Several days had passed since Ethan, now Mordred, was reborn in Middle-Earth as the Overlord. The forest, once alien and menacing, began to yield to his steps, its rustling leaves sounding like a quiet welcome. His army of fifteen Brown Minions trailed behind him, their chaotic shrieks and clumsy movements boosting his confidence. Mordred felt that this world, though fraught with dangers, offered him a chance at greatness. With each day, he learned how to wield his new power and the loyalty of his small minions.
That afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, Mordred led his horde through a dense forest. Suddenly, he halted, sensing movement among the trees. In the distance, near a circle of massive, moss-covered stones, he spotted three orcs. They were warg raiders—riders atop hulking, wolf-like wargs, their sharp fangs glinting in the twilight. They looked like scouts: their movements were cautious, their gazes sweeping the surroundings. They stood in the shadow of the stones, ancient and cracked, like sentinels of a forgotten age.
Mordred crouched in the forest, just a dozen meters away. His golden eyes gleamed beneath his helmet, and his hand tightened around his axe's handle. He wasn't about to attack without a plan—he preferred the advantage of surprise. Turning to his minions, he pointed at three of them.
"You," he whispered. "Go out there and lure them. Taunt them until they chase you."
The minions snickered quietly, their small, malicious eyes lighting up. "Yes, Master! Taunt orcs! Fun!" they squeaked, then scurried forward, weaving between the trees.
Mordred watched as his servants stepped into the open, a few meters from the orcs. Suddenly, they began chanting and flailing their arms. "Hey, stupid orcs! Ugly wargs! Scared of us, cowards!" they shrieked, hopping around and tossing clumps of dirt toward the riders.
The orcs reacted with fury. The wargs growled, and the riders spurred them into a charge, rushing at the minions with raised swords. "We'll tear you apart, vermin!" one of them roared, his voice echoing off the stones. The minions, giggling, retreated toward the forest, goading the orcs into pursuit.
When the orcs were just ten meters from the minions, Mordred sprang from behind the tree like a shadow of death. "Attack!" he bellowed, and the rest of his army surged forward, screaming wildly. His axe gleamed as he charged the first warg. With one mighty swing, he drove the blade into the beast's side, slicing through its flesh. The warg howled, collapsing, and the orc on its back lost his balance. Mordred didn't hesitate—he yanked the axe free and struck again, cleaving the orc's skull and splattering blood across the nearby stones.
The remaining minions swarmed the other two orcs. Their numbers overwhelmed the enemy—they leapt onto the wargs, stabbing their bodies with knives, and assaulted the riders with savage ferocity. One orc and his warg fell quickly, crushed beneath a tide of tiny blades and claws. The last orc, seeing his companions' demise, panicked. He spurred his warg and attempted to flee toward the distant hills.
Mordred narrowed his eyes. He wouldn't let him escape. With cold precision, he raised his axe and hurled it with all his might. The blade sliced through the air, spinning, until it lodged into the warg's back, killing it instantly. The beast crashed to the ground, and the orc tumbled from the saddle, landing in the grass. Before he could rise, the minions pounced, their knives flashing, and his scream faded into the forest's darkness.
Mordred approached the dead warg and retrieved his axe, wiping the blood on its fur. He glanced at his minions, who were bouncing with glee among the fallen foes.
"Good work," he said calmly. "Gather their gear. Anything we can use."
The minions set to work, looting the orcs' weapons and armor. One proudly held up a rusty sword as if it were a treasure, while another tried to wear an orc's helmet, which was too big and slid over its eyes, sparking laughter from the others.
Mordred stood silently when suddenly a familiar glow appeared before his eyes. The system spoke again:
Congratulations! Quest completed: Eliminate the orc scouts.
Reward: 15 Brown Fighters
Your power grows, Lord.
Mordred gave a faint smile. "Summon," he said, and the ground before him trembled. From the grass emerged portals—small, swirling circles of dark energy, from which fifteen new Brown Fighters scrambled out. They stood in a line, armed with makeshift clubs and knives, their eyes burning with loyalty. His army now numbered thirty minions—a small but increasingly formidable force.
"Serve me," he said, looking at his new subordinates. "Together, we will conquer Middle-Earth."
The minions howled with excitement, and Mordred gazed at the circle of stones where the orcs' bodies lay. He knew this was just another step on his path to power. Middle-earth was teeming with enemies, but with every victory, he grew stronger. What lay beyond the horizon? That, he didn't yet know, but he was ready to face it.