Chapter 18: The Mad Chase Across the Plains =2=

---Third-person strategic perspective------Oak Shield Group---

As Anton and Marcus rapidly approached, Igris, Thorin, and Gandalf slowed their pace and fell to the rear of the group. Igris turned to Thorin.

"Thorin! Take note. Once you reclaim the mountain, you must begin training mounts for the dwarves! Your horses are way too slow!"

Thorin shot him a glare. "These horses aren't warhorses! We dwarves are formidable in close-quarters combat on foot. Besides, Erebor used to have a cavalry unit made up of war rams, but a massive and advanced lizard turned them into roasted meat!" he grumbled.

Igris looked at him.

"Guno said something similar. I told him, 'Erebor no longer belongs to the dwarves. You're not in the mountains anymore. If you want to thrive in the plains, a cavalry unit is a must.'"

Thorin turned to Igris.

"What did Guno say? Wait, let me guess. He probably said there's no need, that dwarves can fight without mounts, and there's no reason to waste time training people for something unnecessary, right?"

Igris chuckled.

"Yeah, he said something along those lines. It was tough to convince him."

Thorin raised an eyebrow.

"You convinced him?"

Igris chuckled and gave a thumbs up.

"By the time I left, the Blackbeard Colony had 100 dwarf cavalrymen riding mountain ponies and about 70 war ram riders. Though many of them were still in training."

Gandalf was astonished.

"How did you manage to convince those stubborn dwarves?"

Thorin was surprised too. As a king, he wasn't a fool—he understood the importance of cavalry, but his people were just as stubborn as he was.

Igris puffed out his chest and began recounting with pride.

"At first, I couldn't convince them. No matter how many days I talked, they wouldn't listen."

Gandalf and Thorin nodded—this was expected. Igris continued.

"If dwarves don't use mounts in the plains, they become easy targets. The region I found for them may have been mountainous, but since most of their work was trade caravans, they had to travel frequently. However, dwarves are a race that struggles to accept change—especially altering their combat style. Since talking didn't work, I thought of a different way and approached it indirectly."

He looked behind him and saw the two riders were about 150 meters away.

Thorin and Gandalf exchanged glances. Then Thorin asked,

"What did you do?"

Igris laughed.

"I disguised myself and went into an inn dressed as a merchant. I joined a group of drunk, chatty dwarves and said, 'My friends! If you tell me a good story, drinks are on me!' They were delighted. I bought them four barrels of high-quality beer with a strong alcohol content. I hung out with them for four hours, but I didn't drink—I secretly swapped my beer with a fruit juice I made myself."

He grinned."If you approach dwarves properly, it's easy to become friends with them. Then I waited for the right moment and said, 'Friends, I've come to like you. Dwarves aren't nearly as bad as people say.' They laughed heartily, and I kept talking. 'As your friend, there's something I must tell you,' I said, pretending to hesitate. They were curious and asked what it was. I took a deep breath and said, 'The elves are insulting you behind your backs.' The dwarves froze for a moment and then cursed in fury. 'Those long-eared bastards—what did they say?'"

Igris laughed as he continued his tale.

"I acted all dramatic and said, 'They called you clumsy, brainless, and stupid.' That made them even angrier. I paused for a moment and sighed... 'They said you were cowards.' That word broke their last nerve. They demanded to know what I meant. I went on, 'The elves say dwarves don't have cavalry because they're too dumb to ride mounts and too scared of them! They even said dwarves wet themselves from fear when they see a horse!'"

Igris burst into laughter. Thorin and Gandalf were dumbfounded.

"You should've seen their faces!" Igris continued. "They turned beet red, like hot peppers—ready to erupt like a volcano. I wrapped up my speech and excused myself, telling them I had to leave early the next morning. The very next day, word spread across the entire colony. The dwarves took it as a matter of pride. Within two days, Guno came to me and asked for help finding suitable mount animals. We found wild horses and rams in the mountains and plains, and bought a few from elsewhere. And that's how the Blackbeard Colony's cavalry unit was born."

Thorin fell into deep thought. "This approach is childish… but accurate. If used right, it can definitely work on dwarves. If done well enough, it could even fool me! I might use this method in my own plans."

Gandalf was both surprised and displeased, scolding Igris.

"I hope you know the elves never actually said anything that harsh? Even if they don't like dwarves, they still respect their strength."

Igris waved a hand dismissively.

"Forget it, old man. It was a plan I crafted to convince the dwarves. What mattered was what they thought in that moment. Anyway, we've got two unwanted guests on our tail."

