At that critical moment, Webber's pupils suddenly contracted! Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something black and sparking, arcing over the battlements and landing with a "plop" less than a meter from his feet!
It was a cast-iron grenade! An imitation made by the Sauron people—roughly fashioned, but its fuse was hissing as it burned rapidly, the sparks especially glaring in the darkness!
Several nearby soldiers saw it as well, and their faces went white in an instant. Some even instinctively shrank back.
Under such extreme danger, Webber's mind instead fell into a kind of icy clarity.
There was no time to think, no fear—only instinct. He lunged forward, bent down, and his right hand shot out like lightning, snatching up the smoking iron ball of death! It felt warm in his hand, while the crackling fuse sounded like Death's countdown.
Throwing his whole body into it, he twisted sharply from the waist and abdomen and hurled that hot potato back in the direction it had come from, as if throwing a hammer!
The grenade spun through the air, its sparks trailing a brief streak of light.
Startled cries came from the Sauron soldiers outside the wall, but the next moment, the grenade was thrown back again! And its fuse was still burning! Clearly, the Sauron people had been bewildered by this back-and-forth flying "bomb" themselves—or perhaps their workmanship was simply too poor, making the fuse's burn time wildly unstable.
"Fuck!" Webber cursed, adrenaline surging to its peak.
Almost on muscle memory alone, he bent down and reached out again. The instant the grenade landed for the second time, he seized it tightly once more! This time, he could even feel the cast-iron casing growing hotter and hotter, and the fuse had already burned down