Wanted

The roast spotted deer feast had been delicious.

Even though just half a day earlier, the Expedition Team had been ambushed by Orc scout cavalry and forced to flee wounded.

After this feast of roast meat,

the team's previously somewhat subdued mood had clearly lightened.

After last night's fierce battle and running for most of the night,

the members of the Expedition Team were truly exhausted.

After the roast venison feast, Thorin Oakenshield didn't have the team set off right away.

Instead, they rested where they were.

The members of the Expedition Team were chatting, smoking, or lying down to rest.

Only one person was wielding a Cross Longsword and swinging it again and again in an open area not far from their temporary camp.

Naturally, the one practicing swordsmanship was Morgan.

Not long ago, after strengthening his three main attributes, Morgan had found it difficult to adjust to his sudden increase in strength and agility.

That embarrassing fall before the meal had been caused by this.

Otherwise, with Morgan's skill and control over his body, even if the ground had been slippery, it would have been hard for him to fall.

"Ha! Ha!"

His feet shifted constantly as the iron Cross Longsword in his hand repeatedly cut through the air with a heavy whoosh.

"Whoosh!"

"Feels great!"

He finished his third run-through of White Crow Swordsmanship.

Morgan felt hot all over, exhilarated.

Morgan was in a good mood.

He had thought it would take at least a day or two to fully adjust to his strengthened body.

He hadn't expected that after just a few rounds of White Crow Swordsmanship,

he would already feel almost completely accustomed to it.

Just a few more rounds, and he should be able to adjust completely and be back to normal.

He glanced toward the camp nearby. The members of the Expedition Team were all resting.

Morgan silently let out a long breath and continued training.

"Ha! Ha!"

His feet shifted, and the sword continued to whistle through the air.

Morgan's body flowed through the moves of White Crow Swordsmanship, constantly shifting and changing.

At the same time, he was thinking about the journey ahead.

In his memories of the story, there had been no attack by an Orc scout party last night.

Had his involvement caused this sudden change in the plot?

Or was there some other reason?

Would the events ahead continue to unfold as they had in the story?

Or would they change?

Morgan's greatest support in this world was, of course, the Time Traveler System inside him.

It allowed Morgan to obtain Soul Power and continuously strengthen himself.

His next greatest advantage was his knowledge of Middle-earth's history from the story he remembered.

It gave Morgan something like an omniscient perspective, allowing him to avoid danger and seek good fortune.

These were Morgan's greatest assets for surviving in this world.

If the course of Middle-earth's future changed because of his involvement,

what should he do?

Of course, it was also entirely possible that it had nothing to do with him. Right now, he was just an insignificant nobody.

But regardless, what should he do if the plot changed drastically?

His body continued to swing the sword through the familiar moves of White Crow Swordsmanship, so familiar that they had become instinctive.

At the same time, he pondered this important question.

But after thinking it over for a long while, he still couldn't come to any conclusion.

When he finished a full set of sword forms,

Morgan stopped, breathing hard. He picked up the waterskin nearby and was about to drink when

the answer suddenly came to him.

There was no need to think about it at all.

There was nothing he could change.

All he needed to do next was master the White Crow Swordsmanship and Archery that the system had strengthened,

then kill as many Orcs as possible to gain Soul Power, strengthen himself, and grow more powerful.

As for everything else, he would have to go with the flow and act as the situation demanded.

If the Expedition Team's journey went as smoothly as it had in the story, then he would enter the Lonely Mountain with them.

If things didn't go smoothly, and the plot changed suddenly along the way, putting him in grave danger—danger to his life—

Morgan wouldn't hesitate to leave the Expedition Team.

He had never been the sort of person who would risk his life for someone or something.

There was no one and nothing worth that to him.

Having thought it through,

Morgan stopped dwelling on it.

He took a long gulp of water,

then picked up his sword and continued training.

The exhaustion from last night's battle and running all night had long since been driven away by the warm currents from his repeated enhancements.

Come to think of it, this was another lifesaving trump card.

Imagine two people fighting until they were utterly exhausted, and then you suddenly strengthened yourself once.

You'd be back at full strength, which would be an absolute nightmare for your enemy.

Hmm, next time I strengthen myself, I have to save some Soul Power, Morgan thought.

As for his current physical condition, it was better than ever before.

The temporary camp.

Morgan was training by himself nearby.

The other members of the team had seen him do it before.

Over the past month or so, Morgan had trained in Archery alone like this several times.

They were used to seeing it and didn't find it strange.

Although this was the first time he'd trained after fighting and fleeing for most of the night, despite being so exhausted.

After a few quiet exchanges, the Dwarves stopped paying attention.

Only Kili, Morgan's student in all but name, watched his distant "teacher" with an urge to go join him.

But feeling the exhaustion and weakness in his body, he decided against it.

Bilbo leaned against a dead tree stump, puffing on his pipe.

Thinking back to last night's battle, he still felt unsettled.

Over the past month or so, although he couldn't bathe often during the journey, couldn't eat delicious breakfasts and dinners at regular times, couldn't sleep in a soft, warm bed, and couldn't get a good night's sleep without the sound of snoring, among other things,

Bilbo had still managed to endure it.

He had thought that was what an adventure was like: arduous and exhausting, but worth it after traveling so far and seeing so much beautiful scenery.

But the appearance of those ugly, savage, hideous Orcs last night

had completely shattered Bilbo's expectations.

For the first time, he had truly realized what an adventure was.

In one corner of the camp, inside the dilapidated, abandoned house,

Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield were talking.

"I'd only just entered Orc territory when they found me."

"This can't be a coincidence."

"Thorin, who else have you told about the expedition besides your family?"

Gandalf turned to look at Thorin Oakenshield, his expression grave.

"No one!"

Thorin Oakenshield shook his head.

"This can't be a coincidence. Who did you tell?"

Gandalf didn't believe him. He pressed the question again, his voice low and angry.

"I haven't told anyone else. I swear!"

Thorin Oakenshield spoke gravely.

Even when everyone had objected to Bilbo joining the team, Thorin Oakenshield had never seen Gandalf this angry. He asked, "What's going on?"

Seeing that Thorin Oakenshield didn't seem to be lying, Gandalf stopped questioning him and replied in a low voice, "You may have been marked for death!"