The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 77

The Grand Army of Dale began its slow and steady march, banners fluttering in the cold wind, thousands of soldiers moving in carefully coordinated formations. The sound of iron-clad boots against the earth echoed through the valley as they pushed toward the Red River.

From the outside, they appeared as a strong, disciplined force—but beneath the surface, deep divisions ran through the ranks.

The seven houses of Dale, the noble families who had ruled through the Council, had each trained their own soldiers, each using their own methods. Some battalions relied on heavy infantry, others on archers, some specialized in skirmish tactics, and some were strictly cavalry forces.

The differences weren’t just tactical—they were political.

Each battalion was funded and commanded by their respective houses, and though they fought under one banner, loyalty to their own commanders ran deep.

There was no outright hostility, no mutiny, but there was hesitation, reluctance. Many of the commanders still saw Brand as a child, a symbol of the old ways rather than a war leader.

For Brand, this was his greatest challenge—not the enemy, but his own army.

Brand had never led an army before.

His knowledge of war came from books, stories, and lessons passed down from his grandfather, Bard the Bowman. But now, he was responsible for thousands of lives.

And as much as Brand carried the blood of Dale’s greatest hero, blood alone did not make a commander.

That’s where Sirius Black came in.

He had fought in countless battles, led men into battle, and seen the rise and fall of kingdoms. He had commanded men, broken enemy lines, and won victories where there should have been none.

But most importantly—he knew what it took to unite men who had no reason to trust each other.

As the army marched, Sirius rode beside Brand, offering quiet but firm advice.

“Your army is divided, and divided armies lose wars,” Sirius told him. “You need to make them see you as the one leader they follow—not their houses, not their families. You.”

Brand listened, absorbing every word, his mind racing to figure out how.

Sirius smirked. “That’s the part where you stop thinking and start proving.”

Brand frowned. “How? If they see me as nothing but a noble boy, how do I convince them otherwise?”

Sirius’s storm-gray eyes darkened. “By leading from the front. By showing them you’re the first one into battle and the last one out.”

Brand hesitated.

Sirius leaned in, lowering his voice.

“Your men don’t care about your name. They don’t care about your grandfather. They care about whether you’re willing to fight beside them, to bleed beside them. To die beside them. That’s what makes a commander.”

Brand swallowed hard.

He had always assumed leadership came from titles, strategy, wisdom. But Sirius was telling him the truth—respect was earned in blood, not in words.

In the following days, Brand took Sirius’s advice to heart.

He personally trained with soldiers from each battalion, learning their styles of combat, understanding their strengths and weaknesses. He made sure that no man in the army saw him as a noble sitting on a horse barking orders—but as a warrior in the trenches, ready to fight.

Sirius watched with approval.

Brand was learning fast.

The commanders, still hesitant, began seeing something different in him. The doubts didn’t disappear overnight, but they saw a leader who wasn’t afraid to stand among them, a leader who didn’t just inherit power—he fought for it.

And that, more than any title, began to forge the army into a single force.

As the Grand Army of Dale camped along the road, preparing for the inevitable clash with the Easterlings, Sirius Black watched Brand closely.

The boy had come far in a short time. He had stepped into the role of a leader, earned the respect of his men, and understood the weight of his command.

But he was still young.

Still inexperienced.

And when war came, youth and inexperience would get him killed.

Sirius had seen too many promising leaders die before they had a chance to become great.

He would not let that happen to Brand.

Late one evening, Sirius summoned Brand to his tent.

Brand entered, still in his armor, looking surprised but eager. “You called for me?”

Sirius nodded and motioned for him to step closer.

Before them, resting on a wooden table, was a sword unlike any other Brand had ever seen.

Its blade was silver-dark, with veins of deep blue energy coursing through it, as if it were alive with magic. The hilt was crafted from black obsidian, engraved with ancient runes of power.

Brand’s breath caught. “What is this?”

Sirius placed a hand on the sword.

“This,” he said, “is the weapon that will keep you alive.”

