The warehouse was dimly lit. Torchlight could only penetrate through gaps in the wooden walls, forming beams of light.
Two Snaga were confronting each other, completely unaware that the battle outside had ended.
The smaller one cursed: "Chatterbox, you damn maggot, I got this first!" He clutched a pouch tightly in his hands, which jingled crisply as it moved.
The other was taller, his form more like an Uruk, but with a sharp-faced, monkey-like appearance—typical Snaga features. He waved the curved blade in his hand threateningly: "Pimp, I never said whoever grabs it first gets to keep it. Either you give me half, or I'll cut you in half and take it all!"
Pimp didn't speak, his eyes darting around as he looked at the door blocked by Chatterbox behind him. Suddenly showing weakness, he said: "How do I know that if I give you half the gold coins, you'll let me go?"
Gold coins—something everyone loved. He'd personally watched Ghost Brain use these things to trade with the human sorcerer, buying those Black Beasts and then killing the previous chieftain to become the current one.
Since then, because he could speak Common, he'd become the bridge between the current chieftain and human traders. That's why he was called Pimp.
And this money was what Ghost Brain had him store in the warehouse, to be given along with other herbs and minerals to those people at the inn. To purchase more Black Beasts.
Only too many things had happened since, making Ghost Brain forget about it. But Pimp hadn't forgotten!
In his view, if he could produce gold coins and buy enough Black Beasts, plus those strange-looking hounds, he could become chieftain too! Then he'd be the mighty Chieftain Pimp!
No, he'd need a more impressive title.
Chatterbox muttered impatiently: "Damn scum, then tell me, how'll you give me that half?"
He actually knew nothing. He'd just rushed into the warehouse during the chaos, wanting to steal things like bread, sausages, or cured ham. Then he saw Pimp clutching a pouch, trying to sneak out.
Greed instantly took over. He'd wiped his drool and jumped out, demanding half by force!
"There's a way, of course there's a way," Pimp said softly: "You have to make me believe that after I give you something, you will let me leave."
He raised his left hand and shook the pouch, the crisp sound instantly attracting Chatterbox's attention.
Chatterbox asked: "How will you believe me?"
Meanwhile, Pimp reached behind his back, quietly drawing out a black, grooved dagger. Still talking: "How about I give you half of the half first, and you clear the way?"
"No..." Chatterbox was still looking at the money bag, preparing to bargain, when suddenly everything blurred and unbearable pain shot through his chest.
He raised his curved blade to attack but had no strength, mumbling: "You... you..."
"You what!" Pimp wasn't satisfied, stabbing repeatedly with his dagger until Chatterbox was completely still. Only then did he pull out the blade, saying viciously: "What half and half—it is all mine! Mine!"
Having spoken, Pimp pulled out his dagger and wiped the black blood on Chatterbox's corpse. Just as he prepared to leave, he heard a voice.
"Is that so?" A long sword suddenly appeared at the warehouse entrance, followed by a tall human with a Hobbit standing beside him.
Diamond runes on the blade emitted faint white light. Just one glance made Pimp feel chilled all over, knowing this sword had definitely killed many of his kind!
"Let's talk this out, let's talk," Pimp fearfully raised both hands, his expression as fawning as possible: "I know many humans, trade needed items with them—we are friends. Yes, we are friends."
"Shut up, I'm no friend of those humans." Aedric scolded mercilessly, then glanced at Chatterbox on the ground: "Speak—where are the imprisoned captives?"
"I know, I know." Pimp replied very sensibly: "They're kept next to the chieftain's bedroom. I'll take you there right away."
His black eyes darted around, thinking unknown thoughts.
"I'm warning you." Morgan gripped his short sword, cursing: "Do not get any ideas or try to deceive us, or I'll cut out your tongue with one stroke. And give me that pouch in your hand. Drop it on the ground—I'll pick it up myself!"
He was truly curious what the creature had killed his own kind for.
Pimp looked at the pouch in his hand, then at that fearsome long sword, reluctantly releasing his left hand. Between his life and grand ambitions, he chose life—after all, only by staying alive could he have grand ambitions.
The money bag landed on Chatterbox with a "thud." Now he'd owned it all, though he didn't know what was inside, and only for a brief moment.
Morgan stepped forward to pick it up. After opening it, he froze, then looked at Pimp with a strange expression. That look seemed to say: "For this?"
Then he casually handed it to his captain.
"What is it?" Aedric dared not be careless. Because his body hadn't recovered—pain and numbness flooded his entire body like water.
Even with Granny Anna's medicine and Celorn constantly working silently, recovery in a short time was impossible. And this Snaga before him was too cunning.
Aedric couldn't let him die yet, so he needed to focus—he didn't even want to do small things like taking the pouch to examine it!
"A bag of gold coins, about fifty." Morgan's expression showed some disdain.
For life-loving Hobbits, they naturally understood gold coins' uses. Those exquisite glassware, beautiful silk fabrics, fine furniture, excellent tools, and spacious smials could all be bought with gold coins.
But they always felt having enough was sufficient, even sharing wealth with others through gifts. They would never kill for gold coins and detested such behavior.
"You keep it." Aedric didn't pay much attention—this wasn't time for dividing spoils.
He pointed his sword at Pimp, shouting sternly: "If you don't want to die right now, lead the way immediately!"
"Yes, yes, right away." Pimp complied obediently, at least outwardly, carefully leading the way ahead.
They left the warehouse, turned right around a corner, and then climbed a path leading to higher levels. All around was quiet, with only occasional crackling sounds of flames.
This vast cavern, after such a battle, seemed devoid of life.
