Chapter 20: The Comfort of Home

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Iron Confederacy*

The morning sun was pale and thin when Demir and the others trudged back into the dwarven village. Their shackles of fatigue dragged heavier than the sacks of goblin loot on their shoulders. Marco was grinning ear to ear, the twins still replaying kills with wild hand gestures, but Demir walked with his head down, silent, his hands stained with blood that wasn't his own.

Brovick Ironspine was already awake, stacking neat bars of steel the twins had helped smelt into crates. He looked up at the sight of them, beard dripping with water he'd splashed on his face to wake.

"Back so soon?" His eyes narrowed, scanning the weapons dangling from the boys' belts. "Did you kill them all? If one of those yellow rats escaped, I'll hand you myself to the next raiding party."

Demir lifted the bag and dropped it with a heavy clang at Brovick's feet. "We took them all." His voice was flat, weighty.

The twins beamed. Marco pumped his fist. Demir's expression remained cold, shadowed by the memory of his first true ruthless kills.

Brovick snorted and began pawing through the loot. "Garbage. This? Garbage. And this—" he held up a warped iron short sword with disgust—"worse garbage." He tossed it aside with a clang. Then he stopped, grunted, and raised a jagged cleaver. "Hmm. Decent steel. Sin, take this."

Sin's eyes lit up as the weapon was shoved into his hands.

"As for the coins—" Brovick stuffed them into his pocket "I'll fetch you enchanted jewels from the city. You'll need them more than trinkets. Now quit gawking like you've become heroes. You kill like boys. You swing like boys. And you play warrior like boys." He jabbed a thick finger toward Marco. "And you, finish those beds already. I'm not raising pups who whine on the floor like beggars."

Marco groaned but trudged back toward the shed. The twins went off swinging their new toys, laughing at each other's clumsy stances. Demir set his jaw, turned back to the anvil, and began hammering.

Each swing echoed sharp and deliberate. With the new iron ingots Brovick and the twins had made, the metal sang differently, brighter. Demir pushed himself, sweat pouring, his hands blistering until finally after hours of work. He raised a chest piece that felt right.

"Marco," he called, "check it with the glasses."

Marco adjusted the strange spectacles across his eye, peered, then broke into a grin. "E-grade."

A cheer erupted. Demir let out a breath, more relief than joy. Brovick, half-drunk, barely looked up but muttered, "Better than junk. At least worth wearing."

That night, the shipment of steel from the city arrived on dwarven carts. The boys finished the last of the beds, collapsing into them like dead men. For the first time since fleeing, their shack didn't feel like a prison it felt like something closer to home.

Later, as the fire dimmed, Sin tugged Marco's sleeve. "Check the goblin captain's armor. Just in case."

Marco sighed but humored him, putting on the glasses again. He squinted, then blinked, then blinked again harder, pulling the lens off and back on. His face twisted in confusion.

"Demir. Look at this."

Demir took the glasses and stared through them at their crude little shack. For a moment, he saw words float where none should be.

House [Comfort Level 3] - [Constitution +10% (30 minutes)].

"What the hell..." Demir muttered.

"It happened after I finished the beds," Marco said, half in disbelief.

Demir bolted upright, ran outside, grabbed two chairs from Brovick's workshop, and shoved them into the shack. The air shimmered faintly through the lens.

House [Comfort Level 4] - [Constitution +10% (35 minutes)].

"Oh, shit," Demir whispered, almost laughing. "Minutes increased. Level increased. Comfort... increases the buff!"

Marco nodded slowly, gears turning. "Which means... we can stack it with gear. But it's useless way out here, too far from the goblin outpost."

Demir's eyes widened, a memory flashing of long hunts after leaving the ruins. "This explains why I always started strong. The ruins had comfort buffs lasting hours. I didn't even notice."

Timmy perked up. "Wait - what if we add food buffs too?"

Marco arched an eyebrow. "Sure. You know how to cook?"

Timmy froze. "...No."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Then that's useless for now. Look - this can work if we split it. I'll take charge of building buffs. Demir, you focus on forging. Timmy tomorrow, take the glasses, go to the inn, and see if anyone's selling meals with stats. Take note of every one."

"Can we make it so we can move it on the cart to use when we attack?" Demir asked.

"I'll draw some plans and make planks according to that."

Demir nodded. "Makes sense. Good call."

Sin piped up, frustrated. "And what about me?"

