Chapter 20: The Vanished Bed
1.
Other things aren't dopamine.
This is dopamine.
A sort of escape drama, betting my remaining five years of nighttime bedtime autonomy.
If I get caught, it's confinement.
- Creak.
Before I knew it, I was carefully gripping the repaired door handle and closing it.
The result—success.
The only person I passed on the way was a servant mowing the lawn.
He was so focused on his work that he didn't even glance my way.
“……”
I looked around the workshop.
I'd never even lit the forge before.
On the workbench sat the pouch of Enchant Powder I'd used yesterday, untouched.
Next to it, two hammers lay ready.
To be honest, I had come to the workshop.
But that was just on a momentary whim.
I glanced down at my right hand.
“…Ouch.”
With it swollen like this, doing anything was impossible, for real.
This kid's body was definitely more vulnerable to strain.
A frail little frame, that's what it was.
Still, no worries. Plenty to do.
I just couldn't swing a hammer yet.
Our city-worth-30,000-gold forge seemed plenty capable of firing up.
I'd already studied the standard forge operation manual extensively.
The theory was down pat.
So then…
Now, what is metallurgy?
Metallurgy is giant pervert stuff.
Simply put:
Smash ore, melt it, extract metal, mix metals into alloys, cast ingots, heat them to suit the purpose, forge the hot ingots into shape, quench to cool, done.
Reading it, it seems pretty straightforward.
Doesn't look like rocket science.
Just one slip-up, and your hand turns into frankfurter sausage.
What I'd realized here:
What set the Sun Dwarves apart metallurgically from others?
“This is fine dining.”
I had three blacksmithing manuals.
Forest Elf, Frostveil Tribe, Sun Dwarf.
The first specialized in fine crafting.
The middle one in mining.
The Sun Dwarves? Their obsessive detail in every single step was insane.
Those tiny differences combined to create value.
Like fine dining.
For example.
Let's start with minerals.
Normally, melting ore needs a seriously hot forge.
Blast furnace is best.
This model's like a pseudo-blast furnace.
I hadn't realized. Thought this would handle everything.
This forge could smelt ore and melt ingots, but…
Higher steps demand a real blast furnace.
Eventually, I'd have to ask Madam for one.
But that felt awkward, so maybe sell the gloves and buy it myself.
I reached for minerals in the basket Doloris had prepared.
But.
“…Huh?”
The basket held ingots, not ore.
Already-processed ones, skipping the whole chain.
“Hmm…”
Not ideal.
Sun Dwarf detail starts from melting ore into ingots.
Like pulling out frozen fish sticks for fine dining.
No matter how well you cook and sauce it, it's still fish sticks.
Like how I experimented with leather from scratch—dwarves start there.
Because ingots—massive quality gaps.
Melting and solidifying metal isn't the end.
Impurity levels, mixing evenness divide grades.
And ingots must be custom per gear.
Feeling the regret, that's when.
Something popped up before my eyes.
[Iron]96.30%
[Carbon]2.85%
[Sulfur]0.42%
[Phosphorus]0.28%
[Stone Dust]0.15%
[Homogeneity]C
[Density]C
Ingot status windows too, apparently.
Blacksmith perk?
But right now, less awe at the new ability.
“Ah, this sucks.”
- Tap tap tap.
I tapped the ground irritably with one foot.
Is this even worthy of ingot?
Last week, I'd pored over the Sun Dwarf manual's pervert-level ingot processes daily.
Pure mental metallurgy training.
Never imagined using trash like this.
Me? With this crap ingot? Why?
I'm Sun Dwarf now.
Sudden arm strength drain.
Carbon too high—could shatter if mishandled.
Iron boost let impurities in—density sucks.
Sigh…
Steam rising from my forehead, but better copy 100 Elm 20s than use this.
For real.
Decided to deny reality.
“You're not an ingot—you're ore.”
Treat the ingot as ore.
Even it'd prefer rebirth.
Time for evolved notebook metallurgy: image training.
Imagined lighting the forge.
Tossed in charcoal from nearby.
Now, kindle the charcoal with tinder.
Of course, no real lighting planned.
“Ah~ shall I light it up~”
Yuna played forge SFX.
Good.
Assume charcoal's lit.
Interior warming a bit.
Right now.
- Slide…
Slowly pushed the ore (ingot) in.
Lightly atop charcoal. Normally smash ore first, but skip.
Focusing on forge control now.
Assume charcoal burning, ore on top.
Now, crank heat insanely.
Charcoal alone eats ambient oxygen—limits heat.
So then.
That's when—blast air in. Feed more oxygen.
Bellows work.
Sun Dwarf manual: one button, easy.
This step's freebie.
“Heh.”
But.
Where's the button?
“……”
Looking around, spotted suspicious iron pedal below.
Like a car accelerator.
“…?”
No way.
Couldn't resist—tapped lightly with foot.
- Screeeeech…
Insanely heavy.
Full body strength needed.
Baby 13-year-old can't.
Applied more force, stomped.
Then.
- Whiiirrr…!
Roar!?
Means it's lit, damn it.
This is bellows?
“Hraaah!”
Stomped again.
- Whoooosh!
Ah…
My memory's bellows:
W key—lamb-like character cones fire from mouth.
Hammer down: clang!
“Haa…”
Exhausting.
Three stomps, strength gone.
- Screeech…
“Thanks…”
Just burn out already.
After bellows practice.
Body limp.
“Whoa… this for real?”
Wiped forehead sweat, slumped in chair.
One thing overlooked.
Sun Dwarf tech: cutting-edge in their world.
Outer Tower human forges? Antiquated.
Grease it?
Doubt that fixes it.
“……”
Sudden ominous thought.
