Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

-Erebor-

"The orcs have arrived!" Bofur warned. From the gates of Erebor, the black smudges that heralded death were clearly visible. Many of the dwarves were eager to stain their axes and swords with the blood of those repugnant beasts.

Behind Bofur stood Kili and Fili, who, upon hearing the warning, rushed to his side, observing the countless spears looming in the distance over the Lonely Mountain. "Let them come! My sword will cut off their heads!" Kili said, euphoric. His tender age gave him hot blood, and he had long yearned for a battle to boast about.

"Orcs? Let those damned beasts come!" Glóin roared with ferocity, his twisted facial features betraying his eagerness. 'After all, I can't lose to that bastard Aldril' he thought. Not that he wanted to shout it aloud, his dignity was at stake! He couldn't afford to kill fewer orcs than Aldril.

So much so that he unconsciously ignored the fact that he might die. Not that it mattered to him. Glóin was that kind of dwarf, a trait inherited from his father and passed on to his son Gimli. 'I can't let them see me dancing naked,' he thought, his dignity on the line.

What would his son say if he found out? He couldn't even imagine it!

His fury froze for a moment as he saw countless arrows darken the morning light, shot from the valley, the southern slopes, and the eastern arms of the Lonely Mountain. The orcs fell like mere insects against a powerful pesticide.

"Those bastards won't leave me a single one!" Glóin exclaimed with renewed vigor. His rage needed an outlet, and what better way than to slay some orcs? But the problem was… not a single one had reached Erebor's gates!

A jovial laugh echoed. From the hallway emerged Dain, accompanied by Thorin and several dwarves. Dain, true to his known personality of being reasonable and cheerful, said, "Patience, the orcs will be here soon enough!" He walked over to Glóin, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder. But his demeanor shifted drastically when he saw the black smudges in the distance.

"Prepare for battle!" he ordered. His men, calling themselves the Sons of Durin, waited, ready to storm out of Erebor's gates.

Everything had gone as planned. The orcs had focused their attack on the ruins of the valley. Meanwhile, on the mountain slopes, a group of a thousand men and elves spread across the south and east, covering vast ground to prevent the orcs from besieging the valley.

"Now that the orcs are at our backs, this is a perfect moment to charge. What do you say, Thorin?" Dain asked Thorin, who met him with fervent reluctance and eyes filled with madness.

"No," Thorin replied, a single word that left the nearby dwarves stunned. "We will not go out. We'll take refuge here and let those idiots handle the orcs," he said in a low voice, restrained by reluctance and madness.

"We can't do that, Thorin! We gave them our word!" Dain exclaimed, the only one brave enough to oppose Thorin. What would his men think of a king who didn't keep his word?

"I am the king, and I say we will not go out!" Thorin bellowed. He cast only a fleeting glance into the distance, his eyes filled with reluctance. Finally, under the incredulous stares of the surrounding dwarves, he turned and headed back to his throne. But his trembling hands and dilated eyes betrayed his intense struggle with his inner madness.

----

In the dense prairie outside the valley, the orc army ran desperately, roaring in agony and fury. Where was Azog to lead them? They didn't know. That orc/goblin had ordered them to charge and distract the elves and men, which they were now doing. But there was a big problem: elves and men were positioned on the mountain slopes. Whom should they attack? Their intelligence, dulled by the corruption of dark magic, left them unable to decide.

"Attack! Attack!" one of the orcs shouted. Like dense ants, they surged forward without hesitation toward the ruins of the valley. Their massive numbers, though being steadily reduced, continued to advance, trampling over the bodies of the first orcs to die.

At the ruins of the valley, a dense volley of arrows kept flying. "Don't stop!" some shouted, as arrows rained down like thunder in a storm. Their efforts bore fruit, but the enormous horde of orcs kept advancing, seemingly endless.

"TROLLS!" Bard exclaimed from the walls. They were easy to spot; their massive figures and weight caused the ground to tremble slightly. Their heavy footsteps crushed orc corpses into pulp as they hurried forward. Their enormous clubs intimidated the men who continued shooting arrows from above, now aiming at the trolls. But these creatures had thick hides, supplemented by improvised armor that covered only their heads and chests.

