Capítulo 257: Gold, Oaths, and Shadows
The shadow of war cast a pall over the joy of victory. Though the news of Smaug's death brought excitement to the northern realms, the looming threat of tens of thousands of orcs stirred unease and fear.
As the tidings spread, Wayne was surprised to find that neither the dwarves of Thorin's company nor the Silvan Elves showed panic. Although both factions immediately entered a state of preparation, they displayed no fear or hesitation.
The enmity between the goodly races of the North and the orcs ran deep, spanning millennia. Countless ancestors had perished in battle with the orcs, leaving behind nothing but bones on the battlefield. These two sides were sworn enemies, destined to clash until only one survived, with no chance for peace or compromise.
Even the remaining refugees from Lake-town—fewer than 600—displayed unwavering determination. Many of their relatives and friends had fallen victim to the orc raid, and the survivors were willing to fight to the last to avenge their loved ones.
This left Wayne in a difficult position. The refugees, composed of the old, the young, and many civilians with little combat experience, could offer limited help. Only a handful of former soldiers—barely 20—remained to form a militia. Most of the refugees lacked the training to be anything but fodder on the battlefield, and their participation could easily become a liability.
To harness their spirit while minimizing risk, Wayne met with King Thranduil and procured two hundred elven light crossbows along with other weapons and armor. He tasked Adar, the captain of the militia, and Bard, the skilled archer, to select one hundred refugees capable of combat. Wayne hoped that, with rigorous training, they could at least become competent crossbowmen before the war began.
For the remaining civilians eager to help, Wayne assigned them to logistics. While they would not fight directly, their efforts would contribute to the war effort by supporting the frontline.
A logistical challenge soon arose. The Lonely Mountain and the Woodland Realm were separated by several days' travel, meaning that neither the dwarves nor the elves could afford to abandon their homes to support the other. Until the orcs' target was known, each faction would need to defend its own territory.
This divide posed a grave risk—if the two forces were attacked separately, they could be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the orc army. The risk of defeat by piecemeal attacks loomed large.
Meanwhile, Thorin's cousin, Dáin Ironfoot, immediately returned to the Iron Hills upon hearing of the orc threat. Within a week, Dáin marched back to Erebor with a thousand heavily armored warriors, bringing provisions and other dwarven essentials. His mission: to secure the Lonely Mountain at any cost and gather the rest of the Durin line to reclaim their ancestral home.
This move aligned perfectly with Gandalf's strategy. The wizard's goal in orchestrating the Lonely Mountain expedition had been to reunite the dwarves of Erebor and use them to anchor the northern front. The aim was to prevent the orcs of the north from aligning with the forces of Mordor, thereby forestalling a catastrophic dark alliance.
Gandalf's plan was unfolding as intended—by uniting the dwarves and elves against the orc threat, the wizard had ensured that both races would fight to the death to defend their homes.
For Wayne, however, lofty ideals like world peace were secondary. His motivation lay in completing missions, gathering rewards, and strengthening himself. Any larger consequences were incidental.
Wayne returned to Erebor and met with Thorin, now seated on the restored throne in the grand halls of the Lonely Mountain.
The dwarf prince, now garbed in magnificent royal armor and crowned with a gem-studded crown, radiated wisdom and purpose. He welcomed Wayne warmly, his words brimming with respect and gratitude. Wayne returned the courtesy, knowing that mutual respect was vital in maintaining alliances.
"Wayne," Thorin began, "thank you for the gift you gave me. I've placed it on display outside the palace gates.
"I believe that anyone who lays eyes upon Smaug's severed head will understand the iron will of the Durin line. We repay our debts, and we honor our allies with hearts of gold."
Wayne struggled to suppress a laugh at Thorin's poetic flair. A "heart of gold" indeed. Still, it was clear that Thorin was in far better spirits than during their earlier encounters. The burdens that had once clouded his mind—grief, rage, and suspicion—seemed to have lifted.
The current King Under the Mountain exuded regal authority in every movement. His appearance and demeanor were striking, commanding respect from all who encountered him.
Before Wayne could speak, Thorin addressed him directly:
"We'll discuss other matters later, Wayne. As promised, your reward is one-third of Erebor's treasure, along with the ten sets of mithril armor we agreed upon."
"After these days of counting, your gold has been moved to a separate chamber. You can send your people to transport it whenever you wish. The gates of the Kingdom Under the Mountain will always be open to you."
"However, regarding the ten sets of mithril armor, we could only locate two finished pieces within Erebor. Our craftsmen also found enough material to forge three more. The remaining five pieces will require further mining efforts in the Lonely Mountain or the recovery of Moria, where we hope to gather more mithril."
Thorin paused for a moment, a smile curling across his lips.
"Of course, my friend, the dwarves of Durin's line always honor their promises. Even if it takes decades to gather enough mithril, we will not cease our efforts. However, if you are willing to accept another commission—helping us reclaim Moria and defeat the Balrog and orcs that dwell within—your reward will be even more generous."
"As you know, my friend, dwarven integrity is steadfast. You've seen it for yourself."
Just as Thorin finished speaking, Wayne heard a familiar chime echo in his mind.
Ding! The mission is triggered: [Destroy the Balrog] (Epic Level). Do you accept?
