Bolg

Since nearly all the orcs in the orc town had fled, Wayne flew across the Misty Mountains on his magic flying carpet for two hours, searching for an unlucky victim. Finally, near a hidden cave, he spotted an orc hunting small animals.

There was no hesitation. In Middle-earth, orcs are the embodiment of evil. Killing them on sight was never questioned.

Wayne, following his usual practice, captured the orc and cast a Luck Drain spell. The poor creature felt as if its very soul had been sucked away, trembling in fear until it lost control of its bladder.

This time, however, Wayne's luck was rather average. He only absorbed twelve points of luck from the orc, combined with his own doubled luck, bringing him to a total of forty-two points, while the orc lost thirteen points.

The ever-kind Wayne couldn't bear to leave the orc in such misery, so he mercifully ended its life with a swift blade before continuing his search for Gollum in the orc town.

Despite his luck being boosted to over forty points, essentially making him the "chosen one," there were no immediate results. Whether it was due to the influence of the Ainur or the grand design of the Creator of Middle-earth, or perhaps Gollum had fled with the orcs during the chaos, Wayne's search proved fruitless.

He scoured the entire cave, set up numerous traps and baits, but still found no trace of the sneaky Gollum, nor any sign of the One Ring.

Frustrated by his failure to find the legendary artifact, Wayne began to consider the broader implications. Without the Ring, the upcoming events—such as the battle with Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies—might not change too drastically.

However, decades from now, the events surrounding the War of the Ring, the Fellowship, and the eventual defeat of Sauron would be significantly altered, potentially turning Middle-earth on its head.

Wayne, after fruitlessly searching for hours, could only hope that the grand design of Middle-earth's fate would somehow realign itself.

But after pondering this further, he realized it might not matter as much.

In seventy years, even in his world, a good fourteen years would have passed. By that time, Wayne's power would have grown exponentially, far beyond its current state.

So what if Sauron returned in his full power? Wayne figured that by then, he'd be strong enough to handle anything. He might even take the chance to "show the Dark Lord his health bar" and crush him like a mere mortal. Maybe he'd even take on an epic quest to kill a god.

With these thoughts in mind, Wayne pushed his worries aside and resumed his exploration of the mine.

Despite not finding Gollum, his enhanced luck wasn't without its perks. Along the way, Wayne discovered numerous rare ores, jewelry hidden in various nooks, and even stumbled upon the orc town's treasure hoard.

However, calling it a treasure hoard was only relative to humans or dwarves.

The orc clans of the Misty Mountains had existed for thousands of years, during which they had killed countless members of other races. Their victims' bodies were used for food, but their belongings were left behind.

While weapons may have been used by the orcs, gold, silver, and jewels had no value to these primitive creatures. These items were hoarded in one place, or rather, discarded and forgotten.

Faced with this unexpected wealth, Wayne didn't hesitate. He summoned his assistant, Vivian, who was far more excited about the treasure.

Vivian wasted no time. She gleefully collected all the valuable items from the otherwise garbage-filled cave, shouting enthusiastic slogans as she swept through the hoard.

Thanks to the efforts of the Wealth Elf, this ancient treasure hoard, hidden by the orcs for thousands of years, was finally unearthed and transformed into wealth in a far more civilized manner.

The entire trove was converted into numbers in the wealth bank, totaling 360,000 orens in value.

While this sum wasn't as vast as the hoards found on the Continent of Gaints, it was still an unexpected windfall that delighted Wayne.

Yet Wayne, ever the disciplined adventurer, decided to share his good fortune. Though the dwarves hadn't contributed much in this particular battle, he resolved to give each member of the expedition a share of the loot—roughly 10,000 orens each—as a token of their camaraderie and shared experiences.

By the time he returned to the camp, it was evening.

The dwarves were sound asleep under the vigilant watch of Deathclaw Robin. As Wayne approached the campfire, he noticed that Thorin was sitting quietly, staring at his broken arm. His expression wasn't one of sadness or regret, just an empty gaze fixed on his injury, lost in thought.

Wayne chose not to disturb the prince who had lost his arm. Instead, he found a clean rock, sat down, and entered a state of half-meditation, half-sleep, waiting for time to pass.

The night passed peacefully. With the terrifying presence of Deathclaw as a deterrent, no wild beasts or enemies dared approach the camp.

Everyone had a restful night, and the next morning, they began packing their belongings, preparing to leave the Misty Mountains and continue their journey to the Lonely Mountain.

It was a long and arduous journey. After leaving the Orc Town, they traveled through the entire Misty Mountains, crossed grasslands, ventured through forests, ascended mountains, and slept under the stars. Most of the land remained wild, untouched by civilization. In the blink of an eye, three months had passed.

Thanks to the battle at Orc Town, the expedition wasn't pursued by orcs, and they didn't need to take the treacherous, remote paths. With the horses still intact and Wayne managing the logistics, they moved at nearly twice the speed compared to the original tale.

Under the guidance of Thorin and Gandalf, they arrived nearly two months earlier than expected, approaching the Dark Forest and reaching the barren lands that lay before it.

That afternoon, as they rode their horses, they came upon a towering rock formation shaped like a giant bear. An ancient staircase carved into the rock spiraled to the top, offering a vantage point for surveying the surrounding landscape.

