World Hopping With Gacha

The murmurs of hope spread like wildfire. Eyes that had once been dulled by despair now burned with something new—determination.

Arthur glanced around at the renewed bastion and the people within. This was only a start. The stronghold was rebuilt, but morale alone wouldn't be enough to challenge Sauron's dominion.

"Now then," Arthur clapped his hands, drawing all attention to him. "We have a fortress. Time to see if we can turn it into a kingdom."

Balin frowned. "A kingdom? With what army?"

Arthur smirked. "We'll make one."

Balin crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "Make one? Lad, you may have power, but an army takes more than will alone."

Arthur turned to the crowd. "You're right. We can't just throw farmers and blacksmiths into battle and expect them to stand against Sauron's forces. But what if I told you that we don't need to?"

A murmur of confusion spread through the survivors.

Arthur raised his hand, golden light swirling around his palm. 'I think I should slow down a bit in glamour'

Arthur raised his hand, and golden light flickered in the air like embers caught in the wind. With a single snap of his fingers, the battlefield trembled. From the shimmering light, armored figures emerged—each a perfect copy of himself, clad in shining silver and blue, their eyes burning with unwavering determination.

The survivors gasped as hundreds, then thousands, of these warriors materialized, their swords gleaming like the dawn.

Arthur turned to Balin and the others. "You wanted an army? Here it is."

Balin furrowed his brows, his expression grim. "Lad, even if your army flattens his forces, it won't be enough," he said, shaking his head. "Sauron isn't just a warlord with soldiers. He is power itself. He commands the land, the skies, even the very air we breathe. His army is endless because he can create more—from shadow, from fire, from death itself."

His voice grew heavy with the weight of experience. "Even if we win a battle, the war is already lost."

Arthur could see it in their eyes—defeat, exhaustion, the hollow acceptance of inevitable death. These weren't warriors anymore; they were survivors, clinging to existence but without purpose.

His voice rang out, sharp and unyielding.

"So, that's it? You've already given up?" He turned to Balin, then swept his gaze across the gathered crowd. "Have you truly accepted your fate? What will you do—sit here and wait for hunger or sickness to take you? Even if this barrier holds, how long before you waste away?"

He took a step forward, his presence commanding.

"You call this living?" Arthur's words hit like hammer strikes. "If you are doomed either way, then why not make your death mean something? What happened to your pride? Your honor? Your ancestors didn't build empires just for you to cower in the dark!"

His eyes blazed as he addressed not just the dwarves, but everyone—elves, men, hobbits.

"Are you afraid to die? Because let me tell you—" He slammed his foot down, shaking the stone beneath them. "Death is coming for you, one way or another. But whether you go out as a forgotten relic or as a warrior who stood his ground—that is your choice!"

The gathered crowd remained silent, the weight of Arthur's words settling over them like a storm. The dwarves clenched their fists, the elves exchanged glances, and the men stood a little straighter.

Balin exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning the hopeless faces around him. Then, he spoke—his voice hoarse but firm. "And if we do stand and fight? What then? Against an enemy that cannot die?"

Arthur smirked. "Then we make sure he learns what fear truly is."

He raised his hand, and golden energy surged—the light of hope, defiance, and war.

Arthur knew that even with his own strength and the army he had created, he could not fight this war alone. These people—dwarves, elves, men, and hobbits—knew the land, its hidden paths, and the enemy's movements better than he ever could. But knowledge alone was useless without the will to act.

What he needed was to ignite their fighting spirit, to remind them that they were not just survivors—they were warriors, kings, and free people who had once stood against the darkness. He had to make them believe again.

Arthur turned to Balin, his expression sharp with focus. "The monsters—how durable are they?" he asked, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd.

Balin stroked his beard, his aged eyes reflecting the weight of experience. "Durable enough that blades alone ain't enough," he admitted. "Orcs, trolls, wargs—all twisted by Sauron's will. They heal fast, fight even when gutted, and some don't die unless you burn or behead them. Worse yet, the wraiths—those damn things don't die at all."

