The air around them had barely settled when the ground trembled beneath their feet, an ominous sign that their battle was far from over. John, still catching his breath, turned toward the source of the disturbance, his heart sinking. From the depths of the forest, more trolls emerged—three this time, their hulking forms lumbering through the trees with unsettling speed. Each one was as twisted and corrupted as the first, their bodies rippling with unnatural power, dark smoke swirling like a living entity around their grotesque frames.
The distant rumble of their footsteps grew louder, shaking the ground as they approached. John's muscles tensed, his heart hammering in his chest. Aragorn and Gimli immediately stepped forward, weapons raised, ready for another brutal clash. Legolas nocked an arrow, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the distance between them and the advancing monsters.
"We've got company," Gimli grumbled, hefting his axe with a grim smile. "I hope you've got more tricks up your sleeve, lad."
John swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He glanced at the others, watching as they readied themselves for another deadly confrontation. Aragorn's jaw was set, his movements calm and controlled as he adjusted his grip on his sword. Legolas moved with fluid grace, his sharp eyes tracking the trolls' every step. Even Gandalf, though weary from the last battle, stood tall, his staff glowing faintly in the gloom as if drawing strength from the earth itself.
But John's mind raced. They had barely survived the first troll, and now three more barreled toward them, their guttural growls filling the air like the forewarning of a storm. The system was still silent, the compass dead weight in his pocket, offering him no guidance or power. His legs felt weak again, not from exhaustion but from doubt.
"You cannot rely on what's gone," John muttered to himself, echoing Gandalf's earlier words. He clenched his fists, steeling his resolve. He had to find another way, something within himself.
Suddenly, the lead troll let out a thunderous roar, shaking the very canopy of the forest above them. It charged, its massive feet pounding the earth, each step echoing like thunderclaps. The other two followed closely behind, their hulking forms lumbering toward the group with terrifying speed.
"Brace yourselves!" Aragorn shouted, his voice cutting through the tension as he rushed to meet the first troll head-on. His sword gleamed as he struck out at the creature's knee, but the troll's thick, corrupted skin seemed to absorb the blow with little effect. Gimli followed close behind, swinging his axe with all his might, aiming for the troll's leg. Sparks flew as the blade met its target, but the beast only stumbled, enraged rather than injured.
Legolas released a flurry of arrows, each one embedding into the trolls' flesh, yet the creatures lumbered on, seemingly unstoppable. Their growls deepened, their red eyes glowing brighter, filled with malice and hatred.
John stood frozen, watching the battle unfold. His companions fought with everything they had, but the trolls were relentless, pushing them back with every swing of their enormous fists. The cliff loomed behind them, dangerously close, and the situation grew more desperate by the second.
Without thinking, John darted toward the boulders strewn along the cliffside, searching for something—anything—that could turn the tide in their favor. His eyes landed on a large fallen tree, its roots still clinging to the earth. It was perched precariously near the edge, and an idea sparked in his mind.
"Gimli! Aragorn!" he yelled over the chaos of battle, his voice hoarse but filled with urgency. "Lead them toward the edge! I'll knock this tree down!"
Aragorn didn't hesitate, his sharp gaze locking onto the tree for a split second before nodding. He swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing the nearest troll to take a step back. "Gimli, fall back! Let's draw them closer!"
Gimli, breathing heavily from exertion, grinned despite the danger. "Aye, let's give these beasts a proper farewell."
With a battle cry, Gimli and Aragorn moved with coordinated precision, striking at the trolls' legs and forcing them to stumble closer to the cliff. Legolas fired more arrows, aiming for the trolls' eyes to blind them, slowing their advance.
John, muscles straining, pushed against the fallen tree with all his strength. The massive trunk creaked and groaned but refused to budge. Sweat poured down his face as he gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of energy he had left.
"Come on!" he shouted through clenched teeth, the weight of the tree almost overwhelming him. The trolls roared again, swinging wildly at Aragorn and Gimli, their fists pounding the ground and sending tremors through the earth. One of the trolls swiped dangerously close to Aragorn, who rolled out of the way just in time.
The tree groaned again, shifting ever so slightly. John's heart pounded in his ears as he threw his weight into the effort, feeling the roots give way. "Almost… there…"
With a final, desperate push, the tree lurched forward, tumbling down the slope toward the trolls. The ground beneath them shook as the massive trunk collided with their legs, sending two of the trolls stumbling backward. One of them lost its footing entirely, teetering on the edge of the cliff before letting out a guttural roar as it fell into the abyss below.
