Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

-General-

The arrival of the dwarves from the Iron Hills and the Mountains of Rhûn brought a much-needed respite to those who had been burdened by fear and worry. With renewed vigor, they joined the existing dwarven reinforcements.

"Dain! Dain!"

They chanted the name of the dwarf mounted on a war-boar. It was no surprise that this energetic dwarf was known and loved by all dwarves scattered across Middle-earth. No matter who from his kin called for aid, he would arrive with an army to support them. In a way, he was as popular as Thorin Oakenshield. They were, without a doubt, dwarves worthy of following!

A defiant smile spread across Dain's face. With his hammer held high, he crushed the head of a bewildered orc, its blood splattering his face and further accentuating his reddish, wet beard.

"Follow me! Dwarves and men of Rhûn!" he roared, charging into the remaining orcs.

On the other side, reddish and bluish gleams danced in unison, like spring and winter described poetically. The torrential rain only served to magnify Aldril's imposing figure, the firelight illuminating his face.

His draconic eyes were visible to all who dared to look, and many did! The orcs, in particular, instinctively recoiled, their fear of the man growing with each relentless blow from Aldril's sword.

As for the men, the only emotion that filled them was hope. They had already assumed they would likely lose the battle without reinforcements, and in their hearts, they had accepted dying to defend the city. Because of this, some had been sent to the refuge to lead all the women and children through secret tunnels away from the city.

That warrior was a guiding light in this dark, rainy night. They admired him, watching him cut down orcs with such ease in a dance that summoned death with every spin, every step. He forced the orcs to retreat, and this filled the men with fighting spirit.

Even some guards, after dispatching the orcs they were fighting, ran towards the exit. They wanted to follow the formidable warrior who fearlessly stood against the dense multitude of orcs!

However, Aldril extended his sword, stopping them. His stature had increased after fusing with Smaug's blood; now, his imposing figure of two meters exuded a natural, authoritative aura. A simple, casual gesture was enough to halt the excited guards and make the orcs tremble.

"Stay back," his calm voice resonated in the hearts of the guards, who, without understanding why, retreated wordlessly. There was no need to worry about a back attack, as most of the invading orcs had already been slain by Aldril.

The orcs, despite the fear gnawing at them, charged towards Aldril. There were thousands, and those further back roared, urging the ones in front to move. The growl of the rear orcs snapped those closer to Aldril out of their trance, allowing them to move and attack him.

But despite the dense, dark tide of orcs rushing towards him, Aldril remained calm. He had to be, otherwise his next move would fail. He inhaled with his eyes closed, holding his breath for a few seconds, then exhaled. As he opened his eyes, the reddish and bluish color shone with greater intensity.

His stance changed. He moved with lightness and elegance. His right hand rose to his head, Anguirel in his hand pointing forward. His left hand dropped to his waist, raising Anglachel further past his thigh.

His size and posture would be enough for any Elden Ring player to confuse him with Rellana Twin Moon Knight. He only lacked the armor to fully resemble her. After all, she was his master, and now he would honor her legacy by showcasing the true lethality of Rellana style. With the magic flowing through his veins, he was more than capable of achieving it.

The orcs approached with increasing haste, but it was futile. Aldril had already moved. With a spin, a small tornado of fire formed around him, incinerating the beasts that dared to approach. He spun twice more, the fire not diminishing. On the third spin, an icy cut sliced through the vortex. The bodies of the orcs began to pile up; dozens lay charred or torn by the freezing arc his sword had traced.

---

Much was discussed the following day about that display. Only the known Blue Wizards were capable of unleashing such powerful and striking attacks as Ilarion's. That's why his name was sung in bars and celebrations, wrapped in melodies that spoke of fire and ice.

But what happened after that display? The guards whispered it to their wives and children: after that attack, the brave warrior wrought havoc in the enemy ranks, opening a vital breach. They say that thanks to this, the dwarven reinforcements commanded by Dain Ironfoot managed to reach the west flank. Then they joined the battle with their dreaded charge. Thousands of orcs fell under their axes, and those who survived fled like cowardly beasts, leaving behind a field stained with blood and a fire that even the torrential rain could not extinguish.

"I tell you, I saw him charge at the orcs and face them fearlessly!" exclaimed a guard, his voice slurred with drink. The celebration of their victory would last at least a week; they had earned it.

"With his swords of fire and ice, he tore those disgusting orcs apart! I covered him so they wouldn't attack him from behind!" another added.

"You? Don't make me laugh, I saw you huddled in a corner of the wall, begging the orcs not to see you."

"What did you say, bastard?!"

"What you heard, idiot!"

---

The port's aesthetic was that of an average ancient Chinese town; its characteristic architecture was easy to distinguish, especially by the dragons carved into its eaves. In the largest building, Raizan chatted with Aldril, Tauriel, Dain, and Dûrgar. A rich variety of food was spread on the table, an ostentatious banquet that the dwarves gladly accepted!

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help!" exclaimed Raizan, standing up and bowing deeply, in a solemn Japanese-style gesture. His dark blue robe rippled slightly as he moved. "Without you, many of our people would have perished."

"My people needed help, it's nothing much," said Dain, shrugging dismissively as he tore meat with his teeth. "Although I have to admit that this"—he raised a glass of wine—"tastes better than any wine I've had in the Grey Mountains."

Raizan gave a brief smile. It was well known that the best wine in all of Middle-earth came from Rhûn; it was a shame that after the civil war and the accident of Zha'Karûn's flame, they were prevented from resuming their trade and wine production.

"We are both from Rhûn," Dûrgar interjected, his voice slow but firm. "Helping each other is the most logical thing. Besides, your enemies were also ours. What affects one, sooner or later, affects everyone."

Dûrgar ate with moderation and refinement. He held two chopsticks with surprising dexterity for someone of his robust build. It was clear that the dwarves of Rhûn had a very different culture from the rest of their kin.

"Orcs are a plague, and I cannot allow innocent people to die," Aldril said as he drank a little of the wine (it was surprisingly too delicious to only take a small sip).

Composing himself, Raizan smiled with deep relief.

"By the way, Dragon Slayer, I would like to..." The words didn't finish coming out as a knock on the door interrupted them. Everyone paid attention; perhaps it was something important.

Frowning, Raizan gestured for the door to be opened. A servant entered, bowing slightly and reporting.

"Sir, a Grey Wizard wishes to see you."

"Grey Wizard," Raizan murmured in bewilderment.

"Gandalf? / Gandalf?"

***

wow! what a day, here is your chapter! "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"