back, the formation remained perfectly intact, unchanged in the slightest.
Seeing these disciplined soldiers, he couldn't help but nod approvingly.
"Well?" a Ranger instructor beside him asked.
"Good. Very good."
This was definitely training to the standards of a Rivendell guard unit.
The Rangers truly knew their craft, when they had something to teach, they taught it properly.
"As long as you're satisfied."
"But," one of the younger Ranger instructors added, "some things can't just be judged by appearances. Care to test these lads' skills? A few of them show real promise."
"Oh?"
Garrett's interest was piqued. He drew a steel sword from a nearby weapon rack and said, "Let's see then."
The young instructor smiled at him, then turned and called out, "Who wants to spar with our lord?"
Thud.
Several hundred soldiers stepped forward at once.
If even one of them had hesitated for half a second, the movement wouldn't have been so perfectly synchronized.
The instructor nodded in satisfaction and said to them, "Good. Even when faced with an opponent you cannot hope to match, not one of you hesitates."
"I hope when the opponent is a true enemy, you can maintain that same courage."
At these words, the soldiers stood even straighter.
No one spoke, but their stance made their attitude clear.
For the lord, without question!
Though at the moment, they did appear more eager to test themselves against the lord himself.
"Don't worry," a Ranger leaned over to tell Garrett. "We've held nothing back in our instruction. Every one of them knows at least the basic combat techniques. You don't have worry about them not being able to handle it, just fight freely."
"Mm. You've worked hard," Garrett replied, nodding, though he couldn't help feeling somewhat uneasy inside.
They had formal training, he didn't.
Because of his past experiences and nature, to him, combat only ever had two outcomes: Victory, or death.
When he struck, it was always with the intent to end a threat. If the opponent could withstand it, then they could exchange blows with him; if not, there was only one result, defeat.
Likewise, for him, enemies only came in two categories: those he could overcome, and those he couldn't.
As for fancy tactics or drawn-out skill demonstrations, rare. Very rare. Once against a barrow-wight, once against a Balrog, and for such supernatural foes, special abilities and equipment mattered far more anyway.
Shaking his head, he sighed.
No matter, he still had sword techniques to fall back on. Without using any of his truly lethal moves, just relying on dodging, blocking, and disarming would be enough to remain undefeated.
With a mindset of "We're all on the same side, no harm if I take a few hits," Garrett stepped forward against a young man said to be the fastest learner among the new recruits.
The soldier took a deep breath and gave Garrett a formal bow.
From the faint tremor in his arms, it was clear that the young man was far from calm.
"Come," Garrett said quietly.
The young soldier surged forward, swinging his sword.
Clang!
The blade was instantly deflected at a precise angle. The arm holding it was forced off to the side, and the young soldier himself staggered back a step.
When he regained his footing, cold sweat broke across his brow.
The lord still stood exactly where he had been, unmoved, but the soldier knew he had already lost.
In that brief exchange, had the lord wished it, his heart could have been pierced several times over.
The soldier attacked again. But no matter how he struck, the result was the same, if this were a real battlefield, and the lord a true enemy, he would have fallen the moment they crossed blades.
There was no opportunity at all.
Shaking his head, he bowed deeply to Garrett. "I am defeated!"
The brief demonstration ended. The Ranger instructors nodded, evaluating the young man's performance, while the other soldiers stole sidelong glances at the one who had volunteered to spar.
No one paid particular attention to Garrett, and no one was surprised at his casual, overwhelming victory.
To them, this was normal. Exactly as it should be.
There was no special reason, if one had to be given, it was simply because he was Garrett.
What they didn't know was that Garrett himself was surprised.
Because during that exchange, he hadn't used any sword techniques or special abilities at all, only pure, hard-earned combat skill and instinctive reaction.
"...Makes sense," he murmured, smiling as another soldier stepped forward to spar.
He realized he'd been too narrow in his thinking.
So-called combat skills existed to serve battle itself, and as for battle... In all of Middle-earth, how many instructors, generals, or leaders who taught soldiers their techniques had personally slain over ten thousand orcs?
Even compared to the Eldar, take Thranduil, king of the Woodland Realm and the most battle-hardened among them, his kills over six thousand years might not surpass Garrett's.
War was the finest training ground.
And because the companions he had fought alongside were all seasoned veterans, he had always felt, from start to finish, that he himself was nothing remarkable.
Gandalf and the other Istari hardly needed mentioning, their ages exceeded that of entire kingdoms.
Then there were the original dwarves from the start of the quest, except for Kíli and Fíli, every one of them was over two hundred years old, battle-scarred and seasoned from killing countless orcs. Though after the fall of Erebor many had turned to mending pots, cobbling shoes, or smithing to support their people.
There was also Halbarad, an experienced Ranger who lived every day on the frontier.
And beyond them, there were Bard, Thranduil, Dáin, Legolas from the Battle of Five Armies...
Every one of them was either a well-rounded warrior in every aspect or a master of some deadly specialty, each capable of extraordinary feats.
Perhaps years ago, when Garrett had first started out, he might have seemed unremarkable in comparison.
But now...
After the great war, everyone else had returned to their own affairs, busy with their work or keeping watch over their lands.
Only Garrett had never once stopped. His feet had never rested, and his sword had never ceased moving.
He was no longer the reckless newcomer of a few years ago.
Crash.
Another soldier fell to the ground in defeat, looking quite dejected.
One of the instructors who had been watching sighed, helped him up, and said, "If you want your lord to take you seriously, then keep training, at least make sure next time you seek his guidance, you don't let his mind wander."
That one remark pulled Garrett's thoughts back to the present.
...Oops. It seemed he might have damaged the new recruits' confidence.
Ahem.
He returned the steel sword to the rack and said, "You've done very well. Compared to me, the only thing you lack is real combat experience."
"When I first faced battle, I was far less capable than you, clumsy, panicked, and nearly lost my life."
"I believe that when the day comes that you truly need to raise your weapons against the enemy, you'll perform even better."
A few simple words, and immediately, the soldiers' morale lifted.
It didn't matter what was said, what mattered was that their lord had said it.
Garrett nodded, then noticed one soldier staring at him.
He immediately singled the man out and invited him to speak.
"I want to know what your first enemy was like."
"Oh, that?"
Garrett thought for a moment.
"It was a barrow-wight."
