Overlord in Middle-Earth

The battlefield at Mount Gram was a landscape of chaos and death. The ground was soaked with blood, littered with the bodies of orcs and minions, and the air carried the acrid stench of ash and decay. Mordred, the Lord of Shadows, stood amidst the carnage, his black armor streaked with the blood of his enemies, glinting ominously in the light of the setting sun. His golden eyes burned beneath his helm, and his stance radiated triumph. The battle had been brutal, and the losses heavy, but victory belonged to him.

Suddenly, a pulsing, ethereal glow flared before his eyes. The SYSTEM, the mysterious force that had guided him since his arrival in Middle-Earth, displayed a notification.

Congratulations on defeating the orcs of Mount Gram.

Reward: Green Minions

Mordred raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath the helm. Green Minions—assassins from the game Overlord, whose stealth and deadly precision were legendary. This was a valuable reward, one that could shift the dynamics of his army. A surge of satisfaction coursed through him, knowing his forces would soon become even more lethal.

Turning from the battlefield, Mordred surveyed his remaining minions, who, though exhausted, still burned with zeal to serve their master. "Search the orc camp," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Take everything of value—gold, weapons, artifacts. Leave nothing behind."

The minions, chittering with excitement, scattered across the camp like a pack of ravenous wolves. They tore through tents, toppled makeshift barricades, and rifled through the bodies of the fallen, searching for anything that could strengthen their lord.

Moments later, Mordred noticed Rose approaching, her bow slung over her shoulder, her quiver's arrows stained with orc blood. Her fiery hair gleamed in the fading sunlight, and her green eyes met his with gratitude. Her archers stood in the distance, their quivers nearly empty after the battle, but not one had been wounded—their ranged tactics had proven flawless.

"Thank you, Mordred," Rose said, her voice calm but sincere. "The orcs have been a menace to these lands, and though they still hold other territories, this victory has struck a blow against them. Your army and leadership made this possible. In the future, if you seek to confront more orcs, I'll gladly lend my aid."

Mordred met her gaze, his golden eyes glinting from behind his visor. "They were a shared enemy, Rose. Your archers made the difference. But you're right—there are more orcs out there. I'll remember your offer."

Rose nodded, a faint smile crossing her lips. "When you're ready, let me know. My people will be waiting."

Mordred said nothing more, but his gaze conveyed respect. The alliance with the Dunedain had proven valuable, and Rose had shown herself to be not only a skilled warrior but a potential key to future victories. He knew their paths would cross again.

---

The battle at Mount Gram was a triumph, but it came at a steep cost. Mordred had lost over 220 minions—a number that even for him was significant. Each of those small, loyal creatures was a vital asset, and their loss weakened his army. Yet Mordred felt no regret. The fallen orcs had provided him with a vast well of life energy—a pulsing, almost tangible power waiting to be harnessed. This energy was the key to rebuilding his forces, and the Green Minions he had just received were the perfect starting point.

As he contemplated his next steps, a minion scurried up to him, its eyes wide with excitement. "My lord! We found something! A strange artifact in the orc camp!" The small creature held out an object—a round stone statue the size of a human head, etched with glowing red runes.

Mordred studied the artifact, feeling a faint tingle in his fingers as they neared its surface. "Take it to the fortress," he ordered. "Gnarl will examine it."

The minion bowed and hurried off, clutching the artifact with almost reverent care. Mordred cast a final glance over the battlefield, ensuring his orders were being carried out, then signaled for the return. It was time to head back to the Tower of Shadows.

The journey back was long, but Mordred marched with unyielding confidence. Behind him, his minions carried the spoils from the orc camp—chests of gold, weapons, and a few glittering gems. When they reached the fortress, the courtyard erupted in cheers. Gnarl stood on a makeshift platform, greeting his master with a wide, crooked smile.

"My lord!" Gnarl exclaimed, bowing low, his staff tapping the stone. "You butchered the orcs! Mount Gram is yours, and those beasts are no more! A glorious victory!"

Mordred removed his helm, revealing his pale face and golden eyes, which gleamed with satisfaction. "A victory, Gnarl, but costly. We lost over 220 minions. Still, the life energy from the orcs will allow us to rebuild."

Gnarl's eyes glinted with greed. "Losses? A small price, my lord! With that energy and your new rewards, your army will be unstoppable!"

Mordred nodded, then gestured to the minion carrying the artifact. "Examine this," he commanded. "I want to know what it is and what it can do."

Gnarl approached the statue, his bony fingers tracing the red runes, which pulsed faintly. After a moment, his face lit up with astonishment. "My lord, this is no ordinary trinket! It's a Fire Stone. With it, you can wield fire magic—spells that will burn your enemies to ash!"

Mordred's eyes narrowed, a spark of intrigue igniting within him. "Fire magic," he murmured, as if tasting the words. "Good. Take me to the Tower's Heart. It's time to summon new forces."

---

The corridors of the Tower of Shadows were dark and silent, illuminated only by the faint glow of torches embedded in the stone walls. Mordred and Gnarl descended to the depths, where the chamber known as the Tower's Heart awaited. At its center pulsed a portal—a swirling vortex of energy surrounded by ancient runes that seemed to hum with life. The air in the chamber was heavy with power, and each of Mordred's steps seemed to resonate with the portal's strength.

He stepped forward, extending a hand. The life energy harvested from the fallen orcs surged through him, hot and untamed.

"Summon," he commanded.

The portal flared with blinding light, and from its depths, new minions emerged. Fifty Green Minions materialized before him—their sleek, green-skinned bodies moved with fluid grace. In the game Overlord, Green Minions were masters of assassination. Their ability to blend into shadows and strike with surprise made them perfect for eliminating single targets or disrupting enemy formations. Armed with daggers and sharp claws, they moved almost silently, and their toxic attacks could weaken even the toughest foes. They were killers, quiet and deadly efficient, ready to carry out Mordred's orders with fanatical loyalty.

Mordred surveyed his new minions, his golden eyes gleaming with approval. Each one was a testament to his growing power. The life energy he had gained allowed him to rebuild his army, and the Green Minions added a new dimension to his forces.

As the minions formed orderly ranks, Mordred stepped back, his gaze lingering on the portal. The victory at Mount Gram had been a crucial step, but it was only the beginning. The orcs still held other lands, and new enemies would rise to challenge him. The Fire Stone and Green Minions were tools, but it was his will that would shape the future. He turned to Gnarl, his voice low but resolute.

"Prepare the fortress for what's next," he said. "We've struck a blow, but there are more battles to come."

Gnarl nodded, his crooked smile fading into a look of grim understanding. "As you command, my lord. The world will learn to fear you yet."

Mordred turned back to the portal, his mind already plotting the next move. The path to domination was long, but he would walk it, step by bloody step.

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