The group's pace wasn't swift. At night, even walking on the main road, the silent atmosphere filled hearts with unease.
No signs of habitation or lights appeared anywhere, only endless wild grass meeting the eye, plus towering trees standing on both roadsides.
Aedric gripped his sword hilt, walking ahead. He lit no torch—that'd make a bright target while causing him to overlook small movements in darkness. With the moon's aid, he could see the road clearly, even occasionally glimpsing agile black shadows darting between trees and wild grass.
Whether wolves, wild dogs, or other creatures accustomed to nighttime wandering remained unknown. Those pairs of green-glowing eyes kept his nerves taut, his gaze surveying surroundings with keen alertness.
Night wind rustled treetops while distant hills showed scattered lights—presumably lamplight through windows. It seemed they weren't far from Thornfield.
"Look out!" Suddenly a sharp cry arose. Aedric's heart jolted as he hastily looked toward the sound but midway glimpsed bright light reflecting moonlight flashing from behind trees.
Aimed at him!
Cold sweat instantly covered his forehead. Aedric fixed his gaze on that light point. In one instant, his heartbeat thundered like drums, seeming to shake his temples with faint tremors.
Even time seemed to slow greatly at this moment. Without time for thought, at the bowstring's twang, Aedric swung his arm, drawing Mithreleth. The bright blade became a sheet of sword-light in midair.
Clang—a crossbow bolt severed in two fell to earth.
Aedric frowned deeply, his heart pounding incessantly as he immediately realized someone had been waiting for him. Then ambushed him!
Those Golden Wheat Sheaf hands' faces surfaced in his mind. In the Shire, besides orcs, only these folk bore grudges against him.
Yet to boldly attempt murder over minor conflict—indeed, his earlier instincts proved correct. They were no good men!
Rage blazed in Aedric's heart, killing intent gleaming in his eyes as he rushed toward where light had flashed. Charging forward while calling out: "Hide!"
Actually, no reminder was needed. Having experienced several crises, Bilbo had grown much in two short days, knowing he could provide no battle aid presently.
The moment that "Look out!" sounded, he bore his niece, pulled Saradoc, and on feet covered in thick brown hair, vanished into wild grass. Then Hobbit's unique talents activated—his form disappeared while even sounds were muffled. Without a trace.
In this silent night, only Aedric's rapid footsteps remained, plus a shout of "Stop him!"
Three figures emerged from behind tree trunks in sequence. Moonlight through branches cast dappled brightness.
Aedric looked up to see: One flat-nosed with triangular eyes, wielding a short spear. One with protruding ears, gripping a crude club. One stocky fellow barely taller than Hobbits, holding a gleaming slender cleaver.
Precisely the three hands that had pushed from the inn's entrance that morning. All three faces showed some suspicion and fear. They still remembered that morning's scene—even their boss had been kicked unconscious by a flying kick.
As the distance between both sides narrowed, expressions changed. They saw those dense bandages while discovering Aedric's left arm moved awkwardly, unable even to grip his sword. Courage welled up from their hearts.
The stocky one moved fastest. Shouting to bolster courage, he charged two steps forward, both hands gripping his blade aimed at Aedric's face, chopping down fiercely.
Simultaneously, triangular-eyes also stepped forward. Jug-ears moved slowest.
Aedric's expression turned vicious, yielding nothing. Using charging momentum, his right arm rose high, savagely striking back.
Clang—steel and iron collision produced extremely crisp resonance.
The stocky man's face instantly stiffened, his eyes full of terror. Forward momentum was forcibly stopped, his entire upper body leaning backward. One strike destroyed his balance.
Then his horrified eyes saw a moonlit sword edge sweep past his face. He felt his neck grow cold, vision blackening, and legs weakening as he uttered powerless hissing sounds before kneeling motionless.
Aedric's feet never stopped, charging toward the slower triangular-eyes, rage burning ever fiercer in his heart!
