"Who are you? How do you know so much?" The question struck the Dark Emissary like a targeted blow, piercing deep into his core.

Fang Senyan stared at him, speaking each word deliberately:

"In our country, there was a man who sacrificed an arm to gain the enemy's trust. Immediately after, he exploited that disposable trust to destroy everything he could. You once mentioned that if those magical trenches beneath the Holy Spring Plaza were damaged even slightly, half the people present wouldn't survive. So, how do I know there isn't something beneath the White Tower that could utterly obliterate us once it explodes? The sheer ecstasy of watching an enemy fall from their peak must be quite exhilarating, wouldn't you agree?"

The Dark Emissary fell silent instantly. Fang Senyan's single statement had effectively isolated him from the rest. After a pause, he spoke faintly:

"You don't even trust the divine power of Lord Sauron?"

"Lord Sauron is certainly trustworthy, but that absolutely does not mean every single one of his subordinates is loyal!" Fang Senyan shot back instantly. "Besides, when it comes down to it, I trust myself more."

He then turned to the Ace Team:

"Aziz and I will stay. Everyone else, retreat immediately to the position of the Fourth Wall! Take half the conscripts with you. Those remaining inside the White Tower are already spent forces; why keep so many here? Waiting to be surrounded and crushed?"

Everyone who heard Fang Senyan immediately found his reasoning sound. Minas Tirith's terrain was so naturally defensive; their group only needed to hold the vital passes. Where could the enemy possibly escape? Having more people gathered here wasn't necessarily better. If they were encircled, it would truly be a situation of weeping without tears.

Once everyone else had departed, only a sparse scattering of elites remained. Fang Senyan then spoke with chilling calm:

"Now, Emissary, state your identity and origin. This is not a request."

The Dark Emissary stared blankly for a moment before removing his mask. Everyone present gasped in shock. His facial features bore a striking resemblance to the dead Aragorn, yet a terrible scar ran across his cheek. Furthermore, the Dark Emissary's skin tone was entirely non-human, resembling greenish bark covered in rotting moss.

"I am one of the half-dead, a creature lingering on the border between the living and the dead. Because I was transformed after my last breath, I lack the terrifying power of the Nazgûl Lords. I have retained only the memories that ought to be kept. My name, you should know, is Das Thalkontar! In terms of strict lineage, I should be Aragorn's uncle, a descendant of Isildur."

"The reason I know this cursed city like the back of my hand is because I once lived here! Denethor (the current Ruling Steward's father) discovered me when I was young. He promised to return the kingship of Gondor when I came of age, but... as he handed back the crown and scepter, he also forced me to drink poison!"

Fang Senyan frowned as he looked at him:

"That makes no sense. If Denethor truly didn't want to return the throne to you, why raise you and allow you access to all these secrets? Why not just find a way to kill you outright?"

The Dark Emissary sneered:

"He always had a contingency plan, didn't you know? The current Ruling Steward, Denethor, was born only when his predecessor was a full 187 years old (Middle-earth lifespans are much longer); he was quite literally a child born late in life."

"That old wretch Denethor had a two-pronged strategy: if he had no sons in his lifetime, he would return the throne to the royal bloodline, thus denying his political rivals any advantage while simultaneously earning himself a good reputation! If, however, he did father a son, then naturally, he would move to eliminate me! Unfortunately for me, just as that old bastard was about to decay, he was blessed with offspring."

"You had terrible luck," Fang Senyan commented sincerely. "Even for humans in Middle-earth, conceiving after the age of one hundred is difficult. For the old man to impregnate a woman at the venerable age of one hundred and eighty-seven—the probability is about the same as running into a thirty-year-old virgin on the street."

The Dark Emissary—or Mr. Das Thalkontar—twitched the corner of his mouth in a smileless grimace before spitting out viciously:

"Whether it was lucky or unlucky, the deed is done, and I no longer care. Now, my rotting brain holds only one thought: to see this damned city ruined by my hands! Yes, I wholeheartedly wish to be the greatest prodigal son. Those accursed ancestral fortunes cost me my life, so I will personally destroy everything they left behind!"

"It sounds entirely convincing, and without any holes," Fang Senyan nodded.

The Dark Emissary glared at him, but Fang Senyan seemed oblivious. He addressed the remaining members of the Blue Light Team and the Sea Alliance:

"We still control several hundred mercenaries, correct? Excluding the valuable ones, I suggest we disperse them into groups of ten. Any larger force cannot be deployed effectively. Then, we will launch intermittent, rotating assaults on the White Tower. This way, even if there is some hidden trap, our losses will be minimized—after all, most of the hired help won't be coming with us anyway, right?"

