Mordred returned to his fortress after a long expedition, his footsteps echoing on the stone path leading to the construction site. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the walls that grew more formidable with each passing day. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burning wood, and in the distance, the clamor of shouts and the clatter of tools filled the air. The tower, destined to become the symbol of his dominion, rose toward the sky, its black stone walls stark against the gray horizon. Mordred paused for a moment, gazing at the structure with a mix of pride and anticipation.
His attention was drawn to Gnarl, his loyal advisor and overseer of the minions, who stood on a makeshift platform, clutching his gnarled staff. The old minion, hunched but brimming with energy, was bellowing at his charges, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.
"Get those bony legs moving, you dim-witted clods!" Gnarl snarled, pointing his staff at a group of minions struggling with a massive granite block.
The minions, though small and clumsy, worked with fervor. Their tiny hands gripped ropes and stones, sweat streaming down their weathered faces. Mordred watched them in silence. He knew their loyalty and perseverance were the foundation of his plans. Without them, there would be no tower, no fortress, no empire to build.
For a moment, his thoughts drifted to the woman he had spoken with days earlier in the ruins of Arnor. Her name was Rosa—a name he recognized. In the game Overlord, Rosa was one of the sisters a player could choose when walking the path of good. She was gentler, more understanding than her sister Velvet, who embodied darkness and ruthlessness. This Rosa seemed similar—her gaze cautious but not hostile, her tone suggesting a willingness to cooperate. Mordred wasn't sure if she was the same character, but her name and demeanor piqued his curiosity. Perhaps she would prove a valuable ally against the orcs in the future. For now, though, his focus had to remain on the tower.
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Many months passed. What had begun as a chaotic endeavor transformed into a masterpiece worthy of a true ruler. One cloudy morning, Gnarl appeared before Mordred, bowing low with unmistakable pride in his eyes.
"My lord, the tower is complete," he announced, his voice trembling with excitement. "Allow me to show you your new dominion."
Mordred nodded and followed Gnarl toward the structure. The Tower of Shadows, as he had named it, loomed over the fortress, its black walls seeming to devour the light, its sharp spires piercing the sky like the claws of an ancient dragon. It was a fortress designed not only for defense but to instill fear in the hearts of enemies. The iron gates, adorned with engravings of conquests and battles, creaked open as minions pulled on heavy chains.
"Let us begin with the depths," Gnarl said, leading Mordred down a winding stone staircase. "There beats the heart of our power."
The Depths
The tower's depths were vast, illuminated only by the flickering light of torches embedded in the walls. The first chamber they entered was the forge. The air was thick with the acrid smell of molten metal and charcoal, and the rhythmic clang of hammers on anvils filled the space. Minions, serving as blacksmiths, toiled tirelessly—their muscular arms tensing with each strike, sparks flying onto the stone floor. In the corner stood a massive furnace, its flames casting a red glow on the workers' faces.
"Here is where our military might is forged," Gnarl explained, gesturing to stacks of freshly crafted swords and shields. "Every weapon is made with your army in mind, my lord."
Adjacent to the forge was the armory—a spacious hall lined with racks of weapons and armor. Swords with curved blades, axes with massive heads, bows of dark wood—all gleamed with newness, ready for use. Mannequins displayed full sets of armor, from helmets with narrow visors to breastplates emblazoned with the Lord of Shadows' emblem.
"Your enemies will tremble at the mere sight of this collection," Gnarl said with satisfaction.
Further into the depths lay the arena—a circular chamber with high walls adorned with shields and banners. In the center, several minions sparred under the watchful eye of an overseer. Their movements were swift and precise, the clash of blades echoing like the sound of battle.
"Here, your warriors will hone their skills," Gnarl said. "Anyone who leaves this arena will be ready to crush any foe."
The final chamber in the depths was the Tower's Heart. It was an almost mystical place—a domed hall where a portal pulsed at its center. Swirling energy, surrounded by runes carved into the stone, radiated power that made the hair on Mordred's neck stand on end. From here, he could summon his minions, bolstering his army at will.
"The portal is fully operational, my lord." Gnarl announced. "Your horde can grow without limit."
Mordred stepped closer, extending a hand toward the portal. He felt the energy course through him, filling him with confidence. This was the source of his power, the key to domination.
The Ground Floor
After leaving the depths, Gnarl led him to the ground floor of the tower, to the throne room. It was a monumental chamber, its sheer size humbling even the most hardened warriors. The walls were draped with red banners bearing the Lord of Shadows' emblem, and the black marble floor reflected the torchlight. Tall columns, carved in the shape of dragons, supported the vaulted ceiling, lending the hall a majestic air. At the center stood the throne—massive, hewn from dark stone, its back resembling the spread wings of a raven. It was a symbol of absolute authority.
"Here, you will rule, my lord," Gnarl said, gesturing to the throne. "From this seat, you'll issue commands that will shape the fate of Middle-Earth."
Mordred took his place on the throne, resting his hands on the cold armrests. He felt the tower's power flow through him, strengthening his resolve. This was the place from which he would lead his empire to greatness.
The Upper Floors
Gnarl guided him to the upper floors, where the library resided. The room was a sanctuary of knowledge—shelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with hundreds of tomes, scrolls, and parchments. There were treatises on magic, chronicles of ancient wars, and forgotten texts that might hold the secrets of lost kingdoms.
"Knowledge is a weapon, my lord," Gnarl muttered. "And here, you'll find it in abundance."
Next to the library was the treasury—a chamber where gold and jewels were piled in chests and on shelves. The torchlight glinted off stacks of coins, emeralds, and rubies, creating a mesmerizing glow. These were the fruits of Mordred's conquests, proof of his growing power.
"Your wealth is fit for a king," Gnarl said, a hint of greed in his voice.
The upper floors also housed resting chambers—luxurious rooms for Mordred and his allies. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting victorious battles, and fires crackled in the hearths, dispelling the chill. The beds were soft, draped with furs and silk, offering comfort after long campaigns.
The final room was the artifact chamber—a secure hall where magical items rested on pedestals. Amulets pulsing with faint light, rings of unknown power, crystals radiating energy—each could be the key to future victories.
"Your magical treasures, my lord," Gnarl said. "In the right hands, they can alter the course of the world."
The tour concluded on the balcony of the highest floor. Mordred stood at the railing, gazing over his domain. The fortress sprawled below, and in the distance, the forests and hills of Middle-earth stretched to the horizon. The wind tugged at his cloak, but he stood unmoved, knowing this was only the beginning of his journey.
Suddenly, a familiar glow appeared before his eyes. The System spoke:
Congratulations! Quest completed: Build the tower.
Reward: Giblet – Forge Master
Reward: Gash – Dungeon Overseer
Mordred smiled faintly. Two new figures would strengthen his forces. Giblet, the Forge Master, would streamline weapon production, and Gash, the Dungeon Overseer, would ensure discipline and training for the minions.
"Summon them," he commanded, and from the portal in the Tower's Heart emerged two servants.
Giblet was a burly minion with broad shoulders and a scarred face. He held a massive hammer, his stance exuding strength and expertise in smithing. Gash was leaner, clad in dark robes, his eyes sharp as steel. He radiated an aura of sternness and control.
"We serve you, my lord," they said in unison, dropping to their knees.
Mordred looked upon them with approval. The tower was complete, his army was growing, and Middle-Earth lay at his feet. The time had come to begin his conquest.
(Images)