Chapter 26: The Hidden Fortress

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

The road wound like a crooked snake through the mountains, narrowing and widening without reason. Days bled into each other as the cart creaked and jolted over the uneven path. The air grew colder with each climb, crisp with pine and stone. Jagged ridges watched them from above like the spines of sleeping beasts, and gullies yawned at their side sheer drops where one slip of the cart's wheel might have ended them all. Dust clung to their boots, and the sound of their own trudging mixed with the occasional caw of carrion birds circling in lazy spirals overhead.

They walked in silence most of the time. By day, the twins took turns pulling with Demir at the cart's handles, Marco pushing at the rear, grumbling curses about builders not being meant for mountain roads. His thin frame struggled with the weight, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold air. At night, they huddled under makeshift blankets, with nothing but the thin crackle of campfires to keep the dark at bay. The nights felt colder, and though no enemy stalked them, every snapping twig in the wind raised their hackles.

By the third day, their breath came heavy and their patience grew thinner. The mountain path seemed endless, winding through forests of dark pine that blocked out the sun for hours at a time. Then the land shifted again the road flattened, and there it was: the black mouth of the goblin mining outpost in the distance. A cluster of crude palisades and torchlight at its edges, shadows moving within like ants in a disturbed hill.

Demir raised his hand. "Stop here."

They left the cart tucked behind a bend in the road and moved low, careful not to break the silence. For ten minutes they crept forward, threading through brush and broken stone until a massive boulder rose before them. It loomed like a giant's fist punched into the ground, its back pressed against a rocky rise, its front open but wide enough to shield them from the outpost's torchlight. The stone was weathered granite, streaked with veins of darker rock that caught what little moonlight filtered through the clouds.

"This spot," Demir whispered, running his palm over the cold stone. "Here we can build it. Hidden from patrols, near enough to strike."

Sin grinned nervously, sweat plastering his blond hair to his forehead despite the mountain chill. "Feels like the game telling us, 'good job, you found the obvious rock.'"

Timmy elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Shut it. It's perfect."

They dragged the cart closer, wood grinding against earth and stone, and set to work. Marco unfolded the first of his planks, hands stained with resin and sawdust from the valley days. His glasses caught the faint starlight as he squinted at his rough sketches. "Keep the frame steady. Lock pins here no, Sin, not that one."

The twins hammered with more enthusiasm than finesse, their young faces set with determination. But the walls began to rise, plank by plank, nail by nail. By twilight, their shed stood squatting behind the rock a crooked little house born of desperation and hope. The structure was barely eight feet by ten, with a slanted roof and walls that didn't quite meet at perfect angles, but it was solid enough.

Inside, Timmy scattered blankets and dried herbs he'd taken from the valley, their earthy scent mixing with the sharp smell of fresh-cut wood. Sin dragged in makeshift chairs, stools, even broken casks to make it livable. One by one, the buffs stacked as Marco's glasses revealed the growing power:

[House Comfort +9]

+10% to all attributes. Buff duration: 70 minutes after leaving.

They stared at the floating text as though it were gold. For a moment, in that dim little shed with sparks of firelight bouncing across steel armor and rough wooden walls, it felt like they'd carved a small fortress out of nothing.

Demir leaned against the wall, helm under his arm, his face serious in the flickering light. "Three days. We thin them out first. Hit and run. We don't give them a chance to rally."

Marco nodded, adjusting his glasses with hands still trembling from exhaustion. "Take out the patrols. Sentinels first. Every couple hour we return here to replenish our buffs."

"Exactly. Then we rest, buff again," Demir said. His hammer-calloused hand tightened around his chest piece, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like his armor. "When they're weak enough, we strike for real."

That night, they tested the plan.

The forest whispered around them as they moved, moonlight streaking through branches like silver arrows. Each wore Demir's new armor steel glinting faintly in the darkness, leather padding muffling their steps. The buffs hummed in their blood like liquid fire; their lungs felt wider, their muscles sharper, their minds alert. Even Sin, normally clumsy with excitement, seemed steadier with each step, his cleaver held with newfound confidence.

Ahead, a crooked watchtower squatted at the edge of the mine road. It was little more than a platform on stilts, built from scavenged wood and held together with rope and iron nails. A torch burned low in a crude bracket, casting dancing shadows across the ground. Two goblins slouched at its base, half-asleep with spears in hand. Their chatter was sloppy grunts, words mangled beyond sense, but their meaning was clear boredom, complaints about the cold, wishes to be elsewhere.

