To be fair, Bilbo wasn't wrong.
A lot had happened these past few months. Eric had personally slain over a hundred Orcs.
He'd gone from a clueless newbie to a seasoned warrior who could hold his own in just about any situation. Sure, he hadn't fought in any massive battles, but ambushes and skirmishes? Those came along often enough to count as a full-time job.
And after so much bloodshed, Eric's demeanor had undergone a quiet but obvious transformation.
"You look like you've been to the edge of the world and back. Anything interesting happen, Eric?" Bilbo asked, peering over the rim of his teacup.
"A lot, actually." Eric said with a soft sigh, the weight of his memories tugging at his voice.
Bilbo knew that look. That was a story face. And if there was one thing Bilbo appreciated more than second breakfast, it was a good story, especially when told by someone who had lived it.
"If I'd known you were coming, I would've picked up some fresher ingredients. We'll make do for lunch today, but just wait, I'm heading to the market later. Dinner tomorrow will be a feast!"
Bilbo rummaged through his larder, already plotting out the next week's meals.
But, sadly, Eric only stayed the night.
Goodbyes always came too soon.
At dawn the next day, Eric mounted his horse and prepared to leave.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay a little longer?" Bilbo asked, arms crossed, genuinely disappointed.
"Haha, don't worry, Bilbo. We'll meet again. You can bet your pipeweed on it."
Eric said, waving as he turned his steed toward the horizon.
Hands on hips, Bilbo nodded and watched him ride off. His mind drifted back to the tales Eric had shared the night before, stories of Oger forest, orc warbands, hidden valleys, and ancient elven halls.
All of it sounded magical, wondrous... and slightly terrifying.
For a moment, he even considered... no, no, absolutely not. Adventures were messy and uncomfortable. Nothing could beat the comfort of Bag End.
Still, as he stepped back inside, he couldn't help peeking out the window one more time.
A few days later…
In the dense woods near the River Lune, Eric galloped between the trees, decked out in gleaming elven-forged steel armor. He ducked under low-hanging branches, cursing under his breath.
"Of all the cursed places, why are there orcs here too?!"
A guttural howl echoed behind him.
Warg riders.
At least a dozen of them were hot on his tail, and five of those snarling beasts carried orcs on their backs.
In hindsight, taking the shortcut was probably not his brightest idea.
Truth be told, this number of enemies wouldn't normally faze Eric.
But his horse was terrified.
Whinny!
An arrow whistled through the air and thudded into the horse's flank. The creature reared back with a shriek, its hooves pawing the air.
And that pause was all the enemy needed.
One of the wargs lunged and bit down hard on the horse's rear.
These monsters really had a thing for biting butts.
"Off, you mangy mutt!"
Eric twisted around and stabbed backward, his blade punching clean through the warg's skull. The beast's corpse thudded to the ground as he quickly pulled out a handful of wheat and fed it to the horse, restoring its health bar in a flash.
Thank the gods for enchanted feed.
If this had been a regular horse, it would've died five times over by now.
Behind him, an orc loosed another arrow that whizzed so close to his head it clipped a lock of hair.
"Whoa!"
Eric swore under his breath and reached for his own bow.
He fired back only to miss spectacularly.
"Ha-haaaa!"
The orcs erupted into mocking laughter.
Nothing hurt worse than being outshot by a mob you considered cannon fodder.
"That's right, laugh it up," Eric growled. "If I wasn't on this damn horse, I'd turn you all into loot drops!"
Determined, he fired again. And again.
His aim was trash, but he had a lot of arrows.
Somewhere in the hundreds, actually.
Quantity over quality. Sooner or later, something had to hit.
Sure enough, one by one, the pursuing wargs began to drop. The orcs' glee turned to confusion.
Why isn't this guy running out of arrows?
Is he… summoning them from thin air?
One of the orcs shouted, "Coward! Come down and fight!"
Eric grinned. "You sure about that?"
He veered sharply around a tree, leapt off the saddle mid-motion, and with a few swift moves, set down several cobblestone blocks to block the path.
Then, he turned and ran toward the incoming wargs.
The beasts, eager for blood, lunged straight at him.
Bad move.
Two quick slashes and two wargs were down, only managing to gnaw off a sliver of his HP easily healed in seconds.
The rest of the pack piled on, sinking fangs into his sides, legs, even trying for his head.
In under five seconds, he was covered in snarling monsters.
They barely tickled.
His health bar wavered between 98% and full, their only real attack being the psychological damage of foul-smelling orc-warg drool.
Then came the fun part.
Slash. Hack. Spin. Repeat.
"Ahah! You're done for now!" one orc roared, charging forward with a meat cleaver raised high.
Only to stop short, eyes wide, as a sword punched through a warg's ribcage and skewered his throat.
"Seriously," Eric muttered, brushing off another dead warg. "Even dead, these things won't let go."
With the remaining orcs frozen in horror, Eric charged.
[Reputation with Blue Mountain Dwarves +15]
[Reputation with Lindon Region +10]
The system's cheerful chime marked the complete wipeout of the ambush party.
Eric opened his faction interface, idly checking his standings.
Wait a minute.
When did he rack up 160 reputation points with the Lindon region?
"Hmm?"
Apparently, Lindon and Rivendell shared the same reputation pool. Which, come to think of it, made sense. They were basically two branches of the same elven tree.
Well, at least he didn't have to worry about making introductions there anymore.
As for the dwarves…
So far, the Blue Mountain lot seemed to hold him in friendly regard. He wouldn't be interrogated the moment he stepped foot in their halls.
Breaking down his stone barricade, Eric climbed back onto his horse and rode on until he reached the river.
He had finally arrived at the banks of the Lune.
But swimming across on horseback? Not happening.
Time for some classic on-the-go crafting.
Eric whipped out his crafting bench and quickly slapped together a rectangular wooden boat. He nudged his horse aboard first, then climbed in himself, grabbed the paddles, and started rowing.
The tiny boat bobbed steadily across the water, cutting through the mist and leaving gentle ripples in its wake.
Surprisingly, it wasn't any slower than riding.
Before long, he made it to the far shore.
Standing once more on solid ground, Eric took out the old parchment map Bilbo had given him.
No marked coordinates for Thorin's Hall, of course. Whoever drew this had done it vibes only.
Not that it mattered. Once he scouted the area himself, he could mark the location on his system map.
From what he remembered, Thorin's Hall should be somewhere…
Southwest. Probably.
The next day passed in typical travel fashion long, boring stretches of forest and hills, nothing but hoofbeats and thoughts to keep him company.
But by dusk, the silhouette of a mighty mountain range cut into the horizon. And beneath it, the faint glow of warm lights flickered like embers.
The road beneath his boots turned from dirt to carefully-laid stone.
Eric smiled.
He had arrived.