Chapter 12: Gatefront Ruins

By the time Tarnes reached Nepheli and Gandalf, their battle was all but over. The last two Orcs broke and fled, only to be run down by Nepheli. As they turned to raise their rusted blades, her war axe, wreathed in storm and thunder, descended.

This battlefield was a far more visceral scene than the one Tarnes had left behind. There were no peacefully slumbering corpses here, only a grim tableau of dismembered limbs and shattered bodies. The Wargs had fared no better, their carcasses riddled with perforations from the Cuckoo Glintstone traps that had been buried in the earth.

Nepheli calmly lopped the head from the last Orc, ensuring it would not rise again, then sheathed her axe and approached.

"Are you injured?" Tarnes asked, his gaze settling on Gandalf. He knew Nepheli's prowess; it was the wizard he was concerned for.

Before Gandalf could answer, Nepheli spoke, her voice flat. "I don't think you need to worry about him. Of the bodies on the ground, excluding those taken out by the Cuckoo Glintstone and the Lightning Pots, he alone, with his staff and sword, accounted for half."

Tarnes let out a silent sigh of relief. "It is good you are both unharmed."

Nepheli then turned to Gandalf, her crimson eyes holding an expression he couldn't quite decipher. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke, a hint of apology in her tone. "The wind stirred by your blade told me you are an excellent warrior. I have never seen a sorcerer use his staff to knock an enemy's head off, but I underestimated you."

Gandalf chuckled, showing no signs of fatigue from the brutal fight. "There is no need to apologize, Nepheli Loux. You are the great warrior here. I saw you watching over me during the battle, ready to intervene if I was in danger." He then looked at Tarnes, a thoughtful curiosity in his eyes. "Those clay pots you gave me… their power is beyond anything I could have imagined. If the kingdoms of Men had such weapons, it would be a blessing in the war against the Orcs. It would save countless lives."

Gandalf was far too wise to ask for the recipe directly, but the unspoken question hung in the air.

Tarnes understood. He shrugged. "The crafting is not complex. In fact, it might be simpler than you think." He saw the hope in Gandalf's eyes and continued, "But the raw materials are from my homeland. I do not know if you will find substitutes here. It requires a Ritual-Cracked Pot, two mushrooms, a Fulgurbloom, and a Gravel Stone."

Gandalf mulled this over. "The pot and the lightning flower seem to be the most crucial components. Mushrooms and stone are common enough. I must think… are there any plants in Middle-earth that can generate lightning? And a substitute for a magically imbued vessel…"

"Mushrooms are common in the Lands Between," Tarnes interrupted, a note of astonishment in his voice. "But Gravel Stone is a rare material. It is a sharp stone found only where Ancient Dragons have struck, said to be a fragment of their very scales. The stone, with its faint trace of draconic power, is the most critical ingredient."

Gandalf's expression froze. The muscles in his cheeks twitched. "Wait," he said, his eyes widening in delayed realization. "You used a precious material made from dragon scales to kill common Orcs?"

Nepheli, who had been listening silently, spoke up. "Tarnes is a pragmatist. As long as it can eliminate the enemy quickly, he does not care how precious the material is." Tarnes nodded in agreement.

"An item can be replaced," he said to the regretful-looking wizard. "A life cannot. The fact that you and Nepheli are unscathed proves the Lightning Pots served their purpose."

Gandalf let out a long sigh. "If only the kings of Men were as open-minded as you. My work would be much easier." He then shook his head. "Though I wonder… gunpowder…"

"You know of it?" Tarnes asked, surprised.

"The fireworks I set off in Hobbiton," Gandalf clarified, not realizing the vast difference in power.

"I know how to craft a Flame Pot," Tarnes offered, "but it, too, requires a Ritual-Cracked Pot, and I do not know how to make one. As for gunpowder, my knowledge is the same. I know how to use it, but not how to make it."

Gandalf understood. "Still, you have given me an idea. I will see if I can find a substitute."

