"Thanks. But seriously—did you come all this way for something important? You could stay a few more days. I've been experimenting with some new recipes…"
"No need for an extended stay," the Dunedain replied with a grin, "but yes, I did come to talk to you about something."
He paused, then said more seriously, "Eric, ever since that cavalry squad was wiped out, the goblin king in the Misty Mountains has caught wind of your presence. There's a good chance he'll try to retaliate. You'd best be careful when you move around."
Goblin king…
The first name that popped into Eric's head was Azog, but he quickly shook that thought away. He'd never heard Azog referred to as the goblin king.
Then it clicked—that guy.
A bloated, towering goblin came to mind. The one who lived holed up in a cave somewhere—yes, it had to be him.
"I understand. Thanks for the warning."
Dunedains were always hard to pin down. Despite Eric's attempts to get him to stay longer, the man refused. All he agreed to was a short stroll through the territory to see what was new.
Like the Iron Golems.
These hulking machines stared at the visitor with expressionless faces, making him visibly uneasy. One of them even scratched its metal head, then somehow pulled a tiny red flower out of nowhere and handed it to him.
No hostile intent—just surprisingly good social programming.
"Uh… thanks," the Dunedain said, taking the flower with a polite nod.
After the quick tour, the wanderer left as swiftly as he'd come.
Not long after, Eric mounted his horse and galloped eastward along the main road.
And honestly, having a horse made travel ridiculously efficient. This one only clocked in at around 11.5 meters per second, but the key was that it could maintain that pace indefinitely.
Plus, Eric didn't need rest either.
Man and horse ran full tilt for an entire day, arriving at a notable landmark at incredible speed: The Last Bridge.
As he neared the river, Eric slowed his steed to a trot and guided it across the stone bridge step by step, taking a moment to admire the scenery.
The water shimmered in the sunset, casting a crimson glow over the fading daylight.
This is it.
"The Forest of Ogres," Eric muttered, unfolding his map.
Northeast of here lay the infamous forest—home to a dangerous concentration of ogres from both the eastern wastelands and the Misty Mountains.
And despite the misleading name, it held far more than just three ogres.
Eric didn't know the exact location of the trio that would one day try to roast Bilbo Baggins, but that didn't stop his curiosity. Who knows? Maybe he'd stumble across them—and if not, well, a little sightseeing never hurt.
Even if the view here was... aggressively average.
Having made up his mind, Eric dug a large pit near the bridge, stowed his horse inside, and sealed the entrance like a bizarre reverse stable.
Thanks to traveling by horse, he'd barely touched his food supplies over the last couple of days—his provisions were still plentiful.
Confident the horse was secure, Eric wasted no time and sprinted northeast.
The sun vanished almost instantly.
Night fell.
A breeze rustled the trees but failed to stir Eric in the slightest.
Rustle—
He pushed through a thick clump of bushes, startling a panicked rabbit before letting out a quiet sigh of disappointment.
Half the night had passed since he entered the forest, and still—not a single ogre in sight.
Anyone watching would think he was insane.
Most people would run from monsters. Eric? He actively sought them out—and couldn't find a single one.
What, are they all hiding from me?
Just then, a sudden movement in the bushes behind him broke his train of thought. A dark figure leapt out, blade raised high, charging straight at him.
"Aha! Look what I fou—"
SWISH!
In a blink, Eric whipped out his sword and spun backward in a fluid motion.
Critical hit.
"GARRK—!"
The attacker collapsed in an instant.
Eric eyed the body. An orc.
He immediately tensed up. These things never traveled alone. They were like cockroaches—spot one, and you could bet there were more nearby.
Still, this one hadn't had time to alert the others. Maybe he'd get lucky.
Unfortunately, the moment the scent of blood hit the air, any hope of a quiet night vanished.
"AWOOOOOO!"
The wargs began to howl.
The sound came from way too close.
Eric's skin prickled. He dropped his pack and strapped on his armor in record time.
Rustle-rustle-rustle—
Wargs burst from the foliage, one after another. The lead beast lunged at Eric with its massive jaws wide open.
That bite could probably cleave a man in half.
THUD!
A wooden tower shield reinforced with iron slammed into place just in time. The lead warg crashed into it, dazed from the rebound.
It didn't even get a second to recover. Eric immediately slashed downward—another critical hit. The warg let out a howl and collapsed, blood spraying across the undergrowth.
More followed, snarling and lunging from every direction.
Eric fought while slowly retreating, shield raised, sword swinging. At any given moment, seven or eight wargs were attacking simultaneously—but he still made time to stab each fallen one just to be sure.
So long as the shield held, they couldn't do much to him.
Their attacks lacked the raw strength to break through it. Sure, they were fast, but he was faster.
THUMP!
Eric blocked a pounce with the shield, spun around, and sliced cleanly through another beast. But in that instant, a different warg lunged at his back and clamped down on his waist.
A sharp jolt of pain shot through his side.
That one had been waiting patiently, just for a moment of distraction.
[-1]
Not a lot of damage, though.
Lucky for Eric, it bit down on one of the most heavily armored spots on his body.
Still, he'd almost forgotten—the wargs weren't the only problem.
Up on a nearby rock outcrop, an orc archer quietly nocked an arrow and aimed carefully.
TWANG—
Eric's vision jolted as something struck his helmet.
The orc grinned, baring yellowed teeth.
Bullseye—right between the eyes. The arrow had seemingly pierced the silver helm and lodged itself deep.
Headshot.
But then the orc's smug expression twisted into pure horror.
Eric calmly pulled the arrow out of his skull, blood dripping down his face. He looked directly at the archer with a slow, deliberate glare.
[-4]
That one hit hard. If not for the helmet, it might've killed him.
But it didn't.
His hunger bar ticked down slightly—his health bar shot right back up.
No big deal.
He ignored the archer for now and dove back into the fray, blood flying as he cut down one warg after another.
From his rocky perch, the orc archer watched in disbelief.
How was this guy still alive?
The wargs had bitten him. He'd been hit by arrows. But nothing stuck—he just kept healing and swinging.
The orc tried again, loosing another arrow. But Eric raised the shield every time, blocking each shot. He'd rather take another warg bite than let one of those arrows land.
It wasn't long before the battlefield quieted.
Eric stood alone among a pile of mangled warg corpses, casually chewing a piece of dried beef.
The orc's eyes widened in terror as Eric walked toward him.
SWISH!
One clean stroke—and the archer's head went flying.