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Relying on his agility, Jimmy leapt from one warg to another, landing on their backs as he continued to hunt the fleeing Azog.
The orcs' retreat was not a retreat at all.
It was a collapse.
Once the line broke, everything scattered, wargs bolting in every direction like sparrows blasted out of the sky, no formation, no coordination, everyone running for their own lives.
It made one thing painfully clear.
After every battle with orcs, there was a reason survivors still had to be hunted down.
These creatures could lose a war and still manage to lose themselves in the process.
Behind them, the great bear thundered forward.
Its bursts of speed were terrifying, its initial charge overwhelming, but over distance, it could not keep pace with the wargs.
Once Azog withdrew, the bear chased for a few hundred meters, let out a triumphant roar, then turned back, satisfied, lumbering away through the trees.
---
"Azog." a rider called out, reining in beside him.
The orc sat atop a massive, scarred panther-like beast, its muscles rippling beneath dark fur.
"Orders from Dol Guldur." the rider continued. "The master commands you to return at once. There are new directives."
Azog steadied his breathing, rage still simmering beneath the surface.
"I will go," he said coldly. "If you believe you can defeat that human, feel free to try. I promise you will not regret it."
The rider said nothing more.
Jimmy cut down the last orc in his path and finally slowed, scanning his surroundings.
Too quiet.
He frowned.
"…I may have chased a little too far."
Every single one of them rode wargs.
No horses.
Which meant one thing.
"Great," Jimmy muttered. "Guess I am walking back."
He glanced at the fallen wargs nearby, then shrugged.
"Well Since I am already here."
He dragged two of the carcasses together.
"One for me, one for the dwarves."
Blood was drained, hides split, meat cleaned with practiced efficiency.
A pit was dug, fire lit, and the warg was sealed beneath packed earth to roast slowly.
While waiting, Jimmy opened his status panel.
After a quick round of adjustments, he reached into the Cube, pulled out elven waybread, and devoured six pieces in quick succession, patting his stomach with satisfaction.
"That hits the spot."
---
[Name: Jimmy Halstead]
[Level: 7 (12%)]
[Age: 1]
[Abilities: Accelerated Healing, Feral Senses, Enhanced Smell, Advanced Hand to Hand Combat, Bladed Weapon, and Clawed Mastery]
[Equipment: Memory-Bonded Adamantium]
[Strength: 48]
[Agility: 55]
[Mental: 27]
[Available Points: 0]
[Techniques: None]
[Combat Skills: Silat]
---
He closed the panel.
Two levels were gained in the goblin tunnels, and another during the chase.
Power thrummed beneath his skin.
He had noticed it earlier.
Only after raising Mental did the option to boost Agility appear again.
Which meant there was a limit.
Attributes could not differ by more than thirty points.
If that was the case, Mental needed work.
Agility could wait.
He was aiming for balance, not specialization.
Not every battlefield came with allies.
Preparation mattered.
After adjusting his build, Jimmy slept lightly beside the embers, then dug the roasted warg free and tore into it.
He paused mid-bite.
"…A little sour, still gamey."
He finished the first warg, then stared at the second, hesitating.
"This one might hurt my reputation."
After a moment, he sighed.
"Waste is worse."
The second clay-packed roast was sealed into the Cube, directions checked, and Jimmy broke into a run toward the skin-changer's cabin.
---
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Hey," Jimmy called out, knocking with one hand. "Anyone home?"
The door opened.
A massive figure filled the frame, broad, wild-haired, shackled at the wrist with an iron cuff.
"I know you." the man said slowly. "The human warrior in blue armor."
Jimmy smiled politely.
"Name's Jimmy Halstead," he said. "As you can see, Human."
"You may call me Beorn." the skin changer said calmly. "You do not look like an ordinary human. Come in. Your companions are already inside."
Jimmy hesitated, then lifted the clay-covered roast in his hands.
"Sorry, I did not know if you had any rules about food. I roasted a warg, just in case."
Beorn laughed once and waved it off.
"You could roast orcs, and I would not care," he said. "If you ever manage to roast Azog, I will personally prepare the finest ale you have ever tasted."
With that, Beorn turned and walked inside.
Jimmy blinked.
"I have limits," he muttered. "Even I am not eating orcs."
He cracked the hardened clay shell, steam rising, the meat perfectly cooked.
Thump.
The roasted warg landed squarely on the table.
"I already ate," Jimmy said with a grin. "This one is for you."
The dwarves stared.
"…That is certainly generous."
"Yesterday's battle." someone asked quickly. "How bad was it?"
Beorn returned with bowls of hot milk.
"Orcs everywhere," he said simply. "After that, the human chased the largest group, and I did not bother following."
Jimmy nodded.
"I ran them nearly a hundred miles," he added casually. "Slept. Roasted two wolves. Came back. They will not bother us for at least a day."
The room erupted.
"Oh thank the mountains."
"Finally free of those flies."
"Once we cross Mirkwood, we reach the Lonely Mountain."
The dwarves clapped and laughed, relief washing over them.
Beorn did not smile.
"I would not celebrate yet," he said bluntly. "Mirkwood is sick, Darkness has taken root. The sorcerer of Dol Guldur has cast his shadow across the forest. Poison fog and illusion fill the paths."
The room fell quiet.
"And the Wood Elves." Beorn continued. "There are no friends. I dislike dwarves, but I hate orcs more. You fight orcs, so I will help you."
He looked at Thorin.
"The elves hate everyone. They will not welcome you."
Gandalf stiffened.
"Dol Guldur," he said slowly. "The Necromancer has returned."
"Returned." Beorn corrected. "And he has made bargains with the orcs. In the poisoned forest, the fog shields them. My people were taken because of it."
"Your people," Bilbo asked softly.
"There were many of us once," Beorn said. "Like the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain."
"And now," Bilbo asked.
Beorn paused.
"Only me."
---
Outside, Beorn lay out saddles while the dwarves packed the supplies he provided: weapons, arrows, bows, food, and water.
"When you enter the forest," Beorn warned. "Do not leave the old forest road. Step off it, and the forest will take you. You will not find your way back."
Final instructions given, he stepped aside.
"Thank you for your help."
"Kill orcs," Beorn said simply. "And remember, if you ever cook Azog, I will bring the best ale I own."
He clasped Jimmy's shoulder firmly.
Jimmy smiled thinly.
"Roasting him might be excessive," he said. "But next time I see him, I will carve him piece by piece."
"Mount up."
They rode.
---
Mirkwood was no longer the forest of old.
The trees were twisted and knotted, bark warped as if in pain, branches sagging beneath layers of slick moss, leaves thin and sparse, clinging only to the highest limbs.
The ground was a carpet of rot, the air thick with decay, and beneath it all, Gandalf felt something worse.
Death magic.
The deeper they went, the stronger it became.
Dol Guldur was active.
The Necromancer was not a rumor.
He was here.
Gandalf slowed, then stopped.
"Thorin," he said quietly. "I must go to Dol Guldur."
Thorin turned sharply.
"We will meet again at the foot of the Lonely Mountain." Gandalf continued. "Stay on the road, do not stray."
With that, the wizard turned away, already vanishing into the darkened forest.
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