—Igris's Perspective—
Gandalf was staring at me with wide eyes, clearly not expecting such a statement. His surprise lasted only a heartbeat before his expression hardened, the wise old humor vanishing behind a mask of strategy, calculation, and caution.
"What do you mean, Igris?"
I sighed. Gandalf would eventually realize who he was truly dealing with—maybe in a month or two—but this time things were different. This wasn't the original world. If Gandalf went to Dol Guldur alone, he could easily end up crippled... or dead.
I'd thought long and hard about Erebor, about the Arkenstone. Sauron wasn't just a showman, a tyrant that roared to make himself feared—he was cunning. Patient. Strategic. And he had powerful subordinates at his disposal: the Ringwraiths, the Black Sorcerers, the High Orcs. I was terrified that the White Council might suffer a devastating loss.
At first, I didn't want to bring this up—I feared the consequences—but Halt and Gilan already knew. I trusted them. The dwarves believed in me too, but this was different. Some truths are too heavy for people to accept, even when they're right in front of them. And that includes Elves.
When Voldemort returned in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, no one wanted to believe it. This situation wasn't quite as extreme, but the same principle applied. Still, Gandalf was different—he had always doubted that Sauron had truly died. That's why warning him early was the best choice.
"The Necromancer in Dol Guldur,"
I said quietly, meeting his gaze.
"It's Sauron himself."
Gandalf's eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly before his voice came out like a thunderclap.
"That's not a funny joke, Igris!"
I stared back at him with the same intensity.
"I'm not joking. I never joke about things like this. Sauron never died—he was never destroyed."
Gandalf's response was sharp, almost defensive.
"Where did you hear this? Do you have any proof?"
"I can't tell you that now. Even if I did, you wouldn't believe me. But I swear on my life, Gandalf—I'm telling the truth."
Our eyes locked for a long moment. His were filled with thought and hesitation. I pressed on, hammering while the iron was still hot.
"Do you remember our talk about the Arkenstone?"
His brow furrowed deeper. I continued.
"Sauron wants that mountain. The curse that clings to the Arkenstone—it's his doing. The dragon claiming the mountain? That was part of his plan. Smaug has already pledged himself to Sauron's cause."
Gandalf's face darkened.
"And how do you know that? Why should I believe you?"
"I don't need you to believe me, old man. I'm warning you because I don't want you walking blindly into Dol Guldur and dying for nothing. I've already planted the seed of doubt in your mind—whether you want it or not, you'll be more careful now. Oh, and… you should pay a visit to the tombs of the Nine. Then you'll believe me."
His tone turned grim.
"Let's say you're right. Why haven't you told the others?"
"The Elves won't believe me. And even if they did, the consequences would be disastrous. Middle-earth isn't ready for another great war. We're surrounded by enemies on all sides. Do you really think Sauron just gave up after his defeat? That he's been hiding quietly in some cave? He's been building an army—an army commanded by his servants, following his orders, executing his plan. We're facing an enemy that's been preparing for more than two thousand years. The last thing we need is a reckless attack."
As I spoke, Gandalf's face grew darker and heavier, but I wasn't done yet.
"Sauron's been gathering allies. If I were him, I'd make deals with the vampires in the north, the Lich Empire in the south, and the Dark Elves of the eastern continent. Those three races share a common enemy: the Elves. Tell me, Gandalf—could the Elves stand alone against such a union?"
Gandalf recoiled slightly, his voice rising.
"That's impossible! Those races never form alliances!"
My tone went cold.
"You're forgetting who we're talking about. The so-called Dark Lord… do you remember his titles?"
"…Master of lies and deception."
I nodded.
"And the Lord of Gifts."
Gandalf's eyes narrowed. I elaborated.
"If I were Sauron, I wouldn't just use deception—I'd offer my potential allies exactly what they wanted. To the vampires, for example, I'd gift five thousand Elves—purebloods. And perhaps I'd even throw in Lady Galadriel herself as a bargaining chip. As for the Dark Elves? He could make them a similar offer. Their hatred for the Elves goes back to the First Age. Sauron could even promise to support them in invading Valinor. That would leave only the Lich Emperor—and I'm sure Sauron would find a way to deal with him too."
Gandalf looked utterly stricken. Because if even half of what I'd said was true—or already happening—then Middle-earth was on the verge of the greatest war since Morgoth's reign. And we… we would be on the losing side.
We couldn't rely on the dragons for help; they didn't care about this continent or what their inferior races were doing. If the problem got worse, they would intervene, but it would be too late. Gandalf finally spoke again.
"These are all assumptions, nothing more."
I shrugged.
"Expected response. Doesn't matter,"
I added.
"You'll probably guide us a while longer before heading off to investigate Dol Guldur. When you do, you'll see for yourself."
Gandalf studied me closely, eyes searching my face for something—truth, madness, maybe both. We held each other's gaze for several seconds before he turned toward the door. His hand froze on the handle.
"I hope,"
he said quietly,
"that all of this is nothing more than your imagination, Igris."
And then he was gone.
The room fell silent. Outside, the faint chirping of crickets mixed with the whisper of the wind.
"Unfortunately, old man,"
I muttered,
"Sauron really is out there… I just hope I'm wrong about him forming alliances. Because if I'm right, we're all in deep trouble."
I exhaled slowly and lay back on the bed. Raising my right arm, I stared at my obsidian hand. Things were getting both exciting and terrifying—but the only thing I could do now was prepare.
'System.'
System: [Yes?]
'I want to do a draw. I missed seventeen days, damn it.'
I sighed. Seventeen whole draws wasted. And I hadn't even collected my rewards yet.
System: [Don't worry, Igris. It's not time-limited the way you think. You earn one draw every 24 hours, but when you use it is entirely up to you. You could spin now—or ten years from now.]
'…That's actually nice.' I smirked. 'Alright then. Let's begin.'
System: [Understood.]
The air in front of my eyes shimmered and blurred, and a massive Wheel of Fortune appeared before me—visible only to me.
'Did you upgrade?'
System: [Yes. I updated when you arrived in Rivendell. The Shop system is also unlocked.]
'A shop? Huh. We'll check that later. Let's spin first.'
I took my first draw. The wheel spun rapidly, its colors flashing in a dizzying blur before slowing to a stop. When it did, I grinned.
System: [Congratulations, Igris. You've summoned a Light Mage. A 250-year-old Elf of half-master level.]
My grin froze.
"…An Elf? Not a human?"
System: [Correct. While rare, there's sometimes a chance of summoning individuals from different races.]
I crossed my arms, thinking. Different races… That could be a problem. My army already came from kingdoms that had once slaughtered each other. If I started pulling in different species, things could get messy fast.
Then a thought struck me.
'System, what kind of worlds do these summoned people come from? Why do they even agree to leave? Don't they have lives, families, homes to return to?'
System: [Most of those we summon come from broken lives, Igris. To give an example—many have lost everything in war, or lived as slaves under cruel masters. Some have suffered fates far worse than death.]
My eyebrow twitched violently.
"So you're sending me people with massive trauma?"
System: […Partially.]
"YOU LITTLE—!"
I stopped myself, groaning. Just what I needed—emotionally unstable soldiers!
'Fine,'
I sighed.
'What's this Elf's story then?'
System: [Light Mage Orion comes from a world unknown to you. In short, it was a realm without humans—four races once lived there in balance, but never in peace. Endless wars raged. Two races allied and attacked the Elves, and a third betrayed them from behind. The Elves were annihilated—those who weren't slain were enslaved. Orion comes from the very moment their final battle was lost. He has no severe trauma, but carries the weight of his fallen kin.]
I leaned back, rubbing my temple.
"Great,"
I muttered.
"A traumatized Elf light mage from a dying world. Just what I needed."
I let out a long, steady breath. I'd think about the issue of different races later—right now, I needed to focus on the present. I spun the wheel again.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned a Common-tier Great Axe.]
Again.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned a Rare-tier Mage's Staff.]
Not bad. I could give that to the Light Mage.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned a Rare-tier Battering Ram.]
…Why on earth would I need that? I haven't even done a siege yet.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned a Common-tier Dagger.]
Eh… at least I've got something throwable now.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned 2 Honeycombs.]
Oh! Unfiltered honeycomb honey! I love that stuff...
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned ten Tier-4 Khergit Cavalry.]
Excellent! New mounted soldiers—Khergits, no less! Hahaha…
System: [Congratulations! You've earned forty kilos of mozzarella cheese.]
??? …Wait, those can come through too? Whatever… I guess pizza's on tomorrow's menu.
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned four Tier-3 Sarranid Archers.]
…Poor guys. Coming from the desert, they're going to freeze up north.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned a Common-tier Sword.]
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned eighteen Tier-3 Sarranid Infantry.]
…Are these guys lucky or unlucky? I honestly can't tell.
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned fifty Tier-5 Battanian Archers.]
Now that caught me off guard—and thrilled me. Fifty Battanian Fians! I'm ridiculously lucky! With that many, I could wipe out a small army easily. Heavy armor, massive blades, longbows—the whole deadly package. Plus, there'd been a similar reward among the quest bonuses! Unbelievable fortune.
