“Where…
am I?” a young man whispered.
The flickering light of a campfire danced across his golden-blonde, slightly wavy hair, which fell naturally in a messy sweep over his forehead.
His handsome face radiated an unusual calm for someone his age, and his sharp blue eyes stared intently at the shattered stone ruins before him.
Arthur wore a grand set of Royal Armor, magnificent, yet clearly crafted for battle.
A pitch-black cloak draped elegantly over his shoulders, waving gently in the night breeze.
Beneath the cloak, he wore a thick black tunic embroidered down the chest with clean, ancient geometric patterns in gold thread.
A black leather belt with an ornate metal buckle crossed his chest and waist, securing fine, spiked armguards that tightly wrapped his wrists.
Arthur looked up at the dark night sky.
Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded his mind.
The sheer volume of incoming thoughts made him uncomfortable, forcing him to clutch his head.
A few moments later, he calmed down and surveyed the stone structures surrounding him.
“So…
I transmigrated to another world?” Arthur muttered.
He remembered who he was before arriving in this strange place: just an ordinary college student reading a book in the university library.
He had been reading *The Lord of the Rings* after watching the movies, wanting to experience the story through the original books.
As he read, exhaustion had overcome him, and he fell asleep at his desk.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a new body and an unfamiliar land.
The previous owner of this body was named Arthur Vellinord, an orphan who dreamed of becoming a brave knight.
Driven by that dream, he had set out alone to train himself and slay dark creatures.
Unfortunately, he didn’t survive.
From the memories, Arthur realized the original host had died from an Orc attack.
After the original Arthur perished, another soul entered the body—and all the mortal wounds miraculously healed.
Coincidentally, his name remained the same in both worlds: Arthur.
As for the world he was now in, it was Middle-earth.
Right now, he was standing in the ruins of Amon Sûl, also known as Weathertop.
“Amon Sûl…
the place where Frodo gets stabbed by the Nazgûl’s Morgul blade,” Arthur thought.
Amon Sûl, which means “Hill of Wind” in Sindarin, was one of the most historic ruins in Middle-earth.
Standing proudly along the Great East Road in the region of Eriador, its history spanned thousands of years.
Commissioned and built by High King Elendil during the Second Age, the tower stood atop the highest peak of the Weather Hills.
It served as a watchtower to monitor the surrounding lands and defend the kingdom of Arnor.
Amon Sûl once housed the chief Palantír of the North, allowing the Kings of Arnor to communicate directly with Gondor.
Because of this powerful artifact, the tower became a prime target during the tragic civil wars between Arnor’s successor kingdoms: Arthedain, Rhudaur, and Cardolan.
In the year 1409 of the Third Age (T.A.
1409), the forces of the Witch-king of Angmar besieged and destroyed the fortress.
Although King Arveleg I fell in battle, the Dúnedain managed to save the Palantír and retreat to Fornost.
The tower itself was burned to the ground, leaving behind only a broken ring of stone foundations.
More than 1,600 years later, in T.A.
3018, Aragorn would lead Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin to camp within those very stone ruins.
Five Ringwraiths – Nazgûl would attack them in the dark, and the Witch-king would stab Frodo with a Morgul-blade, inflicting a poisoned wound that would haunt the Hobbit for the rest of his life.
Fortunately, Frodo would be saved when Arwen arrived just in time to carry him to Rivendell.
Under the care of Middle-earth’s greatest healer, Lord Elrond, Frodo’s wound would finally mend.
“The current year is 2936 of the Third Age.
That means I still have five years before the main story begins.”
In five years, the grand tale would start with the journey of a Grey Wizard, a Hobbit, and thirteen Dwarves attempting to reclaim the Kingdom of Erebor.
“But I was just a regular student back home.
How am I supposed to survive in a world like this?”
Arthur wasn’t wrong to worry.
Despite inheriting the host’s memories, he only possessed basic swordsmanship skills.
In a world as dangerous as Middle-earth, that was nowhere near enough.
He entertained the thought of joining Thorin’s company on their quest, but deep down he knew his abilities were lacking, especially if he had to face a dragon or vast armies of darkness later on.
As he sank deeper into his thoughts, a sharp sound echoed in his head.
[DING!
The Kingdom System is ready to assist the Host!]