The second troll, though injured, managed to steady itself, but the damage was done. Its movements were slower, more erratic, as it struggled to regain its balance.
The third troll, however, was enraged. It charged straight for John, its red eyes blazing with fury. Time seemed to slow as the monstrous creature barreled toward him, its fists raised, ready to crush him. John's heart raced, and for a brief moment, panic gripped him.
But then, something shifted inside him. The fear that had paralyzed him moments ago dissolved, replaced by a calm determination. He wasn't powerless—not anymore.
Without hesitation, John darted to the side just as the troll's fist crashed down where he had stood, sending a shockwave through the ground. He grabbed a broken branch from the fallen tree and, with a shout, drove it into the troll's exposed side. The creature let out a deafening howl of pain, staggering backward.
Aragorn seized the opportunity, lunging forward and driving his sword deep into the troll's chest. Gimli followed with a powerful swing of his axe, severing the beast's leg. The troll let out one final roar before collapsing, its massive body crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.
Silence fell over the forest, broken only by the labored breathing of the companions. The trolls were defeated, their corrupted forms lying still in the darkened woods.
John stood there, chest heaving, his hands trembling from the adrenaline. He had done it—again. He had fought, not as a player relying on the system, but as himself. He looked down at the now-bloodied branch in his hand, feeling a strange sense of pride.
"Well done, lad," Gimli said, clapping him on the back with a wide grin. "I'd say you've got more fight in you than most."
Aragorn nodded in agreement, wiping his sword clean. "You've proven yourself, John. More than once."
Gandalf approached, his staff glowing faintly once more. "Remember this moment," the wizard said quietly. "It is not power or systems that define a warrior, but the strength of their spirit."
John nodded, feeling the weight of Gandalf's words sink in. He had fought without the system, without the compass, and he had survived. No, more than that—he had helped turn the tide of battle.
As they continued on their journey, the shadows around them grew thicker, darker. But John no longer felt out of place. He wasn't just an outsider in Middle-earth anymore.
He was part of the fight—and the real battle was still to come. ... and claimed victory in a situation where hope had been slim. As the echoes of the battle faded into the distance, John stood still, staring into the darkened forest where the trolls had emerged. His body ached, and exhaustion gnawed at him, but deep inside, something had awakened—something more powerful than any system or compass.
The others began to regroup, their breaths gradually slowing as they gathered themselves after the fight. Legolas, ever observant, silently surveyed the area, ensuring no further danger lurked. His keen eyes softened slightly as he glanced at John, acknowledging his contribution without the need for words.
Aragorn approached, his sword now sheathed, and placed a hand on John's shoulder. "You've found your place among us, John. You're no longer just a traveler in this world; you're a warrior, one of us."
Gimli, still catching his breath, laughed heartily. "Aye, lad! Next time, I'll make sure you're on the front lines with me. Your brains and my brawn—we'll be unstoppable!"
John smiled faintly, still trying to process the whirlwind of the last few moments. He wasn't sure if he had fully earned those words, but the warmth of their camaraderie filled him with a strange sense of belonging. He wasn't just a player dropped into an unfamiliar world anymore. He was part of something bigger, a force fighting against the darkness threatening to consume this world.
Gandalf stepped forward, leaning heavily on his staff. His ancient eyes, filled with wisdom and experience, met John's. "There will be more battles ahead," he said quietly, "and you will face greater enemies than these. But remember what you've learned here. The strength you seek lies within you, not from the tools or powers you wield."
John nodded, feeling the truth in Gandalf's words. The system had gone silent, the compass had been useless—but that hadn't stopped him. In fact, it had forced him to rely on something deeper, something that had always been there: his own will.
As the group began to move away from the cliffside, the weight of what lay ahead pressed on John's mind. The battle had been a victory, but it was far from the end. The corruption that twisted the trolls was just a symptom of something far darker, lurking in the shadows. And as much as John wanted to rest, he knew their journey was only beginning.
The forest loomed ahead, silent once more, but not without its dangers. Somewhere, deep within its heart, the real enemy waited—watching, scheming, and growing stronger.
John tightened his grip on the branch he still held, the bloodied makeshift weapon a reminder of what he was capable of. He wasn't just surviving anymore; he was fighting back.