Demir crouched, raising two fingers. The twins mirrored him instantly, their young faces set with grim purpose. Marco, behind them, swallowed his nerves and readied his spells, blue light already beginning to gather around his fingertips.

"We take them fast," Demir whispered, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "Sin left, Timmy right. I'll block if they scream. Marco, cover us."

They moved like shadows given form. Sin darted first, cleaver raised high. The buff made him faster than the goblin expected; his strike split crude leather armor, biting deep into green flesh with a wet sound that seemed to echo in the still night. Timmy followed, his short sword plunging through the other's neck before its torch could be raised in alarm. Both goblins crumpled without a cry, their blood dark against the moonlit ground.

Sin stood frozen for a breath, chest heaving, staring at the blood slicking his blade. The reality of what they were doing what they had to do hit him like a physical blow.

Then Timmy grabbed his arm. "Don't look. Move."

They dragged the bodies into the brush, the corpses heavier than expected. Demir searched them quickly crude daggers with nicked edges, a pouch of copper coins, nothing else worth keeping. Still, every scrap counted in their desperate situation.

After they felt their quickness and sharpness decrease dramatically, the buff's warm energy fading from their limbs like water draining from a broken cup. Demir stopped them with a raised hand. "I think the buff is wearing off. Let's get back and wait. I wish we could see a timer."

They headed back, drank water from their precious supply, and celebrated their small victory. But the celebration was brief and quiet they couldn't afford to attract attention. Soon they returned and went further into goblin territory.

Deeper along the slope, more torchlight flickered between the trees. Another pair patrolled a narrow trail that wound around an outcropping of stone. This time Marco loosed first, the ice arrow punching clean into a goblin's throat with a sound like breaking glass. The creature's eyes went wide with shock and pain before it toppled backward. The other spun, shrieking in surprise, but Demir was already on it. His old sword crashed down, denting skull and ending the cry together in one brutal motion.

The four of them crouched in the shadows, hearts pounding like war drums, waiting to see if the scream had been heard. But the night remained still except for the distant sounds of the mining operation picks striking stone, the creak of wooden supports, the occasional shout of overseers.

Sin whispered, his voice tight with adrenaline, "This is working. We're stronger. Faster."

Demir pressed a hand to his chestplate, feeling the buff thrum under steel like a second heartbeat. "I'm just glad we have mechanics to defeat them. And take our lives back."

By midnight, they had cleared four more sentries, always dragging the corpses into the brush, always moving back to their shed to breathe and reset their buffs. Their armor bore scratches from branches and goblin claws, their hands new blisters from gripping weapons, but the plan held together like their makeshift fortress.

When they finally stumbled back inside, exhaustion tugging at every limb, the shed felt warmer than ever. Comfort level still gleamed at +9, firelight licking across the steel armor stacked neatly by the wall like a promise of safety.

Sin collapsed onto a stool, cleaver leaning against his shoulder, his young face aged by what he'd seen and done. "Dumb bastards didn't even notice half their watch was gone."

Timmy smirked, wiping goblin blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Fodder. Just fodder. Be glad they are maximum fifteen levels. If they were orcs... UGHH. I don't want to even imagine."

"Not all orcs are high level, right Marco?" Sin asked, looking to their resident expert.

"No, no. Each zone has modifiers limiting them, giving them random but capped levels. But even though goblins don't have high-level zones, they have something no other race possesses."

"What is it?" Demir asked, leaning forward with interest.

"Numbers. They are vermin of this planet. They are coded with low IQ, low stats, but high birth rate."

"It kind of explains this massive uncontrolled expansion after the game restraints were removed," Demir mused, the pieces falling into place.

Demir sat by the doorway, staring out at the dark ridge where the mine pulsed with torchlight and goblin noise. His hammer rested across his knees, heavy but steady, like an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

"We take them down. Take all of them down," Sin said, his voice carrying a hardness that hadn't been there a week ago.

Demir whispered to himself, so low none of the others heard, his words lost in the crackle of their small fire: "One step at a time. Three days. Then we end it."

Outside their small fortress, the night pressed close and cold, but inside, four young men sat surrounded by the tools of war and the comfort of home, ready to become the hunters this world demanded they be.