Completely Satisfied

"Stinks!"

"Really stinks!"

"Stinks beyond words!"

The first thing Morgan noticed as he stepped into the Trolls' dim cave was the stench.

The Trolls themselves smelled awful, too—rank and foul.

But compared to the stench in this cave, that was nothing.

Morgan didn't even know what words could describe the smell.

The cave reeked so badly that comparing it to the foulest thing you could imagine wouldn't be an exaggeration.

"Damn!"

The fumes made Morgan feel a little dizzy. He shook his head hard.

At last, he couldn't take it anymore and tore a strip from the long-sleeved shirt beneath his leather armor.

He stuffed the scraps of cloth into both nostrils.

Once he could no longer smell anything around him, he felt much better.

Only then did he have the presence of mind to look around the cave.

The cave was enormous and spacious.

It was only to be expected. The lair that had held three giant Stone Trolls could hardly have been small.

The cave was spacious, and its interior was every bit as terrifying.

Apart from a relatively clean, grayish-white path down the middle, the ground on either side was strewn with all kinds of gnawed bones.

After a closer look, Morgan realized the path was grayish-white because crushed bone fragments had been trampled into the earth.

There were bones from all kinds of animals, as well as human bones.

The dozen or so members of the Company were all looking for the Trolls' cave. Someone else might discover it at any moment.

Morgan quickly surveyed the area and found no hidden dangers.

Then he strode straight toward the depths of the cave.

The farther he went, the darker it became.

The stench grew stronger, too.

Morgan's nose was tightly plugged with cloth, so his sense of smell was dull.

But his other senses were still exposed, and he could feel the difference.

His eyes were like a second nose.

The farther into the cave he went, the more his eyes began to feel uncomfortable.

The stench was so strong it was burning his eyes.

The light grew dimmer and dimmer. Morgan guessed he had walked some fifty or sixty meters into the cave.

Yet he still couldn't see the end.

Apart from a few rusty longswords stuck at an angle in the earth along the way, he hadn't seen anything else of value.

Morgan continued onward.

Before long, he finally reached the end.

But aside from piles of weeds and dry grass, along with a small amount of dung, he didn't see a single silver coin.

As for the High-elven swords from the story he remembered, there was no sign of them at all.

This was the deepest part of the cave, and evidently where the Trolls rested.

But where was his precious sword?

Morgan looked everywhere, but couldn't find what he wanted. He was getting annoyed.

Ever since he'd realized first thing that morning that their temporary camp was the one from the story he remembered, he'd been thinking about raiding the Trolls' cave.

Now all the Trolls were dead, and the Company had been brought back onto the story's tracks.

He'd even managed to be the first to enter the Trolls' lair, just as he'd hoped.

He'd planned to use this chance to make a killing, only to find there was nothing here.

All that scheming he'd done for half the day had come to nothing.

Anyone would have been frustrated.

"Could they be hidden in all this foul-smelling grass and dry hay?"

After searching the area thoroughly, Morgan stared at the heaps of grass before him and thought it over.

Even with his nose tightly plugged, he could imagine how foul the surroundings smelled—let alone the grass the Trolls slept on.

Wait.

What was that?

Just as Morgan was about to start rummaging through the grass, he noticed a passage on one side of the cave's end.

It was a little narrower than the main passage.

The surrounding darkness also made it hard to see clearly.

It would have been easy to overlook the dim passage.

Morgan hurried over.

Beyond it lay a spacious stone chamber.

Then he saw countless gold and silver coins, coated in dust and dirt, scattered across the floor.

Alongside the heaps of coins stood a broken weapons rack, thick with dust and cobwebs. A few weapons were stuck in it haphazardly.

In the far corner, a fine chest about half a meter wide and long stood half open, filled with gold coins and all kinds of gemstones.

"Finally, I've found it!"

Morgan's face lit up as he looked at the stone chamber, and he let out a long breath of relief.

Now it was time to collect his spoils.

Morgan strode over to the glittering chest and began picking things out.

There was no way he could take the whole chest of treasure for himself.

He had nowhere to put it.

He could bury the chest, as in the story he remembered, but that would take time, and the other members of the Company might show up at any moment.

Besides, fresh earth would leave traces. If anyone noticed, things would get awkward.

Thinking of the vast riches of gold and silver in the Underground Kingdom beneath the Lonely Mountain, Morgan decided it wasn't worth falling out with the Dwarves over this little bit.

Besides, although all three Trolls had died to his arrows, without the Dwarves risking their lives to keep the Trolls occupied and harass them, he wasn't sure he could have killed even one.

He also remembered that Bofur and Bombur had both been badly injured.

Morgan couldn't bring himself to keep all this treasure for himself.

After selecting a small pouchful of the most valuable gemstones, each one crystalline and brightly colored, he stopped.

Without a trace of reluctance, he walked over to the weapons rack.

Several weapons were stuck in it haphazardly, but thick cobwebs covered them in dust.

He couldn't tell exactly what they were.

Morgan reached out and brushed away the cobwebs. Several weapons immediately came into view.

There was a longsword shaped like a cross, a single-edged weapon resembling a long knife, and a short sword.

Morgan drew the Cross Longsword and blew the thick layer of dust from its surface.

At first glance, he could tell that the materials used to forge it were far superior to those of the sword he was carrying.

The sword was silver-white, with an elegant, delicate design and an air of fine craftsmanship.

Looking at it, Morgan suddenly felt that it was more than just a sword. It was practically a work of art.

In the cold-steel world of Middle-earth, few races could forge their own weapons.

Even fewer could forge weapons as exquisite as works of art.

"Whoosh!"

Morgan drew the sword with a swift motion.

Its blade was silver-white, gleaming and flawless, its edge cold and keen.

Morgan brought a finger close to the blade and immediately felt a prickling sensation.

The blade was so sharp that its edge pressed against his skin.

"Whoosh!"

The sword slid back into its sheath.

Morgan was thoroughly pleased. "What a fine sword."

Just then,

a commotion suddenly came from outside.

"Over here!"

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