Not long after, Garrett and Bilbo walked out of the Sackville residence. No one pursued the matter of him entering a private home uninvited.
Not to mention the Shire's constables, there probably wasn't anyone in all of Middle-earth bold enough to interfere in such a matter.
Still, Garrett hadn't actually harmed the two hobbits.
Although the Sackville-Bagginses had behaved poorly, at the end of the day, it was mostly about property disputes and moral misconduct. So far, their actions didn't qualify as truly evil, just a bit greedy and unpleasant in character.
Garrett merely scared them, demanded an apology, and made them swear to never again harbor improper intentions toward Bag End before departing.
That was enough.
"It's not as though I'm some villain."
Hearing him say this, Bilbo hesitated, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.
Still, he had to admit, it felt incredibly satisfying.
It was clear that the Sackville-Bagginses wouldn't bother Bilbo again for a very long time. He now possessed two blades at home: one was Sting, and the other was the sword Garrett had given him. One long, one short, both quite keen.
They served as both keepsakes and means of protection.
Garrett stayed the night at Bilbo's home. At dawn, he departed with Bilbo seeing him off at the gate.
Before leaving, he deliberately passed by the Sackville residence. He could clearly sense two sets of eyes watching from within. The feeling didn't disappear until he had walked quite a distance away.
This family wasn't beyond redemption.
Their fate wouldn't be a pleasant one. In the future, Lotho, the heir of the Sackville line, would strike a bargain with Saruman out of greed and end up meeting a miserable end.
And once Lobelia, Lotho's mother and the only surviving Sackville, realized that her family's actions had plunged the Shire into chaos and harmed many innocents, she would leave all her belongings to Frodo to help others and walk away from Hobbiton with nothing.
These hobbits... After all, they were still hobbits at heart.
Lost in thought, he unknowingly crossed the border of the Shire.
He continued on, passing through the eaves of the Old Forest and trudging across snow-covered ground.
Suddenly, a memory struck him and he looked to the south.
He saw a weathered tree stump with an unusually smooth surface, beside it a familiar pile of abandoned campfire remains, it looked as though it had been there for quite some time.
And indeed it had.
The last time he passed this way was two years ago.
This was the place where he had first been attacked by a barrow-wight, on the border between the Barrow-downs and the main road.
Heh...
A faint wailing drifted from the downs, warning travelers not to linger. And reminding him of exactly where he stood.
Back then, I had only a stone sword and no armor, and I still managed to defeat a barrow-wight. Want to intimidate me again?
He frowned, feeling these barrow-wights were growing a bit too bold, making eerie sounds before night had even properly fallen.
He rekindled the campfire and sat down to roast some provisions.
This time, nothing disturbed him.
Only when starlight replaced the sun's fading glow did he stand and head toward the Barrow-downs.
He entered that eerie and desolate place.
Standing on a rise, he surveyed the area. Scattered ruins and standing stones dotted the landscape, and near each of these markers stood burial mounds.
As he gazed around, he suddenly looked up, sensing something amiss.
The sky appeared hazy, and the starlight was dimming.
It wasn't snow, nor clouds.
It was mist.
"Awooo!"
A piercing shriek rang out beside his ear. He suddenly felt weighted down, as if cursed, his movements sluggish.
[Slow: 3s]
One had to admit, these barrow-wights were formidable. They could apply debuffs with minimal effort.
But still...
"They're nothing compared to the Nazgûl."
Garrett swung his blade behind him. A burst of flame erupted with a thunderous boom, and the wight that had been creeping up on him let out a sharp screech and attempted to phase into spectral form to flee.
But he didn't give it a chance. He pursued it with several swift strikes, completely depleting its health bar.
It crumbled to ash on the spot.
Still, this was the Barrow-downs, surrounded by ancient tombs. Which meant... this was the wights' stronghold.
Through the thickening mist, he saw numerous tall, shadowy figures slowly gathering, some dragging their withered forms, others flickering in and out of corporeal existence, all advancing in his direction.
