"Your Majesty, up ahead lies the ruins of Dol Guldur.
We've cleared the Orc patrols along the way!" A lithe Elven ranger, clad in chainmail, leapt gracefully from treetop to treetop before landing in front of Elenthor.
"Dol Guldur… once a sanctuary for the Woodland Elves of Amon Lanc, with its grassy hills... Damn Sauron!" Elenthor, seated atop a proud unicorn, allowed a glimmer of rage to flicker in her eyes.
The Star Elves, as kin to the Woodland Elves, had once bled together at the gates of Mordor. Their bonds were strong.
The dark forces occupying Dol Guldur was not only a slap to Thranduil's face but an affront to the dignity of the Star Elves as well.
"This darkness will dissipate tonight!" Elenthor's grip tightened around the hilt of her blade, her knuckles turning white.
Few could have foreseen that the Star Elves, during what should have been a period of recovery, would muster the resolve to march against Dol Guldur.
If all went according to plan, this would be a one-sided slaughter.
A sickening spurt of black blood erupted as a third-tier ranger, gliding between the trees, unleashed a whirlwind of deadly skill.
The elf's curved blade, infused with battle aura, swept cleanly through the last Orc's neck in the patrol squad.
The metallic tang of fresh blood filled the air, an unmistakable scent that alerted the Orcs up ahead.
"Shing!"
"Thud!"
"Slash!"
From the dense treetops, hidden Elven rangers descended like shadows.
Their crescent-shaped blades, brimming with refined combat techniques, turned the dense woodland into a carefully orchestrated massacre.
Moments later, the forest was silent save for the sound of dark blood seeping into the undergrowth.
The Orcs lay in mangled heaps—decapitated, hearts pierced, or torsos cleaved apart. The dark blood stained the forest floor, feeding the darkness that cloaked these woods.
A squad of Elves quickly advanced, stepping over the bodies as their blades carved a narrow path through the dense underbrush.
They moved with silent determination, their passage barely noticeable as the trail extended into the shadowy horizon.
"We're getting closer to those vermin!" Elenthor remarked, unsheathing her slender, beautifully forged Elven blade.
The increasing number of corpses along their path signaled their proximity to Dol Guldur.
"Stay alert and cautious! We are nearing the target!" Elenthor's voice was firm but low, her words carried swiftly through the ranks.
Raising his gaze to the treetops, Elenthor caught glimpses of Dol Guldur's ominous spires through the canopy.
The once-proud Elven architecture, now overgrown with thorny vines, housed filthy Orcs. His entire body trembled with suppressed fury.
Since retreating into seclusion, the Star Elves had been unaware of the Woodland Elves' struggles after the fall of their king, or of Thranduil's decision to migrate northward, abandoning their capital at Amon Lanc.
"A disgrace beyond reckoning!" Elenthor's pride, as both an Elf and a king, burned fiercely.
How could any Elf endure the defilement of their homeland, even if it belonged to another branch of their kin?
Unlike Thranduil, Elenthor had not yet surrendered his will to fight.
Though the Star Elves remained cautious and secluded due to their dwindling numbers, if they had a larger population, Elenthor would not hesitate to lead an army back to Mordor to challenge the Black Gate once more.
The shadowy silhouettes of nearly three thousand Star Elves slithered through the dense forest like a serpent, its head pointed directly at Dol Guldur.
"Hold!" Elenthor called out after receiving the scouts' latest report. Instantly, the entire force halted.
(Elven assassins, a profession distinct yet akin to rangers, were nightmares for their enemies. Agile and highly skilled, they used their natural talents to devastating effect.)
"Scout again!" Elenthor commanded tersely, seeking the perfect moment to strike. The sun was still high, casting a soft glow through the foliage.
"Order the troops to rest and eat!" Elenthor glanced at the darkening sky, deciding to launch the attack under the cover of night. After such a grueling march, his soldiers deserved a brief respite.
"Form ranks! Ready arms!" At the forefront of the army, Elenthor raised his blade while astride his unicorn.
The Star Elves swiftly cleared a small space within the forest, though the larger trees were left untouched to avoid alerting the enemy.
"Still no reaction?" Elenthor sneered, his expression turning coldly amused. Despite the disappearance of numerous patrols, the Orcs seemed utterly unprepared.
Their negligence would cost them dearly.
Who would have thought an entire army would march so far to assault Dol Guldur?
"Advance!" Elenthor exchanged his blade for a finely carved longbow.
"Whizz!"
"Thunk!"
The first arrows flew, precise and deadly. The Orc sentries on the outskirts of Dol Guldur fell instantly, each struck by multiple arrows.
The famed Elven archers lived up to their reputation—there were no missed shots, and every Orc lay dead, pierced by the shimmering projectiles.
"Charge!" Elven rangers leapt over ridges and pathways, reaching Dol Guldur's entrance.
They clashed with the bridge's Orc defenders. While the Orcs reeled in confusion and shock, the Elves wasted no time unleashing their skills.
With a flourish of their blades—a deadly "Dance of Blades"—the rangers tore through their foes.
The stone bridge was quickly painted in black blood, strewn with mangled bodies and shattered limbs. The rangers surged forward, their aura of death striking fear even into the savage hearts of the Orcs.
But the momentum faltered. One ranger's curved blade met an Orc's heavy armor with a resounding clang, only to rebound without drawing blood.
"Argh!" The Orc's thick blade plunged into the ranger's chest, and he collapsed, lifeless, onto the battlefield. Around him, similar scenes unfolded.
"Fall back! The Orc heavy infantry has arrived!" A ranger finally sounded the alarm. Their opponents, clad in double-layered plate armor, were impervious to normal attacks.
Even the rangers' skillful "Dance of Blades" was impractical in the chaos of the battlefield.
"Duck!" A series of urgent shouts rang out.
A whirring sound filled the air as silvery discs, glowing faintly in the twilight, arced overhead.
These spinning moon-shaped blades sliced into the Orc ranks, eliciting screams and the screech of rending metal before returning to their wielders.
"It's our swordsmen!"
"The Moon Blade Waltz? Perfect timing!"
These reinforcements were the Singrey swordsmen, armed with massive spinning moon blades that could effortlessly cleave through heavy armor.
Though considered impractical by Rynar, they proved devastatingly effective here. Their unique skill, the "Waltz," shattered the Orcs' plan to block the Elves at Dol Guldur's gates.
Tonight, the darkness would truly face its reckoning.
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