"Just a Ranger."
A Ranger?
Garrett looked in the direction of the voice, and a figure slowly emerged from the darkness. He could hear the voice, but not the sound of footsteps. If the person hadn't revealed himself, he feared he would never have known someone was hiding nearby.
He resisted the urge to light a torch. Under the moonlight, he studied the newcomer: tall and cloaked, with a long knife at his belt and a plain wooden bow slung across his back. His face was hidden in shadow, obscured by a hood, completely unreadable.
"Thank you," Garrett said.
Though he could have handled those orcs on his own, the stranger had helped nonetheless, it wouldn't be proper to ignore such aid.
While retrieving his arrows and searching the orcs he'd slain, the Ranger replied, "No need for thanks. These orcs were already my quarry. I've been tracking them for some time. You actually assisted me."
After a pause, he looked at Garrett again and added, "But if I may suggest, it's unwise to kindle flame in such an exposed place after dark."
Garrett rubbed his hands sheepishly.
"You're one of the Dúnedain?" he asked, changing the subject.
The Ranger looked slightly surprised.
"Aye."
In just those few moments of conversation, the corpses with arrows protruding from their skulls had already been searched. The orcs that Garrett had slain were left untouched.
"I've heard that Rangers secretly guard these wild lands. So it's true."
"People actually speak of that?" The Ranger chuckled quietly. "That's uncommon."
These wandering descendants of the North Kingdom, mysterious and unpredictable, were often distrusted, many folk lumped them together with rogues and brigands.
"Have you faced the Barrow-wights?"
Suddenly, the Ranger raised his head. In the darkness, a pair of keen gray eyes fixed on Garrett.
"Yes. Mind telling me how you could tell?" Garrett asked, curious.
"Experience. I used to deal with such creatures regularly."
Ah, professional intuition, then.
Garrett accepted the explanation with some resignation. After a moment's thought, he suddenly drew out the corroded, broken blade dropped by the barrow-wight and tossed it to the Ranger, who caught it, examined it for several seconds, and looked genuinely surprised.
"Seems like you recognize this type of blade?"
The Ranger nodded. "Very familiar. This was... a weapon my people used long ago. The forging techniques have been lost to time, but this one, if properly restored, might still serve."
"Then it's yours."
"Oh? You're giving it to me? You know this is quite ancient, practically an heirloom. Someone who knew its worth would pay handsomely for it."
"Is that so? But I think rather than selling it to someone who merely wants it, I'd rather give it to someone who truly needs it. And it clearly means something to you."
"Very well. I thank you sincerely."
The Ranger bowed his head deeply, no longer refusing. He searched through his travel pack, found a small token, and handed it to Garrett.
"Take this as a pledge. If you ever have need of my aid, seek me at the Forsaken Inn. That's where I rest when I can. I'll be there within a fortnight at most."
Garrett nodded and pocketed the token.
"My name is Garrett. What should I call you?"
"Halbarad."
Leaving only a name behind, the Ranger melted back into the darkness. Garrett gazed out across the wilderness, and a new thought took shape.
This land might not be so forbidding after all.
---
A fortnight later, on a particular morning, Garrett emerged from a network of underground tunnels, face bright with satisfaction. His inventory held a reasonable quantity of raw iron ore and over a dozen stacks of cobblestone too numerous to carry in his original pack.
Persistence had paid off.
After two weeks of exploration and deep excavation, he had finally discovered a rich iron deposit. Its exact extent remained unknown, but it was certainly enough to mine for quite some time.
And not just iron, when digging in various directions, he occasionally struck other scattered minerals, like copper, sulfur, and saltpeter.
He didn't actually recognize any of these by sight, but as soon as they were mined and entered his inventory, the system helpfully labeled each item with its proper identification. Once he had sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal all in his inventory simultaneously, the crafting menu suddenly unlocked a new recipe:
Gunpowder.
And TNT!
From that point on, he became especially diligent about collecting these materials while mining. And now that he had confirmed this area contained relatively rich mineral deposits, he finally made his decision.
This was it!
