Rolling Around

Old Mountain Dragon!

As its name suggests, it is a giant dragon the size of a mountain.

Its main characteristic is its overwhelming size, with a tower-like horn standing on the tip of its nose, and its carapace covered with ferocious thorns that extend from its long neck to its long tail.

When on all fours, its body is about 70 meters long and 13 meters tall; the mere act of walking can shake the earth. Its massive size and extremely fast speed mean that everything around it is destroyed by the earthquake-like impact when it walks.

Therefore, it is known as the 'walking natural disaster'!

When Russell, transformed into the Old Mountain Dragon, stood up using his strong hind legs to support his body, everyone on the Pelennor Fields watched in silence.

It was enormous. Such a massive creature charging onto the battlefield would be a devastating blow to both Orcs and humans.

"A dragon!?"

"Was that... was that a dragon?"

"Impossible. The last dragon died in Rivervale. There are no more dragons left in Middle-earth..."

"The records are all lies; there is clearly another dragon!"

"..."

The plain was silent for a moment, then erupted into chaos. In Middle-earth, dragons were synonymous with invincibility. The Orcs closest to Russell crumbled, their initial amazement replaced by terror, and they fled for their lives toward the plain and toward the capital Minas Tirith.

Rumble—

Russell, now transformed into the Old Mountain Dragon, stomped his forelimbs on the ground and began to move forward on all fours. At that moment, the roar became extremely intense, as if the entire earth was trembling.

A terrifying figure, as large as a small mountain, rolled down, how could the flesh and blood of Orcs withstand it? Those who were smashed into a pulp by a single claw died a gruesome death, but it was all over. The unlucky ones, however, had their bones broken by a mere glancing blow, and lay on the ground howling in agony for a long time before dying in agony.

Because of his enormous size, his impact and movement generated strong wind pressure, which could cause great damage without deliberate attacks. Russell simply buried himself in his work, rampaging across the plains, overturning catapults one after another, and going wherever Orcs gathered.

Above the Pelennor Fields, shrill screams echoed endlessly. From above, the Orcs' once neat, square-shaped army was now a mess, with black dots of people fleeing for their lives everywhere, a scene of utter chaos, like an anteater rushing into an anthill.

"What are you doing? Do you think two legs can outrun a dragon? Grab your weapons and get back to your ranks!"

The leader of the Orcs legion, riding a dire wolf, led a hundred-man squad to Carnage the Riot with the bloodiest means, gathering the remnants of the army in a corner of the battlefield and rearranging their formation.

"Turn the catapults around and aim at the dragon. A dragon that can't fly is just a big, live target. What's there to be afraid of!"

Despite his physical limitations, this Orcs leader enjoyed immense prestige among his soldiers and quickly rallied thousands of troops.

Upon witnessing this scene, Russell raised his head and let out a high-pitched dragon roar that resounded through the sky like thunder, startling the thousands of Orcs soldiers who trembled and showed signs of collapsing once again.

"Damn it, anyone who dares to back down, I'll kill him right now."

Upon seeing Russell charging towards them, the leader's eye twitched. Suppressing his fear, he spurred his dire wolf to the front.

"Aim the catapult!"

"Put!"

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Three huge rocks were thrown high into the air. The leftmost one missed its target, while the remaining two smashed directly onto the thorns on Russell's back.

Bang!

Two muffled thuds followed, and the massive rock shattered, not even allowing Russell to pause for a moment.

Each scale of the Longshan Dragon has the hardness of rock, and its grayish-brown shell is just like a mountain rock. In fact, the shell is much harder than rock.

During their long lifespan, the scales absorb dust, mineral particles, and other substances floating in the atmosphere, resulting in a high metal content in the keratinous shell.

This is a moving iron lump, a deadly weapon on the battlefield!

"Archers, prepare! Aim for the dragon's eyes..."

"Put!"

Seeing that the catapults were useless, the army behind them became restless again. The Orcs leader hurriedly gave an order. He knew that if he didn't do something, the army on the plain would really be finished.

As the rain of arrows descended, Russell, transformed into the Old Mountain Dragon, opened its blood-red maw and let out a terrifying roar that shook all things.

A hurricane swept across the flat ground, and hundreds of arrows seemed to have been pierced into a quagmire. After a half-second stalemate, they were all flung away and landed in the army formation, causing screams of agony.

The archers in the front ranks were blown down by the hurricane, blood spilling from their mouths; they were clearly seriously injured. The legionary leader, meanwhile, sat motionless on his dire wolf, and from another angle, it would be clear that both he and the dire wolf were bleeding from all seven orifices, having been killed by the roar itself.

Russell was unaware that he had eliminated a local general. From a different perspective, looking down from above, he saw ants everywhere and couldn't distinguish which ants were uglier or which were uglier.

He stood upright on his hind legs, crushing the Orcs leader and the dire wolf into bloody pulp. Then, his massive tail swept across, smashing large numbers of Orcs into pieces and turning them into minced meat.

The long tail swept across again, Orcs only heard a whooshing explosion as the black shadow attacked, and the next second they knew nothing more.

After killing most of the thousands of Orcs, Russell ignored the remaining deserters and charged towards the next densely populated area. Perhaps feeling his firepower wasn't enough, he rolled sideways across the ground.

A seventy-meter-long metal mountain rolled across the ground, a sight too gruesome to behold. Amidst the thunderous tremors, the screams of the Orcs grew even more piercing.

The dragons had long held sway over Middle-earth, Orcs had no will to resist. Less than two minutes after Russell entered the battlefield, he shattered the Mordor army's will to collapse.

On the walls of the royal capital, the guards stared in disbelief. This giant dragon, which had ravaged the battlefield and made Orcs cry out in agony, seemed to be... one of their own!?

The crushing slaughter was exhilarating to watch, making one want to roar out in excitement, but the soldiers and civilians defending the city dared not, for fear they had guessed wrong.

Maybe this giant dragon isn't one of our own, it just happened to be passing by and came over after seeing people fighting.

Therefore, it's safer to remain silent. If it really isn't one of our own, and our shouting attracts the dragon's attention, who can stop it from destroying the capital!

On the other side of the iceberg, Gandalf and the Witch-king of Angmar were both stunned to see the Old Mountain Dragon rolling around.

"What's going on? There are still living dragons on Middle-earth?"

The Witch-king was astonished. During the War of the Gods, Sauron's superior Morgoth, created a dragon army, and he believed that the dragon before him was most likely a descendant of one of those dragons, just like Smaug.

"Perhaps we can win it over!"

The Witch-king of Angmar, having not witnessed Russell's transformation, made a rigorous deduction and concluded that he could recruit Old Mountain Dragon for his own use.

And Gandalf...

Although he didn't see Russell transform, the white-robed man's intuition told him that Old Mountain Dragon was Russell. His rolling and tumbling way of killing enemies was too flamboyant, something that ordinary dragons wouldn't dare to do.