Chapter 122: Death

When distinguished human leaders are consumed by the Ring and become spirits, it does not provide the slightest boost to their melee combat abilities; furthermore, because they have lost their original bodies, the powerful martial arts they once possessed become less potent than before.

Allen, who was currently locked in a fierce struggle with Khamul, had a single sentence constantly echoing in his mind: "They do not have the power to strike the Unfearful." This sentence was spoken by the true Creator of this continent, but Allen felt that when that old gentleman said it, he might have been a bit vague about the concept of the "Unfearful."

In the power system of Middle-earth, being able to remain unafraid of the Nazgul's aura of fear usually signifies one of two things: either one is gifted with innate talent, or one possesses immense strength.

Aragorn, who held a torch and a Sword of Blessing on Windy Top while fighting five Nazgul to a standstill, was the very definition of innate talent. The bloodline of Earendil made him unafraid of the Nazgul's aura of fear, and over sixty years of wandering had given Aragorn the skill to seize the opportunity to ignite their black robes even while besieged by five Nazgul.

However, at this very moment, Allen—who had no time or energy to specifically hone his combat skills—was internally more willing to believe another explanation: that Frodo had recited the true name of Varda, and under the protection of this most powerful goddess, had frightened those five Nazgul away.

Because Allen, wielding his Enchanted Shield and Rune Sword, had exhausted all his strength just to fight Khamul, who held a Morgul-blade, to a draw; he could not imagine how Aragorn had managed to turn the tables when facing five such opponents.

That evil blade, which would turn the wounded into something like a ghost, was like a viper's tongue in its master's hand. Allen dared not attempt to let his Ancient Rune Armor resist this magic sword, but instead tried his best to resist with the shield in his left hand. Even so, Allen felt the shield in his hand growing heavier and heavier; this was a sign that the enchanted runes were being destroyed.

Whenever the longsword in Khamul's hand came into contact with the shield in Allen's hand or the Rune Sword radiating a rich white light, small nicks would appear. However, at these moments, the Ring worn on Khamul's right hand would emit a light that made Allen feel ominous, and then the nicks on the sword would be mended before Allen's incredulous gaze.

This situation made Allen increasingly wary of this magic sword. He knew that there were evil incantations on this weapon that were difficult for people to perceive, which would bring terrible harm and extreme pain to people, but he did not know that this weapon could also be repaired by some kind of power.

At this time, Allen, who had been fighting Khamul for a while, felt that the energy in his body was becoming less and less, and the sweat on his face was becoming more and more. After all, before this, Allen had already led his Cavalry to slaughter an entire camp of Easterlings.

Yet at this moment, the offensive of his opponent before him was becoming increasingly fierce, as if the previous battle had merely been a warm-up.

In terms of physical fitness, Allen, who had been strengthened twice, did not believe he was inferior to an adult Aragorn. It was just that the combat techniques in his mind were mostly one-hit kills extremely suitable for the battlefield environment. In a situation surrounded by enemies, any patterns, feints, or psychological games were empty; only quickly killing the enemy and ensuring one's own safety was the true way.

This led to Allen often being able to rely on his powerful physical fitness to quickly end battles when facing opponents weaker than himself. But he was currently facing the Nazgul Khamul, a monster who had lived for thousands of years. Even draped in cumbersome black robes and wearing a full set of Silver Chainmail, his movements remained exceptionally agile. The Rune Sword in Allen's hand, which was longer than the Morgul-blade, had only managed to tear a few holes in this guy's black robe.

Although the collision of the two powers had forced Khamul back from Allen's side several times, in Allen's observation, it seemed that Khamul had not been greatly affected.

Allen knew that his physical condition might not be able to outlast the enemy before him.

Not only him, but under the influence of the Nazgul, the Dwarves guarding Allen's rear were also fighting exceptionally hard. If it were not for the Wargs' innate fear of fire, the Dwarves' formation would have long been broken by these guys. Now, with the help of Holimion and the others, they were only barely able to maintain the front line.

Once the arrows of the Twilight Knight were exhausted, or their physical strength could not keep up with the demands of the battle, then a crushing defeat would be sooner or later.

