While the great battle between the Elves of Rivendell and the Orc Legion raged on, far from the thunder of clashing armies near the Misty Mountains, three separate struggles were unfolding simultaneously within the ambush site: a deadly hit-and-run game between Ciri and the Dark Elves; a fierce defensive battle between the twins and the Dark Elves; and finally, a brutal duel between Igris and the Dread Lord.
Setting aside the turmoil in the other two locations for a moment, the fight between Igris and the Dread Lord continued with relentless intensity. As the Dread Lord grew increasingly furious, Igris was experiencing rather complicated emotions. Deep down he was enjoying the fight, yet every new scratch and dent appearing on his armor made his heart ache. It felt as if someone had taken a key and carved deep scratches across a sports car he cherished like the apple of his eye—you can imagine his anger.
His armor was already battered and scarred, and the Dread Lord had managed to open several shallow cuts on Igris's body as well. Even so, that was the best the Lord had managed throughout the entire duel. Igris, meanwhile, fought with the precision of a professional surgeon. He took no unnecessary risks and did not attack blindly in an attempt to kill. Frankly, Igris was certain that if he had been an ordinary human or even a typical Dúnedain, he would have died at least seven times by now in this fight.
The two opponents stood facing each other, taking short breaths as they locked eyes. To an outside observer it might have looked like some sort of staring contest, but in truth they were weighing one another.
Inside his mind, Igris was grumbling bitterly:
Idiotic twins! Brain-dead twins! Old Don Quixotes! Was there really no better time or place to fall into an ambush?! My armor is getting ruined! Damn it. My. Armor. Is turning. Into scrap! This time there won't be any friendly bets! You're going to compensate me! If you're princes, then pay for my financial losses! OR TONIGHT I'LL MAKE ELF STEW! AND THE PREMIUM KIND AT THAT!
While these thoughts raced through his mind, he suddenly realized something and froze in surprise.
Wait a second… money! Dark Elf equipment is extremely rare in Middle-earth! This ambush is full of different kinds of Dark Elf weapons and gear! Even the Elves would pay a fortune for these!
Igris carefully examined the armor of the man before him: the shield, the sword, the crossbow lying on the ground… In his eyes they all suddenly transformed into glittering bars of gold. His eyes sparkled strangely.
Those gleaming eyes only made the already furious Dread Lord even more uneasy. The Lord suddenly shouted in irritation.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Igris voiced the suspicion forming in his mind.
"Hey! Mister Eggplant. You're a Dread Lord, right?"
Upon hearing the word eggplant, the Dread Lord's face shifted from purple to the furious red of a pepper. Realizing that he had wasted so much time fighting someone who did not even know who he was left him momentarily stunned. He stared at Igris with strange eyes.
"…You only just figured out who I am?"
Igris spoke with the excited energy of someone who had just hit the jackpot, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation.
"So you really are…"
For a brief moment the Dread Lord thought the trembling in Igris's voice was fear—but he knew very well that the man he had been fighting for nearly an hour would not tremble from fear. A strange chill ran through him; those excited eyes of Igris genuinely disturbed him.
"Why are you looking at me like that, rat?"
Igris studied his opponent again: the sword, the shield, the armor, and finally the crossbow lying on the ground.
Then he asked:
"How much gold do you think all that equipment is worth in total?"
The Dread Lord, caught off guard by such an absurd question, answered with instinctive arrogance.
"More than someone like you could ever see even in your dreams."
Even that short sentence was enough to ignite a fire inside Igris. At that moment he needed money more than anything else. Why would he turn away such merchandise that had practically walked to his doorstep? Besides, he was certain that if he killed a Dread Lord and delivered the head to the White Council—or to the Elves—he would receive a hefty reward. There were already several bounty notices for Dark Elves anyway. In other words, Igris could make serious money here.
Looting dropped items and enemies would be far easier.
But he quickly shook his head and regained his senses, pushing aside his greed and focusing on his opponent again.
Don't be stupid and let greed blind you. There's no way I can kill this guy alone… Reinforcements should arrive soon.
Meanwhile, the Dread Lord had already guessed Igris's thoughts from the question he had asked, and his anger intensified further. He saw it as a personal insult. Spreading his aura throughout his body, he lunged forward. Igris did the same, channeling his own aura through his body as he prepared to receive the attack.
The Dread Lord brought his sword down in a vertical strike aimed at Igris's left shoulder. Igris met the blow with his aura-reinforced shield; the impact sent vibrations through the shield and into his arm, yet he held his position firm. The moment the Dread Lord realized his strike had been deflected, he swung the edge of his shield toward Igris's helmet. Igris jerked his head aside and slipped past the blow, then seized the brief imbalance to slam the pommel of his sword into the Dread Lord's armored chest with all his strength.
The Dread Lord staggered a step backward from the impact. But the Elf immediately retaliated, swinging his sword sideways and smashing it against Igris's shield. The surface of the shield dented slightly under the aura-enhanced blow.
Realizing that his shield was no longer as reliable as before, Igris dismissed it entirely and stored it in his inventory. With his left hand he seized the arm holding the Dread Lord's shield and yanked it downward.
The distance between them had now closed completely; there was no room left to swing swords. The Dread Lord released his weapon and threw a punch toward Igris's throat with his free hand. Igris stored his sword in his inventory and caught the punch midair with his right hand. The two warriors locked together.