"And ultimately, whether we manage to breach the White Tower and eliminate those bastards depends entirely on luck. Of course, those willing to invest Contribution Points to hire soldiers stand a better chance of hitting the jackpot—Mr. Das Thalkontar seems to have something to say? I welcome a better suggestion."

The Dark Emissary stated coldly:

"Your suggestion is sound. I only wish to add that Lord Sauron also instructed me to bring some excellent equipment to enhance the combat effectiveness of the Dark Disciples. I suspect you might need it. Each set of equipment can grant the wearer additional strength, elevating an ordinary Orc to the startling level of an Uruk-hai."

Fang Senyan stared at the Dark Emissary for a moment, then replied:

"Thank you."

Blood stained the steps before the White Tower red; the lawns of the Holy Spring Plaza were ruthlessly trampled into muck, and the White Tree itself had turned to ash. Bodies lay heaped in every direction in front of the tower, and the sound of desperate killing cries never ceased.

The most terrifying warriors in this world are the faithful—those sustained by fanatical religious belief! They scorn death, for to them, dying in service of their faith is the ultimate proof of loyalty!

This was the seventh wave of attacks. The people blocking the entrance to the White Tower had already been replaced six times. This was only because the Dwarf King, Gimli, had single-handedly held the first four waves before retreating to rest. Regrettably, this dwarf, who possessed immense combat talent, had been obsessed with two-handed heavy weapons since birth; otherwise, had Gimli been an excellent Dwarven Shield-bearer, his inherent strength would have posed a considerable problem for Fang Senyan and his allies.

When the tenth wave arrived, casualties began to appear among those defending the entrance. By the time the nineteenth wave broke, the survivors of the Human Alliance had retreated to the third level of the White Tower, signifying that the entrance—the most defensible point—had been lost.

And Fang Senyan’s group had prepared for a full twenty-seven waves of non-stop assault!

Downfall was imminent.

But just then, a strange aura suddenly permeated the air. A bizarre ripple could be seen surrounding the air near the White Tower, like an invisible glass rod being stirred in water—the consequence of rushing the assault had arrived! The Dark Emissary had not lied!

The desecration of the Royal Tombs of Gondor had drawn the attention of the Maiar, who were now intervening to ensure the Dark Lord's followers suffered maximum, undeserved losses. Those with keen perception could clearly sense that these Maiar were causing the spirit-entities within the powerful artifacts to awaken temporarily, compelling them to fly back to their respective kindred based on the will of their temporary masters!

However, at this critical moment, Fang Senyan stepped forward and shouted mockingly toward the interior of the White Tower:

"I! The mighty Mariner, challenge you cowards! The mere soul and blood of some Aragorn is not enough to sate the hunger in my heart! Do you not seek vengeance for Aragorn? Do you have no desire to avenge the comrade who fought and died alongside you? Do you wish for his skull to remain my treasured possession forever?"

The silent White Tower suddenly erupted with responses, like a volcanic eruption:

"Your soul shall be eternally cursed and tormented!"

"I will bash your brains out with my axe!"

"Don't go, don't fall for the trap!"

"..."

Fang Senyan said calmly:

"I respect warriors. Therefore, whoever steps forward will have a fair chance to fight me one-on-one. Those beside you will not interfere. It will be the simplest, most direct, and purest duel. Furthermore, if you defeat me, taking the precious equipment I carry should be enough to allow you and those other two to leave unmolested by these bastards."

"How do I know you speak the truth?"

Hearing the voice that replied, Fang Senyan seemed slightly surprised.

The purpose behind Fang Senyan’s dramatic posturing was simple: to defeat him, the enemy could not possibly forgo the chance to claim his exceptionally fine, ready-to-use weapons and gear; otherwise, it would be suicide—he intended to extract one last profit!

He was currently at peak condition, while the enemy was nearly depleted. The hero-level figures of the Human Alliance, counting everyone from start to finish, were few and far between. Except for that old fellow Gandalf, against whom success was not guaranteed, Fang Senyan was sure of victory. He had expected the hot-tempered Gimli to step forward—after all, his two-handed legendary battle-axe, 'Mr. Fanzerick,' sounded quite appealing.

But Fang Senyan never imagined that the one to take the bait would be the least likely of all: the Elven Prince, Legolas!

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