To be fair, Bilbo wasn't wrong.
A great deal had indeed transpired over the past few months, Garrett had personally slain over a hundred orcs.
He had successfully transformed from a complete novice who knew nothing into a seasoned warrior who could fight calmly in various situations. Although he hadn't participated in any large-scale battles, he had taken part in plenty of skirmishes and ambushes.
After many brutal encounters, his entire bearing had quietly undergone a transformation.
"You look like you've just returned from distant lands. Did anything noteworthy happen?"
"Quite a bit, actually," Garrett said with genuine feeling.
Seeing Garrett like this, Bilbo knew the next little while wouldn't be dull, this fellow was an excellent storyteller.
"If I'd known you were coming, I would've purchased some fresh provisions. For now, let's just have something simple for luncheon. Afterward, I'll venture to the market..."
He rummaged through his pantry, already considering what they'd eat over the next few days.
Unfortunately, Garrett only stayed for a single day.
Reunions are always brief.
---
The next morning, Garrett mounted his horse and prepared to depart.
"Are you certain you won't stay a bit longer?"
Bilbo sounded rather disappointed.
"Haha, don't worry. We'll see each other again."
Bilbo stood with hands on his hips and nodded. As he watched Garrett ride away into the distance, his thoughts drifted with him, recalling the tales Garrett had shared the previous day.
The Trollshaws, orcs, Rivendell, elves...
All these strange and marvelous things stirred a longing in the hobbit's heart. He even wondered... no, forget such nonsense.
Adventure? Impossible.
That kind of exhausting and uncertain life couldn't possibly compare to the comfort of Bag End.
Shaking his head, he went back inside. But he still couldn't resist glancing out the window one final time.
---
Several days later, in the woodlands near the River Lhûn, Garrett galloped on horseback in full elven steel armor, weaving between trees while cursing.
"Damn it, why the hell are there orcs here too?!"
"Roaaaar!"
Warg-riders.
At least a dozen wargs were pursuing him, five bearing orc riders.
If he had known, he wouldn't have taken this shortcut through the forest.
This number of enemies wouldn't normally concern him, but his mount was terrified.
Whinny.
In a moment of distraction, an arrow from one of the orc archers struck his horse. It reared up, stumbling for a crucial instant.
That pause was all it took, one of the wargs leaped forward and sank its fangs into the horse's flank. These beasts really had an obsession with attacking from behind.
"Get lost!"
Garrett stabbed backward with his sword, piercing the warg's skull. The body tumbled away behind him. Glancing back, he retrieved some wheat and fed it to his horse, instantly restoring its health. If it had been an ordinary mount, it would have been shot or mauled to death several times over by now.
The orcs behind him howled and loosed another arrow, which whistled past his ear, making him flinch.
"Tch."
Clearly, taking repeated hits wasn't sustainable. He had no choice but to draw his bow and return fire.
Whoosh.
As expected, he missed completely.
"Har har har!"
The orcs behind him erupted in mocking laughter.
Honestly, realizing his mounted archery skills were inferior to those of common orc raiders was enough to make his blood boil.
"Laugh while you can. If I wasn't on horseback, I'd destroy all of you!"
He continued firing.
What he lacked in precision, he compensated for with volume. If he shot enough arrows, something was bound to find its mark. After all, he carried plenty of ammunition.
Ever seen an archer with several hundred arrows in reserve?
As one warg after another fell to his shots, the orcs pursuing him finally realized the tide was turning against them.
Does this human have an endless supply of arrows?
I mean, I've been watching, and I still can't figure out where he's pulling them from!
"Bah! Coward! Come down and fight like a warrior!" one orc shouted tauntingly.
"Oh, you asked for it!" Garrett called back.
Swerving around a massive oak, he suddenly leaped from his horse. He quickly placed several cobblestone blocks in succession behind him, creating a barrier, then turned to intercept the wargs attempting to leap over.
Seeing him charging directly at them, the wargs ignored the blocked path and rushed at him with savage roars. But with just a few swift strikes, left and right, Garrett cut down two of them.
And they only managed to drain a sliver of his health, which was fully restored within moments.
Following those two, a pack of slower wargs came charging in, converging on him en masse. Some bit at his waist, others tore at his legs, and one even leaped to snap at his head. Within seconds, he was engulfed by wargs. But the occasional floating -1 damage indicator made it clear, they were barely scratching him. No matter how viciously they attacked, they couldn't outpace his health regeneration.
The greatest "damage" they inflicted was covering him in rank, putrid slobber.
What followed was straightforward.
Simply kill, then continue killing.
"Aha! You're finished for certain!"
An orc, seeing Garrett buried beneath a pile of wargs, assumed he couldn't possibly survive and charged in, brandishing a crude scimitar. But the next moment, a blade pierced through one of the wargs and drove straight into the orc's throat.
"Ugh, even dead, these things won't let go."
He pried off the dead warg still clinging to him. With the remaining orcs just beginning to comprehend their peril, he pursued them without mercy.
[Blue Mountains Dwarves Reputation +15]
[Lindon Reputation +10]
The system notifications appeared, confirming the complete elimination of this small war-band.
He opened his faction interface and, after examination, suddenly noticed his Lindon reputation had reached 160, though he didn't recall performing any deeds in that region.
He quickly understood:
Lindon and Rivendell reputations were actually linked.
Considering it, that made perfect sense. The two realms had originally belonged to the same elven faction, so it was logical they would be counted as one.
That meant he was now well-regarded in Lindon as well.
As for the dwarves, at least the Blue Mountains dwarves now held a friendly attitude toward him, so he needn't worry about hostile interrogation upon arrival.
He cleared away the stone blocks, remounted his horse, and continued westward, soon reaching the riverbank.
Once he crossed the Lhûn and traveled a bit farther, he'd reach the Blue Mountains proper.
But swimming across on horseback was clearly impractical.
He produced a crafting table and quickly assembled a rectangular boat on the spot. He coaxed his horse aboard, then climbed on himself, selected a heading, and began rowing.
The vessel was compact, just large enough for one man and one mount.
With both oars working steadily under his control, the small craft glided across the cloudy reflections on the water, leaving ripples in its path. Rowing proved no slower than riding, and before long, he had crossed the moderately wide river.
Back on solid ground, he gazed into the distance, knowing his destination wasn't far now. He once again unfolded the parchment map he had obtained from Bilbo.
Whoever had drawn it clearly hadn't bothered to mark the precise location of Thorin's Halls.
But it mattered little, once he explored the area himself, he'd simply add a waypoint to his internal map, and then he'd never have difficulty finding it again. Even without the exact coordinates, he still had a general sense of direction.
It should be, to the southwest.
Most of the journey proved uneventful and tedious.
It wasn't until the following evening that he finally glimpsed the silhouette of mountains on the horizon, with gleams of light at their base. He stepped onto a solid, well-maintained road and finally exhaled in relief.
He had arrived at the Blue Mountains.