The location for his first proper settlement.
Garrett opened his map and marked a point on it.
This spot lay roughly between Weathertop and the Trollshaws. It was also a fair distance from the main road, surrounded by forest and a small lake, with a wide stretch of level ground. If it weren't for the frequent appearance of orcs and wargs in the region, it might actually be considered quite habitable.
But he wasn't concerned about that.
---
One month later, from the once-empty plain, a mixed stone-and-timber stronghold rose from the earth, surrounded by walls nearly eight meters tall, enclosing a considerable plot of land. Inside the fortress, water seemed to flow endlessly, irrigating a suddenly sprouted wheat field that turned golden within mere days.
From a distance, it appeared rather impressive, though quiet and seemingly uninhabited. However, the occasional smoke and firelight rising from within the walls told any hidden observers that someone definitely dwelt there.
That day, as usual, Garrett returned home carrying a pickaxe and an inventory full of ore and cobblestone. As he approached the gate, he suddenly sensed something and looked up, there was someone sitting atop the wall, watching him. He had no idea how the person had gotten up there.
A Ranger?
The figure looked familiar.
"Halbarad?" Garrett called.
The man on the wall raised his hand in acknowledgment. Seeing Garrett return, he stood and in a few fluid movements dropped down from the high wall. Garrett couldn't help but admire the display, such agility was remarkable.
"How did you find this place?"
"I heard tell of it from a kinsman. He said a wizard with strange powers had raised a fortress from nothing here and even planted crops that grew at supernatural speed. Once he described your appearance, I knew it had to be you. Besides, this place is far too conspicuous. Smoke rises from it daily, it's difficult to miss."
This time, Halbarad hadn't concealed his face. In the daylight, the tall Dúnadan's features were clear: dark hair, gray eyes, and a weathered but noble countenance. Though he appeared to be in his thirties or forties, he was probably well over a century old.
"Well, that's fair enough," Garrett admitted. He had never intended to hide his presence.
Orcs? Let them come. He was a Minecraft veteran, not some helpless villager. Even if an entire army came calling, what did they think his block-placement defenses were for?
"Come inside and rest a while? I just finished renovating the kitchen. Why not try my cooking?"
Halbarad shook his head. "No time. I came to warn you, there's a war-band of orc cavalry heading this way. Dozens of warg-riders, plus other troops. In total, I'd estimate over a hundred strong."
A war-band of over a hundred orcs, including dozens of warg-riders... With just this small, barely-completed stronghold, it might genuinely be challenging to hold them off. Wargs possessed terrifying leaping ability, trees over ten meters tall were nothing to them.
His eight-meter-high walls... Well, considering how smooth the cobblestone was and the lack of handholds, perhaps they couldn't scale them... perhaps?
"They still require some time to arrive," Halbarad said. "You yet have opportunity to withdraw."
"No, I'm not going anywhere. I just built this base, why should I abandon it?"
If any random war-band could frighten him off, wouldn't he essentially be working for the orcs?
At worst, he'd dig in and make his stand.
Seeing how resolute Garrett's position was, Halbarad knew there was no dissuading him. He examined the fortress and said, "If you're not departing, you'll face a difficult fight. The leader of that war-band is a particularly massive orc, abnormally large, and incredibly powerful..."
He glanced at the wooden gate at the front of the stronghold.
Could that thing even be called a proper gate?
"With that entrance of yours... I doubt it will hold against him."
"It's fine, I've got a plan."
Garrett remained completely calm.
Halbarad studied him, then the fortress, and seemed to fall into contemplation.
"Very well, I'll trust you possess some manner of extraordinary method. But are you certain you don't wish to make additional preparations? When I first spotted that war-band, they were already marching in this direction. Unless something delays them, they'll arrive by nightfall."
"What? Tonight?!"
That soon?
Garrett's heart skipped.
Though he spoke confidently, the truth was he had never really faced anything this serious. The worst he'd encountered was being waylaid by eight brigands, barely even qualified as a proper skirmish. Suddenly being told a genuine battle would commence tonight, he began to perspire considerably.