...he took a deep breath, pushing himself to his feet. His legs wobbled, still weak from the strange magic that had torn through him, but he managed to steady himself. The familiar hum of the system, the constant reassurance of a status window or skill activation, was gone. There was only silence—both in his mind and in the air around them.
Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder. "You fought bravely, John. Your courage is not tied to the compass or the power it once held."
John met Aragorn's gaze, but his mind was spinning. He had relied so heavily on the system to guide him, to make sense of the chaos. Without it, he felt adrift, vulnerable.
Gimli, ever pragmatic, grunted. "Aye, lad. It's not about what fancy tools you had. It's about grit, and you've got plenty of that."
Legolas, standing a bit further away, gazed into the distance. "We must leave soon. The shadows we fought were merely scouts. Worse will come."
Gandalf nodded, his staff glowing faintly. "Legolas is right. We must move quickly. The Watchers may have been defeated, but their master will not let us go so easily."
John swallowed hard. He wasn't sure how he could keep up with these seasoned warriors now that the system was gone, but there was no time for doubt. Middle-earth was in danger, and whether he liked it or not, he was a part of this world now.
"Where do we go?" John asked, his voice steadier than he expected.
Gandalf turned, his eyes full of unspoken wisdom. "To the heart of the darkness. We seek the source of the corruption that stirs these shadows. There, you will find your true strength, John—one that no system or magic can take from you."
John wanted to believe him, but doubt still gnawed at the edges of his mind. He had been thrust into a world where everything was bigger, older, and more dangerous than anything he had ever known. Yet, as he looked at the companions around him—their determination and quiet confidence—he realized something important.
They had never needed a system to be heroes.
Perhaps he didn't either.
Taking one last glance at the now-dormant compass in his hand, John slipped it into his pocket. Whatever happened next, he would face it as John—not as a player with borrowed power, but as himself. The journey ahead would be perilous, but for the first time since arriving in this world, John felt a sense of belonging.
He would walk this road, not as an outsider, but as someone who had chosen to fight for Middle-earth.
"Let's go," John said, his voice firm.
And so, they set off, into the wilds where the shadows stirred, and the fate of the world awaited them.
The journey through the forest was arduous, the once serene woods now carrying an eerie stillness that gnawed at John's nerves. Each step felt heavier, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. The companions moved with purpose, each of them silent, their senses honed for the dangers that lurked ahead. For John, however, the silence in his mind—the absence of the system—was the most unnerving. He had never felt so... alone.
Gandalf led the way, his staff a beacon in the deepening gloom. Every now and then, John caught the wizard glancing back at him, his expression unreadable but filled with a quiet confidence. It was as if Gandalf knew something about John that even John didn't understand yet.
"What is this corruption we're heading toward?" John finally asked, breaking the silence.
Gandalf's voice was low, barely more than a whisper. "A power older than Sauron, older than even the kingdoms of men. It stirs in the heart of these lands, awakening the dark forces we have faced. The Watchers are but a symptom of a deeper sickness, and we must find its source."
"And destroy it?" John asked.
Gandalf paused for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "If it can be destroyed."
John frowned but said nothing more. Destroying ancient powers sounded like something way beyond his skill set, especially now.
Aragorn fell into step beside him. "You may not have the compass anymore, but you still have something important, John."
"What's that?" John asked, genuinely curious.
"The will to fight," Aragorn said simply. "The strength to keep going when others would falter. We all face our trials without knowing how it will end. But we fight, not because we know the outcome, but because the fight is worth it."
John nodded, though the doubt still lingered in his mind. Could he really fight without the power of the system? The compass had been a crutch, a way for him to stand alongside legends like Aragorn, Legolas, and Gandalf. Now, without it, he felt exposed.
The path ahead grew darker, the trees closing in like the walls of a labyrinth. The air was thick with tension, and every rustle of leaves or crack of a twig made John's heart skip a beat. He could see the others were on edge too, though they hid it well.
