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

Chapter 183 The Battle of the Black Gate (Part 8)

"The forces of the Golden Tree and the rangers of Dúnedan fought side by side at the Black Gate, tenaciously resisting the massive army that Mordor had sent out."

This astonishing news, like seeds carried by the autumn wind, spread to every corner of Middle-earth within three months.

From the court of Gondor to the city of Dale at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, from the Woodland Kingdom in Mirkwood to the Valley of the Dead, kings, generals, and commoners alike were all talking about this unprecedented alliance and the fortress that stood firm against the black tide.

During these three months, the Black Gate was constantly bathed in blood and fire.

The Orc army, like a relentless, turbid tide, launched a relentless and frenzied attack on Blackgate Fortress, one wave after another.

The corpses piled up like mountains beneath the city walls, almost level with the crenellations, and the air was always thick with the stench of blood and the smell of gunpowder.

Fighting became the entirety of the defenders' lives; the whistling of arrows, the clash of weapons, and the dying cries became the familiar sounds.

Talion numbly pulled his longsword from an orc's chest once more, thick black blood dripping from the hilt onto the dark red stone bricks beneath his feet.

He was breathing heavily, his arms trembling slightly from the continuous chopping, and sweat and blood mixed together and slid down his forehead.

Three months of relentless fighting had left this seasoned captain of the rangers with a deep-seated exhaustion.

Just as he wiped away the bloodstains in front of him, his gaze involuntarily turned to the Golden Tree position on the other side of the city wall.

The golden tree flag, still fluttering in the smoke of battle, brought a flicker of amazement to his weary eyes.

The Rodel soldiers maintained their disciplined formation, their massive tower shields reflecting a steady golden light in the sunlight, and their spears rhythmically thrusting out from between the shields, each time precisely reaping the Orc lives that had climbed the battlements.

Tanes, Melina, and Millison, just the three of them, withstood an attack by a thousand Orc soldiers and defended the section of the city wall that had been stained black with the Orc's filthy blood.

Tanes and Milison stood guard on the left and right sides of the city wall respectively. In order to maintain their condition for a long battle, Tanes did not hold a shield in his left hand. Instead, he held a short axe that looked like a priest's axe, while his right hand held a very well-made one-handed sword with some of its blade made of azure sapphire.

As the first Orc roared and charged up the ramparts, the sapphire on the blade of his one-handed sword blazed with a blinding white light. With a clean, decisive forward slash from Tanes, a fan-shaped burst of flame roared forth.

The three Orks at the forefront were instantly engulfed in flames. Their rough leather armor burned fiercely like rags soaked in oil, emitting piercing screams, and the stench of burning flesh immediately filled the air.

Immediately afterwards, Tanes swung his left-hand priestly axe upwards at a precise angle, the blade gleaming as it drew an arc in the air.

An orc attempting a flanking attack had its rusty knife precisely parried by a short axe, the blade then slicing into its shoulder blade. Surprisingly, not much blood gushed from the wound; instead, the orc collapsed to the ground as if all its strength had been drained.

Then a strange phenomenon occurred: several thin, translucent, azure-blue ribbons rose from the ruins of the Orcs, which had been completely burned by the flames.

As if drawn by an invisible force, they glided lightly through the billowing smoke and flowed into Tanes's axe-wielding right arm. He took a deep breath and could clearly feel the magic power he had just used to unleash a combat technique being subtly but definitely replenished.

The Sacrificial Axe and the Sword of Night and Fire are the reasons why Tanes chose to abandon his shield and adopt this unique fighting style. The Sword of Night and Fire's own fire-attribute area-of-effect combat skill is normally suitable for clearing out these close-range Orc minions, while its other attached skill, "Night Comet," can accurately destroy the catapults that pose a great threat to the city walls from afar.

The reason Tanes can use combat skills for a long time is not only because of the Kalia badge he wears, which reduces the magic power consumption of combat skills, but also because the Sacrifice Axe can draw magic power from the bodies of the enemies he kills and feed it back to Tanes.

Another Ok centurion charged in, wielding a heavy mace.

Tanes neither dodged nor evaded, but met the attack head-on with his sword of night and fire. At the moment the hammer and sword clashed, a scorching wave of air erupted from the point of impact, and the Octavian was forced back several steps, only to find in horror that the tip of his mace had turned red-hot.

Tanes gave it no chance to catch its breath, stepping forward, feinting with his short axe in his left hand to attract attention, while thrusting his longsword in his right hand like a venomous snake.

The moment the sword tip touched the Ock-Ciulion's tattered breastplate, blazing crimson flames erupted once more, completely igniting the massive body, while another thin, azure ribbon drifted into Tanes's body.

Behind him, Melina timely cast a healing prayer for Tanes with the golden tree, the girl's hands radiating a healing golden light, repairing his inevitable minor wounds.

As the Orks howled and climbed the section of the city wall guarded by Millison, the figure of the Crimson Swordswoman flickered between the crenellations, her Seishir Curved Sword transforming into a flowing silver light.

The first Oc had barely poked its head out when the blade tip was already precisely positioned on its Adam's apple. Before it could even scream, it fell backward, leaving a trail of black blood.

The second Orc leaped onto the city wall, shield raised. Millison dodged his charge, her longsword piercing beneath the shield like a viper, penetrating the leather armor and finding the heart with pinpoint accuracy. She withdrew her blade, turned, and the Orc collapsed to the ground.

Every movement of hers was extremely concise, with no unnecessary swings or wasted force.

The third Orc charged, wielding a battle axe. She merely leaned back slightly, her longsword flashing upwards in a graceful arc, precisely severing the Orc's axe-wielding wrist. In the instant the Orc stiffened from the excruciating pain, a swift backhand slash sliced ​​across the Orc's neck.

As two more Orcs lunged at her from the left and right, Millison didn't retreat but instead charged forward. Her Seishl curved sword flashed past the neck of the enemy on her left, while she spun like a whirlwind, the blade using the momentum to slice through the waist and abdomen of the enemy on her right. Only when she emerged from between them did the two Orcs fall one after the other.

Each strike was accompanied by splattered black blood, and each fallen corpse became an obstacle for those who followed. Millison moved lightly among the piles of corpses, her breathing steady and normal, her golden eyes calmly scanning the edge of the city wall, anticipating every enemy who tried to climb up.

Occasionally, an Oc might manage to dodge the first attack, but he would never have the chance to launch a second attack.

Millison's finishing blows were lightning fast; her Seschel curved sword, whether stabbing or tapping, always precisely found the gaps in the armor or pierced straight through the peephole in the visor.

In less than fifteen minutes, a small mound made of Orc corpses had been piled up in front of the section of the city wall she was stationed on.

New arrivals to the orcs must first crawl over the corpses of their companions before they can face her, and this process often becomes their final journey.

Millison stood atop the mound of corpses, composed and unperturbed. Black blood droplets slid down the blade of Seshel's longsword, as if the massacre just moments before was nothing more than casually brushing away a few fallen leaves.

(End of this chapter)