Wayne instinctively wanted to accept the mission, but quickly realized the limitations of his current plans. Accepting the task now would mean putting everything else on hold for the day. For now, he had to prioritize.
Wayne smiled calmly.
"Thorin, my friend, I'll gladly take on the commission for Moria. I doubt one Balrog will be much trouble."
"However, this must wait a few years. First, you need to consolidate your kingdom, recall enough of your people, and train more warriors. Even if we reclaim Moria, you will need enough dwarves to repopulate and protect it."
Seeing Thorin's smile at his words, Wayne continued:
"For now, let's set Moria aside. When the time comes, we'll discuss the terms in detail."
"But the reason I came to you today is to discuss the imminent threat of the orc army. Their numbers are overwhelming—far exceeding your forces, possibly ten or even twenty times your own."
"While I don't mind helping you for the sake of friendship, as an adventurer, I am accustomed to working under formal commissions."
Wayne's tone remained light, but his words carried weight. Thorin's expression grew serious at the mention of the approaching orc horde.
"I propose we formalize this arrangement," Wayne said. "Let's draft a commission contract. The terms will be simple: I will assist you in the coming war and take responsibility for eliminating the enemy commander."
"In return, as a token of our friendship, I won't demand anything unreasonable. All I ask is that the master blacksmiths of Erebor craft 10,000 sets of knight armor and weapons for me. I will, of course, pay the full value of these goods—consider this commission both a favor and a fair trade."
Thorin blinked in surprise, processing Wayne's unexpected request. He first weighed the necessity of such a contract, then considered the reward. A rare flicker of emotion crossed his face—gratitude and relief.
In truth, Thorin had not expected Wayne to offer such generous terms. If the Wayne was willing to pay the full cost for the armor, the arrangement was almost too good to be true.
If Wayne could eliminate the enemy's commander during the upcoming war, just as he had done with Smaug, it would be a tremendous boon for the dwarves—a victory of both strategic and symbolic significance.
Forging a strong friendship is always a cause for joy.
With a smile, Thorin stepped down from his throne, clasped Wayne's wrist warmly, and said:
"No problem. This commission will be fulfilled under the terms you mentioned. I'll have the contract drawn up, and we will formally conclude the agreement soon."
"But before that, let me show you the gold that now belongs to you and the mithril armor we've prepared."
With a hearty laugh, Thorin added jokingly, "If you plan to haul this gold back to the Shire and store it in Wayne Manor, you may need hundreds of carriages—or a caravan of thousands!"
Wayne chuckled at the jest as the two made their way through the palace halls of Erebor. They passed through several passages before arriving at a vast, grand chamber.
Inside, a monumental hoard of gold glittered in the torchlight. Piles of coins stretched out into a massive mountain, hundreds of meters wide and several dozen meters tall. Beyond the coins were stacks of ornate gold vessels, sculptures, jewelry, and other treasures—carefully packed into colossal wooden crates, each glowing with a mesmerizing radiance.
Thorin stood proudly before Wayne, spreading his arms wide. In a triumphant tone, he said:
"Wayne, all the gold in this chamber is yours. You have my word—dwarves do not cheat or shortchange. Not a single gold coin is missing from your share—one-third of all the wealth within the Lonely Mountain's treasure hoard."
"With this wealth, you are now the richest adventurer in all of Middle-earth—richer than many kings."
Thorin then retrieved a finely crafted wooden chest from a corner of the room. As he opened it, the lid revealed two magnificent sets of chainmail. The armor shimmered like pure silver, light and delicate in appearance. Thorin's voice carried a trace of regret:
"These are the only two complete sets of mithril chainmail we've been able to find in Erebor so far. They are as light as a feather, as thin as a cicada's wing, yet impervious to blade or arrow—a true masterpiece of dwarven craftsmanship."
"We will craft the other three mithril armors after the war concludes. These aren't just your commission rewards—they are also a symbol of our friendship."
Wayne inspected the mithril armor with satisfaction, turning it over in his hands and admiring the craftsmanship. Once Thorin excused himself to tend to other matters, Wayne gave the black leather pouch at his belt a knowing tap and whispered softly:
"Vivian, come on out. It's going to be a big day."
---
Three days later.
Despite Vivian's incredible talent for handling wealth, the sheer scale of the treasure hoard proved to be overwhelming. It took the Wealth Elf three full days to organize and collect all the gold coins.
When Vivian finally completed the tally, the results left Wayne speechless.
1.8 billion orens. Yes—converted into orens, the wealth amounted to 1.8 billion.
The scale of such a fortune was beyond comprehension. Even the greatest nobles, kings, or emperors of the southern realms could scarcely fathom the concept of hundreds of millions of gold coins.
And now, Wayne was the owner of that unimaginable wealth.
With this fortune, Wayne's influence would be felt across all of Middle-earth. Wealth on this scale could sway kingdoms, ignite wars, and forge alliances. In many ways, it was a force more powerful than the blessings of gods—capable of shaping the world in ways more profound than divine intervention.
Regardless of how elated Wayne felt at that moment, he knew that Thorin had kept his word. In return, Wayne had earned every piece of his reward.
The most crucial chapter of Wayne's mission in Middle-earth had now reached its conclusion.
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