About ten minutes later, the three reached a natural cave. Also using thick logs as walls and planks as doors, but compared to the warehouse, this place was smaller and brighter. Through gaps they could see ventilation holes, even furniture and furnishings not much different from humans'.
"This is Ghost Brain's bedroom." Pimp asked obsequiously, "Sir, do you want to go in? I have the key."
He was Ghost Brain's confidant.
"Rescue the captives first." Aedric coldly refused.
"Good, alright." A flash of disappointment crossed Pimp's face before immediately disappearing. He obediently led the way, and after a dozen steps, a cell made of thick wooden bars appeared, with heavy iron chains locking the prison door and a dark iron lock.
Aedric was familiar with this. After arriving in Middle-earth, the first thing he'd seen upon opening his eyes was this contraption. Only this one was much, much larger, with at least twenty humans crammed inside.
"How is it you?" Morgan's surprised voice rang out. Aedric blinked and looked carefully, also seeing a familiar face.
Wasn't this the grain merchant who'd wanted his horse back?
"Morgan?" The grain merchant blinked incredulously, rubbed his wound-covered hands over his eyes, then shouted with immense joy: "Save me! Get me out!"
"How did you get captured?" Morgan's expression was strange—somewhat curious yet with a hint of schadenfreude, though just a tiny bit.
Hobbits generally didn't hold grudges much. Well, perhaps.
The grain merchant also calmed down, lowering his head and saying somewhat shamefully in a small voice: "Originally, I planned to deliver grain and supplies to Tookland, thinking to take a shortcut through Woody End, then... then ran into a group of orcs."
"Another shortcut?" Morgan's surprise was completely undisguised. Haven't learned from past losses?!
"I told you not to go that way! Last time in Buckland we nearly got overturned by tree-spirits, and now look—captured and enslaved by orcs for a whole month. You owe blood money for my brother, and damn it, I quit!"
The speaker was also familiar—the grain merchant's guard, though only one remained. The others had likely become food. Orcs ate anything.
"Stop talking about that—rescue us quickly."
"Yes, let us out." Other captives also reacted, pleading desperately.
Being orc captives meant endless work daily—truly worse than death. But dying meant becoming food, forcing them to work desperately to avoid being eaten. Their plight was extremely tragic.
"The cell key's in the bedroom. Sir, shall we go?" Pimp brought up the old matter again.
Aedric didn't reply, just looked at him coldly, then shouted to those in the cell: "Everyone stand back!"
Having spoken, he gripped his sword with both hands, raising both arms in preparation. Then he strode forward, arms swinging down forcefully as Mithreleth became lightning, flashing through the firelight.
Swish—the wood connecting the prison door to the cage broke instantly. Then Aedric kicked out, the door bursting open.
"Morgan, take them to the warehouse. Take everything you can, burn what you can't—don't leave anything for the orcs. After I'm done, we leave immediately!"
After giving orders, Aedric looked at Pimp, saying calmly: "Come on, let's go to Ghost Brain's bedroom."
"Good! Good!" A flash of secret joy crossed Pimp's face. Reaching the door, he drew keys from his waist pouch, opened it, and invited: "Sir, please enter."
Aedric didn't waste words, reaching out with his left hand to grab Pimp's throat, then, like a bowler, threw him through the door amid pitiful screams.
Crack—something was clearly triggered. Then a spiked rolling log swung down from the cave ceiling at high speed, bang—skewering Pimp through completely.
Seeing his incredulous dying expression, Aedric snorted lightly. You, an orc, want to play mind games with me? Do you think years of experience taught me nothing?
Ignoring the dead Snaga, Aedric bypassed the trap and entered the orc chieftain's bedroom. In most cases, people only installed traps at entrances or in passages. They wouldn't actually put them inside bedrooms. Unless they wanted to die themselves.
Since the entrance trap had been triggered, the bedroom was likely safe. Now came time for looting.
Flames danced as a busy figure turned the bedroom upside down. The only valuable items were a small bag of silver coins—about fifty or sixty by the look of it. The rest was furniture difficult to carry and worthless daily necessities.
Presumably, that bag of gold coins was this cavern's most precious loot. But why had it been in those two Snaga's hands?
Aedric couldn't understand this point, nor did it matter. He then found a letter from under the bed. A letter written with quill pen and ink in Western Common on parchment, even with a proper envelope. Only the envelope bore no writing.
This was a method only humans would use. Orcs used their long fingernails, dipping directly into unknown black pigments to write "Black Speech" on hide. Ugly and uncomfortable to look at—these were such writing's greatest features.
Aedric opened the letter.
Clever Ghost Brain:
I hope you'll change caves. Woody End's too close to Hobbit villages—those humans wandering the wilderness will discover you sooner or later. Too much time makes it a big problem eventually.
But this is your business. I'm just giving friendly advice—you can listen or not.
Also, remember to count the three Black Beasts I sent, plus ten Long-haired Dogs. Let them see you first. Then tell them in Black Speech that you're their master.
Another reminder: Long-haired Dogs are excellent scouts with quite sensitive smell, good hearing, excellent endurance, and great speed. But they don't like fighting, or even hunting.
Black Beasts are immensely strong and fear no pain, but they aren't smart enough—they can only execute simple commands. Remember to let them hear your voice at all times.
Finally, since you're planning to raid Thornfield Village, remember to keep the children and give them to my subordinates at the Golden Wheat Sheaf inn. Do what you want with the others—I don't want adult Hobbits.
Last of all, remember to pay the balance, plus the gold coins you owed before. Otherwise...
The letter was unfinished and unsigned, but Aedric had a strong intuition. The fellow who'd written it was that sorcerer who'd nearly killed him. Also the mastermind behind kidnapping Carl and Isa!