That night, Bilbo couldn't quite sit still.
"I'll go prepare the guest room for you, it's that empty one just down the hall."
"I'll help," Garrett offered, following along.
Bilbo didn't refuse the assistance.
As they worked together to tidy the room, Garrett finally voiced a question that had been nagging at him, "By the way, what time is it now?"
"Now? Well, it's nighttime, of course. Most folk are abed at this hour."
While answering, Bilbo moved a small chest that was in the way. Garrett took it from him and placed it outside the door. Their hands stayed busy throughout their conversation.
Garrett shook his head. "No, I mean what year is it? What's the current date?"
"Oh, the year? It's 1340 by Shire Reckoning. May, to be exact."
Clang.
"Ow—!"
In a moment of carelessness, Garrett struck his head on a low beam. His health bar flickered but didn't decrease.
Shire Reckoning 1340, that would be Third Age 2940. When did the dwarves begin their quest to reclaim Erebor?
It should be around late April of 1341.
In other words, he had arrived exactly one year before the events of The Hobbit would begin. Gandalf was still wandering the roads, Thorin still working as a blacksmith in exile.
Dwarves, elves, men, orcs, wargs.
A dragon, a mountain of gold.
The Eye of Sauron, Dol Guldur.
War was coming.
The One Ring...
A lot of names and events flashed through Garrett's mind. At the same time, something dark seemed to stir at the edge of his consciousness.
"Are you quite alright, Master Garrett?"
Blink.
Garrett's eyes focused and he snapped out of his reverie.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just bumped my head a bit."
"I'd wager you're considered tall even among the Big Folk," Bilbo said with amusement.
"Well, I am six feet tall."
Garrett instinctively straightened with pride.
Bonk!
His health bar jumped again as his head met the beam once more. He immediately ducked back down.
"Haha!"
Seeing Garrett wince and rub his head, Bilbo couldn't help but laugh.
Garrett shook his head ruefully.
One year, what could he accomplish with a year?
---
Several days later... Peaceful days always seemed to pass quickly.
One evening after a late supper, Garrett sat on a small chair in the garden, chewing on a blade of grass and gazing up at a particularly bright star in the night sky.
If an ordinary person had been transported to this world with no special abilities, even knowing the entire history of the Ring, there wouldn't be much they could accomplish in a single year. They might not even figure out where they were or how to survive.
But Garrett wasn't an ordinary person anymore.
Creak.
"Master Garrett, it's getting rather late, aren't you coming to bed?"
Garrett turned to see Bilbo stepping out the round door.
"Soon. I just wanted to look at the stars for a while."
"Very well, but do remember to lock up when you come in."
Bilbo returned inside.
Garrett yawned, glanced at his full health bar and topped-off hunger meter, then suddenly sprang up from the chair. He turned and looked carefully at the cozy hobbit-hole.
Living this peaceful life wasn't so terrible.
That is, assuming nothing came along to shatter it...
---
The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, faint rustling sounds came from the round green door.
Still half-asleep, Bilbo struggled to open his eyes. He pushed off his covers and peered out of his bedroom.
"Master Garrett?" Seeing Garrett fully dressed by the entrance, Bilbo asked, "Are you going somewhere?"
Garrett paused and turned around.
"Time waits for no one. I must be on my way." As he spoke, he gave a respectful bow and added, "Thank you for your hospitality. When next we meet, please let me to repay your kindness."
Bilbo blinked several times in succession, suddenly feeling wide awake.
"You're not staying a few more days? There's still so much of the Shire I haven't shown you..."
Garrett smiled at him warmly.
Bilbo's words caught in his throat. He realized that nothing he said would convince Garrett to stay.
"Partings are common in this world... but I believe we'll see each other again soon, Master Bilbo," Garrett said meaningfully.
"I'm setting off on an adventure."
An adventure... Something stirred faintly in Bilbo's heart, but it quickly settled again. He simply shook his head.
"Wait just a moment."
Saying that, he hurried into the pantry, then over to his storage shelves. In no time, he returned carrying a wrapped bundle and handed it to Garrett.
"Take this with you."
"What is it?"
"Some provisions. I thought you might need them. Every journey requires good food, doesn't it?"
Garrett stood still for a moment. He accepted the bundle, crouched down, and patted Bilbo gently on the shoulder, saying sincerely, "Thank you, my friend."
Though they had only known each other a few days, their time together had been truly pleasant. Between Garrett's remarkable cooking skills and his fascinating tales of distant lands, the bond between man and hobbit had grown quite strong.
"Do come back to visit!"
