I reforged the glory of the magic ring in Middle-earth

Chapter 123 Orog Ogre

A week later, north of the Misty Mountains.

The Blue Mountain Dwarf Alliance led by Thráin was marching in a mighty manner. Thráin stood on the ridge, his steel boots crushing the snow.

Behind him, the battle flag of the Blue Mountain Dwarf Alliance rolled in the cold wind like red magma.

Although the dwarves were badly hurt after the Battle of Darkbrook Vale a hundred years ago, they now responded to the call of Thrain and the royal family of Durin and gathered here again.

The light infantry marched briskly in the foremost ranks of the dwarven coalition, clad in light mail overlaid with bright silver scales, their hatchets and round shields clashing at their waists.

The heavy infantry phalanx followed closely behind, like a mobile fortress, clad in heavy plate armor and armed with huge battle axes and long-handled hammers. These veterans in plate armor had the upper parts of their hammers and long-handled axes wrapped in oiled linen so they could be ignited at any time and thrown on the ground to create a simple wall of fire.

Eight hundred war sheep riders surrounded Thráin as he advanced. Like the war sheep of Dain's Iron Hills, these sheep possessed sharp horns and wore heavy iron armor. The dwarven riders on their backs roared war songs in Dwarven with great enthusiasm. The songs blended with the muffled thud of the sheep's hooves on the rocks, creating a magnificent symphony.

Dwarven chariots roared in the center of the column, sharp spears protruding from between their bronze-clad wheels. Dwarven archers stood on the chariots, ready to rain arrows to support their allies and strike down the enemy.

Each chariot was also pulled by six war sheep, and the sound of the wheels rolling in the rocks was like a giant beast grinding its teeth.

The siege troops at the rear pushed detachable catapults and crossbow carts, which were gifts prepared by Serai for the heavy gates and rock walls of Lonely Mountain.

Thráin watched with agitation as the Dwarven army responded to his call. He raised his battle axe, and the cold light reflected from the axe blade pierced the thick fog. From time to time, he shouted loudly: "Show Azog that the rage of Durin's blood has never been extinguished!"

The dwarves responded to their king by clashing their shields, the sound shaking the heavens.

Dain's letter for help landed in the dwarf camp at dawn the next day.

The pigeon's right wing was nearly ripped off by an Orc's arrow, and it fell beside Thrain's campfire, the blood from its beak staining the parchment letter red and brown.

When Thrain used his battle axe to cut the string that bound the letter, a drop of turbid blood slid down the axe blade and smashed a dark red pit in the snow.

The other dwarf princes rushed over after hearing the news. After reading the letter, Thrain threw it to the princes.

Thráin's healed eyes were bloodshot in the firelight, and his iron gloves crushed the pewter cup in his hands as he spoke the contents of the letter: "Dain is trapped in Lake-town... Azog's bastards ambushed him and then bit his army's heels."

An ill-tempered Dwarf lord seized his warhammer, his red beard bristling with rage, and roared, "If Dain sheds a drop of blood, the Orcs will pay it back with a lake of blood!"

Another Dwarf lord who had experienced the Darkbrook Valley also shouted loudly: "Dain's injury is a shame to Durin's clan! Let those Orc bastards see the wrath of the Dwarves!"

"Yes! That's right!"

"We can't go any slower!"

"What are you waiting for? Leave the baggage behind! Let the chariots lead the way! If we don't get out of this Ghost Mist Gorge in three days, I'll feed my beard to the wolves!"

After reading Dain's letter for help, the other dwarf lords also became excited, and their angry voices due to their concern for Dain echoed in the camp.

Thrain stepped into the campfire, his boots crushing the firewood. "Pass the order! Light infantry, remove your armor. Heavy infantry, discard your shields. Feed the war sheep double the sulfur beans! Reach the pass before sunset. Anyone who dares delay..."

The most irascible dwarf prince took over Thráin's words and said, "I will personally beat him into copper on the anvil!"

"Enough! Calm down!" A calm lord knocked his shield hard with the handle of his axe, and the noise drowned out the quarrel among the dwarf lords.

Then he came to Thrain's side, pressed his shoulder armor and said loudly: "Calm down, Thrain! Have faith in Dain! He will hold on in Lake-town. After all, Durin's ancestor's molten iron flows in his veins, not the ichor of Orcs! It is we who should be worried now! It is you, on the other hand, who are too impatient! You dared to let our warriors abandon their armor and shields! That's Azog! If Dain could be attacked, it means we might too!"

