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Middle-earth Adventure Journal! - 38
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 18:39:55 +0000 UTCChapter 38: The Nazgûl
Even though Gimli wore long chainmail that covered his knees, his right calf still got caught. At some unknown moment, a thorny branch lying close to the ground silently approached and suddenly sprang out, binding his leg. Someone pulled forcefully on the other end, dragging him forward.
Even with the dwarf's brute strength, he couldn't keep his footing.
Gimli hopped forward three steps on one foot, hands swinging wildly to stabilize himself, unable to reach the binding with his axe.
At that moment, more thorn branches wove together into a massive net, falling toward him like a predator's maw.
Several flat, broad arrowheads tore through the air like small sickles, each piercing at least three thorny branches, instantly shredding the entire bramble net apart.
Nearby, Morgan darted forward with a mischievous grin. A lance-shaped, snow-white dagger flashed, cutting through the bindings that held the dwarf.
"Thanks!" Gimli grumbled his gratitude.
"No need to thank me!" Morgan replied, grabbing Gimli with a grin.
The dwarf's eyes widened. Something felt off.
A few meters away, Aedric swung his sword, finally slicing through the last thorny branch. Before he could catch his breath, a malicious chill surged toward him.
A vague pale shadow slowly drifted up from the shattered brambles—not the previous one. Though the figure was also ghostly with a cold void for a face, this one wore a highly recognizable horned nasal helmet, wielded a short spiked whip emitting faint black smoke, and at its waist hung a broad curved sword shimmering with cold light.
The shadow gave a sinister grin. Its whip lashed silently toward the dwarf and Hobbit, who remained unaware.
"Watch out! Dodge!" Aedric and Luna's warnings rang out in unison.
Bowstrings twanged. Silver-glinting arrows flew, deflecting the whip before piercing the shadow like lightning. But the figure flickered slightly and continued floating in midair, seemingly unharmed.
It lifted its head and let out a series of eerie, terrifying laughs that sent shivers down spines.
Aedric felt heavy pressure envelop his body. Indescribable fear surged from deep within. His lips went pale, and his limbs trembled. Though mentally clear and knowing he should not be afraid, he could not control it.
Just as his hands and feet grew ice-cold and blood nearly froze, the Celorn ability activated again, flowing like warm currents toward his heart, helping him break free from fear.
Recovered, Aedric quickly checked his companions. Gimli stood calm, leaning heavily on his double-bladed battle axe—a sign of resilient spirit unaffected by fear. However, his leg was injured, and he could not see the enemy. He could only look around blankly, with eerie laughter echoing, clueless about what to do.
Morgan nervously scanned around, muscles taut, teeth clenched, and veins raised on his sword hand. He was clearly struggling to keep it together.
Luna, however, leapt several bounds and instantly disappeared into the dense forest. Although no verbal communication was exchanged, Aedric immediately understood. Her arrows seemed ineffective against the enemy, only deflecting the whip. If she stayed exposed, she would become a target and liability.
Mithreleth could clearly harm the enemy. Luna intended to cooperate with him against the shadow.
"You two hide!" Aedric shouted, ordering Gimli and Morgan while stepping forward with his right foot, dodging shattered brambles.
He quickly closed in on the shadow. Diamond runes etched on Mithreleth flickered like stars.
"You want me to hide?" Gimli, as a hot-blooded young dwarf, naturally resented the order and tried to argue—but Morgan interrupted.
"Can you see the enemy?" The Hobbit tugged Gimli's sleeve, reasoning. "If we stay, we're only in the way."
He exerted full strength but could not move the dwarf even slightly. Elves had diverse magical abilities and could help, but Hobbits didn't believe dwarves could detect anything. Even wearing the ring himself, Morgan only managed to see a dim outline that flickered.
"Let's go. If we stay, the boss still needs to protect us!" Morgan urged again.
Gimli watched Aedric's sword clash with empty space but clearly heard blade strikes. Finally realizing he was no help, the limping dwarf followed Morgan toward the forest's edge.
He was injured, but it was manageable. The pain had lessened. The bramble thorns seemed poisonous but not severely so; numbness gradually subsided. That's dwarves for you!
As the two left, Aedric exhaled softly. Until now, he still didn't know exactly what the ghostly figure was. Compared to a Barrow-wight, it was far, far stronger.
He couldn't concentrate to think clearly. The enemy's attack was wild as a gale, its figure ghostlike and unpredictable. Merely blocking and dodging attacks exhausted Aedric's mind. He could only focus completely on the battle, unable to spare thought for anything else.
The soft whip, unsuitable for close combat, had already been abandoned by the shadow, disappearing in midair without a trace. Floating in the air, the broad curved sword in hand shimmered with icy light as it swung downward, the whistle of the attack piercing.
Aedric raised his sword to block, wrist turning gently with his arm, preparing to deflect the curved blade to the side and counterattack.
Blade met blade with a sharp clang. Aedric felt his arm go numb. The longsword pressed tightly against the curved blade and could not budge. He understood that the opponent's strength matched his own and had very rich combat experience—a skilled swordsman. Not as easy to deal with as an Uruk.
