Bear School Astartes

Chapter 1055 - 1037: Appraisal

Amidst concerns about Gandalf’s unreliability, Rivendell’s steward Lindir, the black-haired male elf in casual attire, led a group to the dining area.

As the host, Elrond had to first remove his armor, freshen up, and change into formal attire before taking his seat at the table, as per etiquette.

On the way, Lann caught a glimpse of the general appearance of this beautiful city.

In fact, according to his impression... this place strangely resembled Losric or Yan’an.

A city built in the mountains, where the uneven foundations caused the buildings to overlap in a three-dimensional manner, with a picturesque and orderly layout.

Furthermore, the elves seemed disinclined to add railings to those narrow, abyss-spanning bridges, leaving only a straight path extending to the other side.

People who are timid or clumsy would probably find their legs turning to jelly, unable to move.

But Rivendell’s atmosphere was very different from Losric or Yan’an.

Only the layout of the buildings was similar.

Here, warmth and leisure abounded; the sunlight was a captivating warm hue throughout the seasons, even the breeze blowing through the mountains and forests carried a refreshing scent.

As for Losric and Yan’an... perhaps during their prosperous times, these two cities were breathtaking.

But unfortunately, by the time Lann saw them, they were already in decay and ruins.

All that remained was devastation, along with wandering monsters and madmen.

Meanwhile, as the dwarves pushed forward in a rush due to hunger and anticipation for the feast, Lann was able to privately chat with Gandalf, who also slowed his pace.

"In my opinion, those warg riders must have been brought by you."

In a calm whisper, Lann said something that made Gandalf widen his eyes.

"When you heard the wolf howls, you fiercely questioned Sorlin about whether he had revealed our location, but at that moment, I felt as if you had done something wrong yourself and were trying to shift the blame, eager to seize control of the conversation."

"Moreover, when Radagast and I were distracting the wargs, you led the indecisive dwarves to follow us... something just didn’t add up, Gandalf."

The old wizard awkwardly licked his lips, his eyes darting around.

He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to make some excuses.

But Lann had already confirmed his thoughts from Gandalf’s behavior, so he didn’t care to listen.

"Don’t try to fool me with nonsense, Gandalf. Just tell me, I’m genuinely puzzled about what benefit the warg riders bring to you for summoning the beastmen. Would you kindly enlighten me?"

Gandalf hesitated for a moment, then moved closer to the demon hunter and lowered his already soft voice. His eyes cautiously watched the dwarves frolicking ahead.

"This matter doesn’t benefit me, but it does benefit the dwarves and the group."

"How so?"

Lann listened with rapt attention.

"You’ve seen how they look. I assure you, everyone in this group has lost at least five kilograms since the journey began."

Gandalf spread his hands, causing his white beard, long enough to reach his stomach, to sway.

"Long-distance travel is difficult; after all, they are mere mortals who need proper rest, just like horses needing quality feed to quickly fatten up. Rivendell can provide the ’fine food’ they need."

"Moreover, there is a critical issue concerning our ultimate goal on this journey that requires resolution with Elrond’s wise and knowledgeable mind."

"Then why couldn’t you tell them directly? Did you have to let the warg riders bite their backsides, forcing them into Rivendell with no way out?"

Lann furrowed his brow slightly.

Gandalf shrugged helplessly, the old man spreading his hands.

"You don’t understand the dwarves. The enmity between the Durin-bloodline dwarves from the Lonely Mountain Kingdom and the elves, as well as the dwarves’ stubbornness and grudge-bearing... truly, if Sorlin hadn’t been a bit confused at the time and let me lead them, I reckon he would rather die at the wargs’ jaws than come to the elves’ city."

"Are they really that stubborn?"

Lann spoke in amazement, having dealt with dwarves in the Magic Middle Ages, but those who wouldn’t bow their heads even with a blade at their throats... or even just say a soft word, he hadn’t encountered before.

The old wizard curled his lips, continuing to broaden the demon hunter’s horizon.

"They are ten times more stubborn than what you have in mind!"

"What about now? They seem quite eager to eat on the elves’ territory."

"That’s because the deed is done, Lann, my friend."

The old wizard held the brim of his pointed hat, winking at the demon hunter.

"Don’t underestimate the capabilities of an old man. These few dwarves are still green compared to their grandfather’s generation of dwarves, whom I’ve also dealt with."

"I’m learning something new." Lann turned slightly, respectfully extending his hand, "After you, esteemed Grey-robed Wizard."

"Ah, thank you. Then I shall not refuse."

Gandalf’s beard quivered with his smile as he propped himself up with his magic staff and walked ahead.

