It was spring.
The winds were gentle, the sunlight brilliant, and across the waking lands of Middle-earth, all was in harmony. Yet, in the northeast, deep within the lightless roots of the Lonely Mountain, that harmony was shattered by a single, heavy respiration.
Haaaah—
A localized gale of breath sent a drift of gold coins cascading down the hoard.
The master of that breath opened his eyes. Within those amber, reptilian orbs lay a terrifying, predatory malice that could freeze the blood of any living thing. As the pupils slitted and dilated, a flood of foreign memories surged through his mind.
It did not take long for Keith to grasp the impossible reality of his situation.
He had crossed the veil of worlds. He had been thrust into Middle-earth, inhabiting the colossal, scaled frame of the last great calamity of the North: Smaug.
Keith blinked his massive eyelids in a daze, weighing the hand fate had dealt him.
On one side, his old life was ash. The familiar streets, the people he knew—all were relegated to ghosts of memory. He was no longer human. On the other hand, in his former life, he had been nothing more than a beast of burden for the corporate machine—penniless, orphaned, and drifting. Here? Here, he was Smaug. He was power incarnate.
And more importantly, he sat upon a mountain of wealth that could buy kingdoms.
"When balanced on the scales, the gain outweighs the loss," Keith thought, his mind clearing. He had always been a man of easy temperament, capable of finding comfort in any storm.
He shifted his colossal weight, rising from the mounds of gold and jade.
Clatter—shhhhh—
The sound of falling treasure echoed like a metallic waterfall. Keith stretched, testing the tension in his wings and the flex of his talons. The adaptation was seamless; within moments, the gargantuan body obeyed his every whim as if he had been hatched in this mountain an age ago.
Haaaah!
He unhinged his jaw, and a torrent of searing dragonfire erupted from his throat. The heat was so intense the very air distorted into shimmering ribbons.
This was true power.
"Exquisite," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that shook the stone walls.
In that moment, a semi-transparent interface manifested silently before his eyes.
[System Bound: Conquer the Realms, Revive the Dragonkind.]
Identity: Smaug
Race: Fire-drake
Abilities: Incinerating Breath
Current World:The Hobbit + The Lord of the Rings
Main Quest: Become the de facto Sovereign of Middle-earth.
Reward: Retain this world and proceed to the next realm of conquest.
[Do you accept?]
Keith froze for a few seconds. Then, a predatory grin split his snout.
Accept? It was the only choice. Even if the reward sounded like a cosmic joke, he was Smaug now. He couldn't simply curl up and sleep for another century. A man—or a dragon—needed an ambition. Every soul harbored a secret desire to stand atop the world and look down upon the masses.
"Accepted," he declared.
[Quest Accepted.]
[Storage Space Unlocked.]
[Starter Gift Pack Issued.]
He accessed the storage space with a thought. Inside, a single item pulsed with a rhythmic light. He opened it.
[You have received a Frost Dragon Egg. Incubation time: Six months.]
[Note: This specimen is female.]
Keith's eyes widened. "A combination of Ice and Fire? A clever touch."
He chuckled—a sound like grinding boulders—and summoned the egg. A crystalline, massive dragon egg appeared, nestled incongruously amidst the gold. He leaned his great head down, pressing a sensitive ear against the shell.
Thump-thump... Thump-thump...
The heartbeat inside was clear, frantic, and powerful. It was a strange, wondrous thing to feel a new life pulsing so close to him. He listened for a long while until the system flickered again.
[Sub-Quest: Establish the Kingdom of Dragons.]
[Requirement: Secure at least 300 subjects (Any sapient race).]
[Reward: Bronze Mystery Box.]
Keith turned his gaze toward the west, toward the distant glimmer of Esgaroth—Lake-town.
There were plenty of people there. Dragging three hundred of them back here should be a simple task. However, there was a slight complication: a century ago, he had leveled Dale and slaughtered their kin. The survivors and their descendants harbored a justified, burning hatred for him.
How does one convince a frightened populace to serve a dragon?
He looked back at the piles of shimmering gold. A plan formed.
"The bread or the stick," he muttered. "Let them choose their fate."
Having made his decision, Keith wasted no time. He swept several hundred pounds of gold into the system storage and began the long climb from the subterranean deeps.
He reached the upper levels, entering the vaulted, magnificent halls carved by the Dwarves of old. He stalked toward the main gate, which remained choked with rubble, eyeing the architecture with a critical gaze. The place was grand, certainly, but it felt stagnant—a tomb of cold stone.
Perhaps a renovation is in order, he mused. After all, if this was to be his capital, a Sovereign deserved comfort.
Suddenly, a plume of black mist materialized without a sound, swirling three hundred paces ahead of him.
"Smaug," the mist spoke. The voice was a jagged rasp, cold as the void and heavy with ancient malice.
Keith froze, blinking his great eyes as he realized what stood before him. A cold calm took over. There was no need for panic. At this stage, the Dark Lord Sauron was a mere wraith—a shadow of soul-stuff, more atmospheric than an actual threat.
"Yes?" Keith replied, his tone dripping with bored regality.
"Do you know who it is that addresses you?" the mist demanded, its arrogance absolute.
"I do," Keith countered, his voice rising in volume. "And do you have a purpose, or are you merely haunting my hallways?"
Sauron did not seem offended by the dragon's pride; if anything, he seemed to relish it. "I have come to offer you an alliance. A chance to share in the dominion this world provides."
Keith understood immediately. In the original history of this world, the dragon and the Necromancer were intended to be allies. But the rules had changed. This world belonged to him now.
"I have no interest," Keith said bluntly. "Begone from my sight."
The black mist roiled, expanding in size as the Necromancer's fury surged. Never had the Dark Lord been so dismissed by a mere beast.
"Then you shall find only death!" Sauron hissed, his voice a deafening roar of shadows.