"Whoa—what the hell is this place?" Roland had just been at his computer playing Lord of the Rings, and the next thing he knew—zap—the screen flashed, and somehow he'd been dumped in this godforsaken, bird-won't-even-poop-here wasteland.
A shrill "screeee!" split the air. Startled, Roland whipped his head around—then froze.
He was wearing the full lord-tier mithril armor from Lord of the Rings. At his hip hung the epic weapon Dragon-Slayer. Strapped to his back—a gleaming mithril tower shield.
"Wait, wait, wait… this—this is my in-game gear!" Roland's brain short-circuited.
Could it be… he'd crossed over into Middle-earth?
If it was the movie Middle-earth, fine, maybe he could deal. But if it was the game version of Lord of the Rings… well, he might as well start digging a hole to lie in.
See, Lord of the Rings was a fantasy-mod mashup based on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings movies, but with added battle-qi, magic, reworked maps, shifted factions—basically, if it wasn't a main character, it got a makeover. And now Roland's gut was twisting like crazy…
Another "screeee!" tore through the shrubs. Out popped a handful of stunted, green-skinned goblins wielding bone clubs and rusty picks—if you could even call those "weapons."
"Oh, great. Goblins. Definitely Lord of the Rings," he said, half crying.
With a metallic shiiing!, Roland drew the Dragon-Slayer and swung the shield into place.
The goblins rushed, yelping like angry squirrels, their spindly arms smacking the mithril shield with about as much force as a wet noodle.
"Hah!"
One golden arc of steel later, and the goblins were in several… smaller pieces.
Roland could feel the battle-qi surging through him—yep, big knight level, no question. In Lord of the Rings, power rankings went: trainee knight, knight, big knight, knight captain, knight commander. Every other combat class used the same 5-tier setup.
Forcing down a wave of nausea, Roland sheathed the Dragon-Slayer—still spotless, not a speck of blood sticking—and muttered, "Good sword…"
A sudden heat pulsed from the ring on his finger. A light screen popped up in midair:
Mini-battle complete. Reward: Fully-armored Shire Warhorse ×1. Stored in Lord of the Rings Space.
Seeing the screen in front of him Ronald's eyed almost poped.
"Holy crap… the system came with me? I'm rich!" he scream out loud and jumped around.
With the system's rewards, building his own kingdom was just a matter of time. Middle-earth was huge, most of it barren and wild—back in the game, players had built entire fortresses out there and become big-shot lords.
Testing the system, Roland summoned the Shire warhorse—because what kind of knight doesn't have a horse? Especially here, cavalry had a huge advantage.
"Whoa… triple-layer barding?!"
The poor beast was covered in so much chain and plate that Roland half-wondered if a normal horse would collapse after a few miles. Luckily, Shire warhorses were built like tanks.
"Alright then. At least small bands of orcs won't be a problem."
He tried talking to the ring:
"So, Lord of the Rings, what's next?"
Nothing.
"System?"
Still nothing.
"Right… so I only get rewards when I hit some kind of achievement threshold."
Which meant—find shelter before nightfall. Maybe some food. Tomorrow, start looking for a village or town… wherever the hell "here" was.
He gathered some branches along the way, riding aimlessly, even hoping a few dumb orcs might show up for target practice.
Eventually, he spotted a jumble of stones forming a small cave, maybe ten square meters.
"This'll do for tonight."
Then it hit him.
"Uh… how do you start a fire again?"
Roland stared at the pile of dry wood like it had personally wronged him.
"I really should've watched more survival shows…"
He tried friction fire.
"Come on… nothing."
Only a whiff of smoke rose up.
"Yes! Oh—damn it, my hands!" he screamed blowing air into his burned hands.
A few curses later, he slumped. The sky was darkening fast.
"No! I need a fire. Night on the plains isn't exactly cozy," he thought before he started making fire again.
Finally, just before night fell, a tiny cluster of sparks lit his face. He fed it tinder with trembling hands until a modest campfire flickered to life.
"Praise the light!" he shouted, tears at the corner of his eyes, he had finally done it.
The ring chimed again:
First Fire Achieved. Reward: Long Bread ×100, Clean Water ×100. Stored in Lord of the Rings Space.
Roland grinned. Long bread—half a meter long, a palm wide—and water pouches of about a liter each. Dinner sorted.
He toasted a loaf over the flames, washed it down with water, then led his horse into the cave. Removing the armor, he admired the workmanship—fine, tight links, light weight, clearly top-grade alloy. He stowed it away, leaned the shield nearby, and lay down with the Dragon-Slayer beside him.
Through the mouth of the cave, the firelight swayed gently in the wind.
"Heh… first night in Middle-earth, not so bad, Goodnight."
Unfortunately for him, he didn't know that fire could just as easily lure trouble as scare it away.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
The Shire warhorse snorted nervously.
Half-asleep, Roland woke instantly, shield on his arm, sword in hand. He peered into the dark.
"Oh, sht… fck… son of a—"
It was a land-drake.