"Well, that's one way to make a fortune."
Eric turned a glittering diamond over in his fingers, one of five he'd just crafted at the workbench.
They weren't just any diamonds. These were perfect. Big, flawless, radiant, the sort that could bankrupt a kingdom or start a war. The best part? No matter the quality of the raw diamonds he used, the crafting table spat out top-tier gems every time.
"Buy cheap, combine, sell high," Eric mused. "Honestly, it's almost criminal."
Of course, he wasn't dumb enough to flood the market. Too much supply and the value tanks. The local diamond economy was already wheezing after his last few hauls. If he wanted more, he'd need to wait for restocking... or find new sellers.
The dwarves certainly weren't out of diamonds, these folk weren't exactly living in squalor but no one expected a random human traveler to sweep in and start hoarding raw gemstones like a dragon on retail therapy. They were probably still trying to figure out why he kept refusing their pre-cut jewelry.
But now diamonds were sorted. Time to tackle the real bottleneck.
"Obsidian…"
Useless for most things. Decorative at best. The dwarves didn't store it, why would they? But for Eric, it was essential.
There was only one way to get it: lava.
He went looking for the dwarf who'd helped him earlier, the one with soot-stained hands and a brain full of directions.
"You got any lava?" Eric asked. "I just need a bucket's worth."
The dwarf blinked. "Lava? What in the name of stonebeards do you want that for?"
Eric grinned. "Sentimental reasons."
The dwarf squinted at him like he was evaluating a very poorly carved statue.
"No. And even if I did—why? Gonna bottle it up and take it home? Pour it on your enemies? Cook dinner with it?"
"I'm serious," Eric said. "I'll pay."
"No lava."
Eric sighed and pointed at a sword displayed on the wall.
"How much for that sword over there?"
A gleam of steel later, the dwarf had sold Eric the shop's only blade—and a fairly pricey one at that. Not that Eric minded. With his resource generation setup, he could print money faster than a goblin printer on tax season.
The dwarf squinted at him again, this time with a new appreciation. "Fine. My brother works the smelting furnaces. He might be able to help. No promises."
Eric let out a breath of relief. If this didn't work out, his backup plan involved spelunking until he hit the mantle—and odds were slim he'd survive long enough to enjoy the view.
---
While they walked, the dwarf led him deeper into the mountain halls, turning so many corners Eric began to suspect he was either being led to lava or led to die.
Eventually, they stepped into an enormous chamber, a forge hall with enough anvils and furnaces to equip a small war.
"Oi! How's it going, old rock?"
"Hot and loud, just the way I like it," the furnace dwarf replied, glancing over his shoulder. He finished shaping the current piece, then turned to greet them properly.
"Who's your tall friend?"
"This is my customer," the blacksmith said. "He wants a bucket of lava. Can you help?"
The furnace dwarf raised a thick brow. "Lava, huh? That's it?"
Eric nodded and held up an empty bucket. "Just one full bucket will do."
"Odd request, but sure. Gimme a minute."
The first dwarf excused himself, he had a business to run, and left Eric to observe.
He couldn't help eyeing the forge's massive setup. Mechanical arms, bellows the size of oxen, pipes and vents crisscrossing like veins of iron through stone.
Eric reached out to touch one.
"If I were you," the smith warned, not looking up, "I wouldn't touch that unless you're fond of having crispy fingers."
Eric touched it anyway.
"HHHHsss—OW!"
[Structure Detected: Dwarven Smelting Array]
[New Crafting Recipes Unlocked]
"Totally worth it," Eric muttered, shaking out his hand.
The system chirped away in his head, he'd unlocked something called a Smelting Array, a multi-block structure used to smelt rare metals and, crucially, produce liquid blocks… like lava.
He watched the dwarf dump stone and fuel into the furnace and begin processing it. Lava began bubbling in the main tank, exactly as the system had described.
"Mind if I look around a bit?" Eric asked, eyes already drifting toward the forge's more exotic machinery.
"You can look," said the dwarf. "Just don't touch."
"Noted."
Eric explored with enthusiasm, memorizing the shapes, pipes, and furnace arrangements. His crafting interface steadily filled with new structures: dwarven blast furnaces, alloy hammers, rune anvils.
Soon, he'd be able to smelt faster, forge dwarven-grade weapons, and most importantly, craft items he could actually be proud of.
Dwarves didn't make dainty blades. Their weapons were hefty war axes, throwing hammers, siege picks. Even their daggers were chunky. That sword he'd bought? Probably sat in the shop gathering dust until Eric walked in, just eccentric enough to want it.
The other prize was a shiny new Dwarven Steel Pickaxe, a specialized tool for mining. It had higher durability than iron and, most importantly, could mine obsidian.
Between that and the lava, Eric now had everything he needed to build an enchanting table and a Nether portal.
His body might still be in Blue Mountain, but his heart had already raced home. He was picturing exactly where he'd place the portal, next to the smelting room? Or maybe near his bedroom?
CRACK-THOOM.
The forge trembled slightly. Eric turned to see lava flowing through the duct, glowing like liquid gold.
The dwarf filled the bucket without fuss.
"Here's your bucket of molten doom."
Eric gratefully took it and paid the dwarf enough for a good night out and maybe a few drunken ballads in his name.
[Achievement Unlocked: Too Hot to Handle]
Mission accomplished.
"Oh, by the way," Eric said, slipping the bucket into his inventory, "I heard this mountain's under the rule of the Dwarven King… Thorin Oakenshield?"
The smith nodded proudly. "Aye. We've got a good life thanks to him. You've heard of our king?"
"Just stories," Eric said. "Is he still here, though? I heard he was heading to Bree sometime soon."
The smith glanced over Eric's shoulder.
"He is."
Eric turned and immediately knew.
The dwarf standing in the doorway was taller than most, broad-shouldered, and radiated quiet authority. Muscles like coiled granite. Shadows clung to his brow like storm clouds. His eyes were sharp, calculating. Scarred hands. Worn boots. Crownless, yet unmistakable.
Even if Eric hadn't known the stories, he'd have known.
Thorin Oakenshield.
The forge fell silent for a beat as the king strode in.
The nearby dwarves straightened instinctively. Thorin acknowledged them with a slight nod, then glanced at Eric, the only human in the hall.
Most outsiders would've been thrown out or at least interrogated for barging into a forge. But Thorin paused. Studied him. Eric returned the look with a polite, neutral nod.
Something passed between them, acknowledgment, perhaps, or just a moment of mutual curiosity.
Then Thorin turned, took up a hammer, and began to work.
CLANG!
"The forge keeps the arms strong," he muttered, half to himself. "So the sword-arm never forgets its purpose."