Chapter 1115: Chapter 1095: The Death of the Evil Dragon
Eärendil once wore one of the Elven Gems, steering the white ship that soared across the sky, and slew the mightiest and greatest dragon, Ankala Gang.
He achieved this feat while he was still on the Middle-earth Continent, in the war against the Great Dark Enemy, Morgoth.
Perhaps it was precisely because he, too, had fought against dragons that the Light of Airendil, which Lady Galadriel had bestowed upon the Lady of the Lake’s Sword, was activated at this moment.
And when the dragon died, that thin, wavering ribbon of light hanging down from the starry firmament and linked to Aron Dite slowly faded into the air.
Only, upon the Lady of the Lake’s Sword, Lann could feel that gentle and pure Light of Airendil had not vanished with it, but instead returned to the depths of the Long Blade.
This light’s source was the crystal phial in Lady Galadriel’s hand, which stored the radiance of the Elven Gems.
It would not disappear merely because it had lost its link with the great Star of Hope in the heavens.
Accompanied by the sizzling, tearing sound of blade and sword being drawn out along with flesh and blood.
Lann pulled his two weapons back from Smaug’s chest cavity.
Among them, Aron Dite, its radiance once more drawn inward, appeared no different from before.
Lann merely flicked off the foul dragon blood that still clung to it, then slid the bloodless blade back into its scabbard.
The other weapon, [Muddy Stream·Destruction], was even simpler.
It did not even need to be wiped; any scrap of lingering flesh or blood would be devoured clean.
When [Muddy Stream·Destruction] had been gnawing on Smaug just now, the dragon had experienced terror beyond all measure.
Lann could understand that terror, for this Greatsword did not merely devour flesh and nourishment; in the Flame World it had also attained [Residual Fire].
That was a flame capable of scorching souls, and also the very foundation of the Flame World—the First Flame, of which a faint remnant still lingered.
Every drop of Smaug’s blood tainted by Residual Fire would burn away a portion of his soul.
In the end, the horror of having his flesh gnawed away was perhaps less than the horror brought by the loss of his soul.
And at the last, Lann had driven this Greatsword, whose blade ran two point seven, two point eight meters in length, straight into the chest cavity from which Smaug spewed dragon flame.
The searing red radiance that had been shining through Smaug’s skin from within his body dimmed and cooled in that same instant.
A vast body, a vast Life Force, yet he died with uncanny neatness... so neat it was almost unnatural.
"Mm..."
Lann, sensing something, lifted [Muddy Stream·Destruction] before his eyes to examine it, brows faintly furrowing as he tightened his grip on the Greatsword’s hilt.
A brittle crackling of "kara-la" sounded.
From near Lann’s grip, the material of [Muddy Stream·Destruction] began to spiderweb with fine fractures, as though some brittle substance had been crushed by the strength of his hand.
Yet in the depths of those fractured seams, a blazing red glow like flowing magma welled up.
This was the state [Muddy Stream·Destruction] entered when it awakened [Residual Fire].
Only now Lann was limiting his output, so scorching fissures appeared only around his grip; otherwise, those glowing cracks should have run across the entire blade.
The burning red light flashed and vanished, but the Demon Hunter was already nodding slightly, lost in thought.
"...Flesh taken as nourishment, soul taken as fuel, and even the dragon flame itself ’eaten’ along with them?"
The [Residual Fire] that had flared upon this Greatsword just now was not the [Remnant of the First Flame], but Smaug’s own dragon flame.
"Good. Just now, though I saw much with [Spiritual Vision], I’m still some distance from fully grasping dragon flame and folding it into the [Curse Fire]."
Lann muttered as he shoved [Muddy Stream·Destruction] back into the Alchemy Pouch at his lower back.
[Curse Fire] grows when its bearer witnesses and comprehends anomalous flames.
Dragon flame was, without question, such a flame.
Yet in his battle with Smaug, though Lann had observed the dragon flame with [Spiritual Vision], most of his focus had been on watching and analyzing Smaug’s methods of movement and attack.
Thus, when Smaug died, he had not yet fully understood the dragon’s flame.
But Smaug was already one of the very few surviving dragons.
And since his Greatsword had already taken the lead in devouring the dragon’s flame, he could henceforth observe the sword itself to complete his understanding of dragon flame and then fold it into the [Curse Fire].
The dragon was dead.
Once this thought was firmly confirmed in Lann’s mind, he could not help but let out a breath, his once-straight spine and shoulders finally relaxing.
Though Smaug, as he had said, was a wretched, formless muck in character and will, the power he bore had not been false.
The threat and pressure he brought were not illusions, either.
But fortunately, it was dead.
Slain alive by a man with two swords.
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"Look at Long Lake Town!"
The people who had taken shelter in the ruins of River Valley City scrambled up the shattered walls and watchtowers, their gaze crossing the gentle, barren slopes at the foot of the Lonely Mountain to the rippling Long Lake, glimmering beneath moonlight and starlight.
