"Forget it, Singrey! We better not go in!" Rynar said, his tone firm.
"Sennar excels in chaotic battles. On a crowded battlefield, we don't stand much of a chance against him.
Let's circle the perimeter and wait for reinforcements instead."
The thought of Sennar's terrifying battlefield dominance and his ability to eliminate multiple foes at once quickly extinguished Rynar's intent to charge into Singrey.
If the city fell and chaos erupted, it would be nothing short of Sennar's ideal slaughterhouse.
"Agreed, agreed!" Vanervi nodded repeatedly, still haunted by his previous encounter with Sennar.
The way Sennar drained life energy to fuel his battle aura or restore his vitality was utterly nauseating to him.
As a grassland elf, Vanervi, like his kin, revered the natural flow of life energy. But to Sennar, such energy-rich beings were nothing more than mobile blood bags.
"As you command, Your Highness!" Omsk nodded respectfully.
While he also felt that entering Singrey was unwise, he was ready to march into hell if ordered by his king.
Thankfully, Rynar shared his concerns, sparing Omsk from facing an insurmountable dilemma.
"Faster! Singrey is under siege! They need us! Our kin are waiting for our aid! Move quickly!"
In the dense jungle, Thranduil led a force of 2,000 Wood Elf rangers, leaping swiftly from treetop to treetop.
This was the largest contingent he could gather on such short notice.
He had forgone archers, mages, and other specialized fighters. In the chaos of close combat, ranged firepower was less effective—and the rangers were more than capable of fulfilling those roles.
Unlike at Erebor, Thranduil had come to Singrey specifically for rescue. He was prepared for an all-out, blood-soaked confrontation with the Orcs.
The Woodland Realm, inspired by the valor of his father at the gates of Mordor, would fight to honor the bonds of blood and loyalty shared by the Star Elves and the Woodland Elves.
"Damn Orc scouts!" Thranduil cursed as he cleaved through one with a single stroke of his blade.
Beside him, elven assassins swiftly slit the throats of the remaining Orcs with their rapiers. The sound of bodies hitting the forest floor echoed as more than a dozen Orcs collapsed, clutching their severed necks.
"Move!" Thranduil commanded, barely glancing at the fallen enemies as he advanced.
With every step, his boots crushed the blood-soaked earth beneath him, leaving behind a path paved with the corpses of Orc scouts.
"Halt, King of the Elves!" said Lydirias mockingly, leaning on his battle axe.
"So, you've come to die after all! You're no different from your father!" sneered Khamûl.
The two Black Heroes stood with calm confidence, yet their mere presence weighed down on the elven rangers like a mountain.
"Silence, fallen ones! You are unworthy to speak of my father!" Thranduil roared, drawing his blade and charging at them in fury.
To the elves, the Black Heroes were known as Fallen Heroes. While the Zaltarion Empire referred to them by the former title, the term "Ringwraiths" was commonly used in Middle-earth.
However, there was a distinction: all Ringwraiths were Fallen Heroes, but not all Fallen Heroes became Ringwraiths.
These nine had pledged their allegiance to the undead sorcerer Sauron and gained immortality through dark magic.
Yet many other powerful beings had also fallen into corruption, seduced by the promise of godlike power.
"You cannot defeat two Ringwraiths!" Khamûl and Lydirias declared in unison. Their piercing voices caused pain in the ears of all who heard them.
Indeed, Thranduil's chances of victory were slim. Khamûl, the second Ringwraith, and Lydirias, the fourth, were a deadly duo even a dragon rider would fear.
Driven by fury, Thranduil ignored his better judgment. With a surge of hot blood to his head, he charged.
His curved blade gleamed with silver light, slicing through the air as he dashed toward the two foes, propelled by the wind.
Lydirias raised his axe to block, while Khamûl instinctively swung his flail.
Clang! Khamûl staggered back a step, but Thranduil was sent flying by the impact.
"Woodland rangers, hear me! Break through the Orcs' encirclement and enter Singrey!"
Thranduil commanded. Without hesitation, he twisted his body and lunged at the two Black Heroes again.
Boom! His curved blade collided violently with Lydirias's axe, and with the momentum of the clash, Thranduil spun and slashed at Khamûl, who retaliated with his flail.
Clang! Weapons clashed, and Thranduil was forced to retreat.
Yet as he glanced at his rangers locked in a desperate struggle with the Orc horde, his initial hesitation gave way to steely resolve.
He knew he couldn't kite the two Ringwraiths. If even one of them broke free to target his rangers, it would be a massacre. He had to keep them both occupied, no matter the cost.
Historians who later studied the Singrey Siege, a turning point in the North's fate, marveled at one fact: everyone was outshining themselves, except Thranduil, who bore the brunt of the battle.
He became the only warrior to face every single Ringwraith in the campaign—Khamûl, Lydirias, and even Sennar.
Though he was overpowered at every turn, and his injuries were severe, his elven resilience and regeneration kept him alive—barely.
Only those who witnessed the battle firsthand could comprehend Thranduil's greatness.
With a single curved blade, he managed to stall Khamûl and Lydirias, preventing them from reaching the main battlefield.
This pivotal act ensured the collapse of the Orc army and the successful entry of the Woodland Elves into Singrey. But the cost…
"Urgh…" Thranduil groaned, suppressing the urge to vomit blood as he put some distance between himself and the Black Heroes.
His face was ashen, his left arm hanging limp and boneless. Khamûl's flail, similar to Angmar's, had crushed his arm in a brutal strike.
Desperate, Thranduil had used his weapon and arm to block the blow, shattering the latter in the process.
"Impressive, Elf King! Still alive after that!" Khamûl taunted.
"Windshadow Pursues Light!" Thranduil's expression turned grim as he channeled his wind magic.
In a flash, he was upon Lydirias, who barely dodged in time. The wind blades still sliced through his chest plate, releasing dark vapor.
Thud! The next moment, Lydirias retaliated with a powerful swing of his axe, sending Thranduil hurtling backward, blood spraying from his chest.
"I am immortal!" Lydirias declared with a weakened but triumphant grin.
"Charge!" Thranduil roared, throwing himself at them once more without hesitation.
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