Today We Eat Winged Dragon, So Happy
The next day!
A downpour swept away the anxiety, and the sky, washed clean by the rain, was exceptionally blue. Climbing the deep creek wall of Hornburg, one could easily see into the distance.
Dust and sand swirled in the air, and a dark, square army formation stood neatly arranged outside the valley, exuding a chilling aura that seemed to freeze the air, making each breath exceptionally difficult.
But this chilling atmosphere abruptly stopped at the front of the valley, and none of the tens of thousands of Isengard's allied troops dared to cross the line.
The corpses of two Orcs were piled on top of each other. Russell sat on the corpses, his Peerless Blade standing on the ground, facing a thousand troops alone.
Comparable to a confrontation in mythology and epics, this scene will surely be sung throughout the world, writing the most significant chapter in the history of the Third Era, and serving as the opening chapter of the rise of the human race!
In the valley, Rohan's soldiers pushed carts and chanted slogans as they picked up armor and steel swords from the ground and returned to the castle to distribute them to the militia who were unarmed and undefended.
This was Théoden's decision. After last night, the Orcs suffered a crushing defeat and fled, leaving behind a trail of arrows, armor, swords, and corpses. The corpses were one thing, but strategic resources like weapons and armor couldn't be left unattended, especially arrows, which were essential for defending the city.
The soldiers stripped the armor from the Orcs corpses and poured oil from their own pockets onto the bodies, intending to let the Rohans feel the warmth of the Rohan during the next charge of the Isengard coalition.
The soldiers bustled about, occasionally glancing up at Russell's retreating figure with eyes full of reverence. Recalling the events of the previous night, their hearts swelled with emotion that lingered for a long time.
Horse-riding peoples revere bravery and martial prowess. Imagine them, one man wielding a sword on horseback, slaughtering tens of thousands of enemies until they tremble with fear, unable to even muster the courage to charge. They would probably be willing to die for it.
"Russell, the iron pot you requested is boiling, and the herbs are all ready." Aragorn rode up to Russell's side. He was so happy to be eating wyverns today.
Like Nightmare, the Winged Dragon is a magical beast born from darkness and is theoretically inedible. However, Aragorn, having traveled with Russell from the Prancing Pony Inn to Helm's Deep, had seen the world and had long since come to appreciate its deliciousness.
"Finally ready? Why is it taking so long this time?" Russell complained, getting up and walking towards Hornburg.
Outside the valley, the dark mass of soldiers were all tense when they saw Russell get up. Only when he turned to leave did they slowly loosen their grip on their weapons.
At the gates of Hornburg, ten large cauldrons were bubbling and boiling, as the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring directed Rohan soldiers to gut the dragons, and the wooden tables were filled with slices of meat.
The group was busy with tasks like lighting the stove, adding firewood, arranging dishes, carrying wine, deboning and shaving meat. All that was missing was the head chef, Russell.
Russell was exasperated. This wasn't right. This battle was a matter of life and death for Rohan. Couldn't they be a little more serious?
Where is Théoden? The Rohan Warriors are so corrupt, isn't anyone going to do anything about it?
Then Russell saw Théoden, the cook in charge of cutting meat.
Russell: "..."
"Wizard Russell, you are a benefactor of Rohan, this is what we should do!" Théoden put down the cleaver, wiped his hands with his apron, and knowing that Russell had a taste for this dish, he personally took charge of the knife.
The King of Riders laid down his Sword of Kings and took up a kitchen knife instead; he was wronged!
Théoden had considered everything very carefully. Since the dragons were too large to fit in one pot, he specially ordered ten to be cooked. Not caring about waste, Théoden and the rest of the Rohan generals all expressed their willingness to serve, saying they would be happy as long as they had some soup.
Russell rolled his eyes and began mixing the broth... cough cough, I mean, preparing the potion. Soon, the snowflake pork was ready for hot pot, and the air was filled with its aroma. Théoden ordered his men to reward the garrison with dragon meat, and cheers rose in waves.
"This toast is to the great Master Russell!" Théoden raised his glass. Drinking before a battle was a major taboo, but last night's battle had almost secured victory, so a celebration was necessary.
"Homage to the great Master Russell!"
"Respect to the great..."
"..."
The shouts from the Hornburg were deafening, and the morale of the troops soared to unprecedented heights.
On the surface, this was just a feast for a group of foodies, but in reality, it was meant to intimidate the Isengard coalition.
Having a flying dragon is amazing?
That's amazing, the taste is incredible!
The effect was very obvious. On the Isengard side, the scouts sent back intelligence, and the army commander was furious, so angry that he overturned the table.
The orc army had never suffered such an insult before, and immediately ordered the army to retreat ten miles so as not to disturb the enemy's meal!
After a hearty meal, and also a blow to the morale of the Isengard coalition, the Rohan soldiers climbed the city walls again, leaving behind ten large cauldrons and the skeletons of wyverns, delivering a resounding slap to the enemy.
In the art of war, attacking cities is the least effective strategy; attacking hearts and minds is the best!
The banquet dealt a heavy blow to the Isengard coalition, intensifying their fear. Even though they still held an absolute numerical advantage, their morale plummeted, and the balance of the war tipped in favor of Hornburg.
Upon reaching the castle, Russell returned to his post at Deep Creek Wall, the most vulnerable area, where the powerful Fellowship of the Ring was stationed to guard against any unforeseen events.
Russell was greeted with hero's cheers, and when he changed into the Ringwraiths -style outfit, no one was afraid of him anymore.
Having witnessed his mighty display last night, the soldiers were no longer afraid, and even the old man guarding the city was confident of victory. The members of the Fellowship of the Ring also wore smiles, and some even thought that Gandalf might not have been as good as Russell if he had been in their shoes last night.
If Russell knew what they were thinking, he would definitely laugh at them for being all talk and no action, saying that he was still quite different from Gandalf.
For example, what would have happened if the Balrog had been in charge of last night's battle?
The Balrog once drove the Dwarves into isolation, forcing them to flee their homeland and retreat to the Lonely Mountain. The once mighty dwarven empire fell into decline. The Balrog's strength was enough to easily defeat the 30,000-strong army of Isengard.
Gandalf the Grey Robe could go toe-to-toe with Balrog, what about the even more powerful Gandalf the White?
Admittedly, the Balrog possesses flames that can incinerate everything, and its massive body is almost entirely composed of fire elementals, making it impervious to any sword or weapon. But Gandalf knows magic; besides his omnipotent Illumination Spell, he also knows many other spells.
In the original story, his final battle with the Balrog spanned from the abyss to the highest peak. He ultimately harnessed the power of lightning, piercing the Balrog's core with a single sword strike, slaying it—a testament to his magical prowess.
And then there's Saruman in his white robes, who casts spells to alter the heavens, causing a blizzard to engulf half of the Misty Mountains —how powerful he must be!
Gandalf, now a White Robe, may not possess the same profound strength as Saruman, but they are not far off. Russell believed that Gandalf could also wield the power of heaven and earth in his place.
In other words, Gandalf was unwilling to take action; otherwise, he could have easily wiped out Isengard's army by himself.
Gandalf accepted a mission to come to Middle-earth: to guide the natives in defeating Sauron, with himself as a support. This explains why, despite his immense power, he rarely displayed spectacular feats on the battlefield; he was the one who set the stage, not the one who performed.