Suddenly, Legolas raised a hand, signaling them to stop. His sharp elven eyes scanned the horizon. "Something moves ahead."
Gandalf's staff glowed brighter as the companions readied themselves. Aragorn unsheathed his sword, Gimli hefted his axe, and Legolas nocked an arrow. John, weaponless, clenched his fists, feeling utterly unprepared.
From the shadows ahead, a low growl echoed through the trees. A massive, hulking shape emerged from the darkness, its eyes glowing red with malice. The creature towered over them, its form vaguely humanoid but twisted, corrupted by the dark magic that had tainted these lands.
A troll.
John's breath caught in his throat. He had heard of trolls in Middle-earth, but this one was different—larger, more monstrous, with jagged black spikes protruding from its skin and dark smoke curling around its limbs.
"Stay behind us, John," Aragorn said, stepping forward with his sword raised.
But before John could move, the troll roared and charged.
The battle was fierce and immediate. Aragorn and Gimli met the troll head-on, dodging its massive fists and striking back with skill and precision. Legolas loosed arrow after arrow, each shot striking true but barely slowing the beast. Gandalf chanted in a language John couldn't understand, his staff flaring with light as he sent blasts of energy toward the troll.
John stood frozen at the edge of the fight, watching in awe as the companions fought with a grace and power he couldn't hope to match. But then, he noticed something. The troll, despite the attacks it was enduring, was pushing the group back, forcing them toward a cliff edge that loomed dangerously close.
A surge of urgency rushed through John. He couldn't just stand there. He had to do something.
His eyes darted to the dormant compass in his pocket. Without thinking, he pulled it out, gripping it tightly. He knew the system was gone, but the compass had responded to him before. Maybe… just maybe, it could still help.
Closing his eyes, John focused on the faint pulse he had once felt within the Heart of Eldorath. He willed it to awaken, to give him the strength to protect his friends.
But nothing happened.
The compass remained cold and lifeless in his hands.
"No!" John shouted, frustration boiling over. "I need you!"
The troll roared again, this time swinging a massive arm toward Aragorn, who barely dodged in time. The situation was growing desperate. If they didn't find a way to turn the tide soon, they would be cornered.
Gandalf glanced at John, his expression grim. "John! Focus on the present, not on what is lost!"
The words struck a chord deep within him. He had been so focused on what he no longer had—the system, the power of the compass—that he had forgotten what was still within him.
His will. His courage.
John shoved the compass back into his pocket and looked around. The troll's movements were slow, its attention divided between the group. He spotted a jagged boulder nearby, perched precariously on the cliffside.
An idea formed.
"Aragorn! Gimli! Push it back toward the cliff!" John shouted, his voice full of sudden confidence.
The two warriors exchanged a quick glance and nodded, understanding his plan. They redoubled their efforts, focusing their attacks on driving the troll backward. Legolas, seeing the opportunity, fired a series of arrows into the creature's knees, causing it to stumble.
John ran toward the boulder, putting all his strength into pushing it. It didn't budge at first, but with a final heave, the rock shifted, tumbling down the slope just as the troll reached the cliff's edge.
The boulder struck the troll square in the chest, and with a deafening roar, the creature lost its balance, toppling over the edge into the abyss below.
Silence followed.
John stood there, panting, his heart racing. He had done it—without the compass, without the system. He had helped.
Gandalf approached, a small smile on his face. "Well done, John. There is more to you than you realize."
Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder, and even Gimli gave him a nod of approval. "You've got the makings of a true warrior," the dwarf said gruffly.
John looked down at his hands, still shaking from the adrenaline. He didn't feel like a warrior, but maybe… just maybe, he could become one.
As the group continued their journey, the shadows around them seemed to grow thicker, darker. But for the first time, John didn't feel so out of place. He wasn't just a visitor in Middle-earth anymore.
He was part of the fight.
And the real battle was still to come.