Arthur nodded, deep in thought. "Then we'll need something stronger."

Arthur knew that sending these weary survivors into direct melee combat would be a death sentence. Most of them were malnourished, exhausted, or untrained for battle against creatures of darkness. But fighting from a distance? That was something he could work with.

His CS System had an arsenal from his old world, and he intended to make full use of it. C4 for strategic demolitions, Negev and M249 light machine guns for suppressive fire, and AWP sniper rifles to eliminate priority targets.

"Let's see how long these monsters last against modern firepower."

Arthur turned to the weary crowd, his voice ringing with authority.

"Alright, people! Prepare a feast because this might be your last one!"

He stretched out his hand, activating his Math skill. The air shimmered as tables expanded, food inlarged, and plates filled with fresh meals—a feast grand enough to satisfy everyone, even those who had gone hungry for days.

Summoning Garuda, his companion, Arthur patted his beak.

"Buddy, I need your help."

The great bird let out a piercing cry, awaiting his command.

Arthur stood before Garuda, his emerald eyes filled with determination as he laid out his plan. He explained how they would divide their efforts—his clones and Garuda ensuring the survival of the stronghold while he confronted Sauron directly.

Garuda listened carefully, his golden feathers shimmering under the torchlight. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded.

"Your plan might work, Arthur," Garuda said, his deep voice carrying both caution and confidence. "My wings will shield those who cannot fight, and your clones will hold the line. But you... you must focus on Sauron."

Arthur exhaled. "Yeah, I figured. If even half of what these people say is true, then this Sauron isn't just the Dark Lord from the books—he's something worse. More powerful. More... unnatural."

Garuda narrowed his eyes. "Then you must be ready. You may be strong, but this enemy has ruled unchecked for too long. Whatever power he wields, it has reshaped this world itself."

Arthur clenched his fists. "Then it's time to rewrite history."

Arthur watched as the people of the last stronghold ate, their faces weary yet savoring every bite. He knew this might be their final meal before the battle ahead. Taking a deep breath, he opened his Counter-Strike system and began making purchases.

Negev's. M249's. AWP sniper rifles. Mac-10 submachine guns. C4. He ensured they had enough firepower to turn the tide, even if they lacked proper training.

As the weapons materialized before him, Balin stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar devices. He lifted a Negev, feeling its weight.

"What are these... contraptions?" Balin asked, his voice both skeptical and curious.

Arthur smirked. "Tools of war from another world. These will let you fight without needing the strength of a warrior—just a steady hand and a sharp eye."

The gathered dwarves, elves, and men murmured among themselves, inspecting the weapons with a mix of caution and intrigue. Some hesitated, while others gripped the unfamiliar steel, sensing the raw power within.

Arthur took one of the rifles, aimed at a boulder in the distance, and squeezed the trigger. A thunderous burst of automatic fire roared through the stronghold, sending bullets tearing through the rock, reducing it to rubble. (Normally won't happen but Arthur's AOE skill causes that)

The onlookers gasped.

Arthur turned back to them, expression serious. "These will even the playing field. Sauron's monsters may be strong, but they've never faced modern firepower."

Balin stroked his beard, eyes glinting with newfound hope. "Hmph. If this works as you claim, lad... then maybe we have a chance."

Arthur's voice carried across the stronghold, his tone commanding yet steady.

"Before we step out," he said, "I need you to separate those with the keenest eyesight and steadiest hands—your best archers. They're about to become snipers."

A murmur spread through the crowd as warriors exchanged glances. Many of them had trained with bows all their lives, but the weapons Arthur provided were entirely foreign.

"As for those closest to the front lines," Arthur continued, "we'll divide you into two groups. One will fire, the other will swap&reload. This way, we maintain a constant barrage. No wasted movement, no wasted time."