By rough count, there were at least twenty of them.
If these barrow-wights were unleashed upon an open battlefield without any weapons designed to counter them, they could easily annihilate an elite company of over a hundred men.
Fortunately, in this world, there were several methods to counter barrow-wights, and elven-forged blades happened to be one of them.
Although even without an elven sword, his own crafted weapons could still inflict genuine damage upon them.
"Begone!"
Garrett drew his longsword. First, he unleashed several sword techniques to clear the weaker wights, then charged directly into the swarm of barrow-wights, activating various sword skills. His movements became so swift they left afterimages, as if he had entered a berserker state.
After cutting down several barrow-wights, he suddenly remembered something:
"Oh… you guys are already dead. Then disappear for me."
He charged into the horde once more.
These barrow-wights were no mere fodder. Their presence could instill fear, their wails could slow movement, and their attacks carried curses that gradually drained a person's life force.
Back in his early days, even wearing diamond armor, he might not have wandered near this place.
But now he was fully equipped in enchanted netherite gear, and his inventory always carried a full stack of golden apples and various potions.
True, these wights could penetrate his defenses, but when faced with superior resources and equipment, they could only vanish in bitter defeat.
That night, the Barrow-downs were far from peaceful.
The barrow-wights' burial treasures were completely looted, and many tombs finally achieved true silence.
As Garrett walked toward the edge of the Barrow-downs, stepping over the ashes of destroyed wights, none of the remaining graves dared stir. Even the thick mist ahead seemed to part before him, as if clearing a path toward the exit.
[Title Unlocked: Bane of the Barrow-wights]
And thus, another type of creature in Middle-earth began avoiding Garrett altogether.
Perhaps for a long time to come, the surviving barrow-wights in this region would not emerge to harm travelers, perhaps not even rise from their graves at all.
The road from the Shire to Bree would become particularly safe at night. Even if travelers strayed from the main path, they wouldn't face attack.
All of this, because those spirits that usually instilled terror... had finally experienced fear themselves.
Still, he had to admit, these wights truly were elite enemies. Their drop rate for skill orbs was significantly higher than orcs or wargs. If not for the fact that wights were relatively few compared to orcs, and that they were excellent at concealment, he would have seriously considered remaining a few more days to farm some abilities.
Too bad they weren't particularly welcoming hosts.
---
A few days later, the first snow had ceased.
Garrett walked leisurely along the main road, passing Weathertop and heading straight for his stronghold.
But on this day, when he reached the fork leading to Wayfort, he spotted a group of people standing there, gazing in its direction. Behind them were numerous transport wagons, apparently laden with goods.
His attention was immediately drawn to them.
The clothing these folk wore didn't resemble anything crafted in the nearby settlements. Even the guards beside the wagons bore unfamiliar armor styles.
"Hello. Do you need something?" He took the initiative to greet them.
The leader of the group stepped forward and spoke courteously to Garrett, "Good sir, please forgive our confusion, we are traveling merchants from the distant eastern lands. The last time we passed through this region was three years past, and if I'm not mistaken, this road didn't exist then."
"Ah, yes, this road was only built recently," Garrett replied helpfully.
"It leads to a newly established settlement called Wayfort. If you've got quality goods, I'd say the lord there would likely welcome you."
"Naturally, we bear goods of the finest quality," the merchant leader said confidently, patting one of the cargo wagons.
"I swear upon my family's vineyards, every time we journey through these parts, our coffers overflow with silver and not a single item remains unsold. We carry wines of the highest grade."
"You're wine merchants?"
"Indeed, good sir. Even the Elven-lords have been enchanted by our vintages, whether in ages past or in these days."
"Oh?" Garrett's interest was piqued.
"I happen to be heading to Wayfort myself. I can take you there. I imagine the lord would be pleased to see you."
"But I must ask, you said you're from the East. Do you mean Dale or Lake-town?"
The merchant leader shook his head upon hearing those names.
"Nay. We come from even farther than that... Dorwinion."