The Dread Lord drove his knee hard into Igris's abdomen behind the shield. Igris held his breath in pain but refused to release his opponent's arm.
Pulling the Dread Lord closer, Igris smashed his forehead forward in a headbutt. The Dread Lord staggered from the blow, and in that instant Igris drove an aura-charged knee into the opening in his armor. The Dark Elf's breastplate bent under the impact, the air leaving his lungs in a painful gasp—but he immediately retaliated with a headbutt of his own.
The blow left the dark knight momentarily stunned. Seizing the moment, the Dark Elf drove his own aura-charged knee toward Igris's chest. But Igris's instincts flared; releasing his left hand, he punched the incoming knee. The Dark Elf's leg slammed painfully back into the ground.
Without wasting a second, Igris hooked his foot behind the enemy's leg to trip him and then slammed his left palm into the Dread Lord's chest while releasing the arm he had been holding with his right hand. With this sudden combination, the Dread Lord fell backward in surprise—but his reflexes were swift. As he fell, he grabbed Igris's right arm with his free hand and yanked him down.
Igris crashed to the ground as well.
The moment they hit the dusty earth, the Dread Lord rolled swiftly toward where his sword lay, opening distance between them. Snatching the weapon during the roll, he sprang back to his feet. Igris did the same, rolling in the opposite direction to create space before standing up and summoning his sword and shield from his inventory.
Both warriors breathed heavily. Blood trickled from the Dread Lord's nose, staining his lips black. Igris glanced briefly at the dents in his armor with a wounded heart before focusing on his opponent again.
Using aura had pushed both of them close to their physical limits. Their muscles burned, and their movements were beginning to slow.
The Dread Lord cast a quick glance at the sky and saw that the darkness of night was beginning to descend. His bloodshot eyes returned to Igris. He now fully understood that Igris had been deliberately stalling him, buying time for reinforcements to arrive.
Two difficult choices stood before him: remain here and gamble that his men would capture the twins and escape… or abandon everything and flee, facing the terrifying wrath of Lady Morathi afterward.
The realization drove his anger to its peak, yet he had already accepted that the plan had failed. If he prolonged the fight any further, the elves would eventually surround him.
While quickly forming an escape plan in his mind, he studied Igris with sharp eyes and asked calmly:
"What is your name?"
Igris hesitated for a moment. If there truly was cooperation between the Dark Elves and Sauron, hiding his name would have little meaning in the long run. It wasn't as if he feared anyone.
But when he remembered the irritating scratches on his armor, his mood soured again, and he decided not to reveal it. Instead, he answered with a perfectly serious expression:
"You know who I am."
That mysterious and mocking answer was the final drop that overflowed the Dark Elf's patience. His eyes twitched wildly, and his face darkened with rage. He stabbed his sword into the ground and reached for his belt.
Thinking another attack was coming, Igris immediately took a defensive stance—but the blow never came.
Instead, the Dread Lord pulled a black whistle from his belt and blew it sharply. The shrill sound echoed through the desolate hills.
As Igris watched in confusion, the Dread Lord pulled his sword from the ground and began retreating. Yet he never lowered his guard and never turned his back on Igris. With a voice full of hatred, he hissed:
"My name is Kaelith. Never forget it, rat! Sooner or later I will learn who you are… and when I do, I will repay today's humiliation a hundredfold!"
Just as Igris was staring at him as if to say what the hell is this guy talking about?, he suddenly flinched at the sound of a powerful neigh echoing from the distance.
He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the sky—and froze.
Black Pegasus! That bastard is actually trying to escape!
The moment Igris saw the grotesque creature approaching—gliding swiftly through the air with its skeletal brown head and bat-like wings—he wasted no time and sprinted toward the Dread Lord. Kaelith, however, had already begun running in the opposite direction, widening the distance between them. Gritting his teeth, Igris quickly assessed the situation.
Damn it! I can't let him escape. If he gets out of here alive, neither I nor anyone around me will ever be safe again!
But the gap had already grown too large. Kaelith was about to reach his mount, and the winged beast was descending rapidly toward the ground. Just as the Dark Elf prepared to leap onto the creature's back, he sensed movement behind him and instinctively glanced back.
Kaelith's eyes widened in shock.
At the last moment he raised his shield and intercepted the one-handed axe Igris had hurled at him. Though the impact rattled him, the sight of his mount landing on the ground barely five meters away allowed him to breathe in relief. Yet at that very instant he noticed Igris lifting a spear high above his head with all his strength.
Panic flooded Kaelith's mind.
NO!
A heavy thud echoed through the darkness—followed by a shrill, agonized neigh.
The spear Igris had thrown struck the Black Pegasus directly in the throat—the single key to Kaelith's escape plan. The weapon pierced through its neck and burst out the other side. The monstrous horse collapsed to the ground with wide, shocked eyes, losing its balance and rolling toward its master.
The Dark Elf leapt back quickly. For a moment he stared in disbelief at his fallen mount lying lifeless several meters away. But he had no time to mourn. Raising his shield in haste, he blocked Igris's incoming sword strike as the dark knight rushed him.
Igris met his opponent's hatred-filled gaze with a mocking grin.
"Where do you think you're going? We were just about to cut the watermelon. You're leaving too early."
Kaelith glared at him in fury. He had already realized that his chance to escape was gone.