Every enemy inside carried an aura that could annihilate him.
Such terrifying existences.
They were reaped like stalks of grain.
Killed again and again.
Saruman felt his mind could not keep up.
And, at last, he understood his own insignificance.
No wonder those people looked down on him.
Their level of strength had already surpassed all limits.
The gods he had imagined—
He had thought they were merely the native deities of Middle-earth.
Yet what those people possessed were gods who belonged to the Eternal God Realm.
They weren't on the same plane at all.
Take, for example, the Tanjiro he'd seen inside—wielding a slender white Nichirin blade.
It didn't look particularly imposing, yet every stroke contained the power of law.
Mastery over law,
as casual as moving one's own hands and feet.
And their strength was no weaker than the gods of the Immortal Realm.
"So the clown was me all along…"
Saruman gave a bitter laugh.
He clung to his so-called pride, but in others' eyes he was only a fool—
ignorant of what a god truly was.
He had thought Morgoth was formidable.
Was he really?
Sauron, the former Undying King, could be sealed but not slain.
But that goddess named Lin Qing'er had fashioned countless immortal clay figures that not only devoured flesh and grew stronger by absorbing enemies, but also gained wisdom.
Immortality in the true sense—undying.
Reduced to dust, they would still reconstitute.
Far superior to Sauron.
Even after being sealed,
those undying clay figures could shed a portion of their bodies and be reborn through divine power.
Terrifying learning ability.
An immortal body.
Set beside them, Sauron was scum.
Saruman rubbed his temples and began watching other videos.
People are like this: once you take the first step,
the rest becomes simple.
And watching videos was all too addictive.
Each time he finished one, Saruman would stop and take notes—
recording everything he saw and the customs of other worlds.
The more he learned,
the more deeply he felt his own smallness.
Measured against those gods,
he was far too weak, and his world far too narrow.
A mere Morgoth had ravaged the world for so long,
yet those gods beyond the seas
didn't even dare to intervene.
They claimed that every world had its own order. Ridiculous.
"Fortunately, the God of Eternity guided me, otherwise Saruman would truly have died at Gríma's hands…"
He sneered.
At the same time, a darker thought stirred in his heart.
But before he could act on it,
he had to strengthen himself—otherwise nothing would proceed smoothly.
Saruman resolved to become a servant of God.
He closed his eyes,
letting his soul sink into the meditation space.
When at last he beheld the spiritual body of the deity,
he knelt in reverence. The power of the true god inspired longing and submission.
Saruman was proud,
but he was no fool.
Otherwise, he would never have risen to stand among the five great Maiar.
The instant he beheld the divine form, his heart stilled—like a devout old monk.
His mind emptied of stray thoughts.
He did not notice that, as he received the transformation of divine power, a pink shard of law slipped into his soul.
To Liu Che, this gloomy fellow
was not entirely trustworthy.
Left unchecked,
Saruman could throw the world of The Lord of the Rings into utter chaos.
Therefore, inscribing a rule into his heart was the best choice:
let him remain as dark as he ought to be,
while also expanding the justice buried in his heart.
The way of love is fearsome—
it alters one's thoughts without a sound.
Three hours flashed by.
When Saruman opened his eyes, his entire bearing had changed; the withered body now thrummed with explosive strength.
Mana within him
coalesced into a furnace,
burning without end.
A smile rose unbidden.
Savoring the changes in himself, Saruman murmured, "So this is divine magic. Morgoth's brand has been expunged. At this moment, I finally grasp the confidence those group members spoke of…"
He had been too self-impressed before.
Before the power of a god,
Morgoth was nothing.
When the time came to choose a divine art,
Saruman selected dark magic.
It wielded immense destructive force and could bewitch the minds of others.
"My servants—accept the transformation of power…"
Orcs had no true minds; they could never become devout believers. They could only be Saruman's soldiers.
So he bestowed on them greater strength—
the power of darkness.
Through magic circles, it poured ceaselessly into the bodies of the altered orcs.
"Oohh—"
"Raaah—"
Strange cries echoed without end.
Orcs who had stood under two meters grew, one after another,
their strength surging further.
Beneath the tower lay a warren of caverns.
Tens of thousands of sturdy orcs had been sealed within; now they were remade into terrifying beast-warriors.
"Go, my servants—shatter the Kingdom of Rohan and seize the princess within!"
Saruman's command
was inscribed into the orcs' minds.
