I Really Didn't Mean to Be a Pretty Boy

"Cheers!"

The two tall, sturdy wooden mugs clashed, sending a spray of cool foam flying.

Gulp, gulp.

The enticing sound of someone drinking heartily continued for a good while.

"Ah!"

A groan of pure satisfaction rang out.

"Thump!"

The heavy wooden mug landed hard on the table.

Morgan let out a long breath. "That hit the spot!"

Although Hobbit ale was nowhere near as refined as the beer of his previous life, and had a much lower alcohol content,

it was brewed from pure grains and fermented with several kinds of fruit, making it as much fruit wine as ale.

It had a rich flavor with a hint of fruit, and had been "chilled" by soaking it in a cold, flowing stream.

After spending over half a month living in the wilderness, Morgan found it especially refreshing.

"Not bad, right? The ale here has a lot more kick than the stuff you get elsewhere."

Gandalf wiped the ale from his thick beard and smiled.

"It really is good."

Morgan picked up a thick slice of smoked sausage from the plate before him and popped it into his mouth. He chewed as he spoke.

He hadn't had a chance to try the ale elsewhere yet.

He remembered having some at a tavern in Fero Town, but it hadn't tasted much better.

He was treating the Hobbit ale as fruit wine, anyway.

After all, in a world like this, he couldn't afford to be too fussy.

"This is only one of the reasons I like this place."

"If you stay here for a while, you'll find you don't want to leave."

Gandalf cut up the smoked fish on his plate with his knife and fork, then popped a piece into his mouth, savoring it.

"I feel the same way, but before that, I need to take on enough jobs and earn enough money."

"After all, I can't grow potatoes like the Hobbits."

Morgan nodded. He agreed with Gandalf.

But for now, he had no intention of settling down in Hobbiton.

Perhaps hearing Morgan mention jobs, Gandalf set down his cutlery and picked up the mug of ale the bartender had just refilled. He took a long gulp.

Then he smiled. "Don't worry. The job I'm recommending will earn you a handsome commission."

Knowing exactly what Gandalf meant, Morgan immediately asked, "Gandalf, may I ask who the employer is?"

Gandalf kept working his knife and fork, popping a piece of smoked sausage into his mouth as he casually replied, "A group of Dwarves."

Morgan feigned surprise. "Dwarves?"

Gandalf nodded. "Yes. If you want the job, you'll have to satisfy them."

At that, Gandalf seemed to realize he was making himself look bad. After all, he'd just guaranteed Morgan would get the job. So he quickly continued, "But don't worry. With your skills, Morgan, you'll have no trouble handling it."

"Besides, I'll be there too."

Morgan smiled and nodded, then raised his mug. "I believe you, Gandalf. Cheers."

By the time the two of them left the Blackcurrant Tavern, night had already fallen.

They'd been drinking from afternoon until evening. Even though Hobbit ale was low in alcohol,

they weren't drunk, but they'd both had plenty to drink.

Morgan looked at Gandalf. "Shall we go now?"

Gandalf knew the Durin's Folk he'd arranged to meet might have arrived already, perhaps waiting for his word.

But in their current state, it wouldn't do to meet Bilbo Baggins, whom he hadn't seen in years, or Thorin Oakenshield and the others.

Besides, it was getting too late.

After a moment's thought, Gandalf met Morgan's gaze, then turned and walked back into the Blackcurrant Tavern.

Early the next morning,

Morgan finished washing up and stood before the cheap glass mirror in his room at the tavern.

It was the first time he'd really gotten a good look at his body.

He stood over six feet tall, nearly 1.9 meters.

He was tall and powerfully built, with black shoulder-length hair tied into a ponytail, a lean face with well-defined features, and a pair of deep, captivating blue eyes.

"With looks and a build like this..."

"No wonder he'd managed to seduce so many women in Fero Town, including the wife of his former superior, the captain of the Fero Town Guard."

Looking at himself in the mirror, Morgan shook his head.

His appearance now was worlds apart from how he'd looked in his previous life.

He'd been ugly before, even downright menacing.

But as an underground fighter with a solid reputation, he'd never been short of money, or women.

So he'd never cared about his looks.

Now that he'd suddenly become a handsome man with a great physique, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

It might sound a little conceited, but if he had the choice, he'd rather have kept his old, fearsome face.

With his skills, he'd never have trouble finding women, no matter what he looked like.

Still, being handsome was a new experience in life, and Morgan would do his best to get used to it.

Without giving it another thought, Morgan picked up the comfortable silk shirt he'd bought yesterday, along with his new leather cuirass and greaves, and started getting dressed.

He'd sold the Giant Bear meat yesterday for three gold coins.

In this world, one standard gold coin was worth about twenty standard silver coins.

Last night, treating Gandalf to drinks and a feast had cost ten silver coins. Adding in the clothes, leather armor, arrows, and room fee,

Morgan now had just two silver coins left.

Money really did flow like water.

Of that, ten silver coins had gone on food and drink, fifteen on arrows to restock his quiver, and three on clothes and lodging.

The rest had gone toward his new set of leather armor, which had cost thirty silver coins in total.

The armor didn't look like particularly good quality.

From what he remembered of the story, this journey would be dangerous.

He'd originally wanted to buy a chainmail shirt, but after asking the price, he'd given up on the idea.

As for the Cross Longsword he'd been wanting to replace, he hadn't even dared ask how much it cost.

It was simply too expensive.

He wore a silk shirt under a yellow cuirass.

His lower half was clad in close-fitting clothes, with yellow greaves strapped over his legs.

He tied his black hair into a ponytail, then shaved off his beard with his dagger.

Finally, he hung his longsword at his waist, tucked the dagger into his boot, and slung his longbow and quiver over his back.

By the time Morgan finished getting ready and stepped out of his room, he looked like a completely different person.

Gandalf looked him over as he came down from the second floor of the tavern and nodded repeatedly.

"Now you finally look like a bounty hunter."

"Come on. If we don't show up soon, they'll be getting impatient."

The two left the Blackcurrant Tavern, took the reins from the stable hand, mounted their horses, and rode off at a brisk pace.

The sky was still dim, and a red sun was just about to rise above the eastern horizon.

They rode quickly toward the outskirts of Hobbiton.

After a while, they crossed two clear streams and passed several low hills and vast stretches of lush farmland.

Before long, scattered clusters of small, charming, bunker-like homes came into view.

Morgan followed Gandalf, striding purposefully ahead.

Before long, he spotted a short, stocky Hobbit lounging on a bench beside the road, smoking a pipe.