Bear School Astartes

Chapter 1096 - 1077: Black Arrow

"Everyone wants to enjoy peace, Your Majesty. But if peace could be merely ’wished’ into existence, it would be worthless."

Thranduil revealed his true self in front of Lann, which did not cause any discomfort to the Demon Hunter.

This wound, caused by the dragon flames burning into the flesh and bones yet halted by the elves’ own power, and then repeatedly torn and destroyed by both forces, was sinister enough to terrify many battle-hardened veterans.

However, in Lann’s [Memory Deep Dive], the enemies faced by the Human Empire of the Interstellar Era could cause even more terrifying destruction.

The crude and unreasonable homemade weapons of the green-skinned Orc Beastmen, the flesh-eating gun of the newly emerging enemy Insect Race appearing suddenly at the edge of the Galaxy, and the evil creations from the Spirit Race that turn torture into art...

Getting even a scratch from any of these things would make anyone’s hair stand on end.

And the Interstellar Warriors, as the Human Empire’s force against these monsters, were already covered in these terrible scars long ago.

In the end, this is just a wound.

"You all believe in prophecies, and perhaps you have your reasons. But please forgive me, I come from a faraway place, where our attitude towards prophecies is more... cautious."

Lann carefully chose his words.

Thranduil, who had previously leaned in close to Lann, seemed to calm down and sat back, reclaiming his forward-leaning posture.

At the same time, the menacing wound on his face vanished as if an illusion, once again becoming smooth and fair skin.

He sat high on his stag, calmly looking at the Demon Hunter.

"The prophecy only says Smaug will reignite the flames of war at Long Lake, but does it say if Smaug will die?"

Lann spread his hands, speaking as if unintentionally.

But this statement caused a light laugh from Thranduil atop the stag, of course, laced with his trademark coldness.

"Oh, I understand. Yadanisil, you wish to kill the dragon and earn the title of [Dragon Slayer]?"

"But there have been countless people who wanted to kill Smaug throughout the ages, let alone the people of River Valley City and Lonely Mountain, those Dwarves and Humans who fought the dragon for their own lives and those of their families."

"But what was the result? The dragon remained unharmed. Its scale armor is indestructible, neither sword nor bed crossbow nor catapult can leave so much as a scratch on it."

"Not only can’t they leave a mark, they can’t even hit it at all. Because that filthy beast flies with such might and grandeur, soaring straight into the clouds. Only things like catapults or bed crossbows could reach it, but even then just merely within range."

"Whether a ground weapon can hit a dragon freely flying in the sky... I think Jirian’s descendants can answer that."

Thranduil ridiculed.

But this scorn wasn’t directed at Bard; it was just a linguistic habit of the Elf King’s affecting him.

"That is very difficult, especially since Smaug doesn’t fly clumsily, but with agility and ferocity."

Bard pursed his lips, saying.

"But I still want to clarify: The former City Lord of River Valley City did wound Smaug! He used a Dwarf wind crossbow to shoot a black arrow that shattered a scale at the root of Smaug’s left wing! Nearly knocked that scale off entirely!"

Faced with Bard’s statement, Thranduil’s expression remained indifferent.

"Don’t attempt to deceive me with legendary tales, Bard."

"Everyone knows that’s an idealistic legend, concocted to give your ancestors a dignified explanation."

The Elf King’s impassive face turned towards Bard.

"And the fact is: your ancestor shot the black arrow, but failed to harm the dragon. There is no shame in this, he did his best."

"Since the dragon came into the world from Morgoth’s hand in the First Era, how many truly became [Dragon Slayers]?"

After speaking to Bard, Thranduil shook his head atop his stag, seemingly intending to end the conversation.

He uttered a summative concluding statement.

"Regardless of whether Smaug lost a single scale or not, it doesn’t really matter. After all, the black arrow, crafted by the ancient Dwarf technology specifically to slay dragons in one strike, is already gone."

"It was used up by then by Jirian, then destroyed during Smaug’s massacre of River Valley City."

"And Smaug, having occupied Lonely Mountain for so long, even if the technique to forge black arrows still exists in Lonely Mountain, the necessary tools, schematics, and magic incantations should have all been destroyed by it."

"The dragon is savage and ruthless, but also cunning and sly. It wouldn’t leave anything around that could threaten it, for they’re not made of the gold it craves."

"I know you fear and hate the dragon, and I’m aware that some of you still retain Dwarf wind crossbows brought from River Valley City in your towns."

"And you’d like to use our Elvish archers, for although our archers may not match the Dwarf wind crossbows in power, their precision and veteran skill are unrivaled."

