Each of the freed dwarves subconsciously touched their necks, looking at Karl with complex expressions.
The next morning, the company set out again, but the atmosphere was completely different from the day before. Karl rode at the head of the procession on his horse, with Gandalf following close behind. Their horses, the only remaining mounts, had been successfully recovered, while Thorin and his dwarves, along with Bilbo, followed on foot.
They were dishevelled, their clothes covered in dust, their faces expressing exhaustion and despair. They had lost most of their baggage; when the horses bolted, the bundles they carried either fell off or were dragged away by the horses to who knows where. Food, spare clothing, some tools and supplies... all gone. Now they had only their weapons, a small amount of dry rations, and their baggage.
Bilbo walked in the middle of the procession, his head hung low, occasionally stealing glances at the dwarves around him. But every time he met someone's gaze, he immediately looked away, a sense of guilt on his face. Kili, Fili, and the others occasionally glanced at Bilbo, then at their weary feet. Finally, they looked at Karl and Gandalf riding ahead. They said nothing, only sighing repeatedly.
The scene resembled a "knight" followed by a butler and a group of uncertain "servants."
"I feel like my legs don't belong to me anymore..." Bofur groaned, limping.
"Me too... and how much longer do we have to walk like this?" Bifur chimed in.
"Will we even reach the Lonely Mountain? At this rate, we won't get there even by next year."
"The worst part is, without horses, we can't even run fast. What if the orcs catch up with us..."
He didn't finish, but everyone understood what he meant.
Thorin walked at the front of the group, just behind Karl and Gandalf. His face was grim, but this time not from anger, but from self-reproach. As the leader of the company, he bore most of the responsibility for yesterday's disaster; he had impulsively led everyone into the attack. The lack of strategy and failure to give Gandalf time to cast spells had ultimately led to all the warriors being captured and their horses lost. Now they had to walk, which slowed their movement and significantly increased the danger.
"Thorin, we need to figure something out. This can't go on." Balin approached him and lowered his voice.
"I know. But what can we do? Ask Karl to give up his horse? One horse won't be enough for all fourteen of us." Thorin's voice was tired.
"So what do we do now?" Balin asked quietly, frowning.
Thorin glanced at Karl's retreating figure and said with a wry smile: "Keep going, to the next human settlement."
"Let's see if we can buy or borrow a few horses. For now... we're not much different from Bilbo; we're all just a burden."
The words were spoken quietly, but all the surrounding dwarves heard them, and no one objected, because it was the truth. Without horses, their carrying capacity was greatly reduced, their speed slowed, and their combat effectiveness also diminished. The physical strain of a long journey would affect their fighting ability; if they encountered orcs, they might not even have the strength to run away.
The group hadn't gone far when they emerged onto an open plain. The terrain here was relatively flat with a wide view, and the sparse grass took on a withered yellow hue in the morning light. In the distance, rolling hills could be seen, and further still, the outline of a mountain range shrouded in mist.
Karl suddenly reined in his horse, which gave a soft whinny, its front hooves pausing in the air for a moment before stopping. Karl did not dismount but remained seated, surveying the surroundings. Then he turned his head and looked at the distant jungle behind them, where the leaves were swaying unnaturally. The faint crack of a breaking branch could be heard, along with... the sound of rapidly rushing wind.
"A large number of people are approaching us quickly, and it's unclear whether they are friends or foes," Karl said.
Hearing this, Thorin immediately turned around and shouted to the dwarves behind him: "Everyone on guard! Prepare for battle!"
The dwarves immediately set down their baggage, though there was now very little of it. They drew their weapons and quickly formed a defensive circle, with Dwalin and Balin standing at the front, holding battle axes and long swords. Kili nocked an arrow, aiming toward the jungle, while the others, gripping their weapons, warily watched the direction from which the sound was coming.
Gandalf also stopped his horse and approached Karl. His expression became serious, his gaze fixed on the grove of trees: "What is it, Karl? What did you sense?"
Karl did not answer immediately. Instead, he took a cloth bag from his saddle. It was the loot he had found in the troll's cave the previous evening. He untied the cloth bag, revealing three swords inside. The swords were long and elegant, with intricate patterns engraved on the hilts and guards. Despite the scabbards being covered in dust, the high quality of their craftsmanship was still evident.
He drew two of them. The first was shorter and had a thin blade. It was called "Side." The second sword was longer, with a thicker blade and a silver-white gleam, like flowing water in moonlight; it was called "Beast's Bite."
Karl kept the fencing sword for himself, as it was a double-edged sword that suited him well. He tossed the spiked sword to Bilbo, who caught it in confusion, nearly dropping it. Then Karl threw "Beast's Bite" to Gandalf, who caught it deftly, running his fingers over the patterns on the scabbard, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Bilbo gripped the sword in surprise, about to say something, but Karl raised his hand to interrupt him. "Use it wisely, don't let me down." Karl looked Bilbo in the eyes, his tone serious.
Bilbo fell silent, looking at the sword in his hand, his fingers gently tracing the cool, intricate carvings on the hilt. He looked up, nodded seriously, and carefully tucked the short sword into his belt.
Gandalf drew the sword with a ring, its blade reflecting a silvery light in the morning glow. The patterns seemed to come alive under the light, emitting a faint silver-white radiance. Gandalf examined the sword closely, noticing the patterns on its surface, and murmured with admiration: "This forging technique... was not created by dwarves or men."
"They were created by the High Elves of the First Age in Gondolin. I never expected to find them in a troll's lair."
He looked at Karl with a questioning gaze: "Karl, are you just giving these to us like this? They are priceless treasures."
"You two are the most suitable owners for them here," Karl nodded. He glanced at Thorin and added: "I think... Thorin is unlikely to want to use them."
Hearing this, Gandalf and Bilbo, swords in hand, both looked at Thorin. Thorin gripped his sword tightly, his gaze sweeping over the two Elven blades. His expression was complex, showing both admiration for the craftsmanship and, more importantly, a rejection of "elven creations." Hearing Karl's words, he snorted and, as Karl had predicted, looked at the swords in the two men's hands with contempt.
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