Deep within the hill, the Orcs had hollowed out an enormous chamber.

It spiraled downward in a vast circular pit, layer upon layer like the coils of a monstrous beast.

Wooden staircases had been constructed to wind around the walls, interconnected with swaying rope bridges suspended over the yawning drop.

Countless Orcs trudged back and forth on these walkways, hauling soil and stone in an endless flow of labor.

Lairon and his men kept up the ruse as they ran, still shouting warnings of an Elven army, drawing worried glances but little suspicion.

No one seemed to notice that their stature was markedly taller and leaner than any Orc's.

Eventually, they reached the very bottom level.

There, in the flickering torchlight, they found hundreds of Orcs hacking and chiseling away at the exposed stone.

The rangers approached for a closer look—and what they saw stole the breath from their lungs.

Glistening beneath the firelight, the rock face was laced with silvery veins—interwoven patterns that shimmered like liquid moonlight.

Mithril.

The word rang silently in their minds, and every ranger stood frozen, their eyes wide with shock.

No one dared make a sound. Even the act of breathing suddenly felt sacrilegious.

Mithril—the most precious metal in all of Middle-earth.

More malleable than gold, harder than the finest steel.

Armor forged of Mithril was as light as cloth, yet unbreakable by conventional means.

To all peoples—Men, Elves, and Dwarves alike—Mithril was a treasure beyond measure.

The mighty Kingdom of Númenor and the Dwarven stronghold of Khazad-dûm (Moria) had both risen to immense wealth and power thanks to veins of this sacred metal.

They were among the most glorious kingdoms in the annals of Middle-earth—pinnacles of Dúnedain and Dwarven civilization.

And now…

These Orcs were mining Mithril.

Lairon crouched, chipped off a small shard of the silver vein, and tucked it away.

He exchanged glances with his men and gave a subtle nod.

Shhhk!

Steel sang as blades were drawn.

In a blur of motion, the rangers struck—cutting down the laboring Orcs with ruthless efficiency.

"RAAAH!"

"Enemies!"

Cries of alarm rang out, but the slaughter was already underway.

Without pausing, Lairon and the others dashed back up the winding staircase.

As they ran, they loosed arrows at the wall sconces, knocking down torches.

Flames spread instantly across the chamber's base, where sawdust, wood shavings, and drying timbers caught fire like kindling.

Panic erupted. The trapped Orc miners screamed and scrambled over each other, their shrieks echoing off stone walls as smoke choked the air.

"Stop them!"

Some Orcs grabbed weapons and gave chase, bellowing furiously.

From above, others tried to rush down and block their escape.

But in the narrow confines of the spiral staircases, the bulky Orcs had no chance against the swift and powerful Dúnedain.

One by one, they were shoved, toppled, and thrown screaming into the growing inferno below.

"Run! The fire's spreading!"

As the blaze consumed more of the lower levels, even the Orc guards abandoned pursuit.

Chaos engulfed the cavern.

Lairon and his rangers burst out of the cave's entrance, smoke trailing in their wake.

They looked toward the direction of the valley's entrance.

A massive host of Orcs—thousands strong—was charging their way.

"It worked!" someone gasped.

Excitement flared. Lairon raised his hand and gave the command,

"Blow the horn—we need to regroup with the others!"

They paid no mind to the fleeing, panicked Orcs, and Lairon blew the signal horn.

Woooooo~

Soon, an answering horn echoed from deep within the forest.

The rangers followed the sound, running through the woods in quick bursts.

At intervals, both groups sounded their horns again.

After nearly half an hour, they finally reassembled.

"Lairon, sir!"

From the shadows of the forest, eight surviving rangers emerged.

Lairon didn't need to ask—he could tell at a glance that the rest had fallen.

He drew in a deep breath and said quietly,

"We've done it. The enemy has pulled their forces from the entrance. His Majesty the King should be able to break through soon… and ignite the entire valley."

