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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 29
🕑 Added 2025-07-10 02:36:19 +0000 UTCActually, Garrett had always harbored an idea about the materials for a brewing stand.
Balrogs.
Blaze rods were always wreathed in flame, and so were Balrogs, so perhaps the materials dropped by such creatures could serve the same purpose...
Obsidian, diamonds, molten rock, Balrogs...
Where could one possibly find all these things in one place?
The Dwarves.
In dwarven territories, such materials would certainly not be in short supply.
Whether it was the dwarven settlements in the Blue Mountains, the great realm of Khazad-dûm in the Misty Mountains, or the Iron Hills, they were all built deep within the mountains, and where there were mountains, there were always precious minerals. With such resources naturally came advanced smelting and forging techniques.
Even if there was no natural lava, it could be artificially created using their equipment, that would solve the molten rock problem.
As for diamonds, dwarves had been delving underground for ages. They should have plenty in their vaults. As long as one was willing to pay the right price, acquiring them shouldn't prove difficult.
And then there was the Balrog... at this point in time, Khazad-dûm should be completely overrun by orcs, with the Balrog slumbering somewhere in the depths.
He wasn't eager to provoke that ancient evil just yet.
Though he had some preliminary strategies in mind, using water tactics, terrain manipulation, explosive devices, ranged combat, and so forth—what if none of those approaches worked? He'd be throwing his life away needlessly.
He simply didn't have enough countermeasures.
Suddenly, he thought of Smaug. That dragon could breathe fire, so perhaps materials from its body possessed fire-resistant properties?
He was becoming increasingly intrigued by this dragon.
Whether it was the Balrog, the dragon, or even his current phase of development, everything pointed to one conclusion: dwarves.
It seemed he had no choice but to make a journey to dwarven lands.
He opened his map and studied the dwarven territories.
The Iron Hills were too distant, the Lonely Mountain harbored a dragon, and Khazad-dûm was infested with orcs. That made the Blue Mountains the most practical choice.
If he remembered correctly, this was the era when Thorin and the dwarves of Durin's line dwelt there in exile. Visiting them while traveling westward seemed like an excellent plan.
Surely he wouldn't miss them this time?
He was rather curious to see what this fallen dwarven prince looked like in his current circumstances.
Beyond that, he was also quite envious of dwarven craftsmanship. If he could unlock the techniques for dwarven-forged items, it would prove invaluable, after all, dwarven smithing was renowned throughout Middle-earth.
But such matters would have to wait.
Recently, he remained busy with developing his own territory.
This period had been both hectic and rewarding.
During the day, he would mine relentlessly, half the time excavating iron, the other half quarrying stone, replenishing his supply of ore and building materials. When his inventory was full, he'd return home, unload everything, and venture out to mine again, repeatedly.
At night, he would smelt ores in batches while also reinforcing the previously hastily constructed sections of wall. While working, he'd also tend to the animals, feed them, and occasionally harvest crops when the fields were ready.
The satisfaction of constantly having productive work, and seeing resources visibly accumulate through his efforts, it was genuinely addictive.
Once the walls were fully reinforced and the warehouse was filling up again, he constructed a smithy in the industrial district, installing the anvil, crafting table, and other workstation equipment.
This was the first proper building in his territory aside from the main keep.
After completing the smithy, Garrett, finding himself momentarily idle, took a stroll around his stronghold and happened to glance toward the forest where he had previously annihilated an orc war-band.
The area remained pockmarked with craters from explosive damage, quite an unsightly mess.
After considering the matter, he decided it was too ugly to leave in such condition, so he gathered dirt and stone and went to level the terrain. As for the massive stone pillar that had once stretched skyward, he had demolished that long ago, it had been an eyesore jutting up like that.
Speaking of elevated platforms, he suddenly remembered something else he hadn't tested yet.
Water landing.
That was a technique he still hadn't attempted.
Without hesitation, he returned to his territory, constructed a tall platform, and placed a small pool of water beneath it. Then he dragged a wild boar to the top, and gave it a firm push.