Demir glanced at him. "Brovick gave you the best weapon. For now, practice swinging. Maybe you'll figure out a charged hit like mine."

Sin's grin returned, his new cleaver glinting in the firelight.

The four of them, sitting in the half-finished shack, were just boys with crude plans. Their "buff house" was little more than planks, beds, and stolen chairs. But it was the first advantage they had carved for themselves, and they clung to it like treasure.

---

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Iron Confederacy*

Brovick knocked on their door at dawn like every other day. "Wake up, you idiots!"

Demir and the twins jolted right up. Marco groaned and protested waking up early. Maybe kids who grew up here had adjusted to waking early and doing all the chores. But Demir noticed most adults stuck here still had disbelief in their eyes. Maybe their routine was adjusted to their outside life. For a forty-year-old, it was tougher living here than for a twenty-year-old, he thought.

"Marco, wake up Brovick's coming with water."

Marco opened his eyes. "That old dwarf. I swear I'll torch him one of these days."

Sin and Timmy laughed. "You can't wake up a forty-year-old man like that," Marco said.

"All right, keep it down he is our only master," Demir said laughingly.

Brovick once again came to the door and knocked. "You idiots still sleeping? Goblins bred twice more in your sleep. Get up already!"

Demir opened the door. "Good morning to you, master. How are you today?"

"Quit yapping and take that hammer. I'll show you how to add details so it won't break from thin points. Marco, just because you finished the house doesn't mean you can sleep all day. You pick up a hammer too."

"He has another job now. We made a plan to create a shack near the goblin mining outpost. He's gonna make transportable planks to load onto the cart."

"What will that do? You'll die in that stupid attack anyway."

"If we are gonna die, why help us?" Timmy asked.

Brovick shrugged. "I am helping. This is more entertaining than drinking all day." He laughed.

Brovick's comment made Demir think. Was he having dreams? This wasn't a game anymore, and the rescue mission wasn't a quest adjusted to their level. He didn't know what was expecting them in those mines. Should he take the win by saving the twins or keep endangering everyone's lives and try it?

"Get off that dreamland and focus, kid!" Brovick yelled at Demir.

Demir left his thoughts and smiled. "Yes, master."

"All right, now forge a chest piece like I showed you left edges this time."

Demir took the plates and started hammering. It would take the better part of all day to turn into the piece Brovick wanted. In the meantime, Marco started cutting planks with help from Sin. Timmy took the glasses and started snooping around the inn for stat-boosted food.

When Demir was in the zone, hammering again and again, not waiting for magical swings, suddenly [Bzzzt!]. He looked around. He physically didn't feel anything, but that interference was something important. The only logical thinking was advancing armorsmith, Demir thought. I must have gotten better. He looked at his chest piece - his craft had actually gotten better.

Brovick came with leather. "Why are you looking at that like it's your masterpiece?"

"Well, it kind of is."

Brovick laughed out loud. "I was ten making better pieces than that."

"Okay then, give us your pieces to raid."

"That wasn't the deal. Honor your deal, kid."

Demir bowed his head. "You see, we are desperate. I took that deal because otherwise we were gonna die."

"Look, kid, you are a real one and I like that, but all our lives we've forced help on passing humans. You are lucky some of us didn't attack you the day you arrived."

"Not all of us were like that."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. This help I am giving and accesories are all you are gonna get for now. Prove yourself as a man of your word, and then we accept you as people we can have normal relationships with."

Demir winced. "How am I gonna prove it?"

Brovick turned toward Demir and poked him. "Save your friends, and we believe you."

That almost made him tear up. Even though they didn't like humans, they were kind of invested in Demir and his mission of saving his friends with his creations.

"Okay, master, what do we do with the leather?"

Brovick started to show him how to incorporate leather as padding inside armor and showed fine workmanship at the edges.

Demir was watching closely, and [Bzzzt!] - he got another one by watching. What was that again, so soon, he thought.

Demir thought to himself, "If I level up by watching master, maybe that gave me that skill." Demir worked all day, seeking magical fine work while improving armor pieces. He realized now every twenty swings were charged, and fine work moved magically in his hand after forty adjustments.

"This will be much harder to incorporate," he thought.

But as he worked, feeling the rhythm of charged strikes and magical adjustments, Demir began to understand something profound about this world. The game mechanics weren't gone they were just hidden, waiting to be discovered by those willing to put in the work.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to save his friends.