Bilbo ran even faster, his large feet making barely perceptible rustling sounds against the grass. In the distance, the round door of Bag End was faintly visible. Once home, he would be safe. Let the others go on their adventures. At this moment, a relieved smile appeared on Bilbo's face.
At that moment, Karl's gaze pierced through the entire house, and he watched as Bilbo's figure gradually disappeared into the distance. He did not stop Bilbo; he understood Bilbo's fear and hesitation. Sometimes people need to make their own decisions, rather than let themselves be manipulated. Moreover, he knew that Bilbo would come sooner or later.
---
The next morning, sunlight bathed the hills of the Shire, covering the meadows in a golden hue. The company set out early, with Karl riding at the very front, alongside Thorin. Thorin turned his head and glanced at the two swords behind Karl's back, crossed and slung over his shoulder, their hilts protruding outward.
Thorin interjected: "Karl, Gandalf told me you're a professional witcher who deals with monsters?"
Karl adjusted his saddle and nodded: "Mm."
"Your two swords, one steel and one silver — is there anything special about them?" Thorin continued to ask, a dwarf's instinctive interest in weapons and equipment in his eyes.
"The steel sword is for ordinary enemies — men or beasts," Karl explained concisely. "The silver sword is for fighting supernatural beings: evil spirits, cursed creatures, and certain dark entities."
Thorin pondered for a moment: "Have you killed many wolves? As far as I know, silver is only partially effective against wolf-like creatures. But against other dark beings, it's practically useless — at least according to our dwarven records."
"I've never killed a fierce wolf. That was ordinary silver, not mithril, and it wasn't enchanted. But I have killed quite a few dark beings." Karl shook his head.
Thorin wanted to press for details, eager to know exactly what kind of dark beings Karl had slain. After all, the scene where Karl had dispatched the two dwarves with a single move was still fresh in everyone's memory. Given the strength and speed Karl had demonstrated, the dark being he killed could not have been an ordinary troll.
But then came a cry: "Wait! Wait for me!"
From a distance, a shout suddenly rang out, the voice full of laboured breathing and urgency. The procession stopped, the dwarves turned around, and Thorin and Karl reined in their horses. In the morning light, a figure descended from the hill; it was a short figure. The other person carried a backpack nearly as tall as himself, waving a piece of parchment in his hand. He ran unsteadily but quickly; it was Bilbo.
The dwarves exchanged surprised glances; they had already assumed Bilbo wouldn't come. Last night, this hobbit had seemed timid, and this morning he hadn't shown up for the gathering. Thorin had even released the group, no longer expecting him, but here Bilbo was.
Bilbo, out of breath, ran to the front of the line and stopped before Balin. He placed one hand on his knee and handed over the parchment with the other. It was the contract Thorin had given him, listing the expedition's conditions, the distribution of rewards, and the burglar's duties.
"I've signed it, I've signed it," Bilbo panted.
Balin, a grey-haired dwarf with a long beard, was the oldest member of the company. He took the contract, lifted the spectacles hanging from his neck, put them on, and carefully examined the burglar's signature area. On the parchment, in the designated space, was a neat but slightly trembling signature: Bilbo Baggins.
A smile spread across Balin's face, and his moustache twitched along with it. He looked up at Bilbo and spoke in an exaggeratedly formal tone. "Welcome, young Mr. Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield!"
"Haha!" The group of dwarves burst into laughter. But there was no malice in the laughter — only good-natured teasing and welcome. Everyone had thought Bilbo wouldn't come, but the truth surprised them all. Remarkably, this seemingly timid hobbit had finally mustered the courage and set out.
Thorin glanced at Bilbo; his attitude toward him was not particularly warm, but at least it lacked the contempt he had shown the previous evening. He nodded and simply said: "Give him a horse."
Then Thorin turned his horse, intending to resume the conversation with Karl. In truth, Thorin did not hold the burglar Bilbo in high regard. A pampered, law-abiding citizen with no combat experience, unable even to defend himself, was a complete burden to the company. Gandalf insisted that Bilbo had "potential" and could play a decisive role at critical moments. If it weren't for Gandalf and the knowledge that Smaug knew the scent of dwarves and men, he would not have allowed Bilbo to join the company. Moreover, now that Karl was in the company, if Bilbo truly became a burden, at least there was such a mighty warrior as Karl to compensate for the shortcomings.
Thorin pondered, glancing at Karl again, but before he could speak, Karl patted the hilts of the two swords behind him, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. "Thorin, do you know why I still carry the Silver Sword, even though it's ineffective against most dark beings?"
The question came unexpectedly, and Thorin raised an eyebrow. He had expected Karl to tell an exciting tale of monster hunting. But unexpectedly, Karl brought the conversation back to the weapon itself. "Why?" Thorin asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
Karl, riding his horse, swayed gently in time with its gait, speaking slowly. "In my homeland, there was a witcher named Geralt, known as the White Wolf. A wolf hunter I knew, who lived for nearly an entire age."
Thorin tilted his head slightly, listening attentively to "nearly an entire age." That exceeded the lifespan of most dwarves; indeed, there were races in Middle-earth that lived longer. But men could only live that long if they possessed special bloodlines or were blessed by the gods.
"Once, I asked him why the silver sword wasn't very effective against most monsters. Why did we insist on carrying two swords? Wouldn't one expertly crafted steel sword be enough?"
Karl stared into the distance, as if recalling that scene: "He looked at me for a long time, and then he said something like this..." He paused, turned to Thorin, and repeated it word for word.
"The twin swords of a witcher have another meaning: the steel sword destroys evil, and the silver sword kills demons! However, the line between evil and demon is not always so clear. Some people commit acts that go beyond ordinary evil, trampling on the very essence of human nature — then they can no longer be considered human."
Thorin's gaze flickered, and he was silent for a few seconds, unconsciously stroking the reins. "No longer human... so he used the silver sword to kill those people?" he repeated in a low voice.