Weeks had passed since Mordred defeated the orc scouts. Middle-Earth had become his playground, and each day of wandering through forests, hills, and valleys made him more confident. His army, now fifty Brown Fighters, marched behind him in a chaotic but loyal formation. Their shrill shrieks and clumsy antics—from stealing shiny rocks to accidentally setting their own tails on fire—had become routine. Mordred knew he needed more than temporary camps. He needed a fortress, a base from which to build his empire in this wild world.
That morning, as mist cloaked the hills, his eyes caught sight of ruins in the distance. It was an old fortress, overgrown with ivy, its crumbling walls and towers looking as if they remembered the days of ancient kings. The stone walls, though cracked, still radiated raw power. Mordred paused, sensing this place could be the perfect temporary base. But as he approached with his minions, he noticed movement within the ruins—a group of a dozen wild men, bandits, who had set up camp inside. Their tents were pitched among the rubble, and fires burned, sending plumes of smoke into the sky. Weapons gleamed in their hands, and their laughter echoed.
"My ruins," Mordred muttered, crouching behind a hill. His golden eyes gleamed beneath his helmet, and his hand tightened around his axe's handle. "Time to drive them out."
He turned to his minions, who were bouncing with impatience, waving their knives and clubs. "Twenty of you," he pointed at a group. "Sneak into their camp. Burn their tents, steal their weapons, cause chaos. The rest, prepare to attack."
The minions giggled maliciously. "Chaos! Burn! Steal!" they squeaked, then scurried toward the ruins, moving with surprising stealth for their chaotic nature. Mordred watched as they vanished into the shadows, and soon, he heard shouts and the sounds of commotion. One of the tents burst into flames, and the bandits ran in a panic as minions tossed their swords into a ditch and set fire to their supplies. One minion, trying to throw a torch, accidentally set its own tail ablaze, sparking laughter from its comrades before they doused it with mud.
"Now!" Mordred roared, leaping from behind the hill with his axe in hand. The remaining thirty minions charged behind him, shrieking wildly. The bandits, disoriented by the chaos, tried to organize, but it was too late. Mordred crashed into them like a storm, his axe cleaving through armor and flesh with terrifying ease. Blood sprayed across the stone walls, and the bandits' screams mixed with the minions' high-pitched cries.
The battle was bloody and brutal. The minions, though small, fought with savage fury, leaping onto bandits, stabbing their backs, and severing limbs. But the bandits weren't defenseless—their swords and axes took a toll on the minions. Mordred saw several of his servants fall under blows, their small bodies torn apart by blades. Rage flared in his chest—how dare these bandits resist him?
He picked up his pace, his axe dancing through the air, cutting down one bandit after another. The minions, inspired by his fury, fought even harder, though more fell in the fray. Finally, the camp was taken—most bandits lay dead, the ground red with blood. Mordred stood amid the ruins, breathing heavily, his armor coated in blood and mud.
Suddenly, a towering figure emerged from the ruins' shadows—the bandit leader. He was tall, nearly matching Mordred's height, with scars covering his face and arms. He wielded a massive axe, larger than Mordred's, and his eyes burned with hatred. Behind him stood a few remaining bandits, ready to fight, though visibly shaken.
"You…" the leader growled, raising his axe. "Think you can take our ruins? You'll pay with your life."
Mordred smirked beneath his helmet, his golden eyes flashing. He raised his axe, ready for battle. The surviving minions gathered behind him, their shrieks quieting as they sensed the gravity of the moment. Two towering figures faced each other amid the ruins, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen and the smoke of dying fires. The air was heavy with tension.
"Come, try it," Mordred said, his voice like thunder. The bandit leader roared and raised his weapon, ready to fight.