Brand hesitated before reaching out. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, he felt a surge of power rush through his body. His heart pounded harder, his muscles tightened, and suddenly, he felt lighter—stronger.

Sirius smirked at his expression.

“It’s enchanted,” Sirius explained. “I forged this blade myself, long ago. It can cut through steel like butter, and it will never break, never rust, and never dull. It will remain as sharp as the day it was made—for all eternity.”

Brand’s eyes widened.

“But that’s not its most important feature,” Sirius continued. “When you wield it, your physical strength and agility will increase fivefold.”

Brand stared at the sword in awe. “So… I’ll be stronger? Faster?”

Sirius nodded. “You’ll be able to match men twice your size, fight warriors who are faster and more skilled than you. You are young, Brand, and your enemies will try to use that against you. But with this, you’ll have the edge.”

Brand gripped the sword tightly, feeling its power course through him. He had trained with many weapons, but this one felt different.

It felt right.

For the first time, he didn’t just feel like a young general trying to prove himself—he felt like a warrior.

Sirius didn’t stop with just giving Brand the sword.

That very night, under the moonlit sky, he began Brand’s real training.

Sirius had trained many warriors over the years—kings, assassins, soldiers, and sorcerers. And he knew that a sword, no matter how powerful, was only as good as the one who wielded it.

Brand had potential, but he needed guidance.

“Your biggest weakness,” Sirius said as he circled Brand, “is that you fight like a noble.”

Brand frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sirius smirked. “You rely on form, on technique—on the way you were taught. But war isn’t a duel in the training yard. It’s dirty, unpredictable, and brutal.”

He suddenly lunged, knocking Brand’s sword aside and sweeping his legs out from under him.

Brand hit the ground hard.

He growled and pushed himself up, but Sirius was already behind him, pressing the flat of his own blade against Brand’s throat.

“Dead.” Sirius said simply.

Brand sighed. “Alright, I see your point.”

Sirius stepped back and nodded. “You need to be faster. Sharper. Unpredictable.”

For hours, they trained in the cold night air.

Sirius taught Brand how to move with speed, how to feint, how to dodge—how to fight not as a noble, but as a warrior who intends to survive.

And as the training continued, Brand began to change.

He was quicker, his movements smoother, his strikes more precise. The enchanted sword became an extension of him, and his confidence grew.

By the time the sun began to rise, Brand was breathing hard but standing tall.

Sirius nodded in approval.

“You’re learning.”

Brand wiped sweat from his brow and grinned. “I have a good teacher.”

Sirius chuckled. “Let’s see if you still think that after tomorrow’s training.”

Brand groaned, but he was smiling.

For the first time since taking command, he truly believed he could lead his army into battle and win.

The morning sun shone down upon the training grounds as Brand clashed swords with Sirius Black, his movements growing sharper with each strike.

He had improved.

Just weeks ago, Brand had struggled to hold his ground against the seasoned commanders of Dale. But now, as he moved with controlled precision, even those same commanders watched in silent respect.

Sirius had changed him.

Yet, despite his growth, Sirius had one rule—Brand was never to train with his enchanted sword.

“A blade like that makes you stronger, but strength without skill is useless,” Sirius reminded him. “Your body must grow stronger naturally. That way, when you do wield the sword, you will be five times stronger than your best self, not five times stronger than someone who relied on magic.”

Brand took the words to heart. He trained with a normal blade, his muscles burning, his speed increasing.

Then, in the midst of their sparring, a scout rushed into the camp.

The man bowed slightly, his face grim. “General Brand, I bring urgent news.”

Brand lowered his sword, breathing heavily. “Speak.”

The scout hesitated. “The enemy… their army is far greater than we anticipated.”

Sirius and Brand exchanged a quick glance before turning back to the scout.

“How much greater?” Brand asked.

The scout took a deep breath, then delivered the worst possible news.

“Four times our size.”

The war council gathered in a tense meeting, the seven commanders surrounding a large map of the region, their expressions ranging from shock to unease.