Thrain was briefly startled by the other's roar, but then he calmed down, a look of shame on his face. "You are right, brother. I was worried that Dain would be captured by Azog and suffer the same inhumane treatment as me. And I was so eager for revenge that I lost my composure."

The dwarf lord nodded, pressed Thrain's shoulder armor again, said sorry to him, and retreated.

"Are we just going to let it go like this? Just watch Dain fall into crisis and do nothing?" said the irritable dwarf lord dissatisfiedly.

"How is that possible?" Thrain immediately shook his head. After a moment's thought, he decisively ordered, "Those chariots, ballistae, and catapults will be needed in the assault on Lonely Mountain. We can't abandon them. The terrain of this damned Misty Mountains is so rugged, it severely slows down our march. Therefore, if we want to quickly support Dain, we can only send the War Sheep Knights, whose movements are not affected by the terrain. Then, you will lead all the War Sheep Knights, take a shortcut, and immediately head to Lake Town to support Dain."

The man Thráin was referring to was the irascible dwarven lord.

The other party did not hesitate. After a simple salute to Thrain, he took Thrain's token and his war hammer and went to find the leader of the War Sheep Knights.

Thráin turned his gaze away from the other man and looked toward the mist-shrouded mountain pass. "We will also set out, but beware of Azog's ambush. Let us show that cursed orc scum that the Dwarf's war song is about to rip his skull off!"

a few days ago.

Azog hunched his back, his eyes fixed on the map of the Misty Mountains.

The hook of its severed hand scratched the parchment, piercing a hole at the pass. "When Thrain receives Dain's plea for aid, his army will rush in here like rutting mountain goats... and I will soak every grain of sand with their blood."

Thirty Orlog ogres were chained deep in the cave. Their skin looked as if cast in sulfuric acid, and their gray-black wrinkles were covered with iron armor forged by Orc craftsmen.

These monsters, which are five meters tall, are war machines specially cultivated by the Dark Lord Sauron, and are also the gift prepared by Azog for Thráin.

Not only these Olog ogres, Azog also brought many normal-sized ogres to Thrain.

When ambushing Dain earlier, Azog did not send out these ogres because the environment on Lonely Mountain was not suitable for the appearance of ogres.

Because the troll cannot see the sunlight, if he sees the sunlight he will turn into a stone.

The Misty Mountains are shrouded in thick fog all year round, preventing sunlight from reaching the ground, making them a natural lair for trolls.

Back in the present day, the trolls were huddled in the natural caves on either side of the pass, while the Orc archers crouched in caves higher up. Their arrowheads were soaked in a poison that didn't kill instantly, but it caused the wounded to ulcerate and wail for three days, damaging their morale.

When the first mists came over the mountain passes, the Orcs who controlled the Orog trolls burned their eyelids with branding irons.

The Olog ogre woke up in severe pain, and the sound of his armor clashing was like a morning bell ringing in hell.

The orcs controlling them pointed to the swirling gray fog outside the cave and roared in the black tongue: "The sun is your god of death! But now, here you are the god of death!" While the dwarf coalition led by Thrain was on guard against ambushes and was about to encounter orcs and trolls, Azog was elsewhere in the Misty Mountains.

It was in the underground goblin kingdom and originally wanted to hire these goblins to cause trouble for Thrain, but it found that their king, the fat goblin, was already dead.

Azog himself was on the other side of the Misty Mountains, in the underground Goblin Kingdom that Thorin and his companions had passed through when they crossed the Misty Mountains.

Azog's hook scraped across the moss on the Goblin Kingdom's cave wall, stirring up a trail of dark green slime. This lair, hidden deep within the Misty Mountains, was now filled with the stench of rotting flesh and mold.

Countless goblin corpses were slowly rotting in this huge dungeon, and the corpse of the Goblin King lay under the throne, his head pierced by an arrow, his face frozen in fear, and another of Aegon's arrowheads stuck between his yellow teeth.

Azog showed a cunning smile on his face, and picked up the king's broken crown with the tip of his hook without any disgust. His pale face was like a ghost in the dim underground cave.

Since these goblins have no king, it must take advantage of this and make the goblins obey its orders.

Azog deliberately lowered his voice, but it resonated deeply in the hearts of the surviving goblins: "Look! Your king died like a slug. And the murderer, Thorin Oakenshield, is somewhere laughing and chatting with his compatriots right now!"

Thousands of goblins huddled in the shadows and sobbed, their emerald green eyes flickering in the darkness like a group of frightened fireflies.