"While I do not wish to interrupt," Nepheli interjected, her voice cutting through their conversation, "it is getting late. We must clear these bodies before they attract more scavengers or spread disease. I have no wish to sleep with the wind carrying the stench of their blood." She glanced to the east, where Rogier was approaching.

Tarnes sighed. "You're right. We must clean the battlefield." He suddenly missed the days in the Lands Between when he only had to kill, not bury.

Gandalf walked over and handed the Coded Sword back to Tarnes. "This is a fine blade. Thank you for the loan."

Tarnes, however, waved his hand and produced another Coded Sword from his pack. "Since you find it handy, take the matching one as well. Do not refuse. I have many and rarely use them myself."

Gandalf had little choice but to accept. As he fastened the blade to his belt, he said, "Do not worry about the Wargs. Their evil forms will dissipate on their own. But the Orcs must be dealt with. I will lend a hand."

"That is what I came to say," Rogier said, his expression strange as he drew near. "The bodies of the Orcs and Wargs… they are being absorbed by the Erdtree."

Returning to the tree? Tarnes immediately looked up, meeting Rogier's gaze. The two of them, who had studied the phenomenon of Deathroot together, thought of the same thing.

"Absorbed?" Gandalf asked, puzzled. Before he could finish, he saw the answer for himself.

On the grassy ground, the corpses of the Orcs and Wargs were enveloped in the brilliant golden light of the Erdtree. But it was more than just an embrace; they were being assimilated. The lifeless flesh was slowly dissolving into translucent golden particles, drawn into a current that flowed toward the tree. Gandalf realized it was not the flesh but the souls of the evil creatures that were being drawn out, their darkness cleansed by the holy light.

The process was swift. Soon, all that remained were ethereal streams of gold, a fragmented starlit river flowing into the Erdtree. The sight was imprinted in Gandalf's memory, a scene of profound and beautiful magic.

As the last particles were absorbed, the Erdtree surged, growing several centimeters in an instant. Then, a wave of Golden Grace pulsed outwards, enveloping the ruins within a forty-meter radius.

When the light receded, the ruins were gone.

In their place stood a fortified outpost. Around the Erdtree, four spacious guard posts were arranged in an orderly fashion. The muddy, weed-choked ground was now a road of paved flagstones. Beside the road stood three large, semi-open tents of deep yellow cloth, each with a crackling bonfire and a military standard planted firmly in the earth. The flags bore the sigil of a lion and a great tree.

The tent flaps were open, revealing stacks of firewood, sealed barrels, and weapon racks gleaming with cold steel. The racks were empty, for the weapons were held in the hands of their owners.

Twelve soldiers stood in silent formation. They wore iron helms, chainmail, and cylindrical plate armor emblazoned with the image of the Erdtree and the symbol of the Golden Lineage—the Vizier Beast. They held weapons ranging from one-handed swords to massive greatswords. At their head stood a tall, powerfully built knight. They all knelt on one knee, their heads bowed toward Tarnes, who still had his hand on the tree's trunk.

The transformation was absolute. The ruins had been remade, reformed by an unseen hand into a well-built pass.

To Gandalf, it was utterly alien. But to Rogier and Nepheli, it was achingly familiar.

"The Gatefront Ruins," Rogier breathed, recognizing the pass that had once led to Stormveil Castle.

Nepheli nodded. "And those are Godrick's soldiers. Though they look… healthier than I remember."

Gandalf could only stare, muttering to himself. "What other surprises do you have in store, Mr. Tarnes? First a team of elite soldiers, next will you conjure a castle?"

Rogier, overhearing, quipped, "Perhaps not just a castle. He might even conjure an Ancient Dragon for you."

Gandalf closed his eyes. "My heart might not survive it."

Tarnes's consciousness returned from his communion with the Erdtree. He now knew it could absorb the souls of those who died nearby, accelerating its own growth. The thought of luring more Orcs to their doom, to feed the tree, was a tempting and terrible one.

***

(End of Chapter)

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