John's boots crunched softly against the leaf-strewn ground as he and his companions moved toward the forest's edge. The trees loomed tall around them, casting long shadows in the fading light. The distant rumble of thunder echoed like a drumbeat, setting a tense, rhythmic backdrop for their advance. John could sense the approaching conflict. His body was taut with anticipation, his muscles coiled and ready, but unlike the times before, there was no comforting weight of a sword in his hand.
But there was also no fear. The absence of Sauron Bane felt liberating, as if the invisible chains that had bound him to its dark influence were finally broken. Instead of panic, there was clarity. For the first time, John wasn't relying on the power of a weapon bestowed upon him. He was relying on himself.
Ahead, Aragorn paused, crouching low as he surveyed the area. "The orcs are waiting. They think they have the element of surprise," he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the rustling wind.
John crouched beside him, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the underbrush. Sure enough, he could see the telltale glint of armor, the crude black steel worn by the orcs hiding among the trees. There were at least a dozen of them, their yellow eyes gleaming with malice as they prepared for the ambush.
"We'll be ready," John said, his voice firm. He had no sword, but he felt a new confidence in himself. He could fight without the system's crutch, without the dark blade that had once given him power.
Legolas shifted beside him, his bow already nocked with an arrow, the elf's sharp eyes flicking back and forth between the hidden orcs. "I count thirteen," he murmured. "They're spread thin—waiting to strike when we reach the clearing."
Gimli grunted softly, hefting his axe. "Let them come. I'll carve through them before they even know what hit them."
Aragorn nodded. "We'll split their forces. Legolas, take the high ground. Pick off the archers before they can fire. Gimli, John, and I will engage the front line. Keep them distracted."
John felt a surge of adrenaline as Aragorn's plan took shape. The ranger's leadership was clear and decisive, but what struck John most was the ease with which his companions trusted him to fight, even without a sword.
There was no hesitation from them, no concern that he was powerless without his blade. They had seen him wield Sauron Bane, but now they trusted him to stand alongside them, even without its power.
"Let's do this," John said, rising slowly as Aragorn gave the signal. His heart pounded in his chest as they moved into position. The orcs didn't know they had been spotted, and that gave them a crucial advantage.
With a fluid, silent motion, Legolas scaled the nearby trees, vanishing into the high branches. John caught a glimpse of the elf's golden hair disappearing among the leaves, his bow at the ready.
Aragorn and Gimli flanked John as they moved forward. The orcs, unaware that their ambush had been detected, waited eagerly for their prey to stumble into the trap. John could see their twisted faces, their hungry grins as they crouched low in the shadows, ready to strike.
But before the first orc could move, a soft *twang* cut through the air, followed by the sickening thud of an arrow sinking into flesh. One of the orc archers, perched in the trees, fell to the ground with a gurgle, an elven arrow protruding from his throat.
Chaos erupted.
The orcs roared in anger and confusion as another arrow flew, striking down a second archer. The remaining orcs abandoned their positions, charging out from the trees to attack.
"Now!" Aragorn shouted, drawing his sword and leading the charge.
John didn't hesitate. He sprinted forward, his eyes locking onto the nearest orc. It was a hulking brute, its black armor stained with the blood of countless victims. It raised its jagged sword with a snarl, but John was faster.
He ducked under the wild swing, his fist slamming into the orc's midsection. The impact knocked the wind out of the creature, and John followed it with a quick elbow to the side of its head. The orc staggered, disoriented, and before it could recover, John delivered a crushing kick to its knee, bringing the beast to the ground.
Behind him, Aragorn's sword clashed against another orc's blade, the metallic ring of steel-on-steel echoing through the clearing. Gimli roared as he swung his axe, cleaving through an orc's armor with brutal efficiency.
John felt the rush of battle coursing through him. Without a sword, he fought with his bare hands, relying on his speed and agility to outmaneuver the orcs. He ducked and weaved through their clumsy strikes, landing precise, devastating blows that sent them reeling. Every punch, every kick, felt more deliberate, more controlled than it had ever been before.
An orc lunged at him from the side, but John was ready. He sidestepped the attack, grabbing the orc's wrist and twisting it with a sharp motion. The creature howled in pain as its sword clattered to the ground, and John drove his knee into its chest, knocking it back with a heavy thud.
The battlefield was a whirlwind of chaos, but John's mind was clear. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was fighting on his terms. There were no systems, no external forces guiding his hand—just him, his skill, and his determination to win.
Legolas continued to rain arrows down from above, his precise shots thinning the orcs' numbers rapidly. Gimli laughed heartily as he cleaved through another orc, his axe gleaming with each swing. Aragorn was a blur of motion, his sword cutting through the orcs with expert precision.
But as the battle raged, John noticed something odd. The orcs weren't fighting with the ferocity he had expected. They were disorganized, confused, almost as if they had been caught off guard by their own ambush.
John frowned as he took down another orc with a well-placed punch to its throat. Why would the orcs be so unprepared? They had been lying in wait, yet they fought as if they hadn't anticipated resistance.
Suddenly, a sharp cry from the trees caught his attention. Legolas' voice rang out in warning. "Something's not right! More are coming!"
John spun around just as the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. From the far end of the clearing, a massive group of orcs emerged from the shadows, their numbers far greater than the initial scouting party. These orcs were larger, better armored, and they moved with purpose.
"They were the distraction," Aragorn muttered, his jaw tightening. "The real attack is coming now."
John wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart racing. They had fought hard, but they were outnumbered—and without Sauron Bane, John knew he couldn't rely on overwhelming power to tip the scales.
"Form up!" Aragorn shouted, rallying his companions as the new wave of orcs charged forward. "We hold the line!"
John took his place beside Aragorn and Gimli, his body tense as the orcs closed in. There were dozens of them now, their roars filling the air as they surged toward the group.
Legolas leapt down from the trees, landing gracefully beside them, his bow still in hand. "We can't hold them all," he said, his voice grim. "Not like this."
John's mind raced, trying to find a solution. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and without heavy artillery or a magical advantage, the odds seemed bleak. But then, something clicked. A memory from his earlier battles flashed through his mind—the way he had fought, the techniques he had used.
They didn't need power. They needed strategy.
"Gandalf," John said, turning to the wizard, who had been quietly observing the battle from the rear. "Can you create a barrier? Something to funnel them?"
Gandalf's eyes gleamed with understanding. "A barrier, yes. But it will take time."
"Do it," John said, his voice firm. "We'll hold them off."
Aragorn and Gimli exchanged a glance, then nodded. They trusted John's plan, even without knowing all the details.
As Gandalf began to chant, the air around them shimmered with energy. The orcs drew closer, their weapons gleaming in the dim light, but John didn't back down. This was his fight now. Not the system's, not the shadowy figure's—his.
"Hold the line!" John shouted, his voice strong. "We're not done yet!"
The orcs crashed into them like a tidal wave, but John stood firm.