Chapter 9. Beorn the Skin-changer
The Iron Hills.
The discussion among Dáin Ironfoot and the six other Dwarven kings failed to reach any conclusion.
Which was perfectly normal.
After all—thinking was never a Dwarf's strong suit.
Drinking, on the other hand, suited them just fine.
And so, since no conclusion could be reached, they simply stopped discussing it. In the blink of an eye, the seven Dwarven kings were boisterously drinking together.
How long they would drink—only the mountains knew.
---
A new day dawned.
Outside the main gate of Erebor.
Boom!
Boom!
With two thunderous crashes, the twin statues of Dwarven kings flanking the gate collapsed, smashing into piles of rubble.
From a nearby high vantage point, Smaug watched the scene with delight. He chuckled, then lowered his head to bite into a sheep, chewing contentedly.
Just then—
[Loyalty +49]
[Congratulations, quest complete.]
[Bronze Blind Box (Upgraded) delivered to storage.]
What a lucky day, Smaug thought, grinning even wider. He swallowed the sheep and immediately opened the system storage.
Open!
[You have opened a Bronze Blind Box (Upgraded).]
[You have obtained: Shapeshifting (Basic).]
[Effect: Allows the user to transform into any beast not exceeding the user's original size.]
[This skill can be upgraded.]
"Oh ho!"
Now this was impressive.
With this—
So many things were about to change.
For example:
If he wanted the One Ring, he no longer needed Bilbo Baggins at all.
He could get it himself.
Or—for another example—
He could transform into a warg and slip into the Orc armies, just to have some fun.
Once his thoughts spread in that direction, the number of things he could do exploded.
So what was he waiting for?
Time to move.
Having made up his mind, Smaug wasted no time. He quickly devoured all the delicious food before him, then chugged an entire barrel of fine Elven wine.
Fed and satisfied, he spread his wings and flew toward the Lonely Mountain.
"Elves, make way—I'm heading home," Smaug kindly reminded the workers outside Erebor's gate.
In truth, the reminder was unnecessary.
The hundred or so Elves were already retreating at top speed.
Before long—
Smaug returned to the depths beneath the Lonely Mountain. He packed a large quantity of gold into his system storage, then carefully stored the Ice Dragon egg as well.
He would be gone for quite some time.
Gold and gemstones—he couldn't take it all, and that was fine.
But the dragon egg had to come with him. If anything happened to it, the loss would be unbearable.
About fifteen minutes later—
"Elves, make way—I'm heading out," Smaug called again from within.
The Elves outside the gate froze.
"???????"
Only after Smaug had flown far away did they recover.
"This dragon really has something wrong with it."
"Yeah—completely unhinged."
"Could it be the king was right? Did it really sleep itself stupid?"
"…Wait."
"Everyone—didn't it just fly toward Mirkwood?!"
"!!!!!"
---
Mirkwood
Over the past few days, Thranduil had been keeping a close watch on the Lonely Mountain—
More precisely, on Smaug.
And yet—
Even so, Thranduil still could not comprehend the dragon's utterly earth-shattering change.
Smaug—greedy to the extreme, arrogant beyond measure, utterly obsessed with gold.
So why, after sleeping for sixty years, had he changed into this?
Why build a kingdom?
Why scatter and spend the gold he supposedly loved so much?
Had he truly slept himself stupid?
Impossible.
There had to be some deeper scheme behind all this.
The more Thranduil thought about it, the more his head ached.
After enjoying leisure for thousands of years, suddenly having to think this hard was—frankly—cruel to an Elf.
Yet he had no choice.
They were simply too close.
If Smaug ever decided to turn hostile without warning, Thranduil would be the first to suffer.
And no sooner had that thought crossed his mind—
The warning horn sounded again.
Immediately after, a guard came sprinting over.
"My king! Smaug is flying this way again!"
"!!!!"
Thranduil had already expected this. A vein twitched violently on his forehead.
"Prepare for battle!"
Throwing out the order, he rose and rushed to the highest point of the realm. Looking up, he saw Smaug already approaching.
"Old neighbor," Smaug called cheerfully when he heard the horn and spotted Thranduil,
"I'm not here to play with you today. We'll do that another time."
Without slowing down in the slightest, Smaug swept straight over Thranduil's head and continued flying onward.
"?????"
Thranduil raised an eyebrow, seized by a powerful urge to curse aloud.
He was not alone.
Below him, the Elves—only halfway assembled and fully expecting a battle—felt exactly the same.
The difference was—
They could curse.
At least quietly.
"That damned dragon—what, is it insane?"
"That's the second time already!"
"There'll probably be a third. A fourth…"
"We can't keep doing this every time it flies by."
"If it wants to fight, then fight properly! What kind of nonsense is this?"
"..."
Unconsciously, for these Elves, the fear of being ruled by the evil dragon Smaug had merely changed its shape.
---
Outside the borders of Mirkwood, beyond several low wooded hills, lay a vast stretch of open land.
This territory belonged to a skin-changer named Beorn.
In a very real sense, Beorn was powerful—so powerful that even Azog had no desire to confront him head-on.
Smaug intended to make a friend of Beorn.
So just before leaving Mirkwood's airspace, he suddenly accelerated, shooting upward until he broke through the clouds—
And transformed into an eagle.
The eagle descended, gliding down to the edge of the plains, and landed.
Smaug transformed again—this time into an enormous black bear, far larger than any normal one.
Unhurried, the bear lumbered across the plains toward Beorn's house.
Beorn was chopping wood in front of his home.
Spotting the approaching bear from afar, his gaze sharpened. He gripped his oversized axe and turned to face it.
Beorn had lived here for many years.
He was certain—absolutely certain—that no such bear existed in this land.
So what, exactly, was that thing?
Confusion flickered through his mind.
"Beorn, I mean no harm," Smaug said, stopping at a respectful distance and rising onto his hind legs as he spoke.
Beorn's long eyebrows nearly knitted together.
"What are you?" he demanded bluntly.
Smaug bowed slightly, one arm laid across his chest in a formal gesture of courtesy.
"You may have heard of me," he said politely.
"I am Smaug."
"I took this form to show my respect to you."
"?????"
Beorn was momentarily stunned.
"You're that evil dragon, Smaug? I've never heard of you being able to change shape!"
"You're the first to know this secret," Smaug replied calmly.
"If you don't mind, I can return to my original form. I do prefer it."
Beorn didn't respond.
Taking that as permission, Smaug shook himself and reverted to his true form.
"!!!!"
Beorn recoiled instinctively, taking two steps back.
There was no helping it.
A dragon over a hundred meters long was a sight whose sheer presence crushed the spirit.
A few seconds passed before Beorn steadied himself.
"Why have you come looking for me?" he asked warily.
"I don't have any gold."
"That's a stereotype," Smaug replied with a faint smile.
"I merely enjoy sleeping on gold—it's very comfortable."
"I don't actually like gold."