After losing their king, these humble creatures are only smart enough to tell whether a mushroom is poisonous or not. The tragic situation in the throne room and the arrival of Azog have thrown them into complete chaos.

A bold goblin guard climbed forward, pointing his claws at the dark space beneath the throne. "It was that sorcerer! He used his magic to collapse the exit... We can't catch up... Otherwise, he would have avenged our king!"

Azog's eyes narrowed suddenly. He knew that the "human who knows witchcraft" referred to Tanes.

The wizard who suddenly appeared beside the dwarf and caused him to lose an entire group of elite wolf riders.

Azog's cunning expression remained unchanged. Then he plunged the iron hook into the guard's shoulder blade and lifted him into the air. "Want revenge? Want to use Thorin's intestines as a noose?"

"Yes! We can't wait to eat those dwarven scum alive!!"

Pain became the best catalyst, and the goblin guard struggled and shouted.

Azog shook off the injured guard and strode onto the throne. He pretended to mourn for the dead Goblin King for a few seconds, then shouted to the Goblins, "Then take your poison arrows and sharp blades and follow me to Lonely Mountain! I will make you pull out the dwarves' beards one by one and stuff them into their nostrils!"

The cave was boiling. The goblins' brains were simpler than mushrooms, and they directly believed Azog's words.

The goblins brandished rusty knives and short bows, and foul-smelling saliva dripped from their fangs.

Azog raised his hook again and roared, "To Raven Hill and Riverdale! Those are the places the dwarven scum who killed your king will surely go to! To occupy every brick and every crack!"

Incited by the words, thousands of goblins began to enter the underground caves like a tide of cockroaches as Azog said, and rushed towards Raven Ridge and Valley Town.

Azog looked at the goblins he had deceived, grinning fiercely into the void: "Thorin Oakenshield, do you think you can retake the Lonely Mountain? No, the Lonely Mountain is a furnace, and you dwarves are the firewood!"

Meanwhile, on the other side.

Thrain's host entered the pass where the Orcs had ambushed them. The cliffs on either side rose high into the clouds, and the mist was thick as a wall.

The first to suffer were the light infantry.

Although the dwarf soldiers remained vigilant under Thrain's orders, the smog provided too much convenience for the Orcs.

Out of the mist came the poisoned arrows of the Orcs, whose venom made those struck cry out in agony.

But the dwarves who were shot by arrows did not wail. The wounded soldiers in the front row lit torches directly to disperse the haze, and used their last strength to rush towards the crevice where the orcs were hiding.

Amid the stench of burning flesh and blood, the heavy infantry stepped over the corpses of their compatriots who had died heroically and skewered the orcs that were exposed in the crevices of the rocks.

"Ballistol volleys! Clear the clifftops on both sides!"

Thráin shouted, his axe pointed high into the air.

After the haze was partially dispelled by the flames, he immediately noticed that there were indeed ambushes of Orc archers on the cliffs on both sides.

Thirty crossbow carts fired at the same time. What they shot out were not ordinary crossbow arrows, but iron chain nets. These iron chain nets were wrapped in burning asphalt and rose into the air, sticking to the Orc archers on the cliff and turning them into fireballs that fell down.

The war cries of the Dwarfs reached a crescendo as Thrain's axe split the skull of a third Orc.

The torches and oil cans of the lightly armed soldiers drew crimson arcs through the mist, turning the crevice where the Orcs hid into a furnace.

The heavy infantry's shield wall was like a moving anvil, cooperating to cut down the charging wolf cavalry.

Several chariots rolled through the enemy ranks, with seven Orc corpses skewered on their rams, and their spear-tipped wheels kept squeezing the Orcs, making a sticky sound of minced meat.

After the brief panic caused by the initial attack, the dwarves gradually gained the upper hand by relying on their own coordination and combat capabilities.

Victory seemed within reach, until the earth began to tremble.

When the first ogre broke through the wall of fog, the dwarves thought the mountain had collapsed.

The five-meter-tall black iron mace swept across, and the heavy infantry in the front row flew away like dead leaves.

Those plate armors made of fine iron were like paper in the face of absolute strength. The upper body of a dwarf was still embedded in the shield, while his lower body had been trampled into a meat paste.

"It's a ogre!!"

The dwarf soldiers in front screamed again, and the normal-sized ogres rushed out from the caves where they were hiding, waving thick sticks and relying on their size advantage to ravage the dwarves.

(End of this chapter)