He pointed behind him. Anton and Marcus were closing in fast.

As the duo entered speaking range and slowed down, Igris raised his hand and politely greeted Anton.

"Hey there, Anton! How's your eye, honey? Still stinging?"

Anton's brow twitched, but he kept his composure. Igris then turned to Marcus and stared blankly at him.

"...Who were you, blondie? I couldn't remember you."

The veins on Markus's face bulged.

"YOU SON OF A *****! HOW COULD YOU FORGET ME!? I'M LADY KATARINA'S NUMBER ONE MAN! I'M THE FIRST NAME ON THE LIST OF MEN SHE WANTS TO MARRY! MY NAME IS MARKUS! YOU ******! *****!" he continued to curse furiously, but unexpectedly, the look in Igris's eyes shifted from mockery to something else—as if he had just seen hope.

"I fully support this marriage! You two should absolutely get married! You make a perfect couple!" he exclaimed with enthusiastic support. Anton covered his face, and Markus, shocked at first, clenched his teeth and grew even more furious.

"ARE YOU MOCKING ME, IGRIS!?" he shouted, but Igris surprised him once again.

"Absolutely not, you idiot. I don't want to be involved with you people anyway. If Katarina takes you, I'll finally be free! Why would I mock that? Also, red and yellow go really well together," he added seriously, giving a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, inwardly Igris thought, 'Take her already, you freak! I don't want her! But once I grow stronger and build my army, I swear I'll become the bane of all vampires! I hope I run into someone like a Witcher or Van Helsing! Then you'll all learn what it means to be hunted!'

Anton finally managed to interject. "Just surrender, Igris. My lady will treat you well—she likes you, after all."

Igris's brow twitched. Just as he was about to say something, Thorin stepped forward.

"You're talking to the wrong person, scum! I'm the leader of this group. Igris works under my command until the mission is over. Now tell me what you want—again."

After a glance at Thorin, Igris simply shrugged and turned his back. "You heard the man," he said.

Anton and Markus looked at each other. Anton turned to Thorin.

"We don't care about your group or your little quest, Thorin Oakenshield. But if you stand in our way, we'll crush you like insects. Hand over Igris, and we'll be on our way. You stick to your business, and we'll stick to ours."

Igris snorted and turned back toward them, barking, "You bastards don't understand plain speech, do you!? I couldn't care less about your grandma! I'd rather invert my aura and blow myself up than be with her! Get the hell out of here!"

Anton's face darkened, and Markus snapped. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING A GRANDMA, YOU ********!?"

Igris glanced at the blond man and realized his mistake. "Ahh! Sorry. She was like... what? Around 500 years old? I mean, she's basically a rotten fossil," he mocked. That only fueled Markus's rage. He lunged forward, but Anton held him back. Markus looked sideways. Anton nodded, then turned to Igris and gave a final warning.

"This is your last chance, Igris. Either surrender and serve my lady—or watch your companions die right here."

Thorin growled coldly. "You heard Igris, you bird-brained fool. He doesn't want to go with you. Now piss off!"

In response, Igris chuckled and gave the two Blood Rose Knights the finger. That gesture made the veins on Anton's face swell with fury, and the killing intent began leaking from his body. Markus looked ready to snap.

Gandalf interjected curiously, "There's something I don't understand—why does the Crimson Lady want a Dunedain this badly?"

Already at the edge, Markus snapped back angrily, "WE DON'T OWE YOU AN EXPLANATION, YOU ROTTEN OLD ****! MY LADY DOES WHAT SHE PLEASES!"

Anton, ashamed, covered his face and silently lamented, Why can't this idiot just calm down!?

Igris looked at Markus. "Blond cat, you're getting cocky just because the Grey Wizard's out of mana, huh? Since when do vampires start messing with members of the White Council? Aren't you afraid of starting a war? Plus, if you kill the Grey Wizard, you'll have to deal with Lady Galadriel's wrath."

Markus was about to speak, but Anton silenced him sharply. "SHUT THAT DAMN MOUTH, MARKUS!" With that scolding, Markus fell into a sulky silence while Anton took a deep breath to calm himself, then continued, looking at Igris.

"Don't get us wrong, Igris. The Grey Wizard isn't more powerful than an old man right now. We don't intend to hurt him—at most, he'll end up with a few bruises. We're not stupid. We know exactly what we'd be facing if we provoked the White Council. That's why we drained his mana before acting. Now, surrender."