The shadow seemed to see through Aedric's thoughts, emitting a mocking, sinister laugh. With the laugh came cold mist spewing below the helmet's void, instantly condensing into a rapidly spinning spike.
Aedric's expression stiffened. He knew with his physical condition that strange mist was something he must not touch—let alone be sprayed in the face with!
He stomped his feet, exerting all strength to push the shadow back over half a meter. With that force, he quickly retreated while turning his head just in time to narrowly dodge the sneak attack. The mist missed.
The shadow sighed, then flashed rapidly forward, raising the curved blade to strike the retreating human. One strike was always followed by heavier slashes, until the opponent could no longer resist and had no escape.
Aedric, continuously stepping back, could not dodge. He gripped his sword with both hands and met the cold, cruel blade.
An arrow flew in from the side, precisely hitting the downward blade, completely forcing the shadow's attack aside.
The sure-to-hit attack was interrupted. A hateful roar mixed with killing intent burst forth, uncontrollable rage driving that void face to look toward where the arrow came from.
Just then, the steady Aedric seized the chance. He switched his right foot from retreat to advance, arms drawn back at his sides, sword tip forward. After charging power, he strode forward and fiercely stabbed.
Mithreleth truly became a cold star. Its light flickered, piercing the shadow's abdomen with no resistance, as if stabbing a thin transparent membrane.
A piercing scream that seemed to twist the very air filled Aedric's ears, making his heart tremble as he stumbled back several steps. Just as he steadied himself, ready to attack again, he saw the enemy's silhouette flickering repeatedly in the air like a phantom drifting away—the direction Gandalf had pursued the first shadow.
"Nazgûl!" Watching the somewhat ragged shadow, a spark of realization struck Aedric's mind. He muttered an incredibly evil name.
"Aedric, you shouldn't utter such filthy words in the Shire; it might attract certain entities," Luna said, hurrying over.
"I understand." Aedric nodded, but waves of turmoil rose in his heart.
Nazgûl was their Black Speech name. Usually people called them "Ringwraiths," "Black Riders," or "Sauron's most loyal servants." Whoever had knowledge about the One Ring should have heard a poem:
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
These Nazgûl were such creatures—transformed from the nine mortal men who received Rings. In life, they were rulers, powerful sorcerers, mighty warriors. Now, all had become those ghastly shadows.
"No wonder they're so hard to deal with!" Aedric muttered. "I'm still a novice, and here I meet these things?"
Then he thought again—it was understandable. Only in beginner regions like the Shire might one get help from elves and meet Gandalf. If one landed in desolate wilderness, only summoning abilities and enchanted weapons could withstand the attacks of Ringwraiths and orcs.
Thankfully, his luck was quite good.
"Aedric, are you hurt?" Luna looked at the silent Aedric with worry. In her eyes, the enemy was just a blurry shadow, only becoming clearer when it attacked with weapons. Such a strange and terrifying entity could probably harm without form.
"No, I'm fine," Aedric composed himself, gathering his scattered thoughts.
"Should we pursue them?" Luna asked, relieved.
"Of course!" Aedric gritted his teeth and charged forward. Luna followed closely behind.
Though confident in Gandalf's combat ability, Aedric could not stand seeing despicable Nazgûl gang up on his new friend.
But there were not two, but three! Another Nazgûl floating in the air wielded a staff.
Following Gandalf's footsteps, passing through thick forest, roaring thunder and deafening lightning suddenly caught their attention. After dashing for several dozen seconds, they found Gandalf in gray robes surrounded by three Nazgûl.
They floated several meters high, dancing a graceful and elegant circle, constantly spinning.
Gandalf spun twice and seemed impatient. Suddenly raising his right arm with the staff above his head, he chanted in a powerful language. Light burst forth. A holy halo rapidly spread around him.
The Nazgûl flying in the air collided with the halo and were pushed far away like leaves caught in a flood.
The next moment, Gandalf raised his left arm. Bright white light condensed in his open palm. With a cracking thunder, a lightning-like white light exploded across the clearing.
The Nazgûl holding curved blades staggered backward, then vanished instantly as if retreating to another world to heal.
But it wasn't over. After clearing his foes, Gandalf threw his staff, spinning it rapidly in the air. The staff repelled a Nazgûl wielding an axe and another with a staff, then flew back to rest steadily in Gandalf's right palm.
This flow of actions was smooth, clearly beating the three Nazgûl badly. Aedric wondered whether he should step in to help.
"Had enough of the show?" Gandalf shouted toward Luna and Aedric, who were watching. "Help me already!"
The old man's weathered face was covered with sweat. Defeating three Nazgûl had clearly cost him much energy.
"You two as well." Gandalf looked toward a strange bone altar encircled with sinister symbols a short distance away. "Destroy that altar! It's gathering dark power and supplying energy to those three death messengers!"
At the same time, it weakened his power. The feeling reminded Aedric of Dol Guldur!
Halfway through charging with his sword raised, Aedric followed Gandalf's gaze and saw two grinning faces lurking behind bushes—the sneaky Hobbits and dwarves.