"Squeal!"
The boar squeaked as it took the shove, lost one HP, and flailed its little legs helplessly as it plummeted.
Then, splash, it landed in the water pool, didn't even stumble, and immediately bounced up, trotting around full of energy.
Water landing: successful!
He spread his arms wide and executed a dramatic leap from the platform. The wind rushed against his face, making his clothes flap loudly.
Splash!
Not even a single point of HP lost.
"Nice!"
Standing up from the water, he felt thoroughly exhilarated.
From that day forward, he added a new training exercise to his routine: practicing water bucket deployment, releasing water from a bucket at the precise moment of landing to negate fall damage.
In the blink of an eye, half a month passed.
---
"Whoa! Speed 14!"
One day, Garrett was feeding golden carrots to his two swiftest horses as usual. This time fortune smiled upon him, a foal with a top speed of 14 meters per second was born from two 13.5 m/s parents.
Crossing that speed threshold officially qualified it as a superior mount. His mobility had reached an entirely new level.
After half a month of development, the ranch was now thriving. It no longer resembled the sparse operation it had been with just a couple of cattle and pigs.
At this point, there was not only a healthy population of chickens, cattle, and swine, even the preserved meat was accumulating in full storage chests.
Still, when he surveyed the ranch, he felt something was absent.
What was it...? Ah, of course, sheep!
"How could I forget that?"
Though, to be fair, he hadn't really required sheep. He wasn't short on food, and wool served little purpose beyond carpets and bedding.
No demand, no production.
Still, due to a touch of perfectionism, he decided to acquire two sheep on his next expedition anyway.
The timing seemed appropriate.
His territory was flourishing, and there wasn't much construction remaining. It was time to venture forth again, to seek new opportunities.
But before departing, he opened his mineral storage and examined the rows of iron blocks within, extracting more than a dozen stacks. Then he went about placing them strategically throughout the territory.
And one by one, iron golems awakened to life.
Before long, over two hundred iron golems were patrolling the perimeter, on the walls and below them.
Two hundred sounded substantial, but distributed across the entire defensive line, it wasn't overwhelming.
Each golem had its designated patrol route. They didn't wander about interfering with normal activities within the territory. They only coordinated in response to threats.
With this army, even if an orc horde numbering in the thousands appeared next time, he no longer needed to worry about his stronghold's security.
Defense was now assured.
After deploying the golems, Garrett turned his attention, and his blade, toward the chicken coop.
Moments later, his inventory contained two full stacks of feathers. The chicken coop, meanwhile, was half empty, but would soon fill again with chicks hatched from the mountain of eggs he'd already collected in storage.
With the poultry culling completed, he went to the warehouse and rummaged about, eventually gathering just enough flint to make one full stack, remnants from his mining operations.
At this point, his intentions were obvious.
Arrows.
After previous battles, he had fully embraced the principle that "range equals advantage." Even if he didn't end up using them, it never hurt to carry additional combat supplies.
He crafted four stacks of arrows, then retrieved 16 gold ingots to forge two golden apples.
Another emergency resource at his disposal.
Golden apples, combined with lembas, would make him extraordinarily resilient for crucial moments.
"I wonder if the elves would like this stuff..." he mused, examining the golden apples in his inventory. He decided that on his next visit to Rivendell, he'd bring one as a gift for Erestor.
Unfortunately, he'd only been able to create two, he'd used most of his gold crafting golden carrots for his horses. His reserves were stretched thin.
Far too thin.
At that moment, he began considering the trolls again. But constantly raiding them for treasure wasn't a sustainable long-term strategy.
"If only I had a gold mine…"
Travel, as always, called to him unexpectedly. Somehow, long journeys and exploration had become his new way of life.
With his inventory full of supplies and emergency equipment, he chose a bright morning, led out the swiftest horse from the stable, fitted it with saddle and barding, and set off on his next adventure.
Westward, to the Blue Mountains!