Igris paused for a moment, then smirked. He pulled Shadowmane slightly to the left, suddenly slowed down, and quickly drew his sword from the inventory with his right hand, swinging it backward. Caught off guard by the move, Anton flinched but swiftly raised his shield and blocked Igris's blade. Though shaken by the impact, he drew his sword in return and counterattacked. Igris parried the incoming blow, the clash of steel producing sparks. Their eyes locked.

Igris chuckled. "Don't confuse me with who I was two years ago. Thanks to you guys, I had plenty of motivation—ended up training non-stop," he said, pushing Anton back with a sudden burst of strength. Anton barely kept his balance on his horse before diving back into a fierce swordfight with Igris.

"Igris! You bastard!" Markus shouted and tried to charge at him, but Gandalf slowed his own horse and made a horizontal slash at Markus with his sword. Markus instantly blocked the strike. And then, Gandalf's voice rang out, full of wisdom.

"Let this old man accompany you for a bit, young one," he said with a grin. Markus glared at Gandalf with fury, ready to say something—but before he could, Gandalf raised his staff in his other hand and struck down vertically on Markus's head. The blow landed squarely, causing Markus to bite his own tongue.

Seeing this, Gandalf chuckled and offered a bit of advice.

"Let this strike be a lesson for you—to be polite to your elders."

Markus flushed with shame and rage. "YOU WRETCHED, ROTTEN OLD MAN!" he roared, slashing horizontally with great speed. Gandalf blocked it with his sword and slapped Markus across the face with his staff. Markus's face contorted in slow motion, almost comically. As Gandalf beat him, he sighed in discontent and muttered:

"Young people these days… No respect for elders, nor for wizards."

Though Markus was angry, he was no longer acting recklessly. He wasn't a fool. Gandalf had landed two blows, and Markus had been unable to respond. He quickly grabbed his shield with his left hand and slashed diagonally from right to left. Gandalf parried with his sword and then swung his staff from left to right. This time, Markus blocked it with his shield. Gandalf smiled like a kind old man and complimented him:

"So, you do know how to block."

Markus snapped with anger and made a horizontal slash.

"Make your move, old man! Even if I can't kill you today, I'll definitely strike you down hard!"

After blocking with his sword, Gandalf attacked again with his staff, but instead of hitting Markus, he targeted the space between Markus's sword and shield, trying to create an opening. Then he lunged with his own sword toward Markus's head. Though Markus quickly tilted his head to the side, the blade left a deep gash across his cheek. Driven by fear from the close call, Markus swiftly directed his horse to create some distance between him and Gandalf. He then touched the cut on his face, never taking his eyes off the wizard. Doubt stirred in his mind.

'Isn't this rotten old man supposed to be a wizard? Why is he this skilled in close combat?'

Markus became sure of one thing—this man was no ordinary wizard. He had to be careful, because killing the Grey Wizard would bring great trouble to Katarina. But Gandalf didn't seem burdened by such concerns. If given the chance, he would kill Markus! That truth tensed Markus up, and he began to fight with greater caution. Gandalf, too, observed the gash on Markus's cheek carefully.

"What a pity. You had a handsome face. I hope the Red Lady doesn't throw you out just because of that scar—she does tend to favor the pretty ones. But then again, that's not my problem."

Veins bulged on Markus's face with fury. 'Calm down, Markus! Focus!' he told himself, glancing ahead and noticing the area was still open. Trusting his horse, he turned slightly and focused on Gandalf.

Meanwhile, Thorin was feeling rather frustrated. He had wanted a one-on-one duel. Without further thought, he slowed his horse and launched a vertical slash straight down at Anton. Anton blocked Thorin's attack with his sword and, at the same time, countered Igris's move with his shield. Then he furiously scolded Thorin:

"As the Dwarven King, where is your honor?! Why are you interfering in a duel between two knights?!"

Thorin and Igris both twitched their brows. Igris snapped back with fury:

"You crooked honor freak! Weren't you the ones who sent your troops just to wear us down?! On top of that, you chased us for nine hours after the battle! WE DIDN'T EVEN GET TO REST, DAMN IT!"

Then he slashed horizontally at Anton with full strength. Anton blocked with his shield. Just then, Thorin followed up with a diagonal slash, which Anton parried with his sword. With his strike blocked, Thorin whined in an overly dramatic tone:

"Besides, Igris has an injured arm and several serious wounds. It wouldn't be fair for him to fight you alone. But don't worry—I have wounds too! So the playing field is even."

