Eric had always been fascinated by Smaug the dragon—especially the valuable materials clinging to that scaly behemoth. He'd been eyeing that prize for a while now. There was no way he was letting that opportunity pass him by.
But… not yet.
He wasn't afraid of dragons per se. Worst-case scenario, he could always dig himself a hole and play coward until the coast was clear. The real problem was if the dragon left the mountain and went stomping downhill—where people lived. That would be a massacre. And despite his usually carefree nature, Eric didn't want to be the reason a village turned into a smoking crater.
No, he wasn't ready to face a dragon head-on. Not yet.
Brushing the thought aside, Eric turned his attention back to the present.
An elven smith was enthusiastically explaining their forging techniques. Eric nodded along, pretending to soak it all in, but mostly just adding another mental note to his collection.
To craft a high-quality weapon or suit of armor, the elven artisans began by refining steel into an incredibly pure form. Then, through a series of meticulous and sometimes wildly complex steps, they would slowly shape it—beating, folding, enchanting—until a masterpiece emerged.
Eric's process, however, looked more like a lazy alchemist's fever dream. He just dumped the raw materials into his alloy furnace, tossed in a handful of experience, waited until it smelled ready, then slapped it together at a crafting bench.
Simple. Brainless. Efficient.
The elven smith beside him, of course, had no idea his race's sacred, centuries-old techniques had just been reverse-engineered in less time than it took to cook a sausage.
Technically speaking, Eric didn't actually know how forging worked. His system was basically a black box. He only needed to know which buttons to press, not why they worked. And honestly? That was fine by him. As long as the results were good, he didn't care what sort of mystical nonsense made the cogs turn.
This little trip to the Hidden Valley had already paid for itself in full.
Eric had to consciously stop himself from grinning too hard. He was already dreaming of getting back home, locking himself in his workshop, and churning out gear like an overcaffeinated dwarf on commission.
But first—he had to play along with a few more formalities.
After leaving the forge, Eric wandered through the valley for a bit until noon rolled around.
To his surprise, Aglanir—his new elf buddy—seemed genuinely fond of him and invited him to lunch.
"Welcome to my humble home, Eric."
Aglanir himself did the cooking. The meal was fresh, balanced, and had way more meat than Eric expected. Turns out, elves weren't vegetarians out of principle—they just didn't like cooking for dwarves.
Dwarves, apparently, were rude guests. Hence, vegetables with no seasoning.
Elves? Perfectly capable of seasoning and roasting a good haunch.
Of course, no elven meal was complete without a glass of wine. Aglanir poured Eric a deep red, rich and fragrant.
"Thanks for the hospitality," Eric said, raising his cup.
The food was delicious, the wine mellow, and the conversation pleasant. It wasn't long before their plates were clean and Eric was leaning back, thoroughly satisfied.
Then a thought struck him.
"I've heard elves carry a special kind of travel ration… Lembas, right? I've always been curious what it's like."
Aglanir blinked, clearly not expecting the request.
"Lembas… I do bring a few pieces when I travel. If you're interested, I can share some."
He stepped out and returned with three golden-leaf-wrapped squares that looked like hard biscuits.
[Lembas]
Special effect: Restores 10 HP per second.
Eric gave a low whistle.
Once again, he was amazed by elven craftsmanship. Not only did these little cakes heal injuries, they also completely refilled your hunger bar with a single bite.
"Perfect for traveling. Or raiding. Or running from fire-breathing lizards," Eric muttered to himself.
If he'd had just one of these during his fight with the Warg Riders back in the Ogre Forest, he might've stood his ground instead of running like a particularly cowardly squirrel.
Unfortunately, these things were rare.
Aglanir had only three pieces and, seeing how much Eric liked them, gave them all to him.
"Lembas won't satisfy your appetite the way bread and meat do," Aglanir explained. "But they'll keep you alive when it matters. Think of them as life-saving snacks."
"They're more than helpful," Eric said. "Do you have more to sell?"
Aglanir shook his head apologetically. "Sadly, no. We don't produce them in large quantities, and they're not something we sell. I only had a few for emergencies."
Eric wasn't too disappointed. Three was more than he expected, and each one was basically a portable potion plus meal.
Without any way to brew potions yet, these were a godsend.
Time passed strangely in the Hidden Valley. Days slipped by like mist over the mountains. It wasn't until Eric stood watching a waterfall that he realized—he'd been here for a full week.
It had been a wonderful stay, almost too peaceful.
But it was time to move on.
The next morning, he dressed in his travel gear, saddled his horse, and prepared to leave.
"You're leaving?" a voice asked behind him.
Aglanir again, as if drawn by fate.
"Time waits for no man—or elf," Eric replied with a grin. "I've got things to do, places to be."
"Then may your path be swift as the wind," Aglanir said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks."
Behind them, the elf who cared for the horses let out an audible sigh of relief.
This horse had gone seven days without food or water. No matter what he tried—hay, oats, elven apples—the beast refused to eat. He'd asked Eric about it multiple times, worried the animal was ill.
Each time, Eric just waved it off like it wasn't a big deal.
If the horse hadn't stayed perfectly healthy the whole time, the elf would've suspected Eric had some kind of grudge against it.
Now he just concluded the horse was… weird. Exceptionally weird. And probably magical.
As he mounted, Eric turned to Aglanir one last time.
"Aglanir, if you ever find yourself passing between Weathertop and the Last Bridge, there's a castle nestled in the valley there. Drop by, and I'll return the hospitality with everything I've got."
He meant it too. Aglanir had helped him out, shared valuable resources, and even gifted those precious Lembas.
Eric had wanted to give something in return—maybe a rare gem or artifact—but he hadn't packed anything fancy. Handing over a gold bar felt… tacky.
So it would have to wait for next time.
One minor regret? He hadn't met Aragorn.
The man's presence in the Valley was still a secret. No one talked about it, and Eric wasn't about to ask and blow someone's cover.
So be it. He'd come back another time.
The journey called.
Eric kicked his heels lightly and rode westward, leaving the Valley behind.
---
"Useless! You're all completely useless!"
The roar shook the cave, echoing off the walls like thunder.
At the center of the chamber, seated atop a throne-sized slab of stone, loomed the massive figure of the Orc King—a beast twice the size of a normal orc and ten times as angry.
"A single human!" he bellowed. "One human, and you couldn't kill him?!"
The orc kneeling before him trembled. "We… we ran into elves. And now he's staying in their lands…"
"So why not ambush him somewhere without elves?!"
"Er… what?"
The Orc King had already received fresh intel.
From the west side of the Ogre Forest, scouts had reported something interesting: the human's fortress—a heavily fortified castle—was empty.
Since the human's departure, there had been no smoke from the chimneys, no lights, no activity. Only the occasional clucking of livestock inside the walls.
Some orcs even tried yelling insults at the gate and throwing rocks. No response.
"He's not home," the king growled. "So burn his home down."
"And then wait inside."
"I want his head on a pike."
Because if he couldn't beat the man in battle… he'd just beat his base instead.