They just needed a little push.

A dwarf scratched his beard. "How's this Miri Town on booze?"

Quinlan answered without hiding anything. "I'll be honest. It's probably not up to your standards. It has alcohol, but only the human kind."

The response was immediate.

"Bah!" a dwarf barked. "I tried human booze once. Thought I was drinkin' somethin' meant for babes."

Another nodded, beard bobbing. "Aye. Brewed for folk whose guts cry if the drink fights back. Tastes like piss, too."

That set them off.

Grumbles layered over each other. Complaints about watered barrels. Complaints about sweet notes where bitterness should be. Complaints about drinks that went down easy and left nothing but regret.

"Human hands don't respect fermentation."

"They rush it."

"They fear strength."

"They fear flavor."

Quinlan waited until the noise peaked, then spoke over it.

"Agreed. I want dwarven mead at my beck and call as well. At my level, it has to be something strong or I, too, feel as if I was drinking piss out of a mug."

That earned a pause.

"So here's the plan. I take those of you who actually know brewing. We rob a royal dwarven brewery. A proper one. We take the equipment, the stock, the recipes. Then we build an industry-scale brewery in Miri Town. State of the art. I will invest tens of thousands of gold coins into it. Your mead won't just compete. It will ruin other brewers. We will conduct a hostile takeover of the alcohol market, drinking the greatest booze in the world while getting filthy rich off of it too."

Several pairs of eyes lit up.

"You truly are a villain," someone murmured, but without being scornful. Instead, she looked almost reverent.

Quinlan shrugged. "It's not evil if we steal from nobles instead of some poor bastard trying to feed his family."

A dwarf stroked his beard slowly. "Aye… I've always wondered what the nobles drink."

Another leaned in. "Paid taxes my whole life. Never touched royal stock."

"Now that I think on it," a third said, voice warming, "maybe that's not villainy. Maybe that's justice."

"Yeah!" someone shouted. "We did the work! We mined the stone! Brewed the barrels! Why shouldn't we taste the good stuff for once?"

Laughter rolled through them. Loud. Rough. Honest.

They were convinced.

Still, none stepped toward the gate.

They lingered. Watched Quinlan carefully.

A dwarf near the center cleared his throat. "Booze is good and all, but I'd rather stay a slave than be a free man with no smithy."

He clenched one hand. "That sounds crueler than being sold and used like an object."

A murmur spread.

Several nodded.

"Aye."

"What's freedom worth if your hands rust?"

"I didn't survive the pits just to rot without a forge."

Just like that, the laughter faded. The alcohol problem had been settled. It was time to address their biggest concern.

Quinlan's smile did not fade. It grew heavier, more certain.

"Miri Town is a humble city. Built by eager hands that lack proper training. They want to create, they just don't know how. That is where you come in. I will invest another fortune into creating the smithing industry of your dreams. Not sheds, nor corner forges but real ones. You will have space. Heat. Tools. Resources without counting every ingot twice."

Several dwarves stiffened.

"Furthermore… You won't just craft armor and weapons. You will shape a city, then a kingdom, then an empire. Your work will be the spine that everything else leans on. When people speak of the empire that rose from nothing, they will speak your names as the ones who built it."

Silence fell again.

Not the wary kind.

Eyes shone beneath heavy brows. Fingers flexed as if already feeling hammers. Breaths came a little faster.

To smith without limits. To build not for an order that had to be completed, but for something that would last longer than any of them.

That was the dwarven dream.

One dwarf swallowed hard. "From scratch…?"

Quinlan nodded once. "Yes. I won't watch over your shoulders. As long as you're honest in working toward our shared dream and do not try to abuse the freedom I give you, I will grant you free rein to build what you see fit."

That did it.

Almost.

Hope sat plainly in their eyes now.

There was only one thing left.

A dwarf near the front rubbed the back of his neck. "Will you really be fair to us…?" He hesitated, then grunted. "And if you are, why don't you have a dwarven lover? Do you have something against dwarven lasses?!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!" multiple bearded women were in agreement, nodding vehemently.

Quinlan's smile shifted, turning wry.

"I am a man who appreciates women of all shapes and sizes. But…" He paused, then exhaled through his nose. "My body is incompatible with dwarven lasses. I can't properly appreciate their wonderful bodies because of the cruel prank my maker played on me."

He spread his arms, emphasizing that he was nearly a giant for humans, let alone dwarves.

It was simply not meant to be.

Felicity yelped. "That's improper!"

The reaction was instant.

Dwarven women flushed, gasping, and covering their mouths. The men stared for a moment, then burst into boisterous laughter.

"We get it!" one shouted. "We get it!"

"Our lasses are strong! Built for a good tumble!"

"But the size difference?" a third snorted. "Like trying to fit an anvil in a small smithy. It just isn't meant to be!"

Quinlan nodded, happy they accepted his reasoning. "Exactly."

That was it.

A dwarf stepped forward, thumping a fist to his chest. "Lad, you've won me over. To the glory of our future!"

Another laughed and shook his head. "Fair ruler, good booze, endless forges, and honest reasons for not mating with our women. Can't ask for more."

"Stone and steel witness it," someone muttered. "We'll build your city, your kingdom, your empire. All we ask in return is to be remembered."

"You will receive so much more than a mere footnote dedicated to you in the history books," Quinlan smiled, earning himself a myriad of toothy grins.

One by one, they turned and walked toward the gate.

The chamber finally stood empty after the slave house's servants and masters were brought over as well, some on their own legs, others dragged against their will.

Quinlan let out a slow breath once the gate sealed.

"Pfew. We did it."

His shoulders loosened. Truth be told, his answer about the dwarven women had only been half true. It was not really about size. He simply did not find them appealing at all.

Their hairy frames, their boisterous attitude, their existence that lacked a single drop of femininity… It was just a giant 'nope' from him.

But some things were better left unsaid.

He would still treat them fairly, that was what mattered most.

Seraphiel covered her mouth, then failed to contain herself. A soft laugh slipped out, bright and unrestrained. "I can't believe it! Quin, you basically called the dwarves midgets, and instead of getting assaulted, they laughed and blushed in response. I don't think you understand the gravity of this exchange. This might be the first time in history!"

Quinlan grinned and lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "What can I say. My rugged charm must've won them over."

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