New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 99 Sauron

With Owen's support, Elrond unleashed his full strength. His Elven sword became a deadly weapon in his hands—each swing tore away wispy tendrils of darkness, which oozed from the Nazgûl's forms like smoke.

Owen darted sideways, thrusting his sword to take down another Nazgûl, then raced toward Saruman to block a sneak attack from behind. The tide of battle shifted instantly: three against five, and the Nazgûl's advantage was gone.

"Ha!" A faint smirk tugged at Owen's lips. With a roar, he charged the five Nazgûl like a beast. Before Elrond or Saruman could react, he was already swinging his dual swords, clashing with four of the Ringwraiths at once.

Thanks to his sparring with Glorfindel, Owen's swordsmanship had grown more unpredictable and deadly. In a single exchange, he sliced off the heads of two Nazgûl.

The remaining two Ringwraiths felt fear—genuine fear—stir in their spectral forms, sending a cold chill through their incorporeal bodies.

But Owen gave them no time to react. He whirled his swords into a storm of steel, swirling around his body and tearing the two Nazgûl to shreds.

"By the Valar—you are terrifying, Owen. We are fortunate not to be your enemies," Elrond said, genuinely shocked by the ferocity and power Owen had displayed. The "sword storm" Owen had unleashed last sent a shiver down his spine.

Saruman stared at Owen, equally stunned. From what he had just seen, even the three of them—leaders of the White Council—would struggle to stand against Owen in battle.

Galadriel, however, had no time for such thoughts. Gandalf, still in her arms, was barely clinging to life.

"Mithrandir..." she whispered, gently brushing his pale, ashen cheek. She called his name repeatedly, willing him to wake.

"Wake, Mithrandir!" As she spoke, she channeled what little Elven magic she had left into Gandalf's body, stirring his fading life force.

As the magic flowed into him, the wizard—broken and battered by the orcs—jolted awake, gasping for air as if he had been drowning.

"He... he is coming!" Gandalf warned, his voice weak and trembling.

"Yes. Darkness has returned to Middle-earth," Galadriel said, her face pale. She was barely holding herself upright; the dark magic had weakened her nearly as much as it had Gandalf.

Such was the power of the Rings. Even without the One Ring, Sauron still wielded influence over those who bore the other Rings of Power.

"Gandalf!"

Just as Owen and the others sheathed their weapons, Radagast the Brown came charging into the fortress—riding his rabbit-drawn sleigh.

"Take him away... he is too weak. The dark magic could claim him at any moment," Galadriel said, pushing Gandalf onto the sleigh as it skidded to a halt. "He cannot stay here. Go!"

"Come with me, my lady!" Gandalf knew Galadriel was in no better shape. He grabbed her hand, urging her to flee with him.

"Go!" Galadriel shook her head, shouting at Radagast.

"Fear not—I will get him to safety!" Radagast called back. He snapped the reins, and the sleigh shot forward like an arrow, racing out of the fortress.

Inside the fortress, a cold wind howled. Owen, Elrond, and Saruman gathered around Galadriel; Elrond reached out to help the weakened queen to her feet.

But at that moment, a flight of stone stairs was torn apart by a surge of dark magic, shattering into rubble. A ball of searing flame materialized out of thin air, rolling with waves of heat—then coalesced into a single, burning Eye.