Without that warning, without his combat abilities having transformed completely, without Celorn possessing some talent-like miraculous abilities—that arrow would certainly have struck his ribs, injuring the heart and lungs within. In this era, no time for treatment existed!
Since opponents proved so ruthless, he'd show no mercy!
Now Triangular-Eyes gripped his short spear, thrusting cold light from the side. Aedric pushed off his right foot, shifting left to avoid the spear. Then his right hand struck down violently, severing the shaft before his form twisted left, both hands gripping his long sword in a rightward rising sweep.
Sharp sword-light split undergrowth, racing toward triangular-eyes' chest.
Triangular-eyes had only thought to let Stocky lead while he flanked, never imagining things would change so quickly. In one blink, Stocky knelt on the ground. Another blink, and the short spear was chopped in half.
Now watching bright sword-light flash before him, he showed alarm, managing only half a step backward. Then severe pain shot from his chest.
"Ahh!" Triangular-eyes opened his mouth wide, uttering a shrill shriek. Then looked down incredulously.
A blood-spurting wound ran from the right abdomen upward through the left chest, exposing white bone and throbbing organs. This sword nearly cleaved his body in half!
He stared wide-eyed, wanting to cry out but lacking strength. He too collapsed, following Stocky's path.
The remaining jug-ears was terrified, staring blankly at two corpses on the ground, then at the blood-covered killing god charging toward him. Without thought, he turned and fled.
Aedric halted, not pursuing the terrified fool, but turned around with a lightning-sharp gaze toward the scarred brute hiding behind trees, loading his crossbow. Breathing heavily the blood-scented air, he calmed his violently heaving chest.
The scarred brute raised his head, seeing the carnage before him with unconcealed amazement. Then becoming extremely grave.
From shooting the first arrow until now, the entire time hadn't exceeded twenty seconds, and his subordinates were dead? How was there still one fleeing? Moreover, like an idiot, he'd been tripped by something, crashing headfirst into a tree trunk and falling unconscious.
"This..." The scarred brute's hand reaching for arrows stopped mid-air, eyes fixed on Aedric standing motionless.
He sensed that if he attempted loading his crossbow, the opponent would charge over and run him through with that eye-blinding long sword!
The brute's facial scars twisted together, appearing extremely savage. The next moment, he gritted his teeth with grinding sounds, then his pupils began to turn bloodshot, turning from red to black while his expression grew more savage, like an enraged beast.
His right hand discarded the steel crossbow, and his left hand abandoned the arrows, pulling out a meter-long mace studded with iron spikes from beside him. Gripping it with both hands, he rose roaring and charged fiercely at Aedric.
Exposed skin turned pitch-black during his run, nose widening, mouth splitting, and ears lengthening while fine black fur sprouted. Previously, he'd still resembled a human. Now he looked exactly like a Black-skinned orc! Just much uglier.
That morning's events remained vivid. From battle's start, the scarred brute used full power!
Seeing this scene, Aedric's eyes widened in shock. He thought he understood Middle-earth fairly well. He'd heard of skin-changers who became bears and of Sauron transforming into wolves, serpents, and vampires in the First Age before losing his shapeshifting powers.
Also of Maiar appearing in Middle-earth as human elders. But he'd never heard of humans who could become orcs. What was this—had faith in Morgoth caused even physical transformation?
Questions flooded Aedric's mind, but he forced them aside. The massive spiked mace whistled through the air, aimed straight at his head with blinding speed!
Aedric rolled aside, dodging the strike. His opponent had transformed completely—bloodshot eyes, savage expression, and his burly frame now even taller. Black veins writhed beneath his skin, and his breathing echoed like a bellows.
In the time of one roll, Aedric understood—this mongrel abomination had certainly used some berserker, explosive, transformation ability. He'd grow stronger briefly but surely couldn't last long.
Never mind having only one good arm now—even with both arms uninjured, he wouldn't foolishly clash directly.