"But in the end..." Thranduil waved his hand, "without the black arrow, the rest is empty talk."

After saying this, Thranduil turned the stag’s head, ready to leave.

They came amidst this turbulent situation to take their son back to the kingdom, intending to close the borders once they return and wait for the storm to pass.

The world is tumultuous and unpredictable, and he’s seen too much already.

But, just as his stag was about to turn towards the array of elf troops...

"You said ’Without the Black Arrow, it’s just empty talk,’ right?"

’Clack,’ went the sound of a stag’s hooves settling on the pebbles by the lake.

Thranduil slightly squinted his eyes and turned his head towards Bard, who had made a sound.

At first, he was at a loss, but then it seemed like something came to mind, his eyes widened in shock.

"Are you saying..."

The Elf King murmured uncertainly.

Meanwhile, Bard looked up at the handsome and elegant Elf King, a smile on his lips.

Bard was one of the top archers among humans. He had displayed his skills the previous night, not inferior even to most Elves.

So today, he was still carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows with him. It was just that there was also a long package on his back.

Now, under Lann’s watchful eyes, Bard took down the package from his back and tore open the canvas wrapping the long object.

’Rustle,’ went the sound of the canvas flapping in the wind, and a large, black arrow came to rest in Bard’s palm.

It wasn’t just Thranduil; even the Elf soldiers, who had been standing uniformly behind him, turned their eyes towards the black arrow in Bard’s hand.

The Black Arrow.

Ever since the tales and legends of Smaug’s massacre at the Lonely Mountain and River Valley City, this item had appeared repeatedly, mixing fact with fiction.

And now, here it was, in reality.

Considering Bard’s identity, the appearance of this Black Arrow seemed reasonable and convincing.

This arrow was almost the same specification as the Dragon-Hunting Arrow used by the Silver Knights of Ilyushil in the Cold Valley on the Flame World.

For a normal person, it would be enough to use as a short spear.

The length was about one and a half meters.

However, unlike the Dragon-Hunting Arrow of the Silver Knights, which ordinary people couldn’t hold with one hand and had an armor-piercing heavy quadrangular pyramidal arrowhead: the Black Arrow possessed an unimaginably lightweight feel.

Lann took the arrow from Bard and examined it, this thumb-thick, one and a half meter long all-metal arrow felt lighter in the hand than a silver fork!

The arrow also had metal fletching, and the thin steel didn’t show any sign of bending.

The arrowhead forked into two branches from the steel shaft, twisting together at the tip like two entwined black snakes.

"The Black Arrow..."

Even Thranduil stared at the arrow in a daze, murmuring.

"Yes." Bard responded straightforwardly, "The last Black Arrow in the world."

"This is the opportunity," Lann added from the side, "If it’s really as you said, Your Majesty. The Black Arrow is made with ancient Dwarven technology, a one-hit kill against the dragon."

"Then, this will be the last chance... the opportunity to completely drive Smaug’s shadow from the northern Middle-earth Continent."

"In time, the entire region will regain its former prosperity, and your Woodland Kingdom will once again have a peaceful life without the fear of dragonfire from above."

Thranduil looked deeply at the Black Arrow in Bard’s hand.

From his face, it was clear that he was gritting his teeth, waging some kind of mental battle.

Lann glanced at Thranduil from the corner of his eye, preparing to speak again, to persuade him to assist in dealing with Smaug from another angle.

In logical reasoning and diplomatic persuasion, Lann could present the same issue from hundreds of different perspectives if he wanted to.

The Sons of the Emperor were adept at using diplomatic means to achieve their ends.

However, before Lann could speak again, Thranduil raised his hand to stop him.

Lann first raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, then a smile appeared on his lips.

"You don’t need to fan the flames anymore, Yadanisil. This is a rare opportunity, even in a thousand lifetimes, and I am well aware of it."

Thranduil continued with his elegant and steady tone.

But his face was still immersed in a kind of struggling emotion, though his words had already made a decision.

The emotions were just residue; reason was the guide for action.

"The dragon doesn’t know about the existence of this arrow, and it will, according to the prophecy, destroy this worn-out little town. It’s the only town left in this vast region, left barren by its presence."

Thranduil murmured, as if narrating a story, or deciphering a prophecy.

"It was angered by the Dwarves, and after slaughtering them, it will, as usual, rage, vent its fury, enjoy the screams and laments. But here, there is a Black Arrow..."

After finishing speaking, Thranduil suddenly raised his voice.

"Legolas!"