"You heard the man! Talking about honor while fighting a crippled opponent—seriously?" Igris growled, launching a vertical slash. Anton blocked it once again and replied:

"You call this even?! Two against one?! There's no honor in this at all! I didn't expect this from you, Igris. I'm truly disappointed!"

With that, he struck Igris with a diagonal slash. Igris blocked it and redirected Anton's sword before elbowing him in the head. Anton's cheek flushed from the blow, and his lip split open.

"In war, anything goes! And you're the last person who should be talking about honor! You ambushed me eight times! EIGHT DAMNED TIMES! Now you dare speak of honor, dignity, and knighthood?!"

Igris burst out in furious laughter and attacked Anton with an overhead diagonal slash. Anton blocked it with his sword, but Igris, riding at full speed on his horse, made an unexpected move—he headbutted Anton! The strike landed square on Anton's face. Stunned and disoriented from the surprising move, Anton nearly fell from his horse. As he struggled to regain balance, Thorin attacked from the side. Although Anton reflexively raised his shield, Thorin wasn't aiming for Anton.

Mid-swing, Thorin changed the direction of his sword and slashed the straps of Anton's saddle. Though the horse neighed from the shallow cut, it didn't lose balance—it was a warhorse, after all, and the cut hadn't pierced its chainmail deeply. Meanwhile, Igris regained his balance atop Shadowmane and looked at Anton. Time seemed to freeze.

Anton's eyes widened in shock as he slowly, almost in slow motion, began to fall. Thorin smirked and raised his hand in a wave. 'Farewell.'

Only one thought passed through Anton's mind:

'Damn dwarf!'

SMACK!

Having lost his balance from Igris's headbutt, Anton fell when his saddle was cut. He tumbled for a while before coming to a stop. He lay motionless on the ground—his leg and arm bones fractured, his armor dented. Blood streamed from his head. This was exactly why Igris always wore his helmet in battle.

Thorin and Igris looked back as they galloped forward, then glanced at each other and shared a laugh. They bumped fists with a chuckle. Thorin calmly said:

"Well, the guy was right. Attacking an envoy wasn't exactly noble."

Igris shrugged and answered with a grumble:

"Normally I'm not the type to attack envoys either! But those bastards tested every ounce of my patience!"

Thorin nodded in agreement.

"You're right," he said, then turned with Igris to look toward Gandalf's side.

The fight between Gandalf and Markus was heavily one-sided. Aside from a few scratches on his robes, Gandalf was unharmed, while Markus's face was swollen. His lip was busted, his nose broken, a black eye darkened his right socket, and two front teeth were missing. Gandalf continuously found openings and beat Markus with his staff. It was as if Igris and Thorin could hear Gandalf's chuckling from where they stood.

"…Thorin."

"…Yeah?"

"…I think Gandalf is enjoying beating the crap out of that blond cat."

"…He's definitely enjoying it."

"Should we help?"

"…Let's just watch for now."

"Understood."

Thorin and Igris watched for a while. Gandalf was wielding his sword and staff like a storm. Markus could hardly respond. Strangely, whenever Markus tried to swing his sword, Gandalf would place his own vital points beneath the blade—forcing Markus to either halt or redirect every strike. Though he tried to defend himself using his shield and sword with maximum speed, Gandalf always found a way to create an opening and strike him again with his staff. Finally, Markus couldn't take it anymore and screamed:

"YOU CRAZY, MANIAC, PSYCHOPATHIC OLD GEEZER! FIGHT WITH HONOR LIKE A MAN!"

"hahahaha... I am a very old wizard who has run out of mana energy! It's strange that a young knight like you should be talking about honor when he's bullying me." said Gandalf so calmly it was as if he wasn't mocking Markus at all, but merely stating a fact.

İgris and Thorin stood there watching this bizarre duo blankly. İgris, sweating, muttered,

"Gandalf definitely holds grudges."

As Thorin nodded, he made a mental note not to provoke Gandalf too much in the future—not out of fear, but simply out of caution. İgris continued.

"That's exactly why I never take off my helmet except when I eat! I always stay ready—I've got way too many enemies," said, pointing to Markus's head, which resembled a bloated blowfish.

Thorin nodded. "I understand… But it seems Gandalf is walking straight into the dark side. That blond Cat has earned my respect—he's definitely powerful. But if he kills Gandalf, the Blood Rose Knights will be hunted everywhere, and the Red Lady won't have the same freedom she once did. The White Council's connections are no joke."

