Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 217. One Less Piece

The arena was completely quiet for the first time since the gods had come.

Valthor even stopped moving. Even the aggressive reincarnators who had been fighting just a few moments before put down their weapons.

Watching someone die to protect others, not in battle but as a choice they made with full knowledge of the cost, made a space go silent in a way that nothing else could.

The smoke was still hanging around where Bork had been. The First Forge kept burning with its flames that couldn’t be put out.

Greg’s prosthetic hand still held the Key of Infinite Possibility, which glowed faintly.

Greg was down on his knees.

Even though he didn’t remember getting down on his knees. At some point, his legs had just given out, and now he was down there in the rubble holding the clasp in both hands.

The world kept going, even though it didn’t make sense for anything to keep going after what had just happened.

The Brotherhood’s response happened in bits and pieces all over the arena.

Felix sat down in the middle of the floor, right where he had been standing. For the first time since he got it, his Infinite Luck System was completely quiet.

There were no helpful notifications, summoned cats, or random facts.

There’s nothing at all.

Elwen’s hands shook as she held her sketchbook close to her chest. She didn’t open it.

She couldn’t bring herself to draw what had just happened and make it last on paper.

Seraphine’s ice magic was gone completely, and the cold that usually surrounded her was gone too. She stood with her arms around herself, breathing heavily and seeing her breath in the air that had suddenly become cold, even though the First Forge was hot.

Lylia walked slowly to where Dorin was standing still in the middle of the arena. The old dwarf hadn’t moved since the explosion.

He still held his unlit pipe, and his Divine Forgemaster System was on but idle. Lylia stood next to him without saying anything.

Mira’s spirit form was flickering badly, which was the first time her manifestation had ever shown real distress. She kept trying to calm down, but she kept almost falling apart, and her usual happy energy was gone.

Donetta put both of her hands on Mira’s shoulders to try to calm her down.

Marina walked through the debris to get to Greg. She walked steadily, and when she got to him, she sat down next to him on the arena floor.

She wasn’t kneeling; she was sitting cross-legged like she did when she was being sensible about something that couldn’t be fixed with violence.

For a long time, she didn’t say anything. Greg just sat there and looked at the clasp in his hands.

"He threw them," Greg finally said, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Marina said.

"He threw them knowing exactly what would happen..."

"He was a smith... He understood load capacity and enchantment limits, and he knew exactly what a pair of household items could handle and what they couldn’t."

"Yeah."

Greg’s grip on the clasp got tighter. "He fixed the clasp on my cloak...!"

"I-I didn’t even notice... When... when did he have time to do that?!"

"When did he MAKE this!?"

His voice broke on the last word, and he lost all control over what he was saying.

Marina put her hand on top of his clenched fists. She didn’t say it would be fine.

She didn’t say she was sorry or offer comfort that wouldn’t mean anything. She just held his hands, sharing the burden of something that couldn’t be carried alone.

They sat like that while the arena was quiet. Two people in the rubble were holding on to each other because there was nothing else to hold on to.

Then Valthor did something.

The God of War saw Greg kneeling in the rubble, the Brotherhood frozen in grief, and the First Forge still burning despite his best efforts to put it out. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

And he saw that they were weak.

Valthor stepped forward, and the light of many battles shone on his divine sword. His voice rang out across the quiet arena with the force of complete power.

"The loophole is still there, and the forge is still burning."

"This doesn’t change anything." As he spoke, he started to walk toward the First Forge, and his huge body cast shadows that moved like living things.

"In one hour, the death game will start again!" Thalor said while raising both his arms to be the same as his shoulders. "Every reincarnator who chose the other path will be returned to the way things were before."

"Kill... or be killed... That’s how it was always meant to be."

He stopped and looked down at the broken rocks where Bork had died.

"The dwarf’s sacrifice didn’t mean anything, and there was one less piece on the board and one less variable to think about."

That sentence hit the arena like a stone thrown into deep water, sending ripples out that got bigger with each passing second.

One less thing.

The reincarnators who had stopped fighting and chosen the other path Greg offered had been sitting and thinking about having a real choice for the first time since they died and came back to life.

They turned to Valthor with faces that changed from sadness to something harder.

First, Thomas Chen stood up. He didn’t have any weapons or fighting skills.

He was a chef with a way to make food that people liked. But he got up anyway, with his fists clenched.

Amara Songweaver’s hands were shaking a lot, but she didn’t sit back down.

Instead, she moved forward, her bard powers kicking in without her even thinking about it. A low hum started to build in her throat.

Priya, the healer, had been too scared to choose anything before, but now she slowly picked up her medical kit and threw it over her shoulder.

Even though her healing magic wasn’t meant for battle, she stood with the others.

More than eighty people who had been reincarnated in the sanctuary saw Greg kneeling in the rubble. After that, they turned to Valthor.

And the mood in the arena changed in a big way.

Helena Ravencroft walked forward, and for once the necromancer’s usual dark amusement was completely absent from her face. She walked toward Valthor, not Greg, and her undead army came back together around her with a purpose.

Helena’s voice was clear and cold when she said, "You know what your problem is?"

"You don’t know what really makes people fight... the real reasons, not the ones you can make them do."

Valthor looked at her like a god looks at bugs. "And you think you can teach me about war? I am war itself."

"No." Helena said, "You’re a force, and there’s a big difference about that."

"The smith didn’t make these people choose him, but you did. The bastard with that sentence just now."

She pointed to the reincarnators who were gathering behind her. "One less piece..."

"You called him a piece, and these people have been called pieces their whole lives!"

"In their original worlds, in their deaths, in their reincarnations... they were pieces on boards they didn’t even know existed!"

"That’s why they’re here... And you just reminded every single one of them exactly what they were running from."

Helena turned to the group of reincarnators and raised her voice. "Anyone who wants to stay a piece can sit back down!!!"

"Anyone who wants to be treated like they matter less than a game board can leave right now!!!"

No one sat down.

No one left.

Instead, more reincarnators stood up.

Combat-focused classes who’d stopped fighting when the Key gave them a choice now picked up their weapons again, but they weren’t facing each other anymore. They were facing the gods.

They were looking at the gods.

Greg could hear all of this from where he was kneeling. He was still holding the clasp in his hands, but he was listening.

Processing everything, and he couldn’t quite understand what was going on around him because he was grieving.

Marina said something quietly next to him. "It seems her voice reached their hearts... they’re not going to leave..."

"As they should." Greg said, "This isn’t their fight, and they don’t have to do this."

"The moment you defended them, built that sanctuary, and promised to protect them, it became their fight."

"The moment Bork died keeping the forge lit so they could stay free." Marina’s voice was calm but firm. "You know that, right? You’ve always known that’s how bonds work."

Greg opened his hand and looked at the clasp again. The dwarf’s fist was still warm from the forge where it had been made.

Bork’s last piece of work was simple and honest, and it was meant to hold things together.

Dorin finally got up and moved.

He walked slowly and carefully to the First Forge, sat down in front of it, and took out his tools. His voice was calm, like how grief controls a person when they’ve been carrying it for so long that it’s become part of who they are.

Dorin said, "He was the best thing I ever made," as he worked the bellows in a steady rhythm.

The First Forge answered, and the flames got brighter. "Not at a forge... Not with metal or magic... but just the best thing a man could dream off."

"My grandson... The boy who couldn’t be near hammering but learned to forge anyway because someone was kind to him and shares an ideal about peace."