LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

The construction of the Nether Road was destined to be a long and grueling task.

Not just because of the sheer distance, but because Eric had to clear out every obstacle in his path. He spared no effort, digging through bastions and remnants of Piglin ruins again and again, sometimes even blasting entire fields of blackstone into oblivion.

His philosophy was simple: if a structure didn't block the way, it could stay as scenic backdrop. But if it stood in the road's path, no matter how ancient or majestic, it was reduced to rubble. A clear route was the highest priority.

As for monsters? They were no threat. Not to someone with Eric's current gear. He didn't need to be cautious, he just steamrolled through them.

Zombified Piglins got chopped down. Roaming Hoglins were booted out of the way. Screeching Ghasts were shot from the skies before they could take a proper breath.

Even Endermen, wandering in the Nether for who knows what reason, weren't spared. If one stared too long while holding a block, it got smacked. Hard.

Strangely enough, unlike the timid ones in the Overworld, Nether Endermen seemed unusually bold. One even dared to shriek and charge back after getting slapped.

Naturally, it soon became a pearl.

Time slipped by like soul sand underfoot.

Up in the Overworld, people worked. Down in the Nether, Eric worked. In fact, across the entire territory, no one was idle. The whole land was busy and thriving.

Things developed quietly, with no surprises. The only thing that kept nagging at Eric's mind was the dragon egg.

Still incubating.

Still showing no signs of hatching.

It didn't look like any dragon egg he was familiar with and Eric had seen quite a few in his adventures. At the very least, he'd never known one to take this long to hatch.

Perhaps it was a native dragon? But if that were the case... its origins were suspicious, to say the least.

The long winter rolled on without major incident.

The only noteworthy event came halfway through the season: a group of about a dozen wanderers appeared at the gates.

They had followed a merchant caravan's guidance, drawn by rumors of a place that welcomed hard-working and kind-hearted folk, offering them shelter from the storm and everything needed for a decent life.

Eric gave a simple order, verify their identities. Once it was confirmed they posed no threat, they were allowed inside and swiftly integrated into the community. The locals helped them settle in, find housing, and get involved in daily labor.

These refugees, used to being turned away and left to rot in the cold, were completely stunned. Once they confirmed the guards weren't lying and that this place was exactly as promised, they immediately swore allegiance to Eric. Some even pledged to work at the roadside fortress for life.

For now, they were considered provisional residents. Once they contributed enough to the community, they could become full citizens, true members of this rising haven.

"We used to live in a little village east of Archet," said an older man who seemed to carry some authority among them. "Life was modest, but we managed."

"Then a gang of brigands showed up. Took everything. Burned the place to ash. Our food, our few silver coins, gone."

"They didn't stop there. They kept moving north, hiding out in the nearby woods."

"Strange thing is," he added, lowering his voice, "a lot of bandits have been abandoning towns lately, heading for the Chetwood. Every village too weak to fight back gets picked clean."

"We were one of them. Once our home was gone, we had no choice but to wander, hoping to find a safer place."

"By the grace of the stars, we've found one here. Honestly, it's better than our old lives ever were."

Eric sighed inwardly.

No wonder he hadn't encountered any bandits in the nearby towns. They weren't gone, just relocated. Apparently, they'd realized they couldn't survive in the open anymore and had retreated to the woods.

The Chetwood.

If memory served, it lay just outside Bree, right near the town of Archet. A quiet little place nestled into the hills, with a lively lumber trade.

That the merchants had been able to bring people from such a distant place said a lot about how far his trade routes now stretched.

"Have there been any bandit sightings lately?" Eric asked.

"None. Not for over a month. Looks like they've gone to ground."

"I see. You can all get back to work, then."

"Yes, my lord."

The new arrivals got to work, blending into the routines of the settlement. Eric, meanwhile, pulled up a map and examined the region the refugees had described.

Just north of Bree, right by the Greenway.

He vaguely remembered Gandalf once mentioning being ambushed in that very forest during one of their many campfire chats.

"Too much freedom in those woods," Eric muttered, folding the map.

But he didn't act immediately.

It was still winter, and the bandits had looted enough supplies to hole up until spring. Just as the refugees had said, they were likely hibernating, waiting out the cold.

Trying to find them now would be a fool's errand.

But they weren't farmers. They didn't produce. When their stores ran dry, they would be forced to emerge once more.

And that would be their last raid.

For when the first green bud broke through the thawed earth, it would mark the end of their reign.

Eric stepped through the obsidian gateway once more, striding confidently into the Nether.

By now, the tunnel stretched deep into the fiery realm. It took nearly an hour of riding just to reach the latest construction point.

If all went well, the road would be finished before the winter ended. After that, Eric could travel between the Roadside Fortress and Dale's rebuilt ruins several times a day if he wanted to.

The stationed guards might not meet often, but all of them would regularly see their lord.

And now, the Lord could check the forum sometimes. Ahem.

This winter hadn't been especially harsh, not for the people of the Roadside Fortress or Dale.

Since the Battle of the Five Armies, many of Dale's ruins had been rebuilt with the help of Dwarves and garrison soldiers. Enough to house many more people.

Some residents had even chosen to stay through the winter, instead of returning to Lake-town.

The season was almost over. Families gathered around their hearths, quietly waiting for spring.

And beside the stone walls of Dale, a massive obsidian gate shimmered with purple light.

Eric rode through it on horseback, the clatter of hooves echoing against stone.

His arrival didn't go unnoticed. A sentinel, peering over the wall, snapped to attention the moment he saw him.

"The lord has returned!"

Word spread like wildfire.

Wrapped in coats, leaving behind their hearths, people trickled into the streets to catch a glimpse of their ruler.

But before any of them could reach him, Bard appeared.

"Everything's going smoothly."

"I can see that," Eric replied.

"There's no sign of hunger. No visible poverty."

"In a few more years, this place could rival Dale's former glory."

Eric paused, looking out at the city, now rising from its own ashes.

"But I think it's taking too long."

He turned to Bard, his eyes steady.

"I've been away too long. It's time I fulfilled my duty as lord."