Under the curtain of night, Long Lake burned like a vast brazier, the cruel firelight even reflecting back up toward the heavens.
It turned the horizon flame-red, starkly conspicuous.
When Smaug burst out from the Lonely Mountain, smashing open the gates, he did not discover the people hiding here as he flew over the ruins of River Valley City.
They kept firmly in mind what Bard and Lann had told them: in the darkness of night not a single spark of firelight could be allowed to show, or they would all die.
People shrank back, hiding in sealed rooms overgrown with cobwebs and vines, or in town halls claimed by weeds and dust.
The dragon’s storm-raising wings drove up a violent and colossal wind.
As it passed over the ruins of River Valley City, that wind plunged from the sky into every abandoned alley, every ruined room, turning into a wail like that of haunting specters.
As though the entire city’s ruins were filled with wrathful spirits and evil.
Not daring to light fires, people could only huddle together, praying they might survive this night.
Only when the wind that set their teeth chattering had howled past did some of the bolder townsfolk dare stick their heads out to see what was happening.
They saw the dragon’s ravaging of the town.
Everything was just as in the tales.
The invincible great dragon burned the city, spreading his wings in the midst of the flames, towering over all, flaunting his power and dominion.
And in the Dark Forest, the Elves of the Woodland Kingdom also watched with deep concern the firelight that shone upward at the sky from the horizon’s edge.
Thranduil saw a hope of slaying the dragon; the King, abandoning his former cautious policy, personally led a host, wishing to seize this chance to purge the evil.
The news had already spread throughout the Kingdom.
The King was as valiant as he had been thousands of years ago—this news stirred many hearts.
The Elves strung their bows and slung their quivers; though inspired by the King’s valor, they also obeyed Thranduil’s command.
If they failed, then the foremost duty of the Elves who remained would be "to defend their home under the dragon’s vengeful wrath."
Thus all the Elves were at this moment gazing solemnly and in grave silence at the pillar of fire surging up in the distance.
And beyond the Dark Forest and Long Lake Town, a band of Beastmen entrenched along the shores of the lake were also observing the great burning crag upon the waters in the far distance.
The Beastman chieftain with the twisted skull, mounted upon a tall and vicious Warg, stood on a rock outcrop, staring toward Long Lake Town.
They too were waiting for the final outcome.
The masters of the Beastmen and Smaug both belonged to evil.
Yet among evils, intrigue and foul dealings ran even deeper.
The masters of the Beastmen and Smaug had previously parleyed, even establishing cooperation.
But no one knew better than they how overbearing and faithless dragons were, how boundless their inborn greed and cruelty... did anyone think such vile habits were reserved only for their enemies?
If either Smaug or the Beastmen’s master truly, solidly believed the other, then his wits must have rotted.
So although they were allies in name, when the Beastmen saw Smaug rampaging through Long Lake Town, they had not the slightest intention of entering.
For they knew that once they went in, whether they would first face the attacks of Men or the unrestrained dragonfire was anyone’s guess.
Thus, even when the Beastman chieftain with the twisted visage saw with his own eyes the tide of battle turn in an instant—the dragon that had been so arrogant and tyrannical over the town suddenly having half a wing torn away—
and then a slender, flickering thread of Starlight descended from the heavens, linking to something within the town—
and at last the towering great dragon crashed down, in a blink rendered utterly and completely dead by the Light of Airendil and Muddy Stream·Destruction, without even the slightest twitch left in his remains—
throughout it all, the Beastman chieftain felt only astonishment, and never once any urge to go in and aid him.
By the end, he even felt a flicker of excitement.
For now that Smaug, this ally in name only, was dead, the Lonely Mountain... the Gold within the mountain, the strategic position of this Kingdom, all had become ownerless!
"You! Go find my father! Go to Dorguldu and find Azog, tell him it is time to march! The Lonely Mountain no longer has a master! This is our best chance to bind the North into one and rebuild the Angmar Kingdom!"
The savage and evil Black Speech burst from the Beastman chieftain’s twisted mouth.
Beneath the jutting rock on which he sat astride his Warg, a Warg Rider nodded and took the order, then his Warg sped off into the distance.
And after making these arrangements for the messenger, Borg, son of Desecrator Azog, bared the likewise twisted teeth within his crooked mouth in a feral, greedy grin.
"The rest of you!"
He barked the words, and the Beastmen and Wargs below the rock stared up, eyes gleaming, awaiting his command.
"Follow me to Gondarba! We’ll summon the army there as well! This time, we take the Lonely Mountain! We take the whole North!"
"Hu-ha!" *N
The Black Speech spilling from Borg’s mouth lent his words an added taint of evil and ambition.
But just as Borg finished speaking, from their southwest, in the direction of the depths of the Dark Forest—
far off above a sky shrouded in heavy cloud, a sacred and keen white wave of light spread outward from above the clouds, washing toward them!