This was a small terrace, with the elves’ highly artistic architecture making it seem more like an art exhibition than a dining room.

Looking out, one could see the cliffside and waterfall on one side of Rivendell, along with the autumn foliage and the red-hued mountains.

A few elves were playing the harp and flute.

The elves’ casual and formal attire were so exquisite that it was almost impossible to tell the difference.

The dwarves, hobbits, and Rong Buqiu were seated at two small tables, while the taller Gandalf, Lann, and Sorlin, who was of relatively short human height, sat at a high table.

Elrond, dressed in casual attire of a fallen leaves yellow, also entered the dining area at this moment.

No one could doubt him as a powerful and seasoned warrior when he was in armor, but in formal attire with a delicate elven headband, no one would question him as a wise sage.

The extraordinary nature of elves, along with the accumulation of longevity, was vividly reflected in him, setting a benchmark.

He took his seat at the main position at the high table amid the welcoming of Lann, Gandalf, and Sorlin standing up, with Rivendell’s steward, Lindir, standing behind him.

"Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Elrond."

Gandalf skillfully began the engagement.

"No need for politeness, Gandalf. We are old friends."

Elrond chuckled lightly, waving his hand dismissively.

"Please enjoy, and I hope the elves’ food can satisfy your weary bodies."

The same standard of food lay on both the high table and the two low tables, without any difference due to status.

The elves’ silver and porcelain plates seemed more like artworks than tableware; Lann took a glance and found that the plates and bowls were actually adorned with exquisite reliefs and engravings!

But the food served on these utensils appeared a bit bland.

Mostly green leaf vegetable salads, along with cakes and small breads. Only a few slices of sausage were sprinkled on the salad like decoration, more for embellishment.

Lann took a bite of the cake, and the taste was surprisingly excellent, very much to his liking.

Moreover, it was very nourishing and energizing.

It felt similar to the dinner at Tom Bombadil’s house, except that the content of pure life force in the meal was incomparable.

However, this feeling was just Lann’s palate.

He had not endured a long journey of hunger and exhaustion, nor fought ogres.

Although the meals were rich in energy, they lacked the satisfaction of being greasy and meaty, something the dwarves, long past feeling like birds, could not satisfy their mouths and tongues without.

They murmured complaints while eating, saying the elves were feeding sheep.

The elves’ music, like their food, was serene and elegant, with female elves playing flutes and harps appearing beautiful and captivating.

Their skin seemed to emit a faint glow under the warm sunlight of Rivendell.

During their time with the instruments, they often curiously passed by Lann, observing his hair and features.

This scrutiny did not make Lann feel the same awkwardness as in Airetusa Academy.

Because the elves’ eyes lacked the intense desire of female sorcerer apprentices; their curious gazes were clear and natural.

It was as if they simply wanted to see the appearance of someone called ’Yadanisil,’ akin to an elf.

Under such clear gazes, Lann returned their regard with smiles and nods.

They, too, responded courteously and elegantly, maintaining the beautiful music while returning the gesture.

"This is Orcrist, also known as the ’Goblin Cleaver.’"

Meanwhile, Elrond was using the knowledge and wisdom accumulated over his lengthy life to serve as an appraiser for the dwarves and Gandalf at the high table.

Elrond gently held a long, sheathed blade in both hands, slightly drawing the blade to examine the inscriptions, deliberating as he spoke.

This was Sorlin’s sword, supposedly excavated from the ogre’s lair along with the hand-and-a-half sword on Gandalf’s waist.

Out of trust in his guests, or perhaps confidence in himself, Elrond allowed Gandalf and Sorlin to bear arms at the feast.

This long blade was suitable for the arm span and height of a normal human; Sorlin, being tall among the dwarves, could wield it with ease.

And when Elrond gently drew a small section of the blade, a faint, metallic hum and an eerie coldness lightly emanated, making one’s hair stand on end.

Undoubtedly, this was a rare, exquisite blade.

Even Lann, who had been nodding and acknowledging the female elves earlier, was drawn by this sensation to turn his head.

He was sensitive and captivated by the art of blades, and a superb sword was hard for him not to notice.

On another note... he felt that this sword was on par with his Lady of the Lake’s sword!

"May I have a look?"

Lann set down his glass wine cup, casting an inquiring gaze towards Sorlin and Elrond.

The elf, after Sorlin nodded, smiled and passed the treasured blade over Gandalf to Lann.

The demon hunter drew Orcrist fully, his bare fingers caressing the fine and beautiful blade surface, like the tenderest touch.

Surprise flickered in Lann’s eyes, without question, this sword indeed could rival his divine-made armament.