Chapter 81: Return and Coordinates, the Miraculous Change

Middle-earth, Third Age, 2941, Autumn.

The Lonely Mountain, now free of the dragon, resembled an old man who, having survived another harsh winter, regained a bit of vitality in the spring of the following year.

Of course, this semblance of a final burst of life came at the cost of countless lives.

The sky was gray with smoke, and sunlight filtered through the thick clouds, casting mottled shadows.

The first to charge were the Dwarves of the Iron Hills. Clad in heavy armor and wielding battle axes and spears, they charged forward with unstoppable force towards the Orc army.

Despite their small stature, the Dwarves at this moment seemed like iron giants in their imposing momentum.

Behind the Dwarves were the human allies from Lake-town. Though their equipment was diverse and haphazard, this ragtag army still formed a determined second line of defense with their weapons in hand.

On the southern side of the battlefield, three thousand Woodland Elves archers had long been ready. As the Dwarves charged, the Elves drew their bows in unison, releasing a rain of arrows.

With each volley, a thousand-strong Orc phalanx visibly fell.

This enraged Azog, the Orc leader standing on the mountainside. Though Orcs were expendable to him, losing a phalanx in a single volley was unacceptable.

The Orcs had a numerical advantage, but even they couldn't endure such losses.

As a new command horn sounded, countless Warg riders and even Trolls from the rear charged at the Elves.

At this moment, giant Eagles also arrived from the Misty Mountains. As the trusted subordinates of Manwë, the chief of the Valar (the highest order of gods), these descendants of the Maiar (lesser gods) were extremely powerful.

Not to mention the Eagle King Gwaihir, whose power rivaled that of the dragon Smaug; even the ordinary Eagles now circling the battlefield could topple dozens of Orcs with a single wing beat. Their sharp claws easily pierced the heads of Trolls.

Similarly, the Orcs' ancient enemy, Beorn, transformed into a giant bear, charged alone at the advancing Warg riders.

Despite being alone, wherever he went was filled with howls and screams. In just a few minutes, he had cut through the wave of thousands of Warg riders.

Still unsatisfied, Beorn turned and charged again.

Arrows, giant beasts, chariots, and catapults— the entire battlefield was like a massive meat grinder, with everyone in chaos.

...

In the empty Lonely Mountain, under an archway on the eastern side, Ino quietly watched the battle below.

In all his lives, he had never experienced such a large-scale melee of cold weapons.

In such a scene, individual strength seemed utterly insignificant... Perhaps only the brilliant flames from the Battle of Père Lachaise Cemetery could be of use here.

Looking down at the Magic Wand in his hand, he realized this scale of battle was beyond his current ability to participate.

Though he wanted to stay and take potshots, the urge to return came once again.

Reluctantly, he mounted his broom and flew in the opposite direction.

...

He flew south.

He didn't know how long had passed until the scenery around him began to change.

Ino slowly descended on his broom.

This time, unlike before, he did not return directly to Wiltshire where he had left but instead found himself on a quiet path.

A path paved with blue bricks, about three to four feet wide and several dozen meters long.

But somehow, standing on this path, he felt a sense of peace greater than he had felt at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin dormitory, or even while wandering with Master Hans.

On both sides of the blue brick path were dense mists, with only two visible intersections ahead.

One was shrouded in a gray fog, while the other led clearly to the familiar Wiltshire.

Yet, before he could choose, a burning sensation came from his right wrist.

The bracelet woven from red maple leaves, a gift from Doris, had disappeared, transforming into countless flying maple leaves that floated to the end of the path.

In the blink of an eye, the red maple leaves formed a path, turning the previous two-way intersection into a standard three-way fork.

A mystical intuition told Ino that the red maple leaf path led to the Woodland Realm.

However, he also knew that at this moment, neither the red maple leaf path nor the fog-shrouded path was passable.

The only accessible path was the one leading to Wiltshire.

Without any hesitation, Ino picked up his suitcase and walked toward the Wiltshire path.