And Thranduil, outside the camp, was commanding his own people, relying on the Sangair Formation learned from the Numenoreans, facing the greatest pressure of the entire battle: the seemingly endless Wolf Riders.

The Silvan Elves, who made up the majority of the Woodland Realm, inevitably suffered from the influence of the Nazgul. When facing this kind of terrifying power, their performance was far less stable than that of the Sindar Elves. Even when calling out the name of Varda, the fear that welled up in their hearts greatly affected their combat effectiveness.

Under these circumstances, Thranduil could only struggle to maintain the Sangair Formation so it would not be broken by the Wolf Riders, and inflict a certain amount of damage on the enemy. But wanting to split his forces to help the Dwarves and Allen, who was confronting Khamul, was an impossible luxury.

However, Khamul's state was also far from as good as Allen had imagined. His increasingly fierce offensive was entirely due to fear. Those few sword strikes Allen landed on his cloak—even though the rich white light did not touch his body or the Silver Chainmail protecting his spirit—still made him feel waves of weakness. Although each time this weakness was compensated for by the Ring on his right hand, the time spent in this process was getting longer and longer.

This situation caused this creature that radiated fear to also feel fear in its heart. In the past, the damage enemies dealt to them usually only acted on the armor protecting them. The last time someone could pose such a threat to him was a battle a year ago in Dol Guldur against those powerhouses. At that time, Khamul had suffered damage to his spirit at the hands of Glorfindel, Saruman, Gandalf, Elrond, and others.

At that time, his master, the Dark Lord, was by his side, and all losses could be quickly recovered under the master's power infusion. But at this moment, the power within the Ring was being used up more and more, making Khamul's condition worse and worse.

Allen, already covered in sweat, did not know this. He stared fixedly at the enemy not far away, still shrouded in darkness. His highly tense brain was rapidly turning and thinking about whether he should also try to recite the true name of Varda to force back this powerful enemy and resolve the current crisis.

As long as the Nazgul before him retreated, then all crises would no longer be problems.

However, this goddess, who was highly revered by the Elves, could indeed hear the voices from every corner of the world when she was by Manwe's side, but this did not mean she would spare power to help any creature that recited her true name. In Allen's memory, besides the Elves, perhaps only Frodo, the absolute protagonist in the War of the Ring, had received her favor.

After all, the Valar had already publicly stated that they would no longer interfere in all matters occurring in Middle-earth. If anyone who recited the true name of Varda could possess the power to resist darkness, then defeating Sauron would be an extremely simple and easy matter; could he still be jumping around until now?

The Valar were like this even to the indigenous people, let alone Allen himself, who was an outsider. While hesitating that he would not be favored, he was even more worried about the exposure of his identity; otherwise, Allen would have already tried this method.

When encountering an enemy one cannot beat, who doesn't know that asking for a big shot is the best method? Even Sun Wukong knew this principle; could Allen not understand it?

The equally nervous Khamul was preparing to use his final means to resolve this human enemy before him. The rich light on that sword that had not faded in the slightest was too great a threat to him, forcing him to attempt to unleash an ability he had not used for thousands of years.

Then, under the illumination of the firelight and Allen's gaze, Khamul simply disappeared into thin air. Seeing this scene, Allen, after being stunned for a moment, immediately reacted.

"Damn it, you're playing dirty with me."

Knowing that the enemy had escaped into the Unseen World, Allen looked around slightly flustered, hoping to see a trace of ripples in the air under the illumination of the firelight; that was the only way he knew to see an invisible enemy.

However, there was nothing. Khamul, who had already mastered this ability proficiently, was certainly not comparable to Frodo, who had only held the Ring for a few months. He carefully controlled his figure, walking in the Unseen World, approaching the enemy who also made him feel fear, bit by bit.

Allen's currently somewhat flustered expression filled Khamul's heart with satisfaction. He loved to see his enemies die in such fear.

He slowly approached his prey until he walked in front of Allen. Watching that gradually terrified face, he slowly raised the Morgul Blade in his hand and pointed it at Allen's chest. In this process, his movements were light and precise, without attracting the attention of the human before him in the slightest.

