Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

-Aldril-

'50 attribute points.' He couldn't deny it was a pleasant surprise to see so many points. He had imagined it would be at least 20 or, at most, 30 that he'd earn, but 50 was a well-deserved reward.

He wasn't going to complain about it. The question was: how should he use them? His base attributes were already at level five, indicating that his strength was now comparable to that of a Troll, or even superior.

His endurance rivaled that of the Elves, allowing him to last at least a full day running or fighting. His mentality had advanced to the point where he could comprehend basic magical concepts, and now he understood why Gandalf often emphasized how crucial it was for anyone wanting to learn magic.

He could even use Witcher signs more frequently. His body, now gradually acclimated to magic thanks to Smaug's blood, would no longer tire after using just a single sign.

With those attributes covered, was it necessary to increase them further? He didn't think so. He was only facing Orcs and Trolls for now. However, looking to the future, there was the possibility of encountering unseen creatures—dangerous and ferocious ones. In the most extreme cases, he might even face a Balrog. No matter how strong he felt, he was far from being as powerful as Gandalf.

His instincts told him so: he was still weak compared to Gandalf, Elrond, Glorfindel, and even Thalwen, Legolas's mother, whose presence alone had filled him with a deep sense of danger. It would be foolish to believe he could survive an encounter with a Balrog.

At that moment, his thoughts focused on his swordsmanship skill, "Dancing Star." At level two, it already allowed him to grasp the basic principles of Rellana's and Malenia's swordsmanship. The latter's style would be devastatingly lethal in this world. Without hesitation, he guided his subconscious to level it up.

[Dancing Star LV2;] --- [Dancing Star LV3] ---- [Dancing Star LV4]

[Attribute Points: 20]

"So, the next level will require 30 points," he thought as he noticed only 20 attribute points remained. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Now he felt he could wield any weapon with mastery.

His understanding of Rellana's and Malenia's fighting styles had increased, and with his boosted core attributes, he could replicate these styles with greater precision. He could now demonstrate the lethality and elegance of these sword techniques in Middle-earth.

Not only that, but he felt more confident about bearing the title "The Undefeated One" all in honor of his master. It was ironic, really, as he would never have imagined that the source of his traumas would become his teacher, passing on both her title and her swordsmanship.

"Tomorrow will be a busy day," he mused, concluding his day. After all the recent events, a good night's rest would be rejuvenating. He needed to sleep; tomorrow, he'd have to rise early to assist with the valley's defenses. An army of Orcs was approaching, and though he didn't know whether they'd attack tomorrow or the day after, he needed to be ready.

-Thorin-

Hours had passed, and night had claimed its hold over Middle-earth. The golden glow of the horizon had faded, and the moonlight now illuminated the soft vegetation growing outside Erebor. At the entrance, standing tall like a sentinel, Thorin Oakenshield gazed toward the ruins of Dale. Small campfires flickered in the distance like autumn fireflies.

"Those thieves," he murmured, clenching his fists so tightly it seemed his strength might rival a hydraulic press, if not for his limitations. "They want to steal my treasure." The madness in his eyes was visible only to the small crows or other birds flying over the Lonely Mountain.

Turning his gaze, he noticed small figures approaching. Even in the darkness, they could be seen if one paid close attention.

"They're coming… but it's just the three of them. Where's Aldril?" Bilbo asked from behind him. The small hobbit was a calming presence, his eyes free from the greed Thorin had observed in some of the other dwarves.

Bilbo's comment made Thorin clench his fists even tighter, almost painfully. The same question had crossed his mind. Could Aldril be dead? Why hadn't they brought him back? So many questions swirled in his thoughts.

Spinning around, he fixed his piercing gaze on the hobbit, who shrank back in fear under the weight of Thorin's malice and madness. "Are you sure Aldril is alive?" he growled. It was this hobbit who had insisted that the thief was still alive. Thorin now doubted him and wondered if he was dealing with a lying hobbit.

"I'm sure," Bilbo replied quickly. "His sword glowed and flew off… if that's not a sign, then I don't know what is." His swift response betrayed his growing nervousness.

With a disgruntled growl, Thorin turned his gaze back toward the approaching figures, waiting for Dwalin, Kili, and Fili to climb the rope near the entrance. Bofur stood guard by it, his distant stare suggesting he was lost in thought, likely wondering how they would recover their friend's body with Thorin's current attitude.

Hours passed before the three dwarves returned, their hurried steps and furrowed brows betraying that something was wrong.

"What happened? Where is the thief?" Thorin's cold, stern tone would freeze the blood of even the bravest dwarf.

"Something's wrong, Thorin," Dwalin was the first to speak. "Aldril doesn't have the stone, but our journey wasn't in vain." He paused to take a deep breath, their haste to return having winded him. "An Orc army is approaching," he finally revealed after a brief silence.

"An Orc army?" For a moment, sanity overcame madness, allowing Thorin to think clearly. "Yes, it makes sense. Erebor is a highly strategic position," he muttered to himself, though still loud enough to be heard. "That bastard Azog is alive, so he's probably commanding the army. But who gave the order?" He knew of Sauron's defeat, but it seemed absurd to think Sauron might still be alive.

Balin, the oldest and most experienced among them, quickly connected the dots with his years of wisdom. "It's possible that the shadowy evil still lives," he said, much to the dismay of those present. "That dark being may still be alive… perhaps that's why Gandalf left us at the edge of the forest and went to Dol Guldur," he concluded.

"Yes, that's possible," Thorin agreed, nodding at Balin's explanation. For a moment, he forgot about the Arkenstone. "Quickly! Send for a raven!" he exclaimed, prompting Nori to dash toward the nest where the dwarves' messenger birds were roosting.

"How much time do we have?" Thorin asked Dwalin, who, after drinking some water, began recounting what had happened in Dale's ruins.

"Gandalf said approximately a day or two," Dwalin replied, hesitating on whether to share the rest. Thorin noticed and immediately demanded, "What else? Speak!"

Shrinking under Thorin's outburst, Dwalin sighed deeply before finally meeting Thorin's gaze with a hint of determination. For a moment, he was struck. The flame of madness was gone, replaced entirely by the clarity of reason.

"Aldril will arrive in the morning. He wants to discuss cooperating against the orcs," he said. The outburst of displeasure he expected didn't come; instead, silence filled the room, making the dwarves present slightly uncomfortable.

With his hand on his chin, Thorin nodded repeatedly. "Yes, we can attack from two fronts. They could keep them occupied at the ruins in the valley, while our forces strike from behind," he murmured, nodding occasionally. This behavior brought joy to the dwarves. Thorin was acting as he once had!

But the harsh reality struck them when the madness returned to Thorin's face.

"Yes, we can use this to weaken them! That way, my treasure will remain safe!" he declared, glancing at Nori, who approached with a raven in hand. "Hurry! Bring me a scroll!"

----

-Dáin-

Currently, his army of a thousand dwarves rested on the terraces near the Lonely Mountain. These terraces were a mix of natural and hand-crafted platforms, surrounded by jagged cliffs and protected by rocky formations. Sturdy, dark-colored tents stood among the stones. Torches planted in the ground cast a warm glow that contrasted with the chill of the night air.

The dwarves were busy with various tasks, even at this late hour. Some sharpened their axes under the dim firelight, the metallic clinking echoing in the darkness. Others inspected their equipment and the arrangement of carts, ensuring supplies were ready for the march. The air was filled with the scent of leather, iron, and ash, mingling with the aroma of a modest stew bubbling in a large cauldron at the center of the camp.

Dáin lay in a larger tent adorned with banners displaying his clan's crest. The calm of the night was broken by a familiar cawing sound.

Stepping out of his tent, he caught sight of a raven, barely visible in the faint moonlight and the flickering torchlight. The bird swooped down swiftly toward him, landing on his outstretched arm. Carefully, he removed the scroll tied to its leg and unrolled it. With each line he read, his frown deepened, and fury overtook his face. His reddened expression stood out sharply against his fiery red hair and beard.

"How dare they!" he bellowed, alerting the dwarven guards standing watch. They rushed over, concerned about what had happened, only to be met with a furious Dáin, who shouted:

"This is an order! Wake everyone! We march immediately, we must reach Erebor as soon as possible!"

***

Filthy orcs!

I thank you for your advice and concern, there is no doubt that orcs are the best family.

15 advanced chapters in "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"