Balin stroked his beard, nodding. "A sound strategy… if these weapons work as well as you claim."

Arthur smirked, tapping the side of a Negev. "You'll see soon enough."

Arthur addressed the gathered warriors with a confident nod.

"My clones will remain here to reinforce the stronghold and defend the civilians," he explained. "Only a select few will accompany me into battle."

He then turned to Garuda, his massive companion, who let out a low screech of acknowledgment.

"As for Garuda," Arthur continued, "he will be our bomber, dropping C4 payloads from the skies to take out large enemy formations."

Balin raised an eyebrow. "A flying creature delivering explosives? Now that... I like."

Arthur scanned the crowd, his emerald gaze sharp with determination.

"Before anything else, I need someone to take me to Sauron," he declared. "I don't care how close we get—I just need a guide who knows the safest route to his domain."

Murmurs rippled through the group. Many looked at him as if he were mad, but a few warriors exchanged glances.

"I promise you'll return here safely," Arthur added, his voice unwavering. "This isn't a suicide mission—I just need eyes on the enemy before we make our move."

Arthur met their hesitant gazes, sensing their fear and uncertainty. He knew no one wanted to walk into the lion's den, but he had to reassure them.

"You will not be in danger," he said firmly. "The moment we reach our destination, I'll open a portal and send you back. You won't have to fight—you're just my guide, nothing more."

The crowd remained silent for a moment until a voice spoke up.

"I'll take you," a rugged-looking ranger stepped forward. "I know the land well enough."

Arthur gave the ranger an appreciative nod. "Thank you...?" he trailed off, waiting for a name.

The man crossed his arms. "Aedric," he said gruffly. "Used to be a ranger of Gondor before..." He glanced at the ruined stronghold around them, his expression hardening. "Well, before everything fell apart."

Arthur extended a hand. "Aedric, then. I appreciate it."

Aedric shook his hand, firm and steady. "Don't thank me yet. You're walking into hell."

Arthur smirked. "Wouldn't be my first time."

Aedric gave Arthur a sharp nod before turning towards the nearest tunnel exit. "Follow me. We'll take the hidden paths—less risk of running into patrols."

Arthur walked alongside him, his clones already preparing the defenses. Behind them, the survivors scrambled to organize, setting up the weapons Arthur provided. Some dwarves tested the Negevs, their expressions torn between confusion and awe, while elven archers examined the AWP rifles with skeptical curiosity.

As they walked, Aedric glanced at Arthur. "So... what exactly are you planning to do when you reach Sauron?"

Arthur exhaled, his gaze locked ahead. "The key to his power is the ring he wears. If I can take it from him, I might be able to end this." He clenched his fist. "But how I'll do that... I don't know yet."

Aedric furrowed his brows. "You don't have a plan?"

Arthur smirked. "Not yet. But I'll figure it out when I get there. After all, I've fought gods before."

Aedric scoffed. "Then let's hope this one's not beyond even you."

As Arthur and Aedric journeyed toward Sauron's domain, the stronghold buzzed with intense preparations. The survivors, now armed and determined, worked alongside Arthur's clones to fortify defenses.

Some clones reinforced weapons and ammunition, weaving enchantments into bullets to ensure they could pierce even the toughest enemies. Guns were modified, barrels strengthened, and magazines enhanced for rapid reloads.

By the time night fell, the fortress no longer felt like a crumbling refuge—it was a battlefield waiting for its final stand.

Balin stood before the gathered crowd, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of dwarven resilience.

"When the first light of dawn touches the earth, we attack!" His words echoed through the stronghold, stirring the hearts of warriors long beaten down by despair. "Let these monsters remember who we are! Let them fear our wrath! Let our ancestors look upon us with pride! This is our land, our home—and we will reclaim it!"

A resounding war cry erupted from the crowd. The final battle was upon them.

