I was just an ordinary university graduate from an ordinary world. I wasn't exceptionally intelligent, nor was I particularly skilled at anything. Like any young person, I enjoyed playing computer games, watching movies, and reading stories.
One ordinary day, I saw my best friend fighting a group of gangsters. Without hesitation, I rushed to help him. It was a brutal fight—just the two of us against eight gang members. We managed to hold our ground, but then one of them pulled out a gun and aimed at my friend. Without thinking, I threw myself in front of him. There was no way I could stop the shooter, but at least I could take the bullet in his place. The last thing I remember was the sound of the gunshot and my friend shouting my name…
I was drowning in darkness, lost in an abyss of nothingness. Then, one day, I felt pain—sharp, undeniable pain. I opened my eyes, only to find myself lying among the bodies of dead people. My thoughts were a mess, my memories scattered. It took me several minutes to pull myself together. When I finally did, I realized that I was in a world that was both familiar and utterly foreign…
Middle-earth.
But this wasn't the Middle-earth I knew. While familiar races like Dwarves, Elves, Dúnedain, Orcs, Goblins, and Trolls still existed, there were also other creatures—Dragons, Griffins, Fiends, Fairies, Werewolves, Vampires, and the Undead. If figures like Elrond, Gandalf, and Galadriel hadn't been present, I might have thought I had fallen into the Total War: Warhammer universe. Strangely enough, some monsters from The Witcher world also existed here. That only confirmed how much more dangerous this world was. With Sauron and his minions trying to return, the realm was already a perilous place.
And unlike in books or movies, where the heroes always found a way to prevail, there were no guarantees here. This was reality.
It took me three hours to calm down and accept the truth. Afterward, I decided to head toward the nearest town. The body I now inhabited had been stabbed in the heart and left for dead, so I didn't feel guilty about taking over. This was simply fate.
I was in the plains of Enedwaith, and the group I had been with had been ambushed by bandits while traveling to Tharbad. Fortunately, I was only a day's walk away from the town. I gathered everything useful from the corpses and set out, making sure to stay off the main road to avoid attracting attention.
However, my luck soon ran out. I stumbled upon a group of stray Orcs. I tried to escape, weaving through the terrain to avoid them. I almost made it—almost. Just as I neared Tharbad, one of the Orcs hurled a spear at me. It struck my left side, and I collapsed, thinking that this was the end.
But fate intervened again.
Tharbad's border patrol arrived just in time, killing the Orcs and carrying me to the town. They treated my wounds and saved my life.
It took me three months to recover. During that time, I learned a great deal about this world. The year was TA 2930—just eleven years before Thorin and his company would set out on their journey to reclaim Erebor.
I thought long and hard about it and finally made a decision. I would join the expedition.
It wasn't just about money. I had always liked Thorin and his companions. Meeting them in person would be an honor, and if possible, I would like to settle in Erebor or Dale. The treasure from the journey would be substantial, but in my current state, I wouldn't even make it to Rivendell alive.
One strange thing I noticed was that Tharbad was still standing, even though it was supposed to have been destroyed in TA 2912. This world was clearly different from the one I knew, but I decided not to dwell on it too much.
The body I now possessed had the fundamentals of swordsmanship, but that wasn't enough. I needed proper training.
So, I sought out a sword instructor in Tharbad.
His name was Clint—an old Gondorian knight in his nineties. I wasn't sure about the average lifespan in this version of Middle-earth, but here, people seemed to live up to 200 years, meaning Clint was still considered middle-aged.
Convincing him to take me as a student took seven months.
During that time, I focused on strengthening my body and mastering my new memories. But something was missing—certain memories were incomplete. I looked human, but deep inside, I felt something else.
There was a power within me, something fierce, something waiting to awaken.
I was certain of one thing—I was not fully human. But I wasn't an Elf or a Dwarf either. I was something else… a hybrid. But of what? That, I did not know. For now, I set the thought aside.
After seven months, Clint finally agreed to train me.
He was a knight who had grown disillusioned with Gondor's nobility and its lost royal bloodline. In fact, he had made quite a name for himself—people called him the "Grey Warden". He was a master of sword and shield combat, though he admitted he wasn't among the absolute best. But as his student, I had a different opinion.
His life had been marked by tragedy. He had once been loyal to Gondor, but as he rose in fame, he attracted unwanted attention. The noble families played their power games, and in the end, he lost everything—his family, his status, his home.
A cliché story, isn't it?
But the truth is, these kinds of dramas and tragedies exist in every world.
The story of Old Clint was just one among many.
He didn't share every detail of his past with me, and I didn't press him for answers. I had my own challenges to face.
Since my new body already had some training, mastering the fundamentals of sword and shield combat took me three years. After that, I spent two more years learning two-handed sword techniques and survival skills.
At first, I had considered becoming a Ranger. But since my body was already trained in knightly combat, I decided to continue on that path. I also trained in throwing weapons and archery, though not as intensely as my sword training.
It was five years of hellish training.
When my training was complete, I spent the next year traveling, making a name for myself, building valuable friendships, and seeing firsthand how cruel the world could be.
In the great cities, the common folk suffered under the greed of the nobles.
In the countryside, the people struggled against the darkness creeping ever closer.
Few places treated their people with kindness.
During my travels, I mainly stayed within the human lands—never venturing beyond the borders of Enedwaith and Dunland. I occasionally took guard jobs near Rohan's borders.
By the end of those five years, people began calling me "The Black Knight"—a name given because of my full-plate armor.
Inspired by a character from one of my favorite anime, I even modeled my armor and name after him.
After all, this was a new life—a new story.
During my travels I encountered many wizards, one of whom was an old acquaintance. He sought me out, telling me that the Grey Wizard, Gandalf, had a dangerous mission.
And guess what? It involved a very special lizard.
Had I not known the story, I might have walked straight into the trap…
I think she was still angry that I had used a thousand-year-old pain technique on the back of an orc chief, but I apologized and gave her an ancient tree branch I had acquired in my travels.
A funny story, but one for another time.
For now, let's focus on the present…