Upon seeing this rock, Gandalf smiled, took a puff from his pipe, and turned to the group:

"Friends, we've crossed more than half of our journey. This is Carrock, a famous landmark in this region. Soon, we will enter Mirkwood, the Dark Forest. Once we pass through, the Lonely Mountain will be visible to us."

...

Now, shifting back to the events that unfolded after Wayne and the others left Orc Town…

After the destruction of Orc Town, a half-orc with a massive, sutured wound on his head, and a terrifying, feral look, found the campsite where Wayne's party had stayed. Among the rocks outside the camp, he discovered the body of the pale orc, Azog.

The once-proud leader of the Orcs of Moria, who had ruled for centuries, lay discarded like refuse, abandoned to the flies and maggots, stripped of any dignity.

Had it not been for the lingering aura of the Deathclaw, preventing nearby scavengers from feasting on the body, Azog's corpse would have long been devoured by predators.

The orc with the sutured wound trembled upon seeing the corpse. His face twisted in rage, his clenched teeth grinding. After more than ten seconds of silence, he let out an ear-splitting roar:

"Damn dwarves! You will pay for this!"

Though the orc was not large, his rage-filled roar echoed throughout the forest, instilling fear in the orcs who followed him.

This orc was Bolg, the son and only heir of the half-orc leader Azog. While Bolg might not have matched his father in sheer combat prowess, he was more cunning and ruthless. Unlike Azog, who was driven by brute force, Bolg was shrewder and more strategic, his mind as sharp as his blade. His reputation among the orcs rivaled that of his father.

After venting his rage and hatred, Bolg silently unsheathed a long-handled battle axe from his back. With a swift motion, he severed Azog's decaying head from his body.

Gazing down at his father's severed head, Bolg knelt in silence. He withdrew a knife from his belt, grasped his father's head, and methodically peeled away the rotting flesh.

Soon, with the skill of one experienced in butchery, he stripped the flesh from the skull, revealing the bloodied bone beneath. He tore off the lower jaw and fashioned the skull into a grim helmet, which he placed upon his head, making his already fearsome appearance even more terrifying.

This act wasn't out of admiration for his father. In the orc clan, there was no warmth, no familial affection. Bolg's grisly act was one of necessity—to bolster his own prestige, claiming his father's legacy and power for himself.

And it worked. The orcs, naturally drawn to barbarism and brutality, looked upon Bolg's savage display with newfound respect. As he donned the skull of his father, the orc leaders around him stared at him with reverence, recognizing him as their new leader.

This time, Bolg had followed his father's orders and brought nearly a thousand orc warriors from the underground kingdom of Moria. Their mission was clear: to kill all the dwarves in the expedition, especially Thorin, the dwarf prince—his father's armless enemy.

But now, his father lay dead. Judging by the situation, it was likely that he had fallen at the hands of the dwarves. This was a bitter pill for Bolg to swallow.

Logically, even though Azog hadn't brought many orc warriors from Moria, he had the support of the thousands of weaker orcs from the Misty Mountains. Despite their lack of true fighting power, it seemed inconceivable that his father could be defeated by just a handful of dwarves.

As Bolg pondered this troubling scenario, an orc leader who had been sent to gather intelligence approached him with a grave expression.

First, the subordinate glanced in awe at the bloodied skull atop Bolg's head, then bowed and reported:

"We sent scouts to investigate the caves in Orc Town."

"There were no survivors. The mines are filled with thousands of rotting corpses."

He hesitated before continuing, wary of Bolg's darkening expression.

"It appears the Misty Mountain orc clan has been wiped out."

"Our scouts are combing the mountains for any survivors to gather more information."

Although Bolg had suspected this might be the case, hearing it confirmed was still difficult to believe.

In less than a month, an entire orc town had been decimated.

But soon, survivors brought more details, recounting tales of the terrifying Deathclaw and the invisible assassin who had slaughtered hundreds of orcs over the course of ten days.

This news made Bolg's expression grow even more serious. Unlike his father, who charged into battle recklessly, Bolg was more calculating.

He was a military genius who meticulously weighed the strength of both his forces and the enemy's before engaging in combat. The success of the Moria orcs was in no small part due to Bolg's strategic mind.

After listening to his subordinates' reports and the survivors' accounts, Bolg quickly abandoned any notion of continuing the pursuit.

He understood that, despite his current strength being superior to the orcs of Orc Town, it wasn't enough to face the terrifying beast and the invisible killer the survivors described. These foes were beyond the capacity of ordinary orcs to handle.

After a few moments of contemplation, Bolg gave his next order:

"The orcs of the Misty Mountains have lost their king and are now nothing more than a rabble."

"I'm giving you command of half our forces. Go and rally the scattered orcs in the mountains. Use the name of vengeance for the orc king to unify them."

"Soon, we'll need to fight a greater war. These orcs will serve as our cannon fodder, fueling the rise of the orc race."

With that, Bolg mounted his warg and turned to the other half of his cavalry.

"You will follow me to Dol Guldur. The power of the Witch-King of Angmar stirs once again."

"We need the Dark Witch-King's aid. Only he can help us defeat these powerful foes."

"We will avenge Azog, and those cursed dwarves will learn that the orcs are still the strongest force in this world."