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*****
"They're only moving out now… it seems they've finally discovered our reinforcements."
George thought to himself as he listened.
Before setting out, he had already infiltrated Gothmog's army and discovered the hidden dragon legion.
He now understood why Morgoth was so confident in being able to remove Himring as a thorn in his side at this moment.
For George, however, this was good news.
According to the original storyline, Ancalagon was supposed to appear only at the very end of the First Age—when the Valar, along with elves and men, had already stormed Angband's stronghold. Only then did Morgoth unleash this trump card.
Now, being brought out so many years in advance meant Morgoth must have poured a considerable amount of his own power into him.
If George could wipe them out in one stroke here, Morgoth would be weakened to an unprecedented degree—making the day of his downfall not far off.
"Forward, the army marches!"
At Fingon's command, the combined armies of the three races advanced at full speed to reinforce Himring.
At their current pace, it would take less than an hour before they could reach the fortress and strike Gothmog's forces from the rear.
"We've arrived!"
Forty-five minutes later, a vast plain spread out before George's eyes.
At its far end rose a towering mountain, upon whose slopes stood the elven city of the Sons of Fëanor.
The city occupied a natural stronghold, perched high with steep terrain, making it easy to defend and difficult to attack.
But with countless dragons circling overhead, its advantage had been stripped away. The city walls were already crumbling.
Balrogs and orc armies had forced their way in, with many flooding into the city, clashing in brutal close combat against the Noldor elves.
"Damn it! I didn't expect them to arrive so quickly!"
Standing atop the city walls, Gothmog, towering twenty meters tall, tossed the corpses of two slain elven princes to the ground, his face twisted with cruelty.
He had anticipated the coalition's reinforcements, but not that they would arrive sooner than expected.
Had they been delayed by just two hours, Himring would have already fallen, and his forces could have turned in full to intercept the allied army.
Crush the coalition, and the so-called defensive line would cease to exist. Middle-earth would then lie entirely in their master's hands.
"Ancalagon! Leave the finishing blow here to me. Take the dragon legion and stall the coalition forces!"
Gothmog bellowed his order to the massive dragon spewing flames wantonly in the skies above.
Though this development was unexpected, it wasn't a serious problem.
The dragon legion controlled the skies, and even against the coalition alone, their chances of victory were great.
And they only needed to hold them temporarily. Once he finished with the elves here, his forces could turn and, alongside the dragons, annihilate the three armies in one decisive strike.
"Gothmog, don't speak to me in that tone. 'Stall them'? Hmph. I'll simply burn these insects to ash!"
Ancalagon cut off his flames long enough to roar his reply, then led the dragon legion soaring toward the coalition charging across the plain.
"Just like Glaurung—arrogant beast with a temper to match."
Gothmog cursed inwardly at the dragon's arrogance.
Whether Glaurung, Ancalagon, or even the orcs, they were nothing but creatures crafted by their master. Strong, yes, but incomparable to him.
He, the Balrog host, and Sauron were all Maiar, children of Eru's creation. Even if they died, their spirits would return to Him.
"Be cautious of that human sorcerer, George."
Despite his disdain, Gothmog still gave a warning for the sake of victory.
In his eyes, though the coalition was powerful, the most dangerous among them was the man who had slain both Glaurung and Sauron—the human mage, George.
Before this campaign, their master had given special emphasis to this one human.
Though Ancalagon's power, according to Morgoth, far exceeded Glaurung's—imbued with much of his own strength—it was best not to underestimate the threat.
"A mere human? Watch me burn him alive!"
Ancalagon swooped over the coalition army and loosed a torrent of dragonfire at George, Fingon, and the others.
The rest of the dragons followed his lead, raining fire upon the massed troops below.
In an instant, the world turned crimson, the sky ablaze.
"Raise the magic shields!"
Fingon, as commander, showed no trace of panic in the face of the inferno.
This campaign, after all, their soldiers had been armed with the latest enchanted equipment provided by the Academy of Magic.
"Pathetic! Do you think mere shields can withstand our flames? Burn them to ash!"
Ancalagon's voice dripped with contempt from above.
Just moments before, Himring's elves had tried to block dragonfire with their shields—only to be melted down with them into formless lumps.
This was no ordinary fire but demonic flame, infused with the power of darkness.
Yet things did not go as Ancalagon expected.
As the coalition soldiers raised their shields and poured magic into them, golden energy barriers blossomed above each one.
Linked together, these barriers formed a vast, seamless wall, holding back the torrents of dragonfire raining from the heavens.
"Elven archers, prepare!"
Seizing the opening as the dragons pulled back to climb higher after their fiery volley, the barriers dropped. Beneath them, elven archers who had long been ready sprang up and drew their bows.
As magic surged into their bows, intricate runes glowed brightly across their surfaces.
"Loose!"
Tens of thousands of golden arrows shot forth in unison, streaking toward the dragons wheeling back for another strike.
"Burn them!"
Ancalagon roared again, unleashing another storm of fire.
He hadn't expected the elves' shields to manifest magical barriers capable of resisting dragonfire.
But surely arrows could not withstand it.
If the arrows burned, the elven archers would be useless.
"What?!"
But once again, he was mistaken.
The arrows were no ordinary missiles. As they met the fire, their surfaces instantly glazed over with frost, forming a layer of ice that resisted the flames and carried them safely through.
"These dragons' defenses are still too strong."
George muttered under his breath as he watched. The arrows struck the dragons' hides, but though they pierced slightly, they couldn't break through the tough scales—causing only pain, not serious injury.
The elves' bows had been enchanted to channel different elemental powers, allowing them to adapt to various foes.
For example, arrows imbued with light energy devastated Morgoth's orcs.
But against dragons, it was still insufficient. At best, the arrows could harass them.
Fortunately, the Academy had not armed the coalition with only enchanted bows.
"Dwarven magitek cannons, prepare!"
Seeing the ineffectiveness of the arrows, Fingon immediately issued the second command.
From the rear, dwarves wheeled out massive magitek cannons of terrifying power.
These were weapons George himself had designed, inspired by the magitek devices of the Fairy Tail world—adapted for Middle-earth as high-caliber, anti-air magitek artillery.
They were few in number, but their destructive force was far beyond anything the elven bows could muster.
(End of Chapter)