Trolls

"What do you mean?"

As soon as Gandalf finished speaking, Thorin Oakenshield's heart tightened. He immediately pressed him for an answer.

"You—and perhaps your entire line of Durin's Folk—have likely been marked for death."

"Otherwise, the Orcs could never have found us so quickly!"

"As for why, you know better than I do."

Gandalf spoke gravely, and Thorin Oakenshield's heart sank.

If Gandalf was right, and all the descendants of Durin's Folk had been marked for death, the Orcs could indeed track them by the scent of their kin's blood.

That would also explain why Orc scouts had found them so quickly, even though they had only just entered Orc territory.

It was the only explanation.

There was no way it was just a coincidence.

After a long silence, Thorin Oakenshield spoke gravely. "If that's true, then we can't stay. We have to leave at once. The Orcs could come after us at any moment!"

Gandalf glanced up at the sun hanging high in the sky and replied casually, "They probably won't come just yet. Orcs don't like sunlight."

"Then we should still leave. We need to get as far away as possible before nightfall."

Thorin Oakenshield shook his head and started toward the others, who were resting.

"We fought a battle last night, then ran for half the night. Do you really think we can set out again now?"

"And even if we could, the horses certainly couldn't."

Gandalf continued, and Thorin Oakenshield stopped in his tracks.

After a brief silence, Thorin Oakenshield turned to look at Gandalf. "You're trying to suggest something, aren't you?"

"We're very close to the Hidden Valley."

"We could keep traveling along the valley. Then the Orcs wouldn't dare follow us."

Gandalf continued, but Thorin Oakenshield cut him off at once. "No!"

"I told you long ago, I don't want to go near that place!"

"Why not?"

"Going there would not only keep us safe from the Orcs."

"The Elves would help us, too. We could replenish our food, get some proper rest, and hear their advice."

Gandalf still couldn't understand. It was an opportunity with every benefit and no downside.

"I don't need their advice!" Thorin Oakenshield refused without hesitation.

"But King Elrond could help us decipher that map!"

"Don't forget, there are very few people in all of Middle-earth who can read it."

"And now we have the chance. Once we enter the Hidden Valley, all our current problems can be solved."

Gandalf spoke gravely.

"Help us?"

"When the dragon Smaug attacked Erebor, did the Elves help us?"

"When those damned Orcs plundered Moria and desecrated our holy places, did the Elves help us?"

"No. They stood by and watched!"

"And now you expect me to beg the Elves who betrayed my grandfather, my father, and all of Durin's Folk?"

Thorin Oakenshield turned to face Gandalf, his expression resolute as he shook his head and spoke coldly.

"But you're not them!"

"I gave you the map and the key so you wouldn't spend your life trapped in the past, clinging to your hatred!"

Hearing how stubborn Thorin Oakenshield was, Gandalf's expression changed. He snapped, "That's the key to the Lonely Mountain. You have no right to keep it."

Thorin Oakenshield continued, as stubborn as the hardest granite.

"Hmph."

Gandalf was furious at the sight of Thorin Oakenshield's obstinate face.

The Company had been attacked just last night. Now the Orcs had marked them for death, their food was nearly gone, and everyone was exhausted and half-asleep.

And the biggest problem remained: they still hadn't uncovered the secret passage to the Lonely Mountain hidden in the map.

The whole Company was facing one difficulty after another.

They could solve everything simply by going to the Hidden Valley.

Yet Thorin Oakenshield was so stubborn that he refused to see reason over a family grudge from years ago.

It was absurd.

"Hmph."

"I hope you don't regret this."

Gandalf gave a scornful laugh, then turned and walked out.

He knew Dwarves were stubborn, but he hadn't expected Thorin to be this stubborn.

This was beyond stubbornness. It was unreasonable.

Gandalf stormed out of the house.

The Dwarves resting outside immediately looked over.

Everyone had heard Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield arguing.

"Are you all right, Gandalf?"

"Where are you going?"

Seeing Gandalf stride away, furious, Bilbo quickly got to his feet and asked.

"To find the only sensible person in the Company!"

"Who's that?"

"Me!"

Gandalf stormed off.

The camp, which had been fairly relaxed, fell silent.

The Company had only just been attacked by Orcs last night.

Now their leader, Thorin Oakenshield, had argued with the wizard Gandalf.

Everyone was worried.

"Rumble!"

Just then, deafening thunder suddenly rolled across the sky.

Everyone jumped in fright.

They hurriedly looked up.

The sky, which had been clear only moments ago, was now covered in dark clouds.

The air was gloomy, and rain looked imminent.

"Damn, that scared me."

"How did the weather change so fast?"

"Quick, it's going to rain. Let's put up the tents!"

"Wait a little. It probably won't rain that soon."

"Oh no, it's already starting!"

"Quick, put up the tents! I don't want to get soaked in weather like this!"

Huge raindrops began pelting down.

The temporary camp descended into a frantic scramble.

In a clearing in the woods not far from camp, Morgan's training came to a halt as well.

The discomfort from the attribute boost had completely worn off.

The White Crow Swordsmanship had also improved considerably after being pushed forward too quickly.

As for his Archery, which had now reached LV3, all he needed to do was keep practicing and let the skill develop gradually.

"Pitter-patter!"

The autumn rain came on fast.

Less than half an hour passed between the first signs of a storm and the downpour.

Morgan had only just lifted his waterskin to his lips when the rain came crashing down in a dense torrent.

"Damn it!"

Morgan swore. Forgetting his drink, he sheathed his sword, grabbed his waterskin, and ran toward the nearby camp.

There was no cave or rock shelter at this temporary campsite where he could take cover.

Morgan hurried back to camp and saw Bilbo struggling to raise a tent.

He rushed over to help.

By the time his clothes were soaked through, Morgan and Bilbo had finally put up the tent he shared with Bilbo and Gandalf.

"Where's Gandalf?"

Taking off his leather armor, Morgan asked casually.

"I don't know."

"Gandalf and Thorin had an argument, and then he went outside."

Bilbo shook his head.

"Gandalf and Thorin argued?"

"When did that happen?"

Morgan turned to look at Bilbo.

"Just now, before it started raining."

As soon as Bilbo finished speaking, Morgan realized what was going on. He immediately headed outside bare-chested.

Then he saw an abandoned, dilapidated wooden house standing at the edge of the camp nearby.

Morgan narrowed his eyes at the ruined house. Memories of the story flashed through his mind, and he murmured, "Trolls."

Sorry for the trouble, dear reader "Ge Jian Ye Ting Yu," and thank you so much for the generous tip.