Igris nodded in agreement. "Still, Gandalf isn't weak. We thought he was just a crazy old wizard, but turns out the man's a damn warrior!"

Thorin nodded too, a bit surprised.

Igris pulled a drink and some spicy chicken from his inventory, coated in plenty of hot sauce.

"Thorin! Want some?"

Thorin looked over at Igris, stunned. Igris had taken off his helmet and stored it in his inventory. He was holding a chicken leg in one hand and fruit juice in the other. After taking a sip, he stored the juice back in his inventory and pulled out another chicken leg, offering it to Thorin.

Thorin glanced at the spicy chicken, then at Igris.

"Sure," he said, accepting the leg and taking a bite. The path from his mouth to his stomach ignited with fire.

"How is it?"

"I like it!"

"How do you want your drink? Alcoholic? Non-alcoholic?"

Thorin thought for a moment. "Give me one of the drinks you make. I'm curious about the taste."

Igris nodded and asked again, more specifically.

"Which one do you want? Peach, blackberry, sour cherry…" (Here, Igris listed seven more flavors) "…or mixed forest berries? What'll it be?"

Thorin gave him a strange look.

"Are you a cook or a warrior?"

With a hint of offense, Igris replied, "Cooking is my hobby, okay? I can't be chopping people up all the time!"

Thorin gave him a strange look again, his eyes silently saying, Yeah, I believe that! You're totally a fight junkie! Thorin sighed.

"You choose," he said, taking another bite of his chicken. Then, in a low voice just loud enough for Igris to hear, he asked,

"Did Gandalf really have a romantic relationship with Galadriel?"

Igris stared at him blankly, then replied in an overly dramatic tone, "The Great Dwarf King! Thorin Oakenshield , son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, wants to gossip? I'm shocked!"

Thorin's face darkened, but Igris went on.

"Why didn't you ask earlier?"

"I'm a king! I can't talk about this kind of stuff in front of my people! You know how dwarves gossip—especially when they're drunk!"

Igris looked at Thorin and nodded, then glanced at Gandalf, who was still beating up Markus. He turned back to Thorin.

"I'm not sure. But most likely, there was no such relationship. Galadriel and Gandalf are like ancient friends or mentors to each other. Besides, there's a huge age gap between them."

Thorin nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Galadriel is over 6,000 years old. Gandalf's younger but looks older."

Igris stared at him blankly. "…Uhh, Thorin. Gandalf is the older one."

Thorin looked at Igris in shock. "How old is Gandalf?"

"…It's estimated he's older than 20,000 years. I've got solid proof. He might even be older than 50,000!"

"WHAT!?"

Thorin was stunned. Igris wasn't actually certain about that—after all, this world differed from the original movies, and the movies were different from the books. Although he'd read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings as a kid, he barely remembered any of it. But he'd watched The Hobbit movies countless times. Even though hardcore fans of the original story hated the movies for deviating from the books and making things up, Igris loved them—there were very few high-quality fantasy adventure films like that.

While Igris enjoyed reading, he was too lazy to reread the same book again. Plus, he didn't care whether movies were exact replicas of the books—as long as they entertained him, that was enough. After all, The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit were fictional from the ground up, and yet they were beloved stories.

Anyway, the system hadn't given him complete information about world history. That mystery would remain unsolved until either Gandalf or Galadriel clarified it. What Thorin didn't know, however, was that the so-called "solid proof" Igris mentioned was actually just fan theories discussed on social media back in his original world. How Thorin would react if he found out remains a delicious mystery.

Meanwhile, as the fake history professor Igris gave free lectures to Thorin while munching on chicken, the battle on Gandalf's side was nearly over.

Markus's face was covered in bruises, welts, and swelling. He was barely holding on and turned his gaze desperately toward Anton.

'Where the hell is Anton!?' he screamed inside his head.

Markus, upon seeing Thorin and Igris eating and chatting, grew even more agitated. He turned back and saw Anton's warhorse grazing a hundred meters away. His attention had only drifted for ten seconds, but Gandalf didn't miss the chance.

He gently but mischievously placed his staff between Markus's legs. Markus shivered violently, and Gandalf smiled sweetly like a kind old grandpa—but in Markus's eyes, that smile was anything but sweet!

"Well, well! Some of my mana's returned!" Gandalf said as small sparks flickered from his staff. Markus swallowed hard.

"If I apologize, will you forgive me?" he asked in a faint voice.

Instead, Gandalf hit him with a heavy jolt of electricity. Markus convulsed violently and screamed as he fell from his horse.

