“You really ought to pay more attention to your appearance, Gandalf. Look at you, dusty and disheveled like a vagabond on the roadside.”

In the hall of Orthanc, the stone tower in Isengard, Saruman observed Gandalf standing at the doorway with a calm expression. Without even a greeting, he immediately began critiquing his appearance.

Truly condescending.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe and couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Though Saruman’s attitude was far from welcoming, he still gave him a slight bow, after all, he had come seeking assistance. Only then did he speak, “Saruman, I’ve come to seek your aid. I was hoping to consult some volumes from your library.”

His words fell, but no reply came.

For a moment, the hall was silent.

Saruman simply stood aloft, gazing at the smoke curling from Gandalf’s pipe, as if lost in thought. He said nothing for quite some time.

Just as Gandalf was about to speak again, Saruman interrupted him, nodded slightly, and said, “Of course, my friend, you may examine them, remain and study as long as you wish. But you’d best extinguish your pipe. I don’t want the smell of tobacco clinging to my books.”

“How foolish. I don’t even know where this tobacco comes from. I sincerely hope it hasn’t dulled your mind.”

“Thank you,” Gandalf managed a smile. “It comes from the Shire. If you’d like, I can bring you some next time…”

“Who would want such a thing?”

“Just tend to your own affairs, Gandalf.”

With that, Saruman swept his robes, turned, and departed without so much as a backward glance.

Whew.

Gandalf exhaled in relief, quickly extinguished his pipe, and headed for the library.

Not long after he sequestered himself in the library, a human servant was summoned to the tower.

From that day forward, a mysterious figure began purchasing large quantities of pipe-weed in the Shire.

—

“This is truly delightful.”

In the banquet hall, Bilbo was sipping his drink with contentment.

“This cider is superior to any I’ve ever tasted, sweet, refreshing, with a light fruity bouquet. After this cup, I feel I could devour an entire roast and a whole seed-cake.”

Across the table, Garrett looked at Bilbo’s rounded belly, unsure of what to say for a moment.

Are you sure you could really fit all that?

No one knew where all the food disappeared to.

“It’s unfortunate that Thorin and the others couldn’t attend. And Gandalf is always nowhere to be found.”

Bilbo sighed with some melancholy.

“It seems I’m the only one from the Company who made it to the festival.”

“Though you’re the only one from the Company, others outside it have been here too.”

“Who?”

“Legolas.”

Bilbo looked puzzled.

“The Elven Prince from the Woodland Realm.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. I’ve encountered him before, more than once actually. You don’t know, Garrett, when we were in Mirkwood, I nearly got captured by him.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

Garrett chuckled.

“But you won’t need to worry about getting caught in Mirkwood again. They now consider you a friend.”

“That’s good. That’s very reassuring…”

Bilbo nodded, then suddenly said, “Actually, I think the elves there are rather pleasant. Not as reserved as those in Rivendell, but they possess their own charm.”

“Right? They really do have a unique character.”

In the middle of the lively atmosphere, the banquet continued day after day, until the afternoon of March 7th, when the residents finally began clearing the tables and preparing to return to daily life.

After celebration, life must go on.

Bilbo also returned to the Shire after bidding his farewells.

The territory resumed its usual rhythm once more.

—

“My lord, I’ve mastered it.”

On the first day of the work week, Wade came seeking Garrett, proudly displaying what he held in his hands.

It was a leather tunic.

“I didn’t know you had this kind of skill.”

“Yes, my lord. In truth, I used to be a hunter who roamed the forests, and later I learned some tanning techniques. Many of the villagers’ boots and the hunters’ leather garments were crafted by me.”

At this point, Wade was clearly proud. It was precisely because he had both strength and craft that he earned sufficient respect in his past life to become village elder.

“Not bad. You’re now a qualified [Artisan]. You can begin crafting more items for the residents.”

“I would be delighted to do so.”

March was a productive month.

Besides Wade’s advancement, another significant event occurred in the territory: The tunnel being excavated from Wayfort toward the iron vein had finally broken through.

Garrett immediately produced numerous gear mechanisms and installed them along the rails at regular intervals. After testing, he found the minecart’s speed to be quite decent, it took less than an hour to travel from the stronghold to the mine.

Once the tunnel opened, many people grabbed pickaxes and queued up to ride the carts to the mine.

To him, the minecart journey was rather monotonous. All you could do was sit still and wait to reach the destination, staring at the unchanging tunnel walls along the way. But to the residents, it was something entirely novel. Most had never ridden in any vehicle before, and the few who had only experienced bumpy wagons.

Now suddenly, there was this smooth, swift, self-propelling iron cart, it was irresistibly fascinating. Even without work as motivation, people wanted to ride it simply for the experience.

Not to mention, Garrett said riding the minecart counted as work hours, so a crowd immediately rushed forward. One full set of minecarts wasn’t nearly sufficient.

“Hey! Leave some people to handle other tasks!” Wade shouted what Garrett had been thinking.

“Understood!”

The residents responded cheerfully. They employed the usual method: part of the group went to the mine first, the rest performed other duties and waited to rotate.

Perhaps in time, the novelty of riding to the mines would fade, but for now, it remained fresh and exciting.

From that day forward, the supply of minerals began increasing steadily, and Garrett collected his ice blocks and headed to the Nether to continue paving the unfinished packed ice highway.

Time passed gradually.

By the time he reached the end of the Nether highway again, the weather outside had grown significantly warmer, transitioning from spring to early summer.

—

Whoosh.

The Nether portal shimmered, and a figure appeared inside a small, square structure in Dale.

It had been quite some time since he’d last visited.

Garrett sighed with sentiment and opened the wooden door before him.

Creak.

As the door opened, a flurry of bustling sounds and a gentle breeze rushed into the room. The sudden wave of sensory input made his pupils shrink slightly.

He stepped forward and exited the portal chamber.

Clear skies, bustling crowds, lively marketplaces, children running through the streets… and rows upon rows of new buildings behind them, this was what prosperity looked like.

“Lord Garrett!”

A sharp-eyed resident spotted him and called out, drawing the attention of a large crowd. People nearby turned to look, many placing a hand over their heart in respectful greeting before returning to their business.

Garrett nodded in acknowledgment to each of them.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep