World Hopping With Gacha

Back in the mixed world, Arthur sat in front of his computer in the office, listening intently as Tomoya explained the financial report. The atmosphere in the room was relaxed but charged with excitement—after all, this was their first major earnings update since the game's release.

Tomoya adjusted his glasses, scanning the spreadsheet on his screen before speaking. "Alright, after totaling the ad revenue, plus the in-game cosmetics sold, and subtracting the platform fees, our net revenue comes to approximately 300,000 USD—or about 44.69 million yen."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. "Not bad for a first month."

Utaha, sitting nearby with her laptop, smirked. "Not bad? That's an insane amount of money. You do realize most indie developers struggle to make even a fraction of that?"

Tomoya nodded. "Exactly. The combination of good marketing, our strong fanbase, and, of course, the game itself being high quality all played a role."

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I did say I'd make a game that'd blow people's minds."

Utaha rolled her eyes playfully. "You also said you'd take it easy, yet here we are with you basically running a game studio."

Tomoya cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, what do you guys want to do with the profits? We need to reinvest some of it if we want to keep growing."

Arthur tapped his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. "First, we should set aside a budget for updates and expansions. Maybe even start working on another game in the background."

Tomoya nodded. "Agreed. We should also consider hiring more staff—right now, we're running a bit thin."

Utaha smirked. "And here I thought this was supposed to be a 'small project'."

Arthur grinned. "What can I say? Success has a way of making things bigger."

As the discussion continued, Arthur's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and saw an unexpected notification—his system was prompting him for a world transfer.

Arthur excused himself, stepping out of the office and into the hallway where he could have a moment alone. His brows furrowed as he muttered, "That's a first..."

The system had never actively notified or prompted him to world-hop before. Normally, he chose when and where to go, but this time, it was as if something—or someone—was calling him.

Pulling up the interface, his gaze landed on the familiar Gacha screen. The glowing text indicated his available spins: [0/3] Renewing in 10h 14m 12s.

Arthur exhaled, rubbing his chin. "Guess I should see what's going on."

Arthur re-entered the room, his expression a mix of curiosity and slight concern. His gaze briefly met Utaha's, and she immediately picked up on the shift in his demeanor. Before she could ask, he gave her a small gesture—later.

Turning his attention to Tomoya, Arthur clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's put the expansion talk on hold for now. First things first—let's pay our 'employees.'"

A smirk tugged at his lips as he continued, "I'm sure the girls wouldn't mind a little shopping trip."

After allocating $150,000 for future investments, Arthur and Tomoya equally divided the remaining amount among the eight core contributors. Each member received a fair share, ensuring that their efforts in the project were properly rewarded.

Arthur leaned back with a satisfied nod. "That should keep everyone happy for a while."

Tomoya grinned. "And with that, we've officially turned our passion into a profitable business."

Arthur chuckled. "Yep. Now, let's see how long it takes before they start demanding bonuses."

As Arthur and Utaha strolled toward a nearby café, the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the city streets. Utaha, sipping on a bottled drink she had picked up earlier, glanced at Arthur's contemplative expression.

"You've been acting a bit off since earlier," she noted. "Something bothering you?"

Arthur exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah… My ability is prompting me to world hop, but it's never done that before."

Utaha raised an eyebrow. "That's new. Any idea why?"

Arthur shook his head. "No clue, and that's what worries me."

Utaha's expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing her face as she met Arthur's gaze. She gently squeezed his hand, her voice calm but firm.

"Just don't do anything reckless," she said, searching his face for reassurance.

Arthur chuckled softly, appreciating her worry. "You know me—reckless isn't really my style."

Utaha narrowed her eyes. "Oh, really? Because from what I've seen, you have a habit of diving headfirst into things without thinking."

Arthur smirked. "That's called confidence."

Utaha sighed. "Just be careful, okay?"

Arthur gave her a reassuring smile. "I will."

Utaha hesitated for a moment before asking, "How long will you be gone?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't know exactly, but I'll try to return as soon as possible. You can still call me, though."

Before she could respond, Arthur gently took her hand. "Close your eyes."

Utaha raised an eyebrow but complied. She felt the cool touch of metal against her skin as Arthur fastened a necklace around her neck.

When she opened her eyes, her fingers brushed against the pendant—a rose intricately carved from ruby, set in a delicate gold chain.

Arthur grinned. "Happy birthday. You thought I forgot, didn't you?"

(Yeah I dont know romantic stuff and was out of ideas so I just skipped it I promise it won't happen again)

---

Utaha and Arthur shared a deep, lingering kiss before he reluctantly pulled away. He then dropped her off at her home, the hum of his bike fading into the night as she watched him go.

Returning to his own house, Arthur kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, his eyes fixed on the clock. The minutes ticked by slowly, anticipation building in his chest. As soon as the hands struck midnight, he wasted no time opening his Gacha System.

With a few taps, he activated his monthly spins. The wheel whirred, colors blending together in a dizzying blur until it finally slowed.

