After all the fallen had been laid to rest with their final honors, Alcard made his way toward Oldman's meeting chamber. His steps remained firm despite the exhaustion clearly etched on his face. The remnants of battle still clung to him—clothes stained with dried blood, wounds yet to fully heal, and the ever-mounting weight of responsibility.
Inside the dimly lit chamber, Oldman stood before a large map of The Wall, its surface now marked with fresh annotations. Lines traced the path of Alcard's expedition, while new indicators highlighted the strategic points of last night's battle. The flickering light of a nearly spent candle cast shadows across his weathered face, revealing the deep creases of exhaustion. But his gaze remained sharp, filled with relentless calculation.
Without any unnecessary formalities, Alcard began his report.
"The mission is complete. We brought back the Folwestian Bloom and Rotrofila Root, though we fell short of the required amount for the Root." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion—though a faint trace of bitterness lingered within. He had already shared parts of this report the night before, but now, he would deliver the full details.
Oldman nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the map.
"I've heard your report. You lost some of your men."
Alcard didn't respond immediately. He took a deep breath before recounting their journey—the treacherous march through the southern forests, the increasing number and intelligence of the mutated monsters, and the inevitable battle against the two-headed orge that had ultimately brought chaos to The Wall.
When Oldman heard about the mutated orge pursuing them from Mount Orcal all the way to the fortress, his expression darkened. His brow furrowed deeply, his gaze narrowing in thought.
"A mutation that size has never left its territory before," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. "Even in desperate times, Mount Orcal has always been their limit."
Alcard nodded, his face grim. "That's not the only strange thing." He exhaled heavily before adding, "We encountered orcs again, Oldman."
Oldman tensed immediately. His gaze finally shifted from the map to Alcard's face, searching for confirmation.
"They're still alive," Alcard continued, his voice low but certain. "We saw them with our own eyes. The outside world thinks they're extinct, but they're not. Somehow, they survived."
Oldman let out a slow breath, his expression betraying something deeper than mere exhaustion—a bitterness long buried, and perhaps, a quiet, simmering rage.
"I tried to warn them, Alcard… over and over again," he muttered, his tone quieter but no less sharp. "I even sent the severed head of an orc we killed to three human kingdoms, the dwarves, and the elves."
Alcard met his gaze, his red eyes cold. "And what did they say?"
Oldman let out a short, humorless laugh. "They called us liars. Said the head was nothing but a fabricated relic. Some even accused us of losing our sanity after spending too many years at The Wall."
Alcard clenched his fists, rage simmering beneath his exhaustion.
"That's their problem," Oldman continued, his voice laced with bitterness. "The outside world sees us as a burden, not as protectors. They would rather shut their eyes than face the truth—that this world is far more fragile than they believe."
Alcard remained silent, his thoughts drifting to the years of warnings Oldman had sent, only to be ignored by the rulers of Middle Earth.
"They're too consumed with their political games," Oldman went on, his tone now carrying a sharp irony. "The human kingdoms wage war against each other, the dwarves care only for their mines, and the elves… they care for nothing beyond the shade of their own trees."
Alcard's jaw tightened. "To them, The Wall is nothing more than an old relic—standing without meaning. They don't realize that we are the only shield keeping them safe from the horrors that lurk in the south."
Oldman met his gaze, his eyes carrying the weight of decades spent holding the line alone.
"That's why we can't stop, Alcard. No one is coming to help us. There will be no reinforcements. We are Middle Earth's only shield. Never forget that."
Alcard nodded. His red eyes burned—not just with exhaustion, but with an unyielding determination.
"As long as I stand here, nothing will breach this wall."
Oldman exhaled slowly, then turned back toward the map, his expression pensive. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but still resolute.
"You've done more than I could have asked, Alcard. Go. Rest. But be ready for whatever comes next."
Alcard said nothing more. He glanced at the map one last time before turning and leaving the room. His steps were steady, even though his body was battered and weary.
Behind him, Oldman remained standing before the map, studying the lines that traced Alcard's path and the battle they had just survived.
Beyond these walls, the world did not care.
Beyond these walls, no one believed in the horrors that lurked.
But as long as they stood here, as long as they still drew breath…
The Wall would not fall.
They would endure.
****