Part of the pursuers turned toward Radagast.
"Now's our chance! Go!" Gandalf growled.
The group immediately set to work: Thorin and his companions, carrying their baggage, headed toward the nearest hilly terrain. Gandalf mounted his horse, staff in hand, occasionally glancing back, ready to handle any unexpected situations. However, a new problem soon arose: Thorin and his companions had no horses. How could two legs outrun a four-legged wolf? They had only moved a few dozen metres from their original position when they heard the howling of wolves behind them.
"Awooo!!" A wild and fierce sound echoed across the plains, sending chills down their spines. Then came a second, a third... more and more wolf howls, coming from different directions, as if echoing off one another. The ferocious wolves howled, warning other wolf packs and the orcs following them, and then quickly gave chase in the direction Thorin and his companions had gone.
Thorin and his companions could clearly hear the long, drawn-out wolf howls. Sweating, they fled, carrying their weapons and the last of their belongings. Their breathing quickened, their pace slowed, but no one stopped, because stopping meant death. However, the surrounding terrain was all hills, with no caves to hide in and no strategic fortifications for defence. The ferocious wolves had an exceptionally keen sense of smell. Where could they run? No matter how hard they tried to escape, they would eventually be caught and surrounded.
Thorin knew this, Gandalf knew this, and all the other dwarves knew it. There was no other way; if they didn't run, they would die, but if they ran, they could at least delay their death for a while.
Watching this scene, Karl grew impatient. Ferocious wolves? Orcs? What kind of creatures dared to pursue him? If they were green-skinned orcs capable of shouting "Waaagh!", he might have been slightly more cautious and needed to be careful. Those creatures had all sorts of enhancing properties, and perhaps there was something that could truly threaten him. But the orcs of this world? Creatures that fought only with numbers and ferocity? They weren't even worth a warm-up.
Karl stopped his horse, dismounted, grabbed Bilbo by the shoulder, and threw him onto the horse's back. "I'll hold off the orcs. All of you, hurry and go — don't look back," Karl said to the group.
Hearing this, Thorin stopped and turned to face Karl. "No! Karl, dwarves never abandon their comrades! We will fight shoulder to shoulder with you!"
The other dwarves also stopped. Though they were exhausted and frightened, none of them wanted to abandon their comrades and flee alone. However, before he could finish speaking, a sharp "thwack" rang out. Before anyone could react, Karl raised his hand and smacked Thorin on the back of the head. Thorin's gaze went blank for a moment, his pupils dilated. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. He pitched forward, rolled his eyes, and lost consciousness.
In an instant, the entire area fell silent. Balin, Dwalin, and the others stared at the scene in astonishment. They looked at Karl, then at the unconscious Thorin lying on the ground, their expressions shifting from shock to confusion, and then to bewilderment. Finally, it settled into a strange expression, as if to say: "Is that even possible?"
Karl glanced at Gandalf for a moment, then calmly said: "The situation is critical. There's no time to persuade him. Take him away."
"I trust that Gandalf will find a place to hide and get everyone out of danger. As for me... don't worry."
Gandalf took a deep breath and nodded: "Yes, leave it to me." A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes. Karl's gaze and his last words... did Karl know what he was planning to do? They had even incapacitated Thorin, the most difficult person in the group, saving him the trouble of explaining and arguing.
"Alright... alright..." Balin was the first to react and quickly replied. "Dwalin, stop daydreaming and help!" He elbowed Dwalin, who was still in a daze.
Judging by Karl's stance, if they didn't leave, there would surely be more lying on the ground. Hearing Balin's reminder, Dwalin flinched and immediately bent down to help Thorin up. Kili, Fili, and the others quickly came to help, and the group lifted the unconscious Thorin.
"Karl... you must come back alive." Balin turned to Karl, concern in his eyes.
"Alright. Hurry, they're coming," Karl simply replied, waving his hand.
Without further hesitation, the group carried Thorin and followed Gandalf, fleeing into the depths of the hills. Bilbo, on horseback, looked back at Karl, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. In the end, he just nodded vigorously and turned to follow the group.
Karl watched until their figures disappeared around a bend in the hills. Then he slowly turned to face the plain, where the first group of ferocious wolves had appeared. Then came a second, a third... in total, more than ten ferocious wolves surrounded him from three sides. Finally, a small unit appeared, consisting of three exceptionally strong ferocious wolves carrying three better-equipped orcs. The lead orc had a scar running diagonally from his forehead to his chin, and he held a long, jagged spear. The second had a bandage on his left arm; he had been lucky — he had fallen from the cliff earlier and survived by sheer chance.
Karl stood still, his right hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword. The orcs roared with excitement, raising their weapons high, ready to tear the lone man apart. But Karl merely looked at them calmly, no fear in his eyes, only contempt.
Finally, a few ferocious wolves closed to within ten metres of Karl. He held his sword in one hand, its point angled diagonally toward the ground, and raised his left hand, palm up. He beckoned to the charging wolves — an openly provocative gesture.
As if sensing Karl's contempt, the lead wolf let out an angry howl and pushed off with its hind legs. Its entire body launched into the air, its blood-red maw open wide as it lunged at Karl. Karl didn't move from his spot; he simply raised his right hand, and the sword traced a vertical line through the air.
"Thwip." The sound was very soft, like tearing thick fabric. A thin line of blood appeared on the top of the wolf's head. The bloodline spread rapidly downward, passing through its nose, mouth, neck, chest, and belly... The wolf's body split in two in mid-air, neatly divided along the bloodline. The two halves continued to move by inertia, flying past Karl. Then they hit the ground with a dull thud, its internal organs and blood scattering in all directions. The wolf didn't even realise it was dead; half of its body was still twitching, its claws unconsciously scratching the ground.
The entire process happened in the blink of an eye, leaving the remaining wolves and orcs utterly bewildered. For the first time, confusion and fear appeared in their eyes. Seeing their comrade split in half by a single exchange, the remaining ferocious wolves howled in fury.
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