The spike-studded mace danced madly in this small grove, its sound like howling wind. Bushes were smashed to pieces, tree trunks beaten with holes everywhere, and branches and leaves stirred into tatters flying about.
Aedric dodged repeatedly, sweat gradually soaking his clothes, sticking wetly to his body. His left arm sent waves of severe pain accompanied by icy sensations constantly assaulting his brain.
He gritted his teeth, yet his form remained perfectly controlled, like flowing water avoiding all heavy attacks. This enraged the scarred brute to continuous roars, breathing ever heavier, each attack more vicious than the last.
Aedric's eyes remained extremely calm. He keenly discovered his opponent's steps were becoming chaotic—attacks seemed fast and heavy but were extremely disorderly without accuracy. Purely supported by brute force alone.
Soon. Soon this battle would end.
"Ai-yo-yo..." Just then, painful groans came from nearby—the jug-ears who'd crashed into the tree had awakened.
He rose shakily, covering his forehead, turning to see the two fighting men. Six eyes met.
Aedric's heart tightened. No longer retreating, he ducked under the mace and then rushed forward, striking at the enemy's legs.
If only he were facing this exhausted mongrel orc, he could still handle it. Perhaps he'd be injured, exhausted, and his left arm's wounds would worsen. But he'd certainly win. He had full confidence.
But adding one malicious bandit would shift the situation toward unpredictable directions! He might have to flee! Hopefully the three Hobbits hid far enough away.
This time, the berserker-scarred brute retreated several steps, avoiding the blade, then turned his head. A muffled voice carried joy and urgency: "Quick... come quickly, help me finish this bastard!"
Speaking thus, savage smiles appeared on his face. With help to distract, he was confident one blow would hammer this slippery fish into pulp!
Jug-ears blinked, immediately taking action. But he didn't step forward to help—instead he turned and fled.
Previously, he'd been terrified by Aedric's aura killing two men instantly. Now seeing even the transformed boss forced into retreat, still calling for his help? Not flee—go die instead?
Bang! The result—just turning around, his head crashed into that same tree trunk again. Eyes rolling back, he fainted once more.
Seeing this scene, the scarred brute's slight smile instantly froze. As if unable to believe his eyes, he stood stunned.
"Good opportunity!" Aedric leaped up forcefully, Mithreleth becoming bright silver silk flashing through the grove.
"Ahh!" Shrill screams arose as the heavy mace fell to earth along with the arm gripping it, producing muffled sounds.
The scarred brute clutched his spurting arm, howling skyward. Yet sword-light blazed again, slashing across his throat like lightning.
A savage head flew into midair, gradually returning to human appearance as it rolled near the mace.
"Whew. Whew." Aedric breathed heavily, gripping his sword as he strode toward Jug-Ears.
He'd never forget the evil of nighttime ambush due to the fool's repeated tree-crashing stupidity!
Sharp sword-light flashed. The sleeping jug-ears convulsed violently twice before going still.
Aedric didn't relax vigilance, standing sword in hand while constantly surveying around, calling loudly: "Come out—the bandits are all dead, and I bear no ill will."
He hadn't forgotten that "Look out!" call. Someone else remained on the scene beside him and the bandits.
Yet surroundings remained utterly quiet without response. After two or three minutes of stalemate, the three hidden Hobbits emerged from shadows.
"Aedric, let's go." Bilbo glanced at the ground corpses, then quickly averted his gaze. Presently he couldn't accept that living people now lay dead on the ground.
Saradoc covered his eyes, trying not to look at those bloody corpses yet unable to resist peeking, resulting in several consecutive shivers.
"No." Aedric shook his head: "You pack up and leave quickly."
"What about you?" Bilbo asked puzzledly.
"Me?" Aedric grinned, teeth gleaming pale: "I'm returning to the Golden Wheat Sheaf to kill the proprietress and remaining hands."
He turned to look over: "Root out evil completely, Bilbo!"
Both Hobbits stared wide-eyed.