The first reward appeared—a Decay Potion, a small glass vial filled with a dark, swirling liquid. Throw it at an enemy, and they'll rot away… Arthur mused. Brutal.

The second item materialized in front of him: a bucket of fried chicken. Arthur blinked. Really? He sighed, shaking his head, but the scent of crispy, golden goodness was tempting enough that he reached for a piece.

Finally, the third item emerged—Hard Bones - What is harder diamonds or your bones?. "What kind of description is that, but a good reward is a good reward so I shouldn't complain."

Leaning back with a sigh, he bit into a drumstick. "Well, at least dinner's taken care of."

After a solid night's sleep, Arthur woke up feeling refreshed. He stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh before heading to the bathroom. A hot shower washed away any lingering drowsiness, and by the time he stepped out, he was fully awake and ready.

Dressed in comfortable yet practical attire, he ran a hand through his damp hair, his gaze shifting toward the Gacha System screen notification hovering in front of him.

"Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see what this is all about."

With that, he activated the world-hop ability.

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Before his banishment, Morgoth, the first Dark Lord, sought power beyond even his own vast dominion. Desperate to bring about the end of the world, he turned to an eldritch god, a being of chaos and ruin. In exchange for his soul, Morgoth was granted a fragment of the god's unfathomable power. Yet, before his defeat, he sealed this dark essence within his most trusted lieutenant—Sauron.

Rising anew, Sauron wielded this eldritch might, forging the One Ring not just to dominate Middle-earth, but to ascend beyond mere Dark Lord—to become a god of shadow and fire.

Arthur had no idea what kind of battle awaited him in this world, but one thing was certain—if his path crossed with Sauron's, their clash would shake the very foundations of history. Legends would be forged in the fire of their conflict, a battle not just between warriors, but between forces that could shape the fate of Middle-earth itself. Whether he emerged victorious or not, This battle would be a fight remembered for ages to come.

---

The world was burning the once-mighty Dwarven strongholds—once symbols of resilience and craftsmanship—have become the last sanctuary for all remaining free races. Men, Elves, Hobbits, and scattered remnants of others have gathered within these halls, clinging to life in the face of Sauron's absolute dominion.

The last surviving fortress, Knazad-dûm after others fell, stands as the last line of defense. Its walls, once impenetrable, now bear the scars of endless assaults. Food is scarce, resources are dwindling, and the morale of those within crumbles under the weight of despair. The sound of war drums echoes through the caverns, signaling yet another wave of relentless attacks.

The age of heroes has ended. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf—all have fallen in desperate battles, taking with them the last hope of salvation. Those who remain are warriors too young, too weary, or too broken to lead. What was once a battle for victory has now become a struggle for mere survival.

The sky is choked with black clouds, blocking out the sun and shrouding the world in an eternal twilight. The lands are barren, stripped of life, and the very air is thick with Sauron's oppressive presence. The Dark Lord's influence is absolute—his eye no longer just watches but commands, dictating the fate of all who dare resist.

The fortress is days, perhaps mere hours, away from falling. Beyond its walls, hordes of orcs, trolls, and nameless monstrosities wait eagerly for the final slaughter. If the stronghold falls, the last remnants of free will and hope in Middle-earth will be extinguished, ensuring Sauron's rule for all eternity.

A storm of fire and steel looms on the horizon. The final battle is near.

---

As the final wall of the last dwarven stronghold shuddered and cracked, the defenders braced for the inevitable. The monstrous horde outside, an endless tide of twisted creatures, roared in triumph, ready to break through and erase the last remnants of free races.

Then, space itself warped.

A swirling portal of golden light tore open in the battlefield, halting the siege. From its depths, a lone figure stepped forward, clad in silver and blue armor, his golden hair illuminated by the fires of war.

The monstrous army turned, sensing a new presence—one that reeked of something ancient, powerful... divine. Before they could react, the warrior raised his hand.

With a single motion, a blade of legend manifested in his grip—Excalibur.

The air crackled with power as golden energy surged through the holy sword. With a single, effortless swing, Arthur unleashed a blinding wave of destruction—a pillar of divine radiance that tore through the battlefield like the wrath of the heavens. The creatures didn't even have time to scream; in an instant, they were reduced to dust, their dark forms obliterated by the sheer force of his attack.

As the golden light faded, the battlefield was left in stunned silence. Both monster and man alike stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.

Within the walls, the surviving defenders stared, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Who... what in Mahal's name was that?" one dwarf muttered.

Above them, standing at the ruined battlements, Arthur lowered Excalibur, his emerald eyes calm yet unwavering.

"So... I take it I arrived at a bad time?" he said casually.

Arthur raised his hand, and a shimmering golden barrier expanded outward, encasing the entire stronghold in a protective dome. The moment it solidified, the monstrous army outside howled in frustration, their attacks now bouncing harmlessly against its radiant surface.