But… how should I deploy them? There are Imperial troops at the camp; sending them there might cause problems. I'll need to adjust things a bit. First, though, let's see what else I get from the remaining draws.
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned the Renowned Regiment—Crimson Archer Brigade (Elf) × 300.]
I froze. Another group of elves—three hundred of them this time, and marked as a "Renowned Regiment."
'System… what exactly is this unit?'
System: [The Crimson Archer Brigade was one of the finest elven divisions in their world. Each member is an elite archer and a master warrior. The entire unit is built around agility and precision. Their title comes from their enemies—the brigade strikes at the most unexpected moment, at the most unexpected place. Whenever they enter battle, rivers of blood follow. They were once known as the Blood Rangers, but they prefer "Crimson Archers."]
'What happened to them?'
System: [They were betrayed.]
'What!?'
System: [Elves aren't always good, Igris. There are millions of worlds beyond Middle-earth—sometimes monsters are the kind-hearted ones, and the beautiful races hide the deepest rot. Take Saruman, for instance—a White Wizard, yet full of corruption within.]
'...I get what you mean. But tell me—what happened to them?'
System: [It's a cliché story: the elven queen's brother coveted the throne and sought to weaken her influence. Naturally, those who suffered were the queen's elite soldiers—her generals.]
'Was the queen a tyrant? Cruel or oppressive?'
System: [No. She was peaceful, just, and kind. Her people loved her for it. Her empire was home to many races, and she never looked down on any of them.]
'So she had a brother with a power complex—"I should be king. I'm the better one. Why her, not me?" That sort of thing?'
System: [Exactly.]
'And the archers?'
System: [Their position was leaked during a mission. The allied battalion supporting them turned and struck from behind.]
'Tch… one of the types of betrayal I despise most.'
I suddenly realized how dry my throat was—I hadn't drunk water in days. I pulled out my waterskin.
System: [Uh… Igris… there's a small issue with this unit.]
I uncorked the flask. "What issue?" I asked, then took a drink.
System: [When the brigade was ambushed, a portion of them were captured and enslaved. They endured years—centuries even—of torture and humiliation. They were prevented from committing suicide. Considering the lifespan and endurance of elves… we're talking about a hundred years of captivity.]
I stopped drinking. Silence swallowed the room. I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
"Some worlds really are rotten beyond redemption. Thank god no one from the Warhammer world's coming here—otherwise I'd be begging Lady Galadriel to open a mass therapy clinic..."
I sighed. Sometimes you meet people who truly deserve to die, and you're forced to make that choice. The first person I ever killed in this world was a man who had enslaved a young woman in his basement. She'd been assaulted nearly every day. I stumbled upon it by pure chance. When I freed her, she asked me for a dagger. I thought she wanted to kill the man—but she drove it straight through her own heart. That day, when I killed him, I completely lost control. I shoved his head into the coals of the fireplace, broke every bone in his limbs. My fury consumed me. Torture is forbidden by my faith and my people… but that day, my patience died. Finally, I slit his throat and watched him drown in his own blood. I never tortured anyone that severely again—only for interrogation. And even then, it was mild—verbal threats, maybe a few broken bones, a severed finger or two.
I raised the waterskin again.
System: [Igris… there's something else you should know. Since the Crimson Archer Brigade was a personal guard unit of the queen, at least half of them are women.]
I spat the water out in shock. "You're joking!"
System: [...No.]
"****! That makes things even worse. Can they even fight now?"
System: [I don't know. It's… uncertain.]
This was bad. Really bad. If they were men, the torture would've been physical—beatings, whips, mutilation, humiliation—but they'd heal. The system repairs wounds and restores lost limbs. They'd carry hatred, maybe bitterness—but they'd fight. But women? Elf women? That means years of degradation… of assault.
"System, can't you summon them from before they were captured?"
System: [I'm afraid not. It doesn't work like that. There are rules for summoning, and I can't choose the time frame. I can only summon from their current point in their world's timeline.]
I didn't even bother asking about those rules. Knowing them wouldn't help me. This wasn't something I could change.
"I see… That's really bad. If I don't summon them now, will it cause issues?"
System: [Normally no—but renowned regiments are different. You're summoning a defined unit, not random individuals. Regular troops are selected within a moral range; in mass summons, the system just picks a random compatible group. But in a renowned regiment, they remain where they are until you summon them.]
"…And that means they'll continue to suffer torture. Damn it. Can't you do something? Seal or erase their memories?"
System: [I can't.]
I froze. The system could bring people back from death, and yet it couldn't do something that simple? My brows furrowed.
"Why not?"
System: [Because of you.]
For the first time in a long while, I was genuinely shocked. "What!? Why!?"