That very day, an army of thirty thousand orcs struck Rohan by surprise.
They were unstoppable—unfearing of arrows. To ordinary humans,
they were a calamity.
In less than two hours, a city fell.
The army's vanguard pushed straight on,
driving toward Rohan's capital.
Prince Éomer was taken and delivered in chains to Saruman.
Seeing the black-robed wizard, the prince understood:
it was Saruman who had orchestrated the orc horde.
"You've betrayed the Council! The gods will punish you—"
"Oh? Your Highness, the 'gods' you speak of may not be my match."
Saruman's short staff flicked, striking Éomer in the abdomen.
The prince doubled over, vomiting blood in agony.
A casual tap,
without even a trace of spellwork,
had nearly killed him.
Saruman seized Éomer by the collar and hauled him upright, sneering. "I betrayed those gods long ago—and later betrayed Sauron as well. Now I serve the God of Eternity."
"Ah… you turncoat… How pitiful for that god—to fancy a dog for a servant."
"Heh. Curse me all you like. Soon enough, you'll be my faithful puppet."
Cold amusement glinted in Saruman's eyes.
Dark divine power seeped from his palm and flooded the prince's mind.
In a blink, the light faded from the handsome Éomer's gaze.
He dropped to his knees.
"Honored Master, Éomer reports to you."
"Good. Then go—lead my servants against Rohan's capital. It will be the birthplace of the new faith."
Saruman's tone was almost courtly.
He cared nothing for how many died.
So long as he gained believers.
He was the darkest of all the faithful.
Yet he felt no guilt.
In this world, belief ran too deep.
Only by force could people be made to awaken fully.
Watching the departing prince, Saruman murmured, "Once we seize the Kingdom of Rohan, the other realms will not be able to sit idle. Galadriel… I must have you… No—better to dedicate you to God."
At first, he had wanted to keep her for himself.
But the image of the deity flashed in his heart. If the god discovered that his devotion was impure,
his life would be forfeit.
I must not waver.
Saruman warned himself in secret.
Though Éomer was only Théoden's nephew,
the king treated him as a son.
It was said Théoden's daughter was quite lovely as well.
Heh…
Offer them both to God.
Saruman's smile turned hideous.
…
Rohan, that same hour.
The traitor Gríma, absent for days, suddenly reappeared in the palace.
"I want to see my father! Why are you stopping me…" Princess Éowyn, facing the soldiers barring her way, shouted in fury.
But her anger availed nothing.
The soldiers stood unmoving.
One even said, "Forgive us, Princess. These are Lord Gríma's orders."
"Damn Gríma! This is Rohan, not his personal fief. How dare he—!"
Before she finished,
a small, slick figure stepped from the chamber.
"Princess, are you trying to accuse me of a crime?"
The chill in his gaze cut to the marrow.
Éowyn flinched.
What a terrible look. Since when had this treacherous minister's eyes become so terrifying?
The blonde princess gathered herself. "I want to see my father. Why are you keeping me out?"
"Heh. His Majesty is weary and does not wish to receive anyone."
"But do you know? We've already lost two cities. Cousin Éomer—without warning—led orcs to attack."
"A stray wolf grown unruly, nothing more."
"Then get out of my way!"
Éowyn's voice shook with rage.
The realm was beset by enemies within and without, and he still stood here bandying words.
"Let her in, daughter…"
As the princess' anger reached its height, the king's tired voice sounded from within.
"Hmph. I'll settle accounts with you when I return!" Éowyn shot Gríma a blazing glare and pushed past him.
Inside, King Théoden sat upon his bed, his face drawn with exhaustion.
"Father."
"Child, what has provoked you so?"
"Éomer has betrayed the realm, leading orcs to attack. I believe there's a conspiracy—"
"That?" Théoden waved weakly. "Gríma has already reported it. He says he will invite Saruman, the white-robed wizard, to preside over justice. You are making too much of this…"
Éowyn went cold.
Her teeth chattered.
Gríma. Again!
No—this was a plot.
She opened her mouth to protest, then saw the impatience clouding her father's face.
He clearly wanted no more talk.
He was too tired.
Éowyn exhaled and left in despair.
At the door, Gríma still waited, watching her with icy eyes.
"Do you want to save this kingdom?"
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what the words mean. Use your lungs."
"Are you threatening me?"
"If you don't submit, my master will have the orcs tear Rohan to pieces."
In that instant, Éowyn understood.
. . .