That afternoon, Bilbo came bustling out of his pantry, dragging an entire garland of sausages behind him—dozens of different flavors—declaring with great sincerity that as a proud local resident, he simply had to properly host such an esteemed guest from afar.
Naturally, Eric wasn't about to refuse.
The two of them ended up enjoying an unexpectedly lavish "afternoon tea."
As Eric savored the meal—which, incidentally, he'd cooked himself—his mind remained preoccupied.
He'd read The Fellowship of the Ring and its sequels more times than he could count. He was intimately familiar with the story's main events, iconic lines, and grand narrative arcs.
But now that he was actually in this world? All the gaps the books glossed over—the day-to-day details, local customs, what time dinner usually happened—those were great big question marks.
He needed time. Time to settle in. Time to gather intel.
After the meal, he politely declined Bilbo's offer of a local blend of pipe-weed. The two of them settled into chairs in the backyard garden, staring into the distance in comfortable silence.
For a while, the only sounds were chirping birds and a soft breeze rustling through the hedges.
Then Bilbo suddenly turned to him.
"Eric, do you have anything important you need to do in the next few days?"
Eric raised an eyebrow and glanced over.
Bilbo stood up, took a deep breath, and waved his hands hastily. "Oh, don't get me wrong! I'm not prying into your personal business. What I mean is—if you're not in a rush, maybe you could stay a few more days?"
"You see, the countryside here is lovely. I thought you might want to explore a bit—relax, take a break. You've clearly been on the road a long time."
He scratched the back of his head, a little sheepishly. "We hobbits don't usually leave our hometowns, and we're not much for adventures. But me, I am curious about the outside world. If you're willing, maybe you could tell me a few stories? In return, I'll be the perfect host!"
Bilbo placed his hands on his hips and gave him a hopeful grin, eyes twinkling like a kid waiting for praise.
In Bilbo's eyes, Eric was now a traveling master chef—possibly even the royal cook of some grand human kingdom. Every bite of his food felt like a blessing.
And indeed, those with real skill never had to worry about going hungry. Eric saw right through the hobbit's little scheme with barely a thought.
Before Bilbo could open his mouth again, nervously trying to convince him further, Eric chuckled.
"Hahaha! Well, since you're being so gracious, I suppose I'll have to shamelessly impose for a few more days."
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Baggins."
"Oh—oh! Wonderful! Excellent!" Bilbo beamed and nodded so fast he looked like he might dislocate something.
When Eric finally excused himself to return indoors, Bilbo let out a long breath. It was the first time he'd ever invited a complete stranger to stay in his home. Naturally, he was a bit on edge.
But leisure never lasts long. Between afternoon tea and dinner, barely a few conversations passed before twilight began to settle.
Under the pretense of "learning local cuisine," Eric ended up adding a few more dishes to his growing recipe list. The result? Bilbo ended up eating everything Eric cooked, while Eric quietly ate the results of Bilbo's enthusiastic but... rustic attempts at cooking.
The poor hobbit began to feel mildly ashamed. It didn't sit well with him to be served gourmet dishes while his guest had to chew through charred mushrooms and overly salted stew.
To someone of Eric's culinary skill, Bilbo imagined eating such clumsy food must be torture.
He himself couldn't imagine stomaching something made by a kitchen novice—say, a pan-fried fish that was still raw inside and burnt outside. He'd probably faint.
Still, the two of them leaned back in their chairs after dinner with satisfied expressions.
Say what you will about hobbits—those tiny stomachs pack volume.
By Eric's usual standards, that meal could have fed him all day. He was certain he wouldn't be able to eat another bite.
After all, in Minecraft, once your hunger bar is full, you physically can't keep eating.
But to his surprise, that wasn't the case here.
Once his "hunger bar" filled up, he could keep eating—at which point, a second, brighter bar started filling above it.
A second hunger bar?
A moment later, Eric realized what it was.
The Apple Skin mod?
In gaming terms, it was called saturation—an invisible stat that filled up after your visible hunger bar, determining how long you could go before your food started dropping again.
Most foods restored hunger but provided very little saturation. That's why your "hidden bar" was usually empty.
But here, Eric could actually see the second bar fill up after the first. And once both were full? Only then did he feel physically full, like a normal person who just polished off Thanksgiving dinner.
Very reasonable.
After dinner, Eric waved goodbye and quietly slipped away from the cottage, heading deep into the woods.
This was something he'd wanted to try for a while.
He glanced around to make sure the coast was clear—no nearby houses, no potential onlookers.
Then he raised a hand and gave the nearest tree a solid punch.
Thunk.
A dull sound echoed. A faint crack appeared in the bark.
His hand? Totally fine.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
With every punch, the cracks deepened. After a few more solid hits—and one very satisfying CRACK—a whole chunk of the tree split off. The entire trunk groaned and toppled over with a thundering crash, startling birds into flight.
From the wreckage, a chunk of wood floated into the air.
[Item Acquired: Oak Log]
Interesting. Unlike in the game, the wood didn't immediately convert into a generic texture. It looked exactly like the piece of tree he'd punched off.
Curious, Eric tried breaking off another piece—only to find it took up a separate inventory slot.
Right. No stacking.
Each piece was slightly different.
But that was easy to fix.
[New Recipe Unlocked: Standardized Oak Plank]
Moments later, the entire fallen tree vanished, leaving behind neatly stacked "Standardized Oak" in his inventory, plus a few sticks and a pile of leaves.
[Achievement Unlocked: Standardized!]
"Aha. That explains it."
Eric nodded. Just like how no two snowflakes are identical, raw materials—when gathered by hand—couldn't stack in his inventory because of small variations.
But after running them through a crafting recipe, they'd convert into uniform items—perfect for stacking and storage.
For example, freshly harvested logs could be run through the four-slot crafting grid in his backpack to turn them into good old-fashioned, stackable planks.
With this new insight, Eric got to work, moving from tree to tree and harvesting materials like a man possessed.
As the items piled up, more crafting recipes unlocked.
First the Crafting Table, then the Wooden Pickaxe.
Soon enough, he was standing in a clearing, holding a crude tool in hand.
Without hesitation, he slammed it into the ground and began to dig—straight down, of course. Like a true professional.
Some time later, Eric emerged from the pit he'd dug, dusty but triumphant.
His backpack now held a full set of stone tools, an achievement notification for reaching the Stone Age, and even a couple furnaces.
He'd also made some charcoal for torches—because, unlike in the game, you couldn't just dig anywhere and expect to find coal lying around.
Eventually, with a soft ding, a green glow briefly shimmered around him.
Level 1.
No dramatic effects. No booming announcements.
Still, it was progress.
Maybe when he found diamonds and obsidian, he could try crafting an enchanting table and see what happened…
By now, the sky had darkened.
He looked up.
The stars were out in full force, with a silver crescent moon nestled among them.
"Beautiful."
Time to head back. Bilbo was probably waiting for a midnight snack.