LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

For both Eric and Gandalf, travel and peril were as routine as breathing.

Especially for Eric, who'd only recently escaped the flaming pits of the Nether. Compared to that infernal landscape, hiking through Middle-earth almost felt like a countryside picnic.

At least here, he didn't have to inhale the stench of brimstone or deal with oppressive heat. Not that the heat bothered him physically, but it was uncomfortable. And Eric, despite everything, valued his comfort.

"Which route are we taking?" Eric asked, gesturing toward the jagged peaks ahead.

To cross the Misty Mountains, there were two paths. One cut directly through the mountains via the High Pass. The other detoured northward past Isengard—safe, but incredibly out of the way.

"High Pass," Gandalf replied without hesitation.

Eric raised a brow. "That place, huh… Are we expecting company? I seem to recall a lot of orcs skulking around there."

It wasn't an idle concern. The orc-stronghold was practically next door. In fact, the very warlord who'd put a bounty on Eric's head resided in that direction.

"There are two routes through the pass," Gandalf explained. "We'll take the higher one and avoid them if we can."

"Fine by me," Eric shrugged. Truthfully, he wasn't worried. Even if he stumbled into the warlord's dining hall by accident, he could still cut his way out.

The Nether hadn't left him empty-handed. The gold from the Piglin Bastions had padded his inventory nicely. He had enchanted apples, a fire-forged blade, and armor made from Netherite alloy. Unless a Balrog decided to show up, he was good.

Still… the High Pass.

That place had other things.

A shadow flickered in Eric's memory—big eyes, pale skin, and a hiss that haunted tunnels.

Gollum.

And the glint of a gold ring reflected briefly in his mind's eye.

They weren't riding, but the pace was brisk. They only paused to eat. Eric didn't need sleep. As long as he had food, he was tireless.

Gandalf, on the other hand, looked like he should've needed a nap every ten steps, but the old wizard was surprisingly spry. Once he realized Eric wasn't going to request rest stops, he stopped pretending to need them either.

Through barren wildlands they marched, past the ancient stone bridge, until finally, under the midday sun, the snowy ridges of the Misty Mountains came into view.

Eric stopped and whistled. "Now that's a view."

They had reached the roof of the continent: the Misty Mountains.

"No time to admire it," Gandalf called back. "If we don't make it through the pass before nightfall, we'll run into orcs on the move."

"Understood."

They pressed onward.

All day they climbed, feet crunching on gravel and frost. Even during meals, they didn't stop. And despite their caution, trouble still found them.

"Rrroagh!"

A low growl froze them mid-step. Both men scanned their surroundings.

Gandalf gripped his staff.

Eric drew his Elven sword, which began to glow faintly.

But no attack came.

They exchanged glances and crept toward the noise.

Behind a large boulder, two wargs and five orcs stood in a tense circle, snarling at each other.

"I saw it first!" one orc snapped.

"You smelled it first, doesn't mean you own it!" another retorted.

"Rrraagh!"

It seemed a quarrel had broken out over a carcass.

"They're fighting over a kill," Gandalf whispered. "Wargs want a bigger share because of their size. The orcs argue they found it first."

"Huh," Eric mused. "Wargs and orcs fighting over dinner. That's not something you see every day."

"Wargs aren't mindless beasts," Gandalf said quietly. "They're intelligent, cunning. They ally with orcs, but they're not pets. Not trainable either—not unless you walk the path of shadow."

Eric grinned. "That'd explain why they always try to eat me."

Then one of the wargs paused, sniffed the air, and turned its head.

"We should go," Gandalf murmured, already stepping back.

Eric tilted his head. "Or, hear me out… we could stay and fight."

"RRAARGH!"

The warg made the decision for them, leaping toward their hiding spot.

Eric didn't flinch. Sword flashing, he sprang from cover and brought his blade down in a single arc.

FOOM!

The sword struck the beast with a burst of fire. Flames exploded across its fur, engulfing it mid-snarl. The warg didn't even hit the ground alive.

Gandalf blinked, eyeing Eric's sword, then his armor. "Hmph."

He made no move to help.

Meanwhile, the orcs had seen enough. The sight of a lone man in char-black armor wielding a flame-forged sword was enough to make them rethink their day.

They bolted. Even the second warg yelped and fled after them.

"Not bad," Eric said, sheathing his blade.

"Looks like I'll be taking it easy this trip," Gandalf muttered.

He was definitely planning to slack off now.

"Come on," Eric said, already heading forward. "Before they fetch reinforcements."

But reinforcements had already arrived.

As they reached the final slope, close to exiting the pass, a sharp twang sliced the air.

THUNK!

An arrow slammed into Eric's chest—and bounced harmlessly off his armor.

His health bar didn't even flicker.

Eric and Gandalf turned to see a mob of orcs stampeding through the narrow passage behind them, screaming and tossing spears and axes like angry toddlers.

"Run!" Gandalf shouted, ducking a whirling blade.

Eric didn't budge.

Instead, he grinned.

"Actually, I think I'll stay."

SHING!

He drew his sword again and pulled on his helmet, turning away from Gandalf and walking straight back into the pass.

THUD!

The first orc, unlucky enough to reach him, was split cleanly in two. The force of the blow sent the nearby orcs reeling, some dropping weapons, others cracking bones on impact.

SWOOSH!

Eric swept his blade again, sending burning orcs tumbling backward, crashing into their comrades, spreading fire and panic through their ranks.

He stood at the mountain pass like a wall of iron, his blade a whirlwind of fire and steel. Orcs charged and bounced off him like flies against obsidian.

Some tried to flank him, swarming with clubs and spears, but their weapons glanced off his Netherite armor with useless clinks. His health dipped for a moment—then instantly regenerated.

Their crude blades broke first.

And soon, the bodies piled up.

The smell of blood was quickly overtaken by the scent of burning flesh. The shrieking of the dying orcs turned to silence, then whispers, and finally—terror.

"He's the one! The wild mage!"

An orc at the back screamed in recognition. He had seen this monster before.

Panic spread.

Even the wargs, baring cracked fangs, shrank back, tails between their legs.

Eric stood alone in the narrowing mountain pass, sword glowing like a torch, helmet glinting in the twilight.

"Come on then!" he bellowed, laughter in his voice. "Come and get me, you walking compost piles!"

Gandalf, watching from a distance, couldn't help the eerie feeling in his gut.

This… reminded him of something.

Of someone.

Sauron, perhaps—when he strode from his tower in flesh, wielding terror like a weapon, laying waste to the kings of Men and Elves.

Eric wasn't that.

But in that moment, facing down a mountain's worth of orcs with nothing but a sword and a smile—

He wasn't far off.