Welcome to the Team

Whoosh.

The arrow streaked rapidly toward the woods ahead.

The moment his fingers loosened and the arrow took flight, Morgan was struck by an intense premonition.

This shot will hit!

This was no blind, metaphysical hunch, but a capability granted by his Level 2 Archery skill.

He possessed an intuitive sense of control over every arrow he loosed.

It was a natural ability mastered by any archer who reached Level 2 proficiency.

Morgan had clearly sensed it the instant he released the shaft.

Not far beside him, the dwarf Kili's breathing had noticeably quickened.

If anyone present were to be the most nervous, it should have been Morgan himself.

Yet, as a veteran competitor in his past life, tempered by countless high-stakes arenas, Morgan had long forgotten what nervousness felt like; once he stepped into a contest, his fighting spirit only ignited, and his focus sharpened.

Since Morgan felt no tension, the burden of anxiety naturally fell upon the young dwarf, Kili.

It was just like any competition in his previous life; no matter how noble the pre-game slogans were about friendship coming first and competition second, everyone knew how it really went.

As long as you could win, who the hell cared about some ghost of a friendship?

In any contest, there was no one who didn't want to win.

They were all men, and there were so many people watching.

Before Thorin Oakenshield, the "uncle" of the Dwarf King, and all his dwarf brethren, Kili was naturally unwilling to lose to this human, Morgan, in the field of archery—his own greatest specialty.

Morgan felt the same; this contest was a golden opportunity to demonstrate his strength.

It concerned not only his dignity but also whether he could successfully join the expedition party.

"I'll go take a look."

Morgan's shot signaled the end of the contest, and now it was time to see the results.

Among the dwarves behind them, a few who were impatient to know the outcome immediately hurried toward the nearby woods.

Before long, the two returned, each carrying an arrow.

Both arrows had struck a bird—a palm-sized, jet-black, and utterly unlucky creature.

However, one arrow had struck a single bird.

The other arrow had struck two!

The force of that shot had pierced through both birds, skewering them like a barbecue kebab.

"They're back, they're back."

"Who won?"

"Did Kili win, or did Morgan?"

"They both hit their targets."

"Wow, who did this? How did they manage to hit two birds with one arrow?"

As the two dwarves returned with the birds, the onlookers crowded around, chattering in a flurry of voices.

"Move aside, we need to compare the arrows to see who won."

The dwarves carrying the birds walked over, and Morgan and Kili followed suit.

By now, everyone had gathered around.

This included Gandalf and the ever-aloof Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo also lingered on the outskirts, craning his neck to get a look.

Although the length and appearance of the arrows were not vastly different, Morgan used a bow and arrows forged by humans, while Kili used those crafted by the dwarven race.

There were certainly differences.

In truth, to the eyes of the two archers, Morgan and Kili, they could identify their own arrows at a single glance.

It was a simple matter of observation.

But those who didn't use bows naturally wouldn't understand.

To make it clear to everyone at a glance, the comparison was necessary.

When the two arrows skewered with birds were laid out before the two contestants, Morgan recognized his own arrow—the one that had claimed two birds—at a single look, and he finally let out a sigh of relief.

He had employed a little bit of cunning during the contest.

Given their level of archery, hitting a bird in such an environment wasn't actually much of a feat.

The higher one's mastery of archery, the more the competition becomes less about the simple ability to shoot and more about patience.

Morgan's little scheme lay in letting the dwarf Kili shoot first.

The moment a bird was struck, it would inevitably startle the others into scattering.

This would give him the opportunity to kill two birds with one arrow.

Only in this way could he win the contest with an indisputable result.

Otherwise, if both of them only hit one bird, how would the win or loss be calculated?

Of course, this premise required Morgan to have sufficient archery mastery and the skill to pull off a double-shot.

It could not be a case of a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse—mere luck.

"I lost."

"No need to look; this arrow is mine."

Looking at the two arrows, even before taking them out of the birds to compare, the dwarf Kili pointed at the arrow that had struck one bird and spoke very decisively.

Just as Morgan could recognize his own arrows, Kili naturally could as well.

As mentioned before, the vast majority of dwarves are stubborn—stubborn to the point of obsession.

But they are also straightforward, magnanimous, and direct.

A win is a win, and a loss is a loss!

He, Kili, was not a dwarf who couldn't afford to lose.

"Morgan's archery is indeed better than mine."

Kili looked at Morgan and smiled. Although it was a bit forced, admitting his defeat so readily was quite generous.

"Just luck."

"You know, that shot of yours scared away all the birds in the woods."

"So."

Morgan was even more direct; not only did he humbly attribute it to luck, but he also laid out the reason.

Offering such a large step down to Kili made it difficult for the dwarf to hold any grudge against him.

Sure enough, as soon as Morgan finished speaking, Kili immediately smiled, the look of frustration on his face easing significantly.

"Morgan, you don't need to comfort me. In this kind of nighttime environment, to pierce two with one shot is not something that can be achieved by mere luck."

"I hope there will be a chance to compete again in the future."

Kili shook his head and spoke, his smile appearing somewhat shy.

After all, for the young and inexperienced dwarf Kili, asking a human he had known for less than half a day for archery advice was still a bit embarrassing.

"There will definitely be a chance."

"We are friends, aren't we?"

Morgan patted Kili on the shoulder like a big brother and laughed.

Setting aside Morgan enjoying Kili's flattery.

The two parties in the wager had decided the outcome.

The dwarves gathered nearby to gamble soon erupted in cheers and wails.

Those who bet on Morgan were grinning from ear to ear.

Those who bet on Kili were cursing under their breath.

Dwarves have always been straightforward.

Morgan and Kili's contest was won cleanly and decisively, and Morgan showed no arrogance after his victory.

It was hard for anyone to dislike him.

Even Thorin Oakenshield, watching Kili chat enthusiastically with Morgan despite having lost, had to admit that this human, Morgan, was indeed quite impressive.

He placed immense importance on this expedition to the Lonely Mountain; it was almost an all-or-nothing gamble.

He naturally hoped for as many powerful individuals like Morgan as possible.

Of course, there was one prerequisite: the team had to be under his control.

Now that the misunderstanding had been cleared up.

It was time for him to step in.

Thinking of this, Thorin Oakenshield walked forward, looked at Morgan, and smiled:

"The misunderstanding just now was my oversight."

"Now, I would like to formally invite you to join my company. I wonder if you could give me such an opportunity, Morgan?"

Looking at the sincere expression on Thorin Oakenshield's face.

Morgan suddenly felt he had gained a new understanding of this dwarf king.

"Of course, it is my honor, Your Highness."

Morgan placed one hand on his chest and bowed slightly to show respect.

Thorin Oakenshield was very satisfied with Morgan's reaction. He took Morgan by the arms to help him up and laughed heartily: "Welcome to the company!"