"That was a good stress relief. I should do this more often," Gandalf muttered with a grin and chuckled softly.

He didn't kill Markus because he knew he was the Red Lady's left hand. Gandalf was already dealing with enough problems and suspicions and didn't want to provoke the vampires—at least, not yet. His priority now was reclaiming Erebor.

He glanced at his two companions and was a bit surprised. Igris and Thorin were munching on chicken and having a serious conversation like they were on a picnic. Gandalf's eyebrow twitched.

"I've lived for ages, but I've rarely met lunatics like these two! Especially that Igris."

Gandalf silently approached his companions, keeping his presence hidden. Not that it mattered—Thorin and Igris were too caught up in their chat. When Thorin started talking, Gandalf began eavesdropping.

"So the White Wizard and leader of all wizards, Saruman, is actually jealous of Gandalf?" Thorin asked.

Gandalf's eyes widened in surprise. Igris nodded solemnly and pulled out two more chicken legs from his inventory—handing one to Thorin and keeping one for himself.

"Yes, he's jealous. Gandalf is loved and respected by everyone, and that deeply unsettles Saruman. I mean, think about it—he's the White Wizard, the head honcho of all magic folk, yet no one respects him as much as Gandalf! But the problem lies with Saruman himself. If he didn't stick his nose into everything and force his opinions on everyone, maybe he'd be more respected!" Igris said, and the secretly eavesdropping Gandalf, in shock, unknowingly nodded in agreement.

As Thorin recalled their first encounter with Saruman, he took another bite of his chicken.

"You're right. The guy's face basically screams, 'I'm the only supreme being around here! Everyone must obey me!'" And Gandalf, again unconsciously, nodded.

Igris nodded back in approval and continued.

"Do you know what the most annoying part is?"

"What?"

"Saruman is an incredibly irritating guy. Now that Gandalf has launched the Erebor campaign, Saruman will try to oppose and block it—just because he doesn't want Gandalf to gain more fame. But the idiot fails to understand that Gandalf never sought fame, nor did he ever try to justify himself. He simply did what he believed was right. Very few people in Middle-earth know what Gandalf has done, and all those who do are long-lived beings."

Thorin frowned as he listened to the first few sentences.

"So, you're saying Saruman will try to stop us?"

"Absolutely! He's probably already on his way and heading to Rivendell."

Thorin grew furious, cursing in Dwarvish, while behind them, the secretly listening and utterly stunned Gandalf fell into deep thought, a headache pounding at his temples. İgris continued.

"Don't worry too much. Gandalf is on our side. Lady Galadriel values Gandalf's ideas, but since this involves Dwarves, she'll likely remain neutral. That leaves Lord Elrond, and I have plans to convince him. Even if Saruman opposes the expedition, his hands will be tied."

With that, İgris puffed out his chest proudly.

Thorin gave him a blank stare.

"And what's your plan?"

İgris chuckled, then took a bite from the chicken in his hand.

"To talk to your uncle."

When Thorin heard about this supposed uncle he neither knew nor had ever heard of—one that İgris insisted existed—the veins on his forehead bulged and his eyebrows twitched wildly. İgris went on.

"Don't worry, leave the matter to me, brother. This one's in the bag. Also, I want to state clearly: Gandalf is much more suited to be the White Wizard! And Saruman… he's just a greedy bastard! I wouldn't be surprised if he started dabbling in dark magic."

Before the conversation could spiral into dangerous territory, Gandalf swiftly cut in.

"Are you two gossiping about me?"At that moment, İgris choked on the piece of chicken in his mouth and started coughing violently, while Thorin sprayed out the juice he had been drinking.

"GANDALF! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?" ×2

"Just arrived," he said calmly.

İgris and Thorin exhaled in relief and settled down.

'Thank the stars he didn't hear us from the beginning! I wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully tonight!'

'If word got out that the honorable king of the Dwarves was here eating chicken and gossiping like a woman about the relationships of beings older than 7,000 years… and if it ended up in the history books of the Dwarves, I'd be ruined!'

İgris casually handed a chicken drumstick to Gandalf, who accepted it with thanks. When Gandalf took a bite and felt the burn in his mouth, he fanned it with his hand.

"Spicy!"

İgris offered him some juice. After Gandalf took a sip and focused back on his food, his mind drifted toward what İgris had said about Saruman.

As they continued riding at full speed, İgris glanced behind them.

'We were lucky with Anton and Marcus. Our unexpected moves caught them unprepared. But things are about to get harder.'