As Arthur and Aedric stood atop a jagged rock formation, they gazed at the ominous silhouette of Sauron's fortress looming on the horizon. The air was thick with malice, the very land beneath them tainted by the Dark Lord's presence.

Arthur took a deep breath before opening a swirling golden portal beside them. He turned to Aedric and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for escorting me this far," he said. "Go back and prepare with the others. I'll handle things from here."

As Aedric stepped into the swirling portal, a surge of energy rippled through the air. In his place, hundreds of Arthur's clones emerged, each one armed and ready for battle. Their silver-blue armor gleamed under the dim, corrupted sky, their weapons humming with barely contained power.

Arthur cracked his neck and flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the impending confrontation settle over him. He glanced at his army—each a perfect copy of himself, each prepared to defy the Dark Lord.

"Time to bring down a god."

Arthur and his clones advanced like an unstoppable tide, their movements precise, their blades and bullets cutting through the hordes of monsters that stood in their way. The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of steel, gunfire, and magic as each clone fought with the same skill and tenacity as the original.

The creatures of darkness—twisted orcs, fell beasts, and Sauron's monstrous abominations—were overwhelmed, their numbers dwindling as golden energy-infused attacks tore through their ranks. Nothing could stop their march.

Finally, standing at the edge of the castle's massive obsidian gates, Arthur took a deep breath, staring at the looming fortress. The final battle was about to begin.

The massive obsidian gates groaned as they slowly parted, revealing the dark figure beyond. Sauron stepped forward, his towering form radiating a suffocating aura of malice and absolute power. The very air trembled under his presence, and the ground beneath Arthur's feet seemed to shudder in fear.

His blackened armor glowed with an eerie red hue, ancient runes pulsing with raw, corrupted energy. In his hand, the One Ring gleamed, its golden surface swirling with dark enchantments. A storm of power raged around him, his very existence warping reality itself.

Arthur's clones paused, their instincts screaming at them to flee. But Arthur stood firm, gripping Excalibur tightly as he locked eyes with the Dark Lord.

Sauron's voice rumbled like thunder, deep and commanding.

"You are not of this world. Yet you dare challenge me?"

Arthur smirked, rolling his shoulders.

"Yeah, well… I figured someone had to knock you off your high horse."

The battle erupted in a blinding clash of steel and magic as Excalibur met Sauron's massive, rune-engraved blade. Sparks flew, shockwaves tearing through the battlefield with each strike. Arthur's strength and speed were unmatched in most worlds—but here, against the Dark Lord, he felt the crushing weight of true power.

Sauron barely moved, his swings almost lazily effortless, yet each one carried immense force, forcing Arthur to stay on the defensive.

Arthur gritted his teeth, realizing the truth—Sauron was toying with him.

Arthur let out a furious roar, his grip on Excalibur tightening as he charged forward.

"Fight me seriously!" he demanded, swinging with all his might.

Sauron finally moved with intent. In an instant, the Dark Lord's massive black blade intercepted Excalibur, and with a casual push, Arthur was sent skidding backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the battlefield.

Then Sauron attacked.

Arthur barely had time to react as a maelstrom of crushing blows rained down on him.

Speed. Strength. Precision. Durability.

Sauron outclassed him in every way.

Meanwhile, back at the stronghold, the tides of battle had shifted dramatically.

The once-overwhelming horde of monsters now found itself shredded apart by a storm of reinforced and enhanced bullets, each shot tearing through their thick hides like paper. The dwarves, elves, and men—once despairing—were now fighting with renewed vigor, their newfound weapons turning the battlefield into a slaughter.

Above them, Garuda soared through the smoke-filled sky, his sharp eyes scanning for the largest enemies. With a powerful screech, he dove low, dropping C4 payloads that detonated in fiery eruptions, turning trolls and siege beasts into nothing but charred remains.

The once-hopeless defenders laughed and cheered, their spirits soaring as the impossible became reality. They were no longer just surviving—they were fighting back.

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Point out the mistakes you find