LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

Among the countless strange and intricate multi-block structures now available for crafting, Eric spotted two familiar items in the recipe index.

The first: a Dwarven repeating crossbow.

The second: the Black Arrow.

The crossbow was relatively simple to assemble. It required crafting various parts and fitting them together like a puzzle. The Black Arrow, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. Forging it demanded complex techniques, specific forging temperatures, and more than a little smithing experience.

And yet, its properties were well worth the effort.

The arrow came with a built-in loyalty enchantment—no matter where it was thrown or how far it flew, it would always return to its rightful owner. Just as the legends said. More importantly, it had armor-piercing properties and was especially effective against dragons.

As Eric scrolled through the schematics unlocked by reclaiming Erebor, his heart skipped a beat.

Gears.

The item description was brief, but the implications were immense. These gears could act as substitutes for some redstone mechanisms and even power basic automation systems. Dwarves had long incorporated such technology into their architecture. In fact, the secret passage Smaug had once overlooked—the one that opened with a pull of a hidden lever and raised a seven-meter-tall iron gate—relied on precisely this kind of mechanism.

If that was the level of sophistication Dwarves once achieved, then after returning home, Eric had a long list of upgrades in mind for his own territory.

"Found it!"

Near the cellar, Eric heard a familiar voice.

Bilbo.

The hobbit had discovered the Arkenstone and was handing it to Thorin. The Dwarven king's eyes locked onto the glowing gem. Without a second thought, he snatched it from Bilbo's hands, gazing at it like a starving man presented with a feast.

"Ah… the Heart of the Mountain. The Arkenstone. So beautiful…"

"My precious…"

Thorin whispered the words under his breath.

Bilbo's expression froze. That word—precious—sent a chill down his spine. A shadow flitted across his thoughts, making it momentarily hard to breathe.

Dol Guldur.

In the ruined tower, a great eye—ethereal, pupil-less—suddenly turned north.

"I sense it… its presence."

"Bring it back to me."

Sauron's voice echoed in the void as he summoned the nine Nazgûl. The command was clear.

But then…

"Where do you think you're going?"

A calm voice cut through the darkness.

The great eye turned, and three figures emerged at the top of the staircase, ascending step by step.

Elrond of Rivendell.

Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien.

Saruman the White of Isengard.

Just their presence sent tremors through the tower, and even the Eye wavered in unease.

"Who dares interfere?" hissed an Orc captain below. Without waiting for Sauron's reply, he barked an order, rallying a dozen or so warriors to surround the intruders.

Galadriel didn't raise her voice.

"If you value your lives, leave now."

The Orc chieftain laughed, snarling through crooked teeth. "Let's see who dies first!"

With a roar, he charged forward.

Galadriel lifted her hand.

BOOM.

A shockwave burst forth. The sky trembled. Even the thick black clouds overhead rippled like a disturbed lake.

In an instant, the Orcs charging toward her were crushed into fine dust. Not even their armor remained. Just a pile of shimmering ash.

Galadriel's warnings were never exaggerated.

When she said destroy, she meant obliterate.

No one spared a glance for the dead Orcs.

The Nazgûl emerged from the shadows, their spectral forms clashing with the trio. Curses, dark magic, and mental attacks rained down—but one by one, the threats were dismantled with grace and power.

Their shadowy bodies were torn apart, only to reform moments later near Sauron.

"You cannot defeat me!" Sauron roared.

Releasing his full power, darkness surged from the tower, blanketing all of Dol Guldur in choking black. The pressure spread like a plague. Outside the tower, Radagast the Brown flinched as the air thickened. A chill ran down his spine.

But the one who reacted most intensely was Saruman.

His eyes widened as he watched Sauron's display. He said nothing, but inside, his thoughts burned.

This… this is what I've been searching for…

Darkness swallowed all light, until…

A different radiance began to rise.

Galadriel glowed with a light that was not her own. Cold, majestic, and terrifyingly beautiful. The starlight of Eärendil, born from a Silmaril, erupted from her.

That ancient light, pure and undying, was the natural enemy of all shadow.

Sauron's power faltered beneath its brilliance.

And just like that, the battle was decided.

Sauron retreated, banished once more to his fortress in Mordor. For now, the world was safe from his reach.

The Ring, still unaware of its master's setback, continued to whisper, tempting the hobbit who carried it.

"Hey, Bilbo, I brought some milk. Want a glass?"

"Thanks, Eric! I could use a drink."

Gulp gulp gulp.

Bilbo downed the milk in one go and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Ahhh, that hit the spot. I feel great! Way more awake. Milk really is good for you. I should drink it more often."

"Glad to hear it."

Eric gave him a small smile, watching the hobbit closely. After a pause, he said, "Bilbo, when all this is over… would you mind visiting my territory?"

"I've got a few experiments in mind, and I could use your help. Don't worry, nothing dangerous. Really simple stuff."

Bilbo didn't hesitate.

"Of course! I'd love to. Sounds like fun."

He didn't even ask what the experiments involved. Just nodded happily, trusting Eric completely.

Eric turned away and called out, "Thorin, it's time to send word for reinforcements."

The Dwarf King, still mesmerized by the Arkenstone's glow, snapped out of his daze.

"Yes. Right away."

Moments later, at the gate of Erebor, a dark-feathered bird took flight from Thorin's arm. It had pale spots on its belly and flew fast toward the Iron Hills.

"A thrush," Eric murmured.

Balin stepped beside him, stroking his long white beard.

"They live long and have a touch of magic in them. Dwarves once raised them in Erebor, taught them to carry messages. The one you just saw has been around for centuries—older than me."

He gave a wistful chuckle.

"Over a hundred years… and now we've finally returned to our homeland."

He glanced toward Thorin, who stood by the wall, still clinging to the Arkenstone, unable—or unwilling—to look away from it.

"But I fear we may be walking the same path as before."

"You won't," Eric said firmly.

"I hope you're right."

"I am right," Eric said, flashing a confident grin.

Then he pulled out his Elytra wings, buckled them in place, and turned to Balin.

"I've got a few things to take care of. I'll be back soon. You all stay here and get things ready."

With that, Eric leapt toward the edge of the battlements.

Balin blinked, startled. "There's a staircase right there, you know."

"I know."

FWOOOSH.

Eric dove off the wall, causing the Dwarves to gasp and rush to the edge to peer after him.

FWEEE!

A sharp whistle rang out, and a firework crackled in the sky. A moment later, they looked up to see Eric soaring above them with his wings extended, gliding gracefully across the sky.

"Is that… is he flying?" Bofur gawked.

"I want to try that!" Bombur said, eyes wide with childlike wonder.

Bofur side-eyed him, taking in his round frame.

"No offense, friend, but… for your safety, let's not."