After returning from the Lonely Mountain, Wayne was granted two new missions: the master-level [Decapitation Action] and the epic-level [Defeat the Enemy].
Initially, Wayne hoped to exploit the system by completing several tasks with King Thranduil, aiming to kill two or even three birds with one stone. However, the system denied this loophole. After testing the limits several times, he realized that attempting to trigger multiple tasks with different figures wouldn't work, thwarting his plan for easy rewards.
Despite the system's limitations, reality offered no such constraints. Wayne still secured a real-world commission from King Thranduil: aiding the Silvan Elves in their battle against the orc army. In return, he earned permission to copy the Woodland Realm's ancient books—a modest reward by elven standards, but one that marked Wayne as a noble-hearted ally, earning him the elves' trust and friendship.
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A month after receiving the warning, the orc army finally emerged from the Gray Mountains. A formidable force of 3,000 elite half-orc warriors—fully armed, riding wargs, and clad in heavy armor—marched north, spreading fear in their wake. Wayne obtained this critical information himself through reconnaissance missions.
Knowing time was of the essence, Wayne spent the period of war preparations undertaking expert-level scouting missions, using his enchanted flying carpet to track the movements of the enemy. Each scouting mission took two or three days, but the higher rewards made them far more worthwhile than ordinary tasks.
When Wayne reported the orc army's approach, the dwarves and elves quickly grew tense. War was no trivial matter—each battle came at the cost of blood and lives. Nearly every family in the north bore the scars of orc raids, carrying with them the kind of hatred that transcends generations. None would forgive, and none would forget.
As the orc horde advanced, the dwarves and elves sent brave scouts to monitor the army's movements, preparing for the inevitable clash. Yet, Wayne chose to stay in the shadows for now.
Wayne had several reasons for this measured approach.
The first reason was strategic: becoming the first to strike would make him a prime target. Although his flight abilities and archery prowess might allow him to harass the orc army, reducing their numbers over time, such actions would inevitably draw the attention of the orc commanders. It could jeopardize his long-term beheading mission—the goal of assassinating the enemy leader in a decisive strike.
The second reason was that standing out too much could have unintended consequences. Though fame as a hero had its advantages, being too conspicuous could also attract the gaze of Sauron or even the attention of Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of Middle-earth. His actions had already disrupted the original timeline—killing Smaug and reshaping the Battle of the Five Armies. Any further interference could risk unforeseen consequences.
Understanding the importance of subtlety, Wayne decided to lie low. Instead of taking center stage, he observed the enemy's movements from a distance, like a serpent coiled in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
In Middle-earth, conflicts between good and evil often culminate in singular, decisive battles—victory or defeat determined by which side emerges triumphant in the final confrontation.
If Wayne could take the enemy by surprise, he could strike a fatal blow, eliminate the enemy commander, and disrupt their chain of command. This would shatter their morale and might secure victory with minimal bloodshed. Although his absence in the early stages of the battle might result in higher initial casualties, the long-term benefits of completing the beheading operation would far outweigh the drawbacks. A well-executed assassination could decisively turn the tide of war, achieving more than mere participation in the frontlines ever could.
The elite orc force, mounted on wargs, moved swiftly. It took them only five days to travel from the Gray Mountains to the ruins of Lake-town.
Surprisingly, instead of marching directly to Erebor to avenge Azog by attacking the dwarves, the orcs rested briefly at Lake-town before redirecting their assault toward the Woodland Realm, home of the Silvan Elves.
This unexpected maneuver forced the Woodland Realm into high alert. Every elf was immediately mobilized, preparing weapons and fortifying their defenses. King Thranduil and Prince Legolas stood at the forefront, resolute in their determination to defend their homeland, ready to fight to the death if necessary.
Even the hundred light crossbowmen, composed of Lake-town refugees, eagerly took their positions. They were stationed in safer defensive positions, waiting anxiously for the enemy to arrive.
Wayne had anticipated this strategy. The Woodland Realm, unlike Erebor, lacked the natural defenses of tall mountains and fortified city walls. The elves relied on agility and archery, favoring light armor and swift strikes. Though they outnumbered the dwarves, they were vulnerable to a direct assault, especially without the protective barriers that Erebor offered.
The orcs knew this well. By striking at the elves first, they hoped to eliminate a potential threat and prevent the Silvan Elves from later supporting the dwarves in defending Erebor. This would also make the conquest of the Lonely Mountain easier in the long run.
In just one day, the orc force reached the borders of the Woodland Realm and began their assault on the elven palace.
There was no negotiation or warning—only war.
The battle erupted as soon as the two armies met. The elves had erected modest defensive walls—barely three or four stories high, nowhere near the towering walls of Erebor. Though not an insurmountable barrier, it still presented a challenge that the orcs could not scale without aid.
