Chapter 3: Roasting the Master
Lake-town.
Another ten minutes passed.
Escorted by dozens of soldiers clad in armor and gripping various weapons, the Master and his lackey Alfrid finally arrived.
The moment the Master laid eyes on the mound of gold, greed flooded his face. His eyes lit up, and he nearly lost control of himself as he muttered under his breath, "So much gold…"
"My lord," Alfrid immediately whispered, "the legends are true. The Lonely Mountain holds countless treasures. Perhaps… one day, all of it could belong to you."
The Master was in no condition to resist such temptation. His imagination ran wild, and with it, his confidence swelled—though his steps grew slower and slower, instinctively, under the crushing pressure radiating from Smaug.
After a long while—
The group finally stopped about fifty meters away from Smaug.
The Master stole another glance at the hill of gold, took a deep, silent breath, and forced himself to speak.
"Great Lord Smaug," he said ingratiatingly, "I am the Master of Lake-town. May I ask… what are your commands?"
Seeing the Master wear such a sycophantic expression, the residents hiding nearby all showed identical looks of disgust.
Smaug felt the same revulsion toward the bloated man—but now was not the time to act.
"After sleeping for over sixty years," Smaug said slowly, "I've come up with a fine idea."
"I intend to establish a kingdom of dragons."
"If you submit to me, you may immediately relocate back to Dale. And every year, you will receive this much gold."
"What you must do is simple: provide me with cooked food on a weekly basis, and obey my commands."
The words struck home.
The greedy Master stared once more at the pile of gold, his gaze burning as his thoughts raced.
This much gold every year!
In just a few years, I'd be unimaginably rich!
When the time comes… I can always run away in secret!
Perfect plan!
Having convinced himself, the Master was just about to agree—
When suddenly—
Knowing exactly what kind of scum the Master was—and certain he would accept—Bard panicked. He rushed out and shouted loudly,
"And if we refuse to submit?!"
Bard had no intention of bowing.
The reason was simple.
His ancestor—the last Lord of Dale, Girion—had effectively been killed by Smaug.
Hearing this, Smaug shifted his gaze slightly, fixing his eyes on Bard. Then, the corners of his mouth curled upward into a pleased, almost amused smile.
The moment Bard saw that wicked grin, his heart sank.
This is bad.
"I remember your scent," Smaug said at last. "Let me put it another way."
"Whether you submit or not, once night falls today, Lake-town will cease to exist."
"Submit to me and move to Dale."
"Or leave this land forever."
"The choice is yours."
At once, Bard clenched his fists, hatred surging through him. He wanted nothing more than to charge forward and fight this evil dragon to the death.
At that moment—
The Master finally found his chance to speak.
Forcing a fawning smile onto his face, he hurriedly said,
"Great Lord Smaug, on behalf of Lake-town, I am willing to submit. We will move to Dale as quickly as possible."
"Very good," Smaug replied.
"Then there is only one last matter."
"You—and that rat-like human beside you—step closer."
The Master and Alfrid exchanged glances, completely unable to guess what Smaug intended.
But since an agreement had already been reached… stepping a little closer shouldn't be a problem.
That was what both of them thought as they began to move.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps…
"Lord Smaug," the Master asked respectfully, "do you have any further instructions?"
Smaug smiled.
He opened his jaws and released a small burst of flame—smooth, effortless, all in one motion.
The Master and Alfrid didn't even have time to react before the fire engulfed them completely.
"AAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
Their screams, shrill and agonizing, echoed from within the flames.
The soldiers behind them stumbled backward in terror, while many residents farther away turned and fled outright.
Notably, Bard did not move. He remained where he was.
Only those who had experienced it firsthand could understand just how terrifyingly hot a fire dragon's flames truly were.
Moments later—
The Master and Alfrid were gone without a trace. All that remained on the ground was a small pile of ash.
"I know how those two oppressed you," Smaug said calmly.
"You need a new Master."
After speaking, he beat his wings and rose into the air.
"Remember this—before nightfall, everyone must leave Lake-town."
With that final command, Smaug said nothing more and flew straight back toward the Lonely Mountain.
On the eastern clearing of Lake-town, silence reigned.
Everyone stood frozen, heads tilted upward, eyes filled with terror as they watched Smaug depart.
After a short while—
Someone finally snapped out of it and looked down at the mound of gold.
Smaug was gone.
The gold… remained.
In the blink of an eye, more and more gazes locked onto the shining pile.
"No one touch it!"
Suddenly, the captain of the soldiers turned and roared at Bard and the nearby residents. Immediately after, he began barking orders at his men, clearly intending to seize the gold.
"That doesn't belong to you!" a bold resident shouted as he rushed out.
"If you take it, Smaug will burn you alive!"
Greed truly did move the human heart—the words were almost laughable.
Less than two minutes later—
Chaos erupted.
---
Across the great lake from Lake-town lay Mirkwood.
This was the realm of the Woodland Elves.
On ordinary days, the forest was quiet, free of noise and disturbance.
Today was different.
Smaug's sheer size—and the forest's proximity to the Lonely Mountain—meant that almost the moment he left Erebor, the elves noticed him. The news was swiftly reported to Thranduil.
At this moment—
Thranduil stood solemnly at the highest point of his realm, unmoving, watching Smaug fly back toward the mountain, his mind racing.
That Smaug was still alive came as no surprise.
Dragons lived long lives. Thranduil had always believed Smaug had never truly died.
Why did it suddenly emerge?
What is it trying to do?
Middle-earth will not know peace again…
Thranduil cherished tranquility. He wished only to remain within Mirkwood, unwilling to involve himself in the affairs of the outside world.
Withdraw from the world and rule one's own domain—such a saying suited him perfectly.
"Triple the border patrols," Thranduil ordered calmly.
"Remain vigilant against any attack by Smaug."
This time was no different. Thranduil still wished to stay hidden within his forest.
After speaking, he turned his head slightly toward Lake-town.
Earlier, his son Legolas and the elf Tauriel had already departed for Lake-town to gather information.
As he gazed in that direction, Thranduil felt an unfamiliar urgency—and, rare as it was, a flicker of hope that Legolas would bring back good news.
---
Lake-town had fully boiled over.
Almost everyone was on the move, not daring to stop even for a moment—despite there still being plenty of time before nightfall.
Notably, everyone chose the same destination: Dale.
Even Bard did.
Which made sense.
After all—
If not Dale, where else could they go?
The only other habitable land nearby was Mirkwood.
Unfortunately, the Woodland Elves would not welcome humans.
The townsfolk were busy, and it took Legolas and Tauriel some effort to piece together what had happened.
When they finally understood—
Both elves, perfectly sane as they were, couldn't help but doubt their own ears.
After sleeping for over sixty years, the first thing Smaug did upon emerging… was announce his intent to establish a dragon kingdom?
"He's the last dragon in Middle-earth," Legolas said, utterly baffled.
"A kingdom of one—can that even be called a kingdom?"
Tauriel, less versed in such matters, hesitated.
"Is he truly the last dragon? Could there be others?"
Legolas shook his head firmly.
"No. He really is the last."
Tauriel fell silent for a few seconds.
"We should return."
Legolas liked Tauriel. He nodded without hesitation.
"Mm."
Before long—
After hearing Legolas's report, Thranduil couldn't help but laugh—half amused, half incredulous.
But the expression lasted only a moment before his face turned grave.
For regardless of whether Smaug's ambition to build a dragon kingdom was absurd or not—
The power of the evil dragon Smaug could not be ignored.
"Spread this news as quickly as possible," Thranduil decided after some thought.
"Let the others of Middle-earth deal with it."