Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 209. Reconciling Oneself

Greg pushed himself up from where the sword had thrown him. His prosthetic arm was sparking with golden circuits that pulsed in an unpredictable way.

Twenty feet away, his past self stood with the Ultimate Sword of Eternity, which was glowing with divine fire that shouldn’t have been there.

The Brotherhood was stuck behind golden walls, forced to watch but unable to do anything. Marina hit the wall with her frying pan, and each time she did, it made ripples but no cracks.

Lylia held up her ladle to try to get rid of the divine magic, but nothing happened. Seraphine’s ice magic fizzled out before it could even take shape.

Bork’s hammer hit the barrier, but all it did was make useless echoes.

This trial was only for him.

The Warhammer Saint stepped forward, and his older face twisted into a mix of pity and anger. "Boy, you look confused..."

"Let me help you with that."

He pointed at the changed Ferndale around them, and Greg finally understood how horrible the pocket dimension had become. The buildings were the same shape, but something was very wrong with them.

His workshop, visible through the open door behind his past self, was filled with weapon racks rather than household tools. The swords, spears, and axes gleamed with the same brilliance that had brought him fame.

Three golden moons hung overhead like watching eyes, and the sky was always twilight. The barrier at the edge of the village was now clear.

There’s a golden dome that pulsed with divine power.

"You couldn’t leave this place until the trial was over."

Greg asked, "What the hell is this?" even though his voice was steadier than he felt.

"This is the truth," said the Warhammer Saint. "The gods made me out of your memories."

"They gave me shape and purpose... I know every skill you don’t want to use, every weapon you don’t want to make, and every technique you gave up on."

He raised the Ultimate Sword, and the blade sang with such power that it hurt Greg’s teeth. "I am the Warhammer Saint who accepted his calling..."

"You are the Warhammer Saint who fled, and the gods thought it would be poetic to see who was right."

From behind the barrier, Marina’s voice came through, frustrated and desperate. "Greg, who is that?!"

"Why does he look like you?!"

The Warhammer Saint smiled at her and turned his head a little. "I’m him, sweetheart..."

"Before he died and before he got soft like the weakling he is now..."

"I am... the real Warhammer Saint, the one who spent forty years making death into works of art."

"You’re a construct," Greg said, forcing himself to stand up straight even though it hurt where he had hit the ground. "A godly puppet made to break me."

The Saint said, "It’s more like that I’m your truth."

"Everything you’re afraid to admit... you can call me a puppet if it makes you feel better, but I have all the memories, skills, and understanding you threw away when you decided to play house with kitchen utensils."

A divine voice reverberated throughout the pocket dimension, appearing simultaneously from all directions. The three golden moons throbbed with every word.

"Trial One: Reconciling Oneself."

"The Warhammer Saint who accepted his calling... The Warhammer Saint who turned it down..."

"Two souls... One body... One truth... and only one may leave this trial."

"Fight...! Prove which path was right. Or both die here forever."

The words hovered in the air, akin to a dire warning. Greg felt the burden on his shoulders and knew the gods were serious.

"You heard them," the Warhammer Saint said as he got into a fighting stance that Greg knew from memory. "Only one of us gets to leave."

"You threw away forty years of combat experience... so... how do you think this ends?"

Greg said, "It doesn’t have to end in violence," even though he knew how stupid that sounded.

"We can talk... and work this out."

The Saint laughed, and the sound was bitter and echoed off the crooked buildings. "Talk? You want to talk?!"

"Okay... Let’s talk about how you put people in place of weapons."

"How weak is that foundation, boy? What happens when they die? When does Marina take a blade meant for you? When Lylia’s ladle can’t stop the next disaster?"

"You built your whole philosophy on bonds that can break."

Greg shot back, "They’re stronger than any weapon."

"Sentiment." The word was harsh and dismissive. "The Ultimate Sword killed you because you cared more about being perfect than being safe."

"You ignored every warning sign because you were so focused on making the most legendary weapon ever..."

"You died for your art, and now you act like art doesn’t matter?"

Greg didn’t expect the accusation to hurt so much. He remembered the last few moments of his first life, when he was so focused on making the sword that he wouldn’t listen to anyone who told him to slow down, be careful, or test it more thoroughly.

His pride had killed him and ruined his whole workshop, even his life.

Greg said quietly, "I learned from that."

"I learned that... even if you do it perfectly, it’s still destruction at the end of it."

"No," the Saint said, stepping forward. "You learned to be afraid."

"And that’s not the same fucking thing."

"You’re so scared of making the same mistakes again that you’ve overcorrected to the point of being useless..."

"Household items? Really!? You’re one of the best smiths who ever lived, and you’re making frying pans?"

"He made a frying pan that killed a wyvern!" Marina yelled from behind the barrier. "Don’t you dare ignore the effect he creates!"

The Saint didn’t pay attention to her because he was looking at Greg. "Since you want to argue, let’s talk about my philosophy..."

"Do you know how many wars didn’t happen because kings were afraid of my weapons?" the Saint asked.

"How many fights ended before they started because both sides knew the Warhammer Saint’s weapons would make victory impossible?"

Greg said, "Peace through better firepower."

"I know that fucking argument... I’ve lived it for forty years."

"And it worked!" The Saint’s voice got louder. "Legendary smithing for forty years brought peace to five kingdoms."

"My weapons instilled such fear in rulers that they hesitated to initiate wars."

"And that’s... what you call peace, boy. The real peace, not your delusional fantasy of everyone getting along."

Greg could feel Lylia’s eyes on him through the barrier. Even now, Seraphine was taking notes. Her mind was always working.

Bork crossed his arms and waited to see what Greg would do. Felix looked scared, but he was paying close attention.

Greg said, "Your peace was based on fear."

"People didn’t start wars because they learned to value life... they started wars because they were afraid of dying."

"As soon as someone made a weapon stronger than yours, the wars would have started again."

"Fear isn’t peace... it’s just violence that hasn’t happened yet."

"And your way is better?" The saint waved his hand in the air. "Making kitchen tools and hoping people will just naturally choose to work together?"

"That’s not a fucking philosophy... it’s more like naive idealism bullshit that gets people killed."

Greg said, "My way helps people live."

"Everything I make makes someone’s life better, easier, and safer! That’s real impact, not the abstract deterrence of weapons that might never be used."

"Could never be used?" The Saint’s smile turned evil. "What about the weapons you DID use?"

"The Breaker’s Arsenal you made for Elias? The war hammer that broke on impact after you used it to beat a man nearly to death with your bare hands?"

Greg’s blood froze. Marina’s face changed from supportive to worried as she stood behind the barrier.

She knew about Elias and what Greg had done, but hearