Clang!
The black arrow, knocked astray, struck Smaug's iron-hard scales and bounced off harmlessly, unlike the mithril-piercing bolts that had bitten through earlier. It clattered away, spinning through the air before lodging itself in the rooftop of a distant building.
The dragon had been spared. He roared, seizing the moment to draw a deep breath—and loosed a furnace-blast of fire in every direction.
Gandalf and Saruman raised their staffs, conjuring a mighty shield of light. The barrier shimmered around the tower and the soldiers atop it, shielding them and the elven defenders from annihilation.
Elsewhere in the town, some elves had the presence of mind to dive into the lake and escape the flames. Others—caught unaware—were consumed where they stood, reduced to ash alongside the buildings that once sheltered them.
Kaen raised his own magical shield, barely managing to protect himself and Legolas.
"Loose the arrows!" he bellowed.
Light surged from his body—silver and gold—and cast a blazing illumination upon Smaug's monstrous form, marking his silhouette for all the hidden ballistae.
Swish—swish—swish!
From the fog along the lakeshore, arrows of mithril shot out once more, each one inscribed with runes of piercing. They tore through the air like silver comets and struck Smaug's flanks with fierce precision.
Thud! Thud!
The dragon's flame faltered as pain broke his concentration.
He roared in agony, fire sputtering from his maw, leaving him momentarily dazed.
Kaen lowered his shield—but something was wrong.
Unnoticed until now, three spectral figures had materialized around him and Legolas. Their forms wavered like smoke, cloaked in shadows. The sound they made—sharp, screeching—sent shivers down the spine and turned blood cold.
"Nazgûl!" Kaen growled.
His heart sank.
He had known the darkness had turned its gaze upon him, but never imagined that Sauron himself would dispatch the Ringwraiths. And not just one, but three.
The Nazgûl—bearers of the Nine Rings of Men—were once kings, sorcerers, and champions of the Second Age, corrupted and enslaved by the Dark Lord. Each was a warrior of epic power, and the Witch-king of Angmar was the greatest of them all.
Thankfully, it seemed he was not among this trio.
Kaen and Legolas stood back-to-back, blades drawn, ready for the fight.
Legolas muttered, "Your Grace, these creatures are strong. I can delay one, perhaps—but no more."
"No," Kaen replied. "Leave them to us. You must recover the black arrow. Take it to the King of Dale."
A voice rang out—Saruman's. He had descended from the tower, staff glowing like a star, his robes billowing in the wind.
Kaen looked back—Gandalf still stood atop the tower, wielding light itself to keep Smaug suppressed.
Relieved yet mindful of the ticking clock, Kaen quickly gave orders to Legolas:
"Mithril arrows can wound the beast, but they cannot kill it. Its true weakness lies beneath—its underbelly. Only from Bard's position can that be seen. Go with Tauriel, retrieve the black arrow, and put it into Bard's hands."
"Our stock of mithril bolts is nearly spent. We can only afford three more full volleys. If we delay any longer, the dragon may escape."
Legolas nodded solemnly, then sprang to the rooftops and vanished into the haze, racing toward the house where the black arrow remained lodged.
SKREEEEE—
The Nazgûl shrieked, diving to intercept him.
But Saruman raised his staff, stepping between them.
"Fallen wretches. Your battle is with me."
"And with me."
Kaen's body shone brighter, silver and gold intertwining around him. Saruman radiated a sacred glow.
Light and shadow clashed in the very air around them, crackling with tension.
The battle began.
Kaen engaged one Nazgûl alone. Saruman faced two at once.
Lake-town trembled under Smaug's thrashing. The waters surged. Buildings cracked and splintered as the massive body of the dragon convulsed.
But even as destruction reigned, the battle between wizards and wraiths raged brighter.
Saruman, leader of the Istari, showed the full might of a being forged by the Valar. Even with his divine power sealed, he fought as a mythic force—pressing both Nazgûl back with ease.
Kaen, newly risen to the ranks of the Legendary, held his own against the third. Though he could not overpower it outright, he stood toe-to-toe—no small feat, for the Nazgûl were ancient terrors, veterans of ages long past.
Elsewhere—
Legolas darted across rooftops with elven grace, sprinting toward the place where the black arrow still lay.
Suddenly—whoosh!—a blade lashed toward him.
He twisted mid-air, narrowly avoiding the strike.
Two orc assassins, eyes glowing red, emerged from the shadows.
Legolas turned and saw what lay beyond.
Hundreds of red-eyed Orcs poured across the bridge into Lake-town, following their masters' scent of blood.
In the streets and alleys, the remaining elven warriors clashed with the invaders in brutal melee.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Arrows rained down, felling the Orcs around Legolas.
He turned—on a rooftop above, Tauriel had joined the battle, bow in hand. And from the distant tower, Bard himself had also begun to fire.
Their eyes met—no words exchanged. Legolas turned again and ran.
The Orcs surged forward, trying to trap him, delay him.
But Bard, Tauriel, and every elven archer nearby gave him cover, cutting down wave after wave to clear his path.
Finally—
With one mighty leap, Legolas reached the rooftop where the black arrow had landed.
He snatched it up and hurled it toward Bard.
The bowman caught it mid-air, not even flinching.
Without pause, he drew it back, set it in his mighty longbow, and took aim at Smaug's glowing underbelly.
The last volley of mithril bolts had already been spent.
Gandalf could no longer hold the dragon in place.
Smaug's chest began to glow—flame building behind his fangs.
He opened his jaws, preparing to bathe the town in one final inferno.
And then—Bard fired.
SKREEEEEEEE!
The three Nazgûl shrieked in unison.
They broke away from the fight, hurling themselves toward the black arrow, seeking to deflect it once more.
But Kaen and Saruman would not allow it.
Saruman thrust his staff forward—an invisible force slammed into the wraiths, halting them in midair.
Kaen leapt, sword raised, elemental power gathering along its edge.
His blade fell, exploding in a burst of radiant light.
BOOM!
The Nazgûl were struck.
Their forms unraveled.
Three shadows screamed—and were torn to dust.
EXP+50
EXP+50
EXP+50
Level: 4 (170/500).
Even dead, the Ringwraiths offered valuable experience. But Kaen knew—they were not truly gone. Bound to Sauron, their spirits would return so long as the Dark Lord lived.
SHLUNK!
The black arrow struck true.
It pierced Smaug's vulnerable heart.
The dragon roared—one last time—a howl of fury and disbelief. His eyes widened in shock, then slowly dimmed.
He collapsed.
The colossal head crashed down, followed by a body that smashed half of Lake-town beneath its weight. Houses splintered beneath him. Water surged in every direction.
On the bridges, the elite guard and five hundred elven warriors surged into the town. Together with the remaining archers, they slaughtered the red-eyed Orcs left by the Nazgûl.
A cry of victory rang across Lake-town.
Cheering erupted. The terror was over.
Smaug was dead.
And yet—Kaen did not cheer.
He turned his gaze northward—toward the Lonely Mountain.
For he knew the truth.
This was not the end.
It was only the beginning.
The Battle of the Five Armies… was about to begin.