System: [Do you remember what I told you when I first came to you?]
I folded my arms, thinking. It had been three weeks. It took me a moment to recall. That entire conversation could be summed up in one phrase:
"Tailored to the individual."
System: [Exactly. When a system is granted to someone, it's tailored specifically to that person. You could say the system evolves to fit the individual's desires. Someone who craves power gets a strengthening system. Someone who wants a harem gets one suited to that. There are even systems designed for slavery.]
I stayed quiet. The mention of slavery irritated me, but complaining wouldn't help. I frowned, beginning to understand why memory manipulation wasn't possible.
"Go on."
System: [Frankly, you're quite the anomaly, Igris. Most people want shortcuts to power—but you don't. You prefer strength you've earned. Combat, to you, is both necessity and thrill—but you never seek violence for its own sake. You don't crave women—you simply wish to marry the right one, and you're content to wait. You love adventure and excitement, but not out of lust for chaos—just for discovery. When you ride your horse, you don't plan the path. You simply move forward, seeking whatever the road brings. Adventure is your passion, not your desire. Yet as you spent more time in this world, you began to long for home—for a place to belong.]
"...So you gave me a system that lets me build my own home—a kingdom."
System: [Yes. The summoned people, the tools, even the rules—all evolved to fit your personality. Even the fact that the ones you summon have tragic pasts stems from your nature. Fighting for those people comes as naturally to you as breathing. Justice, for you, is purpose. And that's why I can't erase their memories. You despise anything or anyone that's brainwashed, programmed, or enslaved by its user. Erasing or sealing memories would be exactly that—programming them. It would violate your core nature. Once a system's rules are set, they can't be changed.]
"…Damn it all."
I had to decide. Summoning them and sending them to battle was risky. I didn't even know if they'd follow me. I couldn't ask Lady Galadriel for help without revealing my system. I didn't trust Saruman—he'd probably run to Sauron the moment he found out. What should I do? If I'd settled in Dale, I could've gone to Thranduil for aid. But once Sauron fully returns, Lady Galadriel will be overwhelmed.
While I was lost in thought, there was a knock on the door.
"Lord Igris, Lord Elrond sent me. I've brought your supper."
"Come in."
An elven man entered, followed by two women carrying trays. They set the food on the elegant wooden table by the balcony.
"To speed your recovery, we've brought special fruits and vegetables," the male elf said politely. "And milk—to help your bones heal faster."
"I see. Thank you for your trouble."
They bowed slightly; I returned the gesture. Once they left, I bit into an apple, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The night was beautiful—but my mind was a storm. I finished the apple while calculating in silence. Finally, I made my choice.
"I'll summon them. For now, give them the information they'll need. Once I finish the remaining draws, I'll call them here."
System: [Understood.]
Why am I even hesitating? I know their situation. I can't leave them there. For now, they'll come to me—and I'll decide from there. If needed, I'll involve Lady Galadriel herself.
With that decision made, I relaxed and continued eating, spinning the wheel again.
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned forty-five Dwarven Cavalry.]
"…Another different race?"
"What's their story?"
System: [These dwarves are from the Witcher world.]
That surprised me. So characters from other well-known worlds could appear too. I wondered—could I summon an actual Witcher someday?
"I see."
I knew enough about the Witcher world to guess their circumstances. Dwarves there were an ancient race, existing long before humans—but by Geralt's era, their power and influence had faded. Some still lived secluded in the Mahakam mountains; others dwelled in human cities as craftsmen, smiths, or merchants. Though humans respected their skill, they treated them as second-class citizens. Discrimination ran deep. So, despite their resilience, the dwarves lived quiet lives of hardship and stubborn pride—no longer warriors, but survivors. Quite the opposite of the proud and fiery dwarves of Middle-earth.
"System, what's the mindset of these warriors?"
System: [Some long for the days of the old kingdoms. Others—mostly younger ones—see submission as an insult. The rest? They'll accept anything, so long as they can live in peace.]
"I understand. Do me a favor—show them the history of the dwarves of Middle-earth. Prepare a simulation where they fight in the Battle of Moria, the day Thorin became known as Oakenshield. You can do that, right?"
System: [Child's play.]
I chuckled. "Good. Let's remind these dwarves what real dwarves are. Looks like I'll have to reveal my little ability to Thorin sooner than I thought. Let him handle them—but make sure he knows what he's dealing with. If he confuses Witcher-world dwarves with our own, it'll cause chaos."
Let's keep going.
System: [Congratulations! You've earned 2000 Common-tier Arrows.]
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned six Tier-3 Swadian Infantry.]
System: [Congratulations! You've summoned one hundred Tier-2 Sturgian Infantry.]