I won't have to build dwarf-grade forge, right?
Please no.
Actually, that's my field.
Mechanical engineering…
Sweat dripping, slicked back hair fully.
Forge basics grasped, sorta.
All this for Doloris anyway.
Her gear observed so far: only Gorgogne's White Gloves.
Time for other slots.
But metallurgy needs more time.
Gloves done.
“Left: clothing…”
Shoes, pants, top.
Or…
One pops in mind.
Underwear.
Closed eyes.
Most intuitive, really.
Closest to body longest.
First contact.
Easy to make.
What a pervert thought.
“Can't just strip her…”
From checks: need direct visual for details.
Her equipment screen: black except gloves.
Okay, underwear later.
Skip. Next target.
Kept thinking.
Shoes best next…?
“What do you wanna strip?”
“Feet first…”
Uh.
Body froze.
Yuna, you?
Family jokes off-limits.
Don't.
Who'm I talking to then?
Frozen like mouse before cat.
“Feet?”
Again.
Voice from behind.
“……”
Slowly turned.
There: Doloris, leaning upper body on inner windowsill.
Window wide open.
Gazing at me.
Smile still soft.
How long?
When whining at ingot?
Pedal stomping curses?
Doesn't matter.
Just said strip.
Good: no subject named.
“Lionel~”
Doloris gracefully vaulted windowsill.
Slowly approached.
“What stripping?”
Gently scooped me up, dabbed forehead sweat with handkerchief one hand.
Floating 1.5m air—escape futile.
“Feet… strip the…”
“Whose feet?”
“……”
Two options.
Lie, her truth-sense catches, spill truth.
Or spill truth upfront.
Latter inevitable—former waste.
“Do-Dol-Dol-Doloris-sama…”
Spilled truth.
Doloris kept smiling, wiped sweat.
What now?
Tense, she calmly gazed…
- Mwah.
Kissed forehead.
“Lionel, so diligent…”
Hugged me.
I blinked confused.
Nestled in her arms.
2.
Doloris stealthily trailed Lionel.
When Lionel snuck from mansion, crossed garden.
Cautiously opened workshop door, entered.
Doloris followed exactly ten steps behind, silent.
- Pat pat.
Glancing around warily, scampering back too cute.
Almost forgot capture purpose.
Door shut.
Doloris erased presence fully, circled back.
- Slink…
Workshop rear open window.
Presence killed, upper body on sill.
Inside clear view.
“……”
Lionel back-turned, picked ingot from basket.
“…Hmm.”
Unsatisfied sigh.
Grumbling maybe.
Cute.
Doloris mentally noted.
Ingot no good. Must replace.
Then.
Lionel pointed at ingot suddenly.
“You're not ingot—ore you are.”
“…?”
Sassy tone shout.
Then hummed, tossed charcoal in forge.
“Ah~ light it up~”
Put ingot in forge.
“……”
Practicing something.
But what Doloris felt:
Lionel used only left hand—opposite the one she'd medicated.
- Don't use this hand.
Told not to, truly avoided hurt hand.
Yet despite warning.
Uneasy mind, hurt body, still came out diligently.
Something swelled in Doloris's heart.
Why so diligent…
Could just rest.
Then.
Lionel stomped pedal.
- Screeeech!
“Hngh!”
- Screeeeech!
“Krah!”
Tiny foot, impossible pedal—full force.
Practicing forge.
Wanted to stomp for him.
But Lionel's personality: liked standing alone.
Stomped repeatedly.
“Whoa… for real?”
Drained, slumped chair, wiped sweat.
Poor thing.
Pitiful.
Panting, wiping brow—heartbreaking.
Watching small shoulders heave, something rose in her.
Then.
“Left: clothing…”
Lionel muttered.
“Can't strip it off…”
Strip, stripping…
Clothing…?
Doloris eyes widened.
If all this… for that…
Urgently asked.
“What wanna strip?”
“Feet first…”
Voice startled him rigid.
No scare intent—slipped inside quick.
“Lionel~”
Gently called.
“What stripping?”
Lifted him right up…
Wiped forehead sweat.
“Feet… strip the…”
“Whose?”
“……”
Lionel squeezed eyes, pondered…
Slowly opened mouth.
“Do-Dol-Dol-Doloris-sama…”
“……”
- Thump, thump.
Her ear tingled—truth.
Lionel dragged hurt body to workshop.
Used no hurt parts—for her gear crafting.
How think like that?
- Mwah.
Doloris kissed forehead.
“Lionel, so diligent…”
Face to shoulder, stroked back.
More words failed.
Lump in throat.
Blind goodwill from someone.
Never imagined ten-year-old.
Stroked head repeatedly.
“Thank you…”
Only that.
“Haha…”
Reading mood, Lionel squirmed in arms.
Then.
“Um… Doloris-sama.”
“Yes.”
Set him down gently.
Eye contact.
“Any… ore?”
“Yes. Will prepare.”
Lionel twitched, face brightened slightly.
This child happy with this.
Doloris savored expression, smiled softly.
“Lubricant…?”
“Yes. Will apply.”
“Hehe.”
Happy again.
Doloris chuckled briefly.
Reacts to tiniest things.
Brain already planning next preps.
Lionel cautiously added.
“It's daytime now… so earlier promise okay, right?”
Earlier promise.
Ah.
“……”
Doloris gazed briefly.
Smiled softly.
“No.”
Night or day.
Caught red-handed.
“Promise is promise.”
Especially after seeing this.
Couldn't let go more. Even less.
“Y-Yes…?”
Lionel face stiffened.
Doloris stroked head once more.
“From today, live together.”
“……”
That afternoon.
Lionel's bedroom bed—vanished somewhere.