"Mr. Mike, we're at the edge of Mirkwood. We're preparing to return the way we came. Would you like to come with us?"
At the outer boundary of Mirkwood, a bearded Ranger approached Mike to ask for instructions.
Middle-earth is vast. A week had passed since Mike left the Shire, and traveling solely on foot, he was still circling the outer reaches of Mirkwood.
"My goal is to cross Mirkwood and visit the Northern Highlands," Mike said, rising with a smile. "So, we'll part ways here. I wish you a smooth journey back."
In the past few days since entering Mirkwood, Mike had encountered several Ranger teams specializing in hunting Goblins. When conditions allowed, he didn't mind traveling with these Rangers for a while.
It was under these circumstances that Gru's bearded team met Mike.
At that time, Gru and a dozen Rangers were hunting a group of green-skinned Goblins when they unexpectedly encountered a small Orc squad.
In the critical moment, Mike happened to pass by, casually eliminated the Orcs, and saved Gru and the others.
Afterward, out of gratitude, Gru's team escorted Mike deep into the forest for more than half a day.
Now it was time to part ways.
Gru initially wanted to persuade Mike not to venture deep into the forest, but remembering the formidable skill Mike displayed when eliminating the Orcs, Gru swallowed his worries and likewise wished him well: "I also wish you a smooth journey on your way to the Northern Highlands."
"If there's an opportunity in the future, you can find me in Hills Town outside the forest. I'll treat you to the finest wine then."
The Rangers behind him, who had also been saved by Mike, now extended invitations and wished Mike a smooth journey.
"See you again if there's a chance!" Mike said goodbye to the Rangers once more, then turned and walked deeper into Mirkwood.
Further into Mirkwood, the vegetation was tall and lush, and the ground was perpetually covered in an unyielding dark mist, making it difficult for sunlight to penetrate.
This made the depths of the forest several times more dangerous than its outer reaches.
"Do you think Mr. Mike can safely cross Mirkwood?"
"I think it's not a big problem… I heard there's a lone Ranger in the Northern Highlands called Strider, who often crosses the mountains alone. Mr. Mike's abilities shouldn't be worse than his."
"Strider" was not a very pleasant nickname. He was a Ranger who suddenly appeared in the Northern Highlands in recent years, and because of his reclusive personality, preference for solitude, and high skill, he was given this strange derogatory nickname.
Of course, among the Ranger community, Strider was also a well-known figure.
Just as the group's conversation veered towards who was more powerful, Mike or Strider, Gru spoke up to stop them: "We've all witnessed Mr. Mike's abilities. I believe he can safely pass through the forest, so let's not discuss it further."
"Now we should be more concerned about ourselves. Let's set off quickly before it gets dark."
Although the outer reaches of the forest were relatively safe, night was still very dangerous.
After Gru's reminder, the group stopped dawdling. They tidied their gear and retreated towards the outside of the forest.
On the other side, Mike, having entered the depths of the forest, could clearly feel that it had already grown dark even though the sun hadn't set yet.
The misty feeling was like someone had covered his eyes with a layer of gauze.
"What a terrible environment." Looking at the swirling black mist and the pervasive smell of decay, Mike frowned and decided to quicken his pace, aiming to pass through the depths of the forest sooner.
Although he genuinely wanted to experience life in Middle-earth, there was no need to deliberately endure hardship.
Time moved to the next day. Mike, who had been traveling all night, hadn't encountered any humans since entering the depths of the forest, but he had seen several dilapidated small villages.
He also encountered several scattered groups of Orcs and two Trolls traveling alone.
There was nothing much to say about the Orcs; they couldn't survive a second move against Mike.
However, the two Trolls had skin as hard as rock, and both were over five meters tall, running like heavy tanks.
Mike had to use a bit more strength to eliminate them. Of course, he also gained valuable gold coins afterward.
Yes, unlike the wandering Orcs, these Trolls had a strong sense of territory.
Whenever they occupied an area, they would strip it of all resources and also collect the wealth left behind by their prey.
For the humans living in the forest, Trolls were even more terrifying than Orcs.
"Hmm, what a strong smell of blood."
Mike, who had been traveling all night, was about to rest when he suddenly caught a strong scent of fresh blood.
"It's not far from here, seems like a medium-sized village…" Mike, flying high in the sky, saw thick smoke billowing and heard the noisy wails of humans.
Without thinking further, he immediately flew at full speed towards the scene, arriving in an instant.