The orcs, hardened by centuries of warfare with elves, humans, and dwarves, were not to be underestimated. Although brutal and cruel, they were far from unintelligent. This elite force of 3,000 orcs had come prepared with siege equipment, including ladders and large shields. Clad in heavy armor, each orc was a massive figure, their sheer size and strength radiating menace.
Clearly, they were ready for a full assault, even under the relentless rain of arrows from the elves.
As soon as the battle commenced, the orcs demonstrated their tactical acumen. They formed groups of seven or eight, using huge shields to create phalanxes that could resist the volleys of elven arrows. Carrying long siege ladders, they pressed toward the city walls, undeterred by the elven archers above.
The elven archers were far from passive observers. Under the skilled command of Prince Legolas, they unleashed a barrage of flaming arrows. The elven guards in golden armor stood vigilant atop the city walls, with squads of archers providing cover from behind.
The defenses of the Woodland Realm, though lacking the towering fortifications of human or dwarven cities, were ingeniously designed. While the walls were only three or four stories high, their structure was optimized for defense, reflecting the craftsmanship and tactical wisdom of the elves.
As the siege began in earnest, both sides quickly fell into a grueling contest of endurance.
The orcs, clad in heavy armor and equipped with large shields, advanced relentlessly. Their thick hides and defensive formations made it difficult for the elven arrows to inflict significant damage. Only precise shots, aided by flame or elven magic, managed to pierce their defenses.
Meanwhile, the golden-armored elven guards, experts in both martial skill and strategy, held the walls with discipline. Despite the orcs' brute force, the siege ladders alone were insufficient to overwhelm the defenders. Without numerical superiority, the orcs could not breach the elven defenses.
The battle settled into a deadly stalemate. The elves expended arrows and energy, while the orcs sacrificed their lives with grim determination. These creatures, seemingly devoid of fear, pressed on despite mounting casualties. Whether driven by bloodlust or a complete disregard for their own lives, the orcs continued their assault, hauling shields and ladders toward the walls.
Only twenty minutes into the battle, the orc force had already lost around 500 warriors, leaving a grim circle of corpses piled beneath the elven walls.
Despite the elves' early success, Wayne, observing the battle from a higher vantage point, felt a growing sense of unease.
The orcs' performance was underwhelming—far from the formidable force he had expected.
In the Battle of the Five Armies as depicted in the original timeline, the orc army had been a terrifying force. Their legions were bolstered by wargs, ogres towering over six meters tall, and even giant tunneling beasts capable of burrowing vast underground passages to ambush their enemies.
Yet here, there was no sign of such overwhelming power. These orcs, although well-equipped, were not as fearsome as he remembered, nor did they appear to be the army's main force. Moreover, Wayne hadn't spotted any commanders or notable leaders among them.
His suspicion deepened. Could Azog's death have disrupted the chain of command, leaving the orcs leaderless?
He turned to King Thranduil, who sat atop his mighty elk, and voiced his concerns cautiously:
"Your Majesty, something feels off. This force is far too weak to assault Erebor or your Woodland Realm effectively. This doesn't make sense."
Thranduil, his expression heavy with thought, nodded in agreement. "I've been thinking the same, Wayne."
The elven king's gaze was sharp and thoughtful as he continued, "We've battled the orcs for millennia. This is not their full strength."
"This force is merely a distraction. Their main army is likely hidden, waiting to strike where we least expect."
Thranduil's voice dropped slightly. "That's why I haven't committed all my troops to the front. My captain, Tauriel, is leading the bulk of our forces in reserve, ready to counter any unexpected assault."
Reassured by the king's foresight, Wayne relaxed slightly. While he was no expert in large-scale battles, he knew the importance of a well-coordinated plan.
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Another twenty minutes passed. The orc force dwindled further, now reduced to 2,000 warriors. With nearly a third of their original number lost, the attack on the walls faltered. Many of the orc siege ladders lay in ruins, burned or toppled by the elves. The assault was on the verge of collapse.
But just as the defenders began to feel more confident, a sudden, sharp blast of a war horn echoed across the battlefield. It was followed by a chorus of deep, guttural roars, growing louder and more ominous with each passing second.
Thranduil's expression darkened immediately. He gripped the reins of his elk and turned to Wayne, his voice urgent:
"Come with me, Wayne."
"It seems the orcs have launched an attack from behind."
Without waiting for a response, Thranduil spurred his elk into motion, the massive beast leaping gracefully from the wall and charging toward the rear lines.
Wayne glanced at the battle on the wall. The outcome there was already clear—the orcs would not succeed in their siege. Satisfied that the frontline was holding, Wayne swiftly mounted a warhorse and galloped after Thranduil, racing toward the new threat.