He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over what remained of the stronghold. Crumbled walls, bloodstained stone, and the stench of death filled the air. The weight of suffering here was suffocating—as if the land itself was weeping. It reminded him of Lordran, Lothric... the endless decay of Dark Souls.

Turning to the battle-weary survivors, Arthur met their fearful, uncertain gazes. He spoke, his voice calm yet firm.

"Rest easy. No monster will breach this barrier as long as I stand."

Some flinched at his confidence, while others let out shaky breaths of relief. Hope—a feeling long extinguished—began to flicker in their eyes once more.

Arthur walked through the huddled masses, his eyes scanning the remnants of civilization clinging to survival. He saw humans, elves, dwarves, hobbits, and even a few beings he couldn't immediately place. Their numbers barely reached a hundred thousand—a mere flicker compared to the grand civilizations they once belonged to.

There were men and women, the elderly, the wounded, and too many children with hollow eyes, their gazes dulled by suffering. Sickness festered, despair hung thick in the air, and hope was nothing but a memory.

Arthur muttered under his breath, "What happened here…?"

A voice, gravelly yet steady, answered him.

"You don't know, lad?"

Turning, Arthur found himself looking at an old dwarf, his beard matted, his armor rusted, yet his eyes still carrying the weight of one who had lived through too much.

Arthur turned to the old dwarf, who let out a weary sigh before straightening his posture.

"Name's Balin, lad. Once a warrior of Erebor, now just another relic of a lost world."

Arthur listened intently as Balin began to recount the fall of Middle-earth—how Sauron, the Dark Lord, had conquered everything, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.

"Erebor was the first to fall," Balin explained, his voice heavy with sorrow. "We held for years, but his forces were endless. Dragons, orcs, trolls... even the dead rose to fight for him."

Arthur clenched his fists as Balin continued.

"Gondor burned. Rohan fell. Rivendell was torn apart. Even the Shire—nothing remains but ash. Khazad-dûm is the last stronghold, but even we won't last much longer."

Balin gestured toward the crumbling walls, the exhausted soldiers, the starving civilians.

"This is all that's left, lad. The final bastion of free folk. And it won't hold much longer."

"What about the heroes? The great warriors?" Arthur asked.

Balin's expression darkened at Arthur's question. He let out a heavy sigh, his aged eyes filled with grief.

"The heroes? The great warriors? They all fought... and they all fell."

Arthur remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Aragorn led the last stand at Minas Tirith, but even he couldn't hold back the tide. Legolas and Gimli fell side by side, taking down a dragon before they were overwhelmed. The Elven realms? Gone. Even Gandalf—" Balin hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. "He faced Sauron himself... and lost."

Arthur exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping over the remnants of civilization clinging to life in this ruined world.

"Then that means," Arthur murmured, "you are all that's left."

Balin's voice was heavy with resignation. "Indeed, lad. We're all that's left. But not for long."

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

The old dwarf gestured toward the ruined battlements, where the dark horizon churned like a living nightmare. "Sauron's forces don't tire. They don't stop. Every time we drive them back, more come. We've lasted this long only because of the mountain's defenses, but..." He sighed. "It won't hold forever. Maybe not even another week."

Arthur's grip on Excalibur tightened. "Then I guess we'll have to change that."

Balin let out a weary sigh, his aged eyes filled with the weight of centuries of loss. "Don't waste your time, lad. You may have the strength to tear through Sauron's armies, but the Dark Lord himself... he is beyond imagination."

Arthur remained silent, listening.

Balin continued, his voice grim. "He wields dominion over this land itself. The mountains, the rivers, even the air—you breathe at his mercy. The only reason we're still alive is either because he allows it... or because we're too insignificant to matter."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Balin's words, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Control over the land itself? Like me?" he mused aloud.

He lifted his hand, and the very air around him shimmered as ancient runes formed in midair. Magic intertwined with precise calculations, equations flashing in his mind as he activated his mastery over Math and Magic.

The ground trembled—not in destruction, but in restoration. Stone walls mended themselves, shattered pillars rose anew, and crumbling structures regained their former strength. The Bastion was being reforged before their very eyes.

The once-crumbling stronghold was reborn before the eyes of its weary inhabitants. Walls reforged, once-shattered towers stood tall, and long-dead braziers blazed to life, casting warm golden light over the stronghold.

Gasps of shock and awe spread through the gathered survivors. Men, elves, dwarves, and hobbits alike watched in silent disbelief as their last refuge—what had seemed mere hours from collapse—became whole once more.

Balin, gripping his war axe, muttered, "By Durin's beard..." before turning to Arthur. "What... what manner of being are you?"

Arthur dusted his hands off, the glow of magic fading from his fingertips. "Just a traveler. But one who doesn't take kindly to tyrants."

Silence hung in the air before a single voice rang out—a young boy, barely more than ten, whispering in awe: "Hope..."

And like embers catching fire, the word spread. Hope.

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Point out mistakes please if you find them.