Their advance allowed the orcs to approach the valley walls. Each group brought ladders and began placing them against the walls. How did they know to bring ladders? Of course, Azog had planned it. A rare case among orc/goblins, his military intelligence was first-rate, and he had anticipated that humans and elves would take refuge in the ruins of the valley.

"Quick!" the orcs urged their comrades. Some mounted on Wargs tried to climb the ladders, only to be knocked down by men who had unanchored them.

"LEGOLAS! ALDRIL!" Gandalf shouted. With his glowing staff, he unleashed waves of magic that sent unlucky orcs flying. Many nearby ladders were hurled into the air.

"It seems it's our turn," murmured Aldril, who had stowed his bow and was preparing to eliminate the six trolls battering the wall with a battering ram. If they delayed any longer, the wall would fall.

"So it seems," Legolas replied. With great skill, he sheathed his bow and drew his daggers in a rhythmic motion, almost as if rehearsed. Even in these simple movements, his elegance was evident. Beside him, the elves had also prepared themselves, they would charge alongside Aldril and Legolas! Their swords were now unsheathed, ready for their next move.

Aldril nodded as he drew Anguirel, the gleaming silver sword catching the attention of the orcs below. The sword's radiance seemed to pierce their very beings. Instinctively, they stepped back, trembling at the weapon's purity.

"See you down there!" Aldril shouted, leaping from the 20-meter-high wall. It was fortunate that the trolls didn't exceed 12 meters in height; otherwise, the impact would have been severe.

With the wind rushing past his face, Aldril descended with great skill and finesse. His strong physique allowed him to land as gracefully as a delicate feather on a pond. Like a swan, he touched the ground with elegance.

The orcs around him were momentarily stunned, only to be awakened by a smiling Aldril. With a Witcher's sign, he unleashed a telekinetic wave that sent orcs within a 6-meter radius flying through the air.

"Come on, you disgusting beasts!" he laughed, while unleashing a flurry of blows that cut through the orcs around him. A dance of death and beauty unfolded on that battlefield. Every step he took brought the death of at least two orcs in his path.

The nearby troll stopped pounding the wall with its massive hammer and focused its attention on Aldril. With a guttural growl, it charged at him, raising its hammer high and striking with relentless force at the spot where Aldril stood.

However, the attack missed its target, leaving only a dent in the ground now crushed by the blow. Pieces of earth scattered like sparks, but to Aldril, the movement was slow. With a precise sidestep, he effortlessly dodged the troll's strike.

"Too slow," he murmured. Gracefully, he swung his sword vertically. The sharp blade, combined with his strength, comparable to or even greater than that of a troll, allowed him to easily sever the troll's arm still gripping the hammer.

"Waaargh!"

The troll groaned, stepping back and falling onto its rear, crushing the orcs behind it with the momentum. A single strike was enough to defeat a troll—a clear display of Aldril's great progress.

Behind Aldril, orcs took the opportunity to rush at him, brandishing their rusty swords in an attempt to kill him. How naïve! Aldril didn't even need to turn around, as several spears pierced through the backs of the orcs. Elves, led by Legolas, descended from the wall with the grace of swans. Their naturally strong physiques allowed them to fall from heights of 30 meters without suffering injuries.

In the few seconds Aldril had taken to clear an area of 10 meters around him, about 10 elves, including Legolas, had descended, killing distracted orcs in the process. The spears thrown from above were effortlessly caught by the elves, who planned to form a phalanx on the left side of the orc horde. After all, the elves on the southern mountainside covered them with arrows, and the elevated terrain gave them a clear advantage.

Aldril, still slaughtering orcs with his deadly dance, began to notice that the size of the orc army was smaller than what Gandalf had reported.

'Where are the rest?' he wondered. However, he set aside his doubts and focused on charging toward the trolls still pounding on the now-dented wall.

"Something is wrong, and I need to hurry," he murmured, quickening his pace.

***

filthy orcs!

Have you ever felt like you haven't learned anything, but when you stop for a moment and look back you realize how far you've come compared to how you started?

15 advance chapter "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"