Khamul, feeling that his ability seemed even more proficient than it was thousands of years ago, in the situation of imminent victory, actually let out a "hissing" sound unconsciously.

Allen, who was in a state of high tension, naturally heard the sound Khamul made. Although the cry seemed to come from a very distant place, or as if it had emerged directly from his mind, this did not prevent Allen from reciting the name he had been brewing in his heart for a long time at an extremely fast speed.

"Varda! Gilthoniel! Elbereth!"

Allen did not know in what language humans should recite this goddess. Driven to a dead end, he recited all the titles he knew about this goddess.

And at this moment, Allen felt that the time around him seemed to have stopped, and he himself seemed to have left the camp full of fire. While slowly rising, he arrived at a mountain peak full of snow. A castle built of blue and white marble slowly opened its doors to him, and he himself drifted in involuntarily.

Soon, Allen arrived in a palace full of stars. In the infinite light, a figure gradually revealed itself. In the extreme light, Allen could not see the face of the person before him at all, and could only notice the blue long hair fluttering behind the figure.

However, even though he could not see the face clearly, Allen still felt the figure before him smile softly at him. Following that was an extremely intense feeling of weightlessness. When he opened his eyes again, Khamul's hideous face suddenly appeared before Allen's eyes. At the same time, that Morgul-blade flickering with eerie light was stabbing toward the position of Allen's heart at an extremely swift speed.

Allen, who reacted suddenly, could not possibly dodge such an attack. He only had time to shift slightly before being stabbed by the enemy's weapon, but Allen did not stop the movements in his hand because of this, and also quickly inserted the Rune Sword in his hand, which was radiating a rich white light, into the body of the enemy before him.

Allen could not feel the sensation of the weapon piercing flesh at all, only feeling the Rune Sword pierce through two layers of armor in succession. Following that, an extreme pain accompanied by a deadly cold spread from Allen's chest to other parts of his body, while the white energy in his body, which was no longer in large quantity, began to spontaneously surround this coldness. The two forces began to collide and consume each other in Allen's body, causing Allen's body to emit bursts of white light from time to time.

At this time, Khamul's feelings were no better than Allen's. Originally, this Nazgul looked at the Morgul Blade in his hand, which had pierced the human's silver breastplate without any obstruction, and his heart was filled with pleasure.

However, before he could savor this satisfaction, he immediately noticed that the human before him had already focused his gaze on him. Although he did not understand the reason, Khamul knew that this human had suddenly acquired the ability to see through his figure.

This discovery caused his originally happy mood to sink to the bottom in an instant. Subsequently, Khamul felt as if there was a small sun in his body constantly scorching his spirit. The speed at which the Ring in his hand delivered power to him became faster and faster, but within a few seconds, it became extremely weak.

At this time, the Morgul Blade in Khamul's hand disappeared without a trace under the illumination of the white light emitted from Allen's body, while Khamul himself, under Allen's gaze, slowly shrank until a sharp wail instantly pierced the originally very noisy night sky. This spirit, which had been enslaved for thousands of years, seemed at this moment to no longer exist in any world.

The other Nazgul who were still serving Sauron in Mordor instantly turned all their gazes toward the northeast direction. That colleague who could appear before their eyes at any time had actually disappeared at this moment, and a crazy roar also broke the tranquility of the night in Mordor and interrupted the gaze of the Nazgul.

The Wolf Riders and Wargs who were fighting with the Elves and Dwarves were directly shocked in place by this wail, followed by a panicked and hurried escape. The Dwarves and Elves who walked out of the influence of the Nazgul launched a crazy pursuit of their ancient enemies.

Allen, whose body was already extremely weak, slowly knelt to the ground. He drove his right arm, which still had a little warmth, to slowly pick up a Gold Ring inlaid with a Sapphire from a pile of broken clothing, and then laughed at himself, saying: "Ha, just this?"

Subsequently, bursts of darkness before his eyes made Allen unable to support his body anymore, and he slowly lay down on the ground, while the sound of Holimion's calling in his ears became farther and farther away.

"My Lord, my Lord!

"