Four times.

Dale’s army was already smaller than they would have liked, but now they were outnumbered on a scale that seemed impossible to overcome.

“We can’t fight them head-on,” one commander muttered. “They will overrun us.”

“We don’t have the numbers,” another agreed. “And we can’t retreat, or Dale will fall.”

The room sank into silence.

For the first time since taking command, Brand saw doubt in his commanders’ eyes.

And for the first time, he felt it himself.

When the meeting was over, he stepped outside into the cold evening air, his mind racing. The weight of thousands of lives rested on his shoulders, and at this moment, it felt like an impossible burden.

So, he went to Sirius Black.

Sirius stood outside, sharpening his sword with slow, measured strokes. He barely looked up when Brand approached.

“You’re worried.” Sirius stated, not asking, simply knowing.

Brand exhaled. “The army is too big, Sirius. Four times our size. My commanders are discouraged, and honestly… so am I.”

Sirius set his sword down and looked Brand in the eyes.

“Then you’re thinking like a man who wants to fight them on their terms.”

Brand frowned. “What do you mean?”

Sirius stood and motioned to the map that lay stretched on a nearby table.

“When the numbers are against you, you don’t fight where they want. You fight where you want. You use the terrain to make them fight your battle, not theirs.”

Brand stared at the map. “So you’re saying… we choose the battlefield?”

Sirius nodded.

“You don’t fight the army. You fight the land they stand on. You pick a place where their numbers mean nothing, where they’re forced to fight on equal ground—or worse, at a disadvantage.”

Brand leaned over the map, running his hands over the terrain.

“Show me where.”

Sirius studied the map for a moment, then tapped a narrow valley nestled between two steep mountainsides.

“This.”

Brand narrowed his eyes. “A passage. What’s so special about it?”

Sirius smirked. “It’s a choke point.”

Brand’s eyes widened as realization dawned.

“They won’t be able to use their full numbers at once, will they? They’ll be forced to march through in small waves.”

Sirius nodded. “Exactly. Their army is four times our size, but if they can’t use all of it at once, they might as well be the same size as us.”

Brand studied the narrow path, the mountains that surrounded it. He could already see the battle unfolding in his mind.

“We can position our archers on the cliffs. They’ll have the high ground and can rain arrows down before the enemy even reaches us.”

Sirius grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a commander.”

Brand looked back at the map, fully convinced.

This was their best chance.

At dawn, Brand called another war council.

He laid out the plan, showing them the narrow passage, explaining how they would force the Easterlings to fight in small numbers, how their archers would control the battlefield, and how their smaller army could turn the enemy’s size against them.

At first, the commanders were skeptical.

But as Brand explained each advantage and countermeasure, as he laid out the details with confidence, they began to see the brilliance in the strategy.

By the time he finished, the room was no longer filled with doubt—but with determination.

“It’s a bold move,” one commander admitted, “but it’s our best chance.”

Another nodded. “This is our battlefield. We make them fight our war.”

For the first time, Brand felt like a true General—not just a young man carrying a title, but a leader who had earned his position.

Sirius, watching from the side, nodded in satisfaction.

Brand had made the decision on his own.

The army would not be fighting a losing battle. They would be fighting a battle they could win.

And now, they would march.

Not toward certain death, but toward a victory of their own making.

Scouts reported enemy movements ahead—the Easterlings were gathering on the other side, waiting to cross, preparing for war.

Brand felt the weight of command pressing down on him.

Sirius stood beside him on a hill, looking over the passage ahead.

Brand exhaled. “We’re almost there.”

Sirius gave a small nod. “Now comes the real test.”

Brand turned to him. “Will they follow me? Will they stand with me when the battle begins?”

Sirius chuckled. “That depends. Are you ready to lead them?”

Brand straightened his back, his young face no longer filled with uncertainty, but with determination.

“Yes. I am.”

Sirius smiled.

The boy was finally becoming a leader.