Lightning streaked across the sky, heralding the arrival of a torrential downpour.
Crash!
"Ah!"
The guard cleaning the room trembled, collapsing to the floor as several sheets of paper documenting some evil thing scattered in the wind, stained with blood.
The candle suddenly extinguished, and the room's last light disappeared.
The guard couldn't help but turn toward the window with its missing section. Wind howled, carrying in damp air and darkness together.
His mouth opened wider and wider as fear of something indescribable crept across his face.
"Ahhhh!"
Heavy rain followed thunder and screams.
"Quick, quick!"
The captain of the guards received the message and hastily assembled a team of guards, advancing toward the highest hall through the storm.
Splash, splash.
Orderly footsteps awakened many who hadn't yet fallen asleep deeply, armor clanging under the pelting raindrops.
"What happened?"
Residents asked uneasily but never received answers.
They only knew that after that day, the city lord moved his entire family and all servants out of that luxurious and solid hall, as if something terrible lurked inside.
The next day, carpenters were summoned to the city lord's residence and reportedly ordered to nail shut and seal one room in the hall.
"Save us, messenger sent by the great Eye! Evil creatures occupy that hall!"
In a luxurious villa, the city lord pleaded to a missionary sent by Sauron.
This time, the missionary finally took it seriously.
The missing messenger's prayers could still be attributed to nightmares and cowardice.
But today it was the city lord who came, and something had indeed happened in that hall.
"Let me take a look."
The missionary gathered courage to follow the city lord to that room, ordering men to violently split open the wooden boards that had just been sealed with axes.
Crack!
Dust rose as sunlight streamed through the square gap above the window, falling precisely on the clean desk.
On it lay several pages of organized notes.
"That's it."
At the city lord's urging, the missionary picked up those bloodstained pages of notes and began reading from the beginning in order.
His breathing gradually slowed.
Moments later, he placed those pages on the desk, coughed, and asked: "Have there been any suspicious people recently?"
"No, we found no traces of any suspicious personnel in the city."
For some reason, the city lord felt the missionary's voice trembled slightly.
He pointed at the notes and asked: "May I ask what that is exactly?"
"Those are all evil words. Have someone burn them!"
Though quite displeased with the missionary's commanding tone, this was after all someone sent by that great being from Mordor. Displeased, he could only be displeased.
As flames slowly rose, those pages of notes were quickly consumed.
Watching this warm firelight, the missionary who had always believed in darkness now felt somewhat at peace.
"I will report this matter to my master."
That day, the missionary departed from the pass, heading straight for Mordor.
At the same time, a terrifying rumor enveloped this city. The messenger from the capital had disappeared along with everything on his desk, reportedly devoured by an unspeakable monster.
Just after the missionary left, the city lord dispatched his most capable subordinate to carry messages to the capital, stating that he needed to wait for news the missionary would bring back from the Eye and also had to guard against some terror that might exist in the territory, making it temporarily inconvenient to mobilize too many personnel.
Several days later.
Mordor, Barad-dûr.
The missionary prostrated before the Dark Tower, recounting eastern rumors to the Nazgûl.
"Foolishness."
A harsh voice came from the shadowy figure before him.
"Nothing but groundless rumors."
Most Nazgûl didn't take this seriously.
Except one.
Khamûl stepped forward from among the Nazgûl, looking down at this missionary from his homeland, and said:
"Tell me everything you know."
The missionary recalled, regret filling his heart.
Why did I burn those pages of notes?
But no matter how much he regretted it, what needed to be said still had to be said.
He struggled to remember and answered reluctantly:
"It's said to be a fire-breathing monster wearing black spiked armor, protected by a golden light that prevents anyone from approaching or harming him."
"And he also has some mysterious power that can give people nightmares and emerge from those nightmares."
"A messenger was harmed by this power."
Khamûl and another Nazgûl exchanged glances.
Are they sure this isn't describing the master?
"I will investigate this matter."
Khamûl responded flatly and vanished.
Several days later, a black horse broke through the pass as the former "most powerful legend and leader of the Easterlings: Khamûl" returned to this land once again.
He first came to the scene where the messenger disappeared, searching carefully, but concluded there were indeed no signs of any special power existing here.
Then, at the city lord's entreaty, Khamûl searched the entire hall inside and out, top to bottom, but still found nothing.
The only suspicious thing about the entire scene was that square window gap.
"Square..."
Some clue flashed by.
"No, he should be west of the Misty Mountains. It's unlikely he'd appear in such a distant place."
He ruled out this extremely low probability.
Khamûl declared on the spot: "The so-called monster is just something you imagined out of fear."
"Believe in my master, believe in the Eye. The master will protect you from strange things."
Seeing even the Nazgûl say this, the city lord also breathed a sigh of relief. He knelt in prayer, having people present vast treasures while strengthening territorial vigilance.
The Eye's messenger brought the decree: Do not believe rumors, do not spread rumors. There are no monsters in this world that crawl out of nightmares.
"The Eye will protect us."
...
In a small town some distance from the capital, three people gathered in a quiet alley.
"I brought much intelligence from the port city. I believe it will be useful."
Halbarad pulled out a stack of notes from his chest: "Unexpectedly, the Easterlings still hide considerable power. Fortunately some people's mouths aren't very tight, or we might not know what they have until the fighting starts."
"Well done."
Alatar praised: "Even the finest spy could only accomplish this much."
"What about you? How did things go on your end?" Halbarad asked.
"Barely achieved some objectives. At least the army's assembly pace can slow down a bit."
"I knew wizards always have some miraculous methods."
Hearing this, Alatar smiled ambiguously, his expression quite gentle.
"Yes, miraculous methods."
Now only one person hadn't reported their battle results.
The two looked at Levi.
"To be honest, it wasn't very smooth."
Levi said somewhat embarrassedly: "At first I caught up to the messenger's group, but in a moment of inattention I let him escape."
"Later I chased him all the way to their pass city. Originally I planned to infiltrate his room to capture that messenger for interrogation."
"But that messenger was quite alert. Whenever I made a move, he'd look over. Several times I was startled by his suddenly turning head."
"After several failed infiltration attempts, I directly broke through the window to get in, and then..."
"He jumped out through the window, quite clumsily too. He even tripped over his chair when getting up, hit his nose, and bled all over the desk."
"I thought he had some mental problems, so I didn't chase him. But I took everything I could from the desk, including some opened letters and records of various troop numbers."
"I think it shouldn't count as having no gains."