"We won't make it there in time, so now, our only task is survival. We need to find shelter before the fire reaches us."

Without another word, Lairon led the remaining rangers along a mountain stream, searching for a safe haven.

…

"RRAAGH! CURSED BASTARDS!"

A deep, thunderous voice erupted from within the burning cave beneath the hill.

An enormous Orc—muscular, monstrous, and crowned with crude iron—howled in fury.

Surrounding him, several Orc chieftains stood silent, heads bowed in fear.

One among them was the very same war-leader who had led the failed attack on Azure Spring Town not long ago.

Now defeated and disgraced, he had sworn fealty to the rising power in the north.

The truth was this—

In the northern and western reaches of Troll-woods, two Orcish tribes had once held equal strength.

But in recent years, the northern tribe had discovered a vein of Mithril.

Its power had surged as a result.

They had conquered smaller tribes, tamed stone trolls hidden deep within the woods, and begun their grand ambition—

To build a true Orc kingdom within the Troll-woods.

When the chieftain marched south to attack Azure Spring, he had borrowed troops from the northern Orcs.

After his crushing defeat, he submitted fully to the rising warlord—the self-proclaimed King of Orcs.

And thus, an Orcish kingdom was born.

Though they'd noticed Kaen building a stronghold in the southern woods, they chose to stay silent.

They had other plans—secrecy, growth, power.

But who could've foreseen that Kaen would strike first?

Before they had matured, before they were ready, he struck them a devastating blow.

Of course, at that moment, the Orcs still had no idea their attacker was Kaen.

To them, it couldn't be Kaen.

Even if his entire population fought, they didn't have the numbers.

There was only one possible answer—Elves.

The nearest and most powerful potential enemy were the Noldor Elves of Rivendell.

The Orc King roared again, his voice echoing through the woods.

He pointed toward the burning forest and gave the order:

"Scour the forest! Find them all! For every tree they burned, I'll make them bleed tenfold!"

With that, over ten thousand Orc warriors charged into the woods.

Even the trolls rumbled after them.

…

Near the valley's entrance, seventy rangers remained hidden within the treeline behind the fortress.

They had seen the Orc garrison pull back in droves, but they didn't act immediately.

Only after thirty minutes—when they were certain the main army had gone—did they blow the signal horn as planned.

Woooooo~

The battle horn echoed across the fortress.

Orcs atop the walls spun around, confused and alarmed.

From a high ridge to the fortress's left, Kaen heard the call.

He gave the order without hesitation.

"Shielded infantry in front! Spearmen and light cavalry behind! Archers, prepare to cover! We attack—now!"

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

A sudden storm of arrows rained down upon the fortress walls, catching the Orcs completely off guard.

"Ready—loose!"

"Ready—loose!"

Zakri led a hundred archers, firing volley after volley from the hillside.

Their arrows fell like death itself upon the disoriented defenders.

At the front, Caden led fifty heavy infantry, shields locked tight.

The front row held their shields before them, the middle row raised theirs overhead, forming a wall of steel—a moving fortress—pressing toward the gate.

Behind them, spearmen crouched in formation, shields up and weapons ready.

"ENEMY ATTACK!"

"WE'RE UNDER SIEGE!"

"LIGHT THE BEACONS!"

The Orcs panicked.

A commander bellowed orders, rallying archers to return fire and shouting to ignite the beacons.

One of the towers blazed into flame, casting its fiery glow across the entire valley.

In the forest, the Orc King, still in pursuit of Lairon's group, saw the flare and froze.

His expression twisted in horror.

He immediately called for a full retreat back to the fortress.

"Return! Return at once! We cannot lose the gate!"

…

Within the fortress's rear encampment, nearly a thousand Orc troops had remained behind.

Now, they too surged into the defense effort.

But none of them realized—until it was too late—

That a force of seventy rangers had appeared behind them.

Silently, like wraiths in the night.