The hobbit who had never left the Shire was already reluctant to see him go.
Garrett smiled and nodded. "I will."
Farewells were really a common thing in this world.
Without excessive sentiment, just a simple wave goodbye, the two returned to their separate paths.
Though he felt a bit shameless about it, before leaving, he had asked Bilbo to help him sketch a rough map.
As someone who had once viewed the story from an outside perspective, he was quite familiar with Middle-earth's geography. But no matter how well one knew the lay of the land from books and films, it was still better to have an actual map when traveling.
The Shire, the place where so many tales began.
To the north lay the ruins of the Kingdom of Arnor and the desolate Ettenmoors.
To the west stretched Lindon and the Blue Mountains.
To the east, past the Brandywine Bridge, lay the town of Bree, and beyond that the Lone-lands, where Rangers wandered. They kept watch against the evils of the wild, silently guarding the borderlands.
South of the road between the Brandywine and Bree were two notable regions: The Old Forest, and the Barrow-downs.
Both were desolate places filled with dark tales, best avoided by sensible travelers.
Anyone who had played Minecraft knew this principle: before you could develop anything meaningful, you needed a secure base. Without one, you were constantly hindered by various problems. Only with a stable home could you truly feel at ease to work and grow stronger.
After considering his options, Garrett fixed his attention on one location:
The broad expanse east of Bree.
The Lone-lands.
Vast and sparsely populated, perfect for establishing a homestead and developing freely.
Of course, there were many places that met those criteria. But he chose this region for one important reason: in the future, both Thorin's company and the Ring-bearer would pass through this area.
He had no intention of missing those momentous events. Having a base there would be extremely convenient.
No sooner decided than acted upon. He tucked away the map and set his course.
From dawn to dusk, he traveled eastward along the road without pause.
A few days earlier, he had discovered that as long as he had sufficient food, his stamina was essentially limitless, he never grew tired.
The cost, however, was rapid food consumption.
The provisions Bilbo had given him, enough to feed a hobbit for an entire week, were already half-depleted after just one day of constant travel. And that was a hobbit's week worth of food, which was considerable.
Still, the efficiency was remarkable.
In just one day, he passed through several Shire settlements, crossed the stone Brandywine Bridge, and reached the area near the Old Forest and the Barrow-downs.
A veritable marathon runner, give him food, and he could travel endlessly.
By now, night had fallen completely. Yet the sky wasn't entirely dark.
By starlight, Garrett spotted a dead tree beside the road, not very thick, and drew his stone axe.
Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk...
Soon, a sharp cracking sound rang out as the withered tree split from its base and crashed to the ground.
Thud!
In the silent wilderness, the sound of the falling tree echoed loudly.
He paid it no mind. He simply continued chopping the trunk into smaller pieces for firewood.
Moments later, a cheerful campfire blazed to life.
He retrieved the large bundle of food Bilbo had given him. It was treated as a single item in his inventory, occupying only one slot. But if he removed individual items, each portion would require its own slot.
He reasoned that items stored in the same slot must either be stackable or considered a "single unit" by the game's logic.
With that idle thought, he speared several sausages on a stick and set them beside the fire to cook, while mentally reviewing various crafting recipes he'd unlocked.
Shields, armor, items that could directly protect him and enhance his combat effectiveness, he had none of them yet.
All were missing one crucial component: Iron.
Noticing the fire beginning to die down, he produced a few more sticks and tossed them into the flames. If someone had happened to pass by at that moment, they probably would have gasped and mistaken him for a wizard conjuring items from thin air.
With little else to occupy his time, he drew his stone sword and examined it carefully.
A line of text appeared:
[Stone Sword: Attack Power +5]
This weapon, as if meticulously crafted by a master artisan, had a surface smooth as polished stone, razor-sharp edges, and a blade nearly as durable as steel. It was practically a work of art.
He admired it, feeling that no matter how many times he examined it, the craftsmanship was always impressive.
At this level of quality, it could probably be sold as a masterwork to collectors.
Crack.
The wood in the fire suddenly popped behind him, reminding him of his cooking sausages. But when he turned back, he noticed the flames had dimmed considerably again.
Were these sticks burning that quickly?
Though puzzled, he couldn't let the fire die, not with his supper still cooking. He pulled out a few more sticks and tossed them toward the fire. But the next moment, something seemed to block them mid-air.
Thunk!
A sudden impact struck his chest. He immediately looked up.
And there, emerging from the shadows like a nightmare made manifest, was a withered, corpse-like head. Its single eye glowed with malevolent red light, its dry, ashen scalp flaking away, staring down at him with bone-chilling malice.