It was indeed a medium-sized village. Many wooden houses had been violently toppled, and there were severed limbs and burning flames everywhere.
In the center of the village, three Trolls were herding hundreds of villagers together like sheep. Any human who resisted would be smashed into a pulp by the Trolls' weapons.
"Boote, be careful. This is our food for a while. If you smash them, the texture won't be good…"
"William is right… Only intact food can give you that bursting sensation…"
"Alright, I'll try to be careful. It's just that these two-legged sheep are too fragile…"
Their enormous appetites and violent temperaments made it difficult for Trolls to get along, so they usually traveled alone.
However, these three Trolls were different. For some unknown reason, they had gathered together without causing trouble.
Just as Tom, the tallest of the three Trolls, was about to grab a human for a quick meal, Mike descended from the sky and severed its arm with a single sword strike.
Then, using divine power, he gently lowered the freed human to the ground.
Turning again, Mike summoned two orbs of Hellfire and hurled them at the disarmed Troll and another Troll nearly seven meters tall.
The Hellfire, burning from within, seemed to scorch the Trolls' souls, making them writhe on the ground and howl incessantly.
Even death was a luxury…
And the saved humans, looking at the miserable state of the two Trolls, were not only unafraid but some even showed expressions of pure satisfaction.
"De-demon… Don't kill me…"
However, this scene, to the remaining "small" Troll, Boote, who was only five meters tall, was utterly terrifying.
He seemed petrified, dropped his weapon, and turned to flee.
…He quickly vanished into the jungle.
"Alright, you're safe. I'll take care of the remaining Troll." Behind them, Mike appropriately comforted the emotional villagers, then pursued the last Troll.
Based on the situation, Mike had already identified these three Trolls. They were the three Trolls who were originally supposed to capture the Dwarves soon.
Their names were apparently Boote, William, and Tom.
Now William and Tom were dead. As for why Boote was left alive, it was naturally because Mike wanted to visit the three Trolls' lair.
If he remembered correctly, there were chests of gold coins and jewels, as well as three Elven swords forged by ancient Elves.
…
"I-I finally survived. Humans are too terrifying!"
Boote, who had been so scared he ran all the way back to his lair, gasped for breath, relieved to be alive.
He would probably never forget that terrifying scene.
"Your speed seems a bit slow!"
However, just as Boote was still in shock, a familiar voice, like the whisper of a demon, reached his ears.
Before he could turn around, the world in his eyes began to tumble, and he vaguely saw the headless corpse of an Troll.
"So that was me…" Boote suddenly understood something before losing consciousness.
At least he wasn't a "confused ghost."
"What an ugly race, even their blood stinks…" Mike looked at the fallen Troll, threw a ball of flame to burn it to ashes, then carefully retracted the Flame Holy Sword into his body.
After this experience, he decided that, unless absolutely necessary, he would never again use the Holy Sword itself to cleave Trolls.
Next, it was time for the harvest.
Although gold coins were of little use to Mike, since he had come all this way, how could he return empty-handed? Besides, who wouldn't take freebies?
Enduring the strong stench in the Troll's lair, Mike went straight to the deepest part of the cave.
In the dim environment, a layer of gold coins could be seen on the ground, and several damaged treasure chests were piled in a corner.
Next to the treasure chests, on a severely weathered shelf, three dust-covered swords hung crookedly.
Mike took down one of the short swords, about half a meter long, wiped away the dust, and flicked the blade with his finger.
After a crisp "ding," the sword's unique resonance echoed in the cave.
"It's indeed a treasure sword, but it's still not comparable to the Flame Holy Sword. If there's an opportunity, I could give it to Bilbo…" This Elven sword was like a chicken rib to Mike, but its inherent ability to warn of approaching dark creatures would be very useful to Bilbo.
It was a case of "waste" reuse.
The remaining long sword and broadsword were in similar condition to this short sword.
For the current Mike, they were also like chicken ribs…
After collecting the three most valuable Elven swords, Mike then turned and swept away all the wealth in the Troll's lair.
There were tens of thousands of gold coins and hundreds of walnut-sized gems of various kinds, a considerable fortune.
When Mike finished dealing with the Troll's lair and returned to the previous village, the fires everywhere had been extinguished by the villagers.
The old village chief with his grizzled beard was leading the villagers in mourning those who had died resisting the Trolls.
"The hero who killed the Trolls has returned!"
Seeing Mike return, the old village chief immediately came forward. The villagers behind him, with red-rimmed eyes, also looked over gratefully.