[Dwarf Blessing – 8%.]
Just as he'd suspected, the rate varied—probably depending on strength, rarity, or some hidden stat the system wasn't revealing.
'At least it doesn't mean I have to kill a ton of them... just one really strong dwarf.'
'Then again, knowing my luck, that 'one' probably bench-presses boulders and eats steel nails for breakfast. I'd just end up as a red smear on the ground.'
With that done, he opened the online marketplace and offloaded all the loot—clothes, boots, rings, even one guy's weird beard comb.
The store accepted it all without complaint, converting gear into EC.
'Nothing says 'rest in peace' like flipping your stuff for store credit, '
As the last item vanished, he stopped short of selling one thing: a pickaxe.
Though it looked massive in the dwarf's hands, it felt surprisingly balanced in his—heavy enough to hit hard, light enough to swing fast.
But there was more to it.
For some unexplainable reason, the axe felt like it was calling to him, like it belonged in his hands.
Curious, Luck stepped away from the corner and gave the pickaxe a slow swing through the air.
It cut through the wind with a satisfying heft.
'Not bad,' he muttered, changing his grip.
He ran through a few motions—wide swings, short jabs, even a clumsy overhead slam. The more he moved, the more natural it felt, like his body already knew how to use it.
Maybe it was the Dwarf God's Blessing syncing with the weapon. Or maybe the pickaxe had a bit of magic in it. Who knew?
He twirled it once for style, nearly dropped it, then laughed under his breath.
'Yeah, let's not get cocky. Last thing I need is to knock myself out trying to look cool.'
With that, he headed back inside—only to find Neve watching him from her half-open door.
"Did you see what happened?" he asked. "They were trying to take you away and—"
"I know," she interrupted, voice trembling.
She pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking.
Barefoot, and still shaking a little, she stepped out into the light. Her eyes never left his—wide with emotion, but no longer with fear.
Luck stood still, unsure what to do with himself now. Blood still stained his shirt, the pickaxe still hung loosely in one hand. He wasn't exactly looking like a comforting figure.
But she walked toward him anyway.
One step. Another. Soon, she stood right in front of him.
"I thought I was done for," she whispered. "They were talking about... doing awful things. I was terrified. But you stepped in—you fought them, risked your life for me, and..."
She paused, her voice shaking. "You did so much... and I don't know what I can do in return. I just..."
Luck set the pickaxe down and stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around her—gently, protectively—then stroked her hair silky soft hair.
"Don't worry. As long as you're here, no one can hurt you...I'll protect you, no matter what happens."
Part of him expected her to pull away. But she didn't
Instead, she leaned in closer, resting her head gently against his chest.
Neve hadn't felt warmth in a long time. In his arms, the fear, the pain, the confusion all faded. She stayed there a little longer, unsure of what to say. Unsure of what this feeling even was.
But one thing was certain—she could trust him.
While she was lost in her own innocent emotions, Luck was having a much harder time controlling himself.
'Okay, bro, please don't stand up. She's way too close...'
No used. Pressure built low and slow, like a spring winding tighter with every heartbeat, begging for release.
'Calm down, boy. This is not the time. Not now.'
But it was hard—way harder than fighting those three dwarves.
He could feel her body against his, smell the soft scent of her hair. It was almost unfair how tempting she was right now.
'Should I... kiss her?'
His brain screamed "No!"
His heart whispered "Maybe..."
But his lower half was full-on shouting:
'Alright, screw it. I'm doing it—'
But just as he started to lean in, she pulled back.
She wiped her eyes quickly, gave him a soft, grateful smile, and said, "I'm sorry for breaking down like that..."
Then she bowed her head politely and turned away—running back to her room before he could say a word.
Luck stood there, arms half-raised.
He let out a long sigh. Now he understood the saying: Those who wait too long... get left hanging.
"System, I'm an idiot, aren't I?"
[You just realized that, Owner?]
Luck squinted at the glowing message.
"You didn't have to agree so fast."
[It took the system no additional processing power to answer such an obvious question.]