When Azog arrived, calm, or silence, had returned to the place.
All that's left is the crackling of burning firewood...
The walls were broken, blood flowed for thousands of miles, and the smell of scorched and ugly flesh filled the air. There were countless corpses hanging on the stone wall plank road. These were the corpses of goblins.
Azog frowned after a long absence. He hadn't seen such a tragic scene for a long time.
Are these achievements... all made by those guys in Sorin? Azog frowned, a little suspicious in his heart.
If that's the case, then... he has to re-evaluate the weight of Sorin's people in his mind.
...
"Woooooo~" A few goblins who were lucky enough to survive in the corner were brought up by the Orcs. They still had fear in their eyes and kept shouting, "Devil! Devil!"
Azog narrowed his eyes slightly, and then asked slowly, "Speak! What happened here!"
.....
On the Misty Mountains, among the vast mountain road, a dozen figures wearing heavy leather jackets braved the wind and snow to move forward.
The strong wind howled, and the ground was thrown up in bursts of shavings, and countless snow piled up.
"Damn it, can't you just stop for a while?" Stepping on the deep snow, Dwarf Groin couldn't help complaining.
It had been three days since they had escaped from the goblin's lair.
After three days of walking, but he still hasn't been able to pass through the snow and wind in the Misty Mountains, it is inevitable for him to feel resentment.
"Groin, don't complain, save your energy, maybe you can get out of this hellish place sooner," Balin said.
"Okay, I got it, it's really long-winded." The two closed their mouths and walked away again.
Thorin led the way, Gandalf and Carl fell at the back of the line, and they moved slowly forward in this serpent. One person steps on one person's footsteps, which saves more effort.
"Carl, I said," Gandalf said slightly, leaning on his staff, turning away from his indifferent old friend beside him, "what is that dark, hard thing in your pocket?"
Hearing this, Carl glanced at him with a helpless look on his face, and said, "Gandalf, don't you think about that thing, okay?"
Along the way, Gandalf had asked Carl about this question several times without knowing it, but there was a strong thirst for knowledge between his words.
"Carl, shouldn't that be a magic alchemy thing? Could it be that you made it yourself?" Gandalf asked patiently, seeing that Carl refused to answer in such a righteous manner, but he was not discouraged in the slightest.
"No, it's not magic, it's a product of technology, it's a mixed reaction of chemistry." Carl shook his head helplessly and said.
Gandalf's eyes lit up slightly.
He had asked Carl many times before, but Carl didn't say anything every time, his face was cold, and his heart was like being caught by a cat, but it was very unbearable.
Now that he heard Carl finally explain, he was naturally a little surprised and pleasantly surprised.
However, when he thought of the two words that came out of Carl's mouth, he was a little confused: "What is chemistry? And what is a mixed reaction?"
With his long-term and profound knowledge, he has never heard of such a word. Could it be that this guy Carl created it alone?
"The chemical reaction," Carl rubbed his chin, and then suddenly smiled, with an inexplicable meaning in his eyes, and said to Gandalf, "It's not difficult to understand, I can give you an instruction."
"You just need to pay more attention to those who are in love," Carl paused, thought about his words, and changed his words, "Well... pay more attention to those male and female creatures who are in love, and you can discover the mystery."
"?" Gandalf looked puzzled. Carl, it would be fine if he just said no, but he was still confused and asked him to observe and find out for himself.
But male and female creatures? In love?
Gandalf pondered.
Did Carl understand the truth of "chemical reaction" from his observations, and then created that black thing with enormous power and infinite destructive power?
It seems that this common phenomenon really doesn't want to be as simple as it looks on the surface.
Gandalf, however, took Carl's advice to himself in his heart, and decided to pay more attention to it in the future.
Carl was obviously unwilling to reveal more to him, and Gandalf was helpless. He could only rely on these hints to comprehend the magical truth about "chemical reactions".
...
"By the way, Carl, and the song you played before, what is it called? Could it be that you really created it yourself?" Putting down the question about magic, Gandalf raised another doubt of his own.
Gandalf was slightly shocked by the music Carl had played before because he felt that even the sound of Iluvatar he heard when he was still in shape was not as pleasant as this.
So, for Carl, who can play this music, he really can only express his shock.
"That's it!" Carl laughed again. "You could call it the 'Song of the Century'."
"Song of the Century?" Gandalf froze slightly.
"That's right," Carl glanced at the dazed sky and said lightly, "The sea is changing, centuries are changing, everything is changing, whether it is new or destroyed, and it will never stop. And we are weak and in the middle of the century. There is a limit to what can be done, and existence will eventually be overwhelmed."
"However, as small and insignificant as it is, I have also thought that the initial expectations of the arms have shined."
"The centuries change, but those brilliance will not fade away."
"I only use this song to awaken the original expectations of the living beings, and for this reason, I will leave a mark on the century."
Gandalf looked at Carl, who was dignified and proud, like a saint, but fell silent.
Carl, who is so holy, how much ink is still hidden in his stomach, and what else he doesn't know.
Why does he always feel that the more he knows about Carl, the less he knows about him?
Gandalf frowned, thinking, and finally came to a conclusion. --"who cares!"
Trying to understand Carl, he might as well just stay somewhere and fix his staff.
Carl saw Gandalf frowning and slackening at times, but he smirked.
Where can he know "Song of the Century," if he really wants to say something, he will know "Little Star."
The repertoires he played before were nothing more than Xiaoqu composed by countless masters and figures who had reached the peak of their musical attainment in the previous life, and there was no such profound truth at all.
However, there are 10,000 Hamlets for 10,000 people, and he couldn't stop it from hearing what other people felt.
So let Gandalf, the old wizard, continue his troubled conjectures.