Chapter 4. A Name That Shook Middle-earth
This world had no phones, no internet—
But it did have sorcery.
Through magic, the spread of information was anything but slow.
By noon, news that the evil dragon Smaug had emerged from the Lonely Mountain and declared his intention to establish a Dragon Kingdom had already reached nearly one-third of Middle-earth.
As evening approached—
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Rivendell
In another Elven realm, Rivendell, its lord Elrond reacted very differently from Thranduil after hearing the report.
Elrond immediately sensed that this was no absurd farce.
Smaug might be arrogant—outrageously so—but he was not foolish.
What exactly has changed in the East?
Concern weighed heavily on Elrond's heart.
After some thought, he decided to contact the Elves' Lady of Light, Galadriel, to hear her view on the matter.
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Isengard
Not long after—
In Isengard, the white-robed wizard Saruman let out a low chuckle.
"A mere dragon," he sneered, "dares to dream of founding a kingdom? What a joke."
When it came to arrogance, Smaug might not even measure up to Saruman.
---
The news continued to spread.
But to reach the land that could truly be called untouched by worldly strife—
the Shire—
would still take some time.
And so—
The Shire remained utterly different from the already-turbulent half of Middle-earth.
It was as peaceful as ever.
Having arrived there earlier that morning and still unaware of everything unfolding elsewhere, the Grey Pilgrim Gandalf was enjoying this rare tranquility while waiting for the fools—Thorin Oakenshield and his band of dwarves—to arrive.
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Nightfall Approaches
On the mountain road leading from Lake-town to Dale, several hundred humans were still on the move.
As they walked, they suddenly stopped in near-perfect unison and lifted their heads.
Beneath a sky dyed crimson by the evening glow, the colossal form of Smaug beat his wings, whipping up a violent gale as he flew toward Lake-town.
The people continued to watch, their gazes tracking him silently.
Only a few minutes passed—
Then streams of fire burst forth from Smaug's jaws.
In an instant, the entire Lake-town was swallowed by a sea of flames.
Fire surged skyward, staining the heavens a bloodlike red.
Faced with such a terrifying sight, no one on the mountain road could utter a single word.
There was only silence.
Fear.
And sorrow.
After all, Lake-town had been their home for many years.
Now, that home was being reduced to ashes by Smaug.
Grief was unavoidable.
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Above the burning town—
Smaug continued to breathe fire.
To be honest, he was having a wonderful time—thrilled, even exhilarated.
Human nature is good by default?
Heh.
He had never believed that nonsense even before transmigrating.
Now, he was more convinced than ever.
Good by nature?
No—evil by nature sounded far closer to the truth.
Whoosh—
Smaug unleashed several more torrents of flame, making sure not a single corner was spared.
Only then did he cease his rampage and look once more toward the tower within the town.
The tower stood empty.
The dwarven wind-lance that had once been mounted there—
Was gone.
In the original tale—
More than sixty years ago, Bard's ancestor had used that wind-lance to wound Smaug.
Though it struck him only once, leaving just a single injury—
At the end of the film, through what could only be called a miracle, absurd luck, or outright plot armor, even after losing the wind-lance, Bard managed to fire the final dwarven-forged black arrow perfectly into that very wound, killing Smaug on the spot.
"Heh," Smaug chuckled as he recalled that scene. "Ridiculous."
So—
Who had taken the wind-lance?
Who else could it be? Naturally, Bard.
Smaug didn't mind.
In fact, he was rather interested in playing with Bard next.
Night fell completely.
After confirming that Lake-town was entirely engulfed in flames, Smaug beat his wings and once again returned to the Lonely Mountain.
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Mirkwood
At the highest point of the Woodland Realm—
Thranduil and his son Legolas witnessed the entire scene from afar.
"Father," Legolas said quietly, an inexplicable sense of shared doom settling in his chest, "Smaug did exactly what he said he would."
The feeling was understandable.
Smaug was a fire dragon that ruled the skies. If he could burn Lake-town to the ground tonight, who could guarantee that one day he wouldn't come to burn Mirkwood as well?
If that day truly arrived—
Who could stop him?
"Mm," Thranduil replied. He felt the same unease, though he chose not to voice it.
"It seems he truly intends to found a kingdom," Legolas said after a glance at his father. "Is it possible that other dragons still exist in Middle-earth?"
At that, Thranduil turned to him.
"No. Impossible."
After a brief pause, Thranduil continued,
"Middle-earth once had many dragons. The three most infamous and brutal among them were Scatha, Glaurung, and Ancalagon."
"After those three were slain by Elves and Men, the rest either perished one by one or fled Middle-earth altogether. Only Smaug remained."
Legolas nodded without speaking, yet doubt still lingered in his heart.
Are there truly no other dragons left?
After all, before Smaug's emergence long ago, the Free Peoples had also believed dragons were extinct.
After a long silence, Legolas spoke again.
"Father… what should we do?"
"The affairs of the outside world are none of our concern," Thranduil replied without hesitation.
"We need only strengthen our defenses, make preparations, and guard our realm."
Legolas had not lived long enough—more importantly, he had never experienced a true large-scale war. He had yet to witness the cruelty of conflict, still harboring a romantic idealism of protecting all peoples.
As such, he did not particularly like Thranduil's approach.
But that was all.
He said nothing more.
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Rivendell
On the Moonlit Terrace—
The projection of the Lady of Light, Galadriel, appeared silently.
Elrond had already been waiting. Upon seeing her, he bowed slightly in respect.
He quickly explained the situation in full.
Galadriel, however, had already received the news. She nodded gently.
"Do you believe Smaug is acting on a mere whim?"
Elrond considered this.
"My first instinct was yes… but something feels off."
"Mm," Galadriel replied.
"I sense shadows reemerging in Middle-earth. They may be connected to Smaug—or they may not."
"We must pay closer attention to him."
"Agreed," Elrond said.
After speaking for a while longer, Galadriel's projection faded away.
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Night Deepens
The Shire.
Bag End—Bilbo Baggins's home.
Thorin Oakenshield and his band of dwarves were eating and drinking with utter disregard for manners, filling the house with noise and chaos.
Bilbo was utterly overwhelmed by these unfamiliar, rude guests.
Nearby, the Grey Wizard Gandalf puffed on his pipe, smiling at the lively scene.
Suddenly—
A vividly colored butterfly fluttered into the room and stopped before Gandalf, its wings beating rapidly.
Moments later—
Gandalf learned of everything the evil dragon Smaug had done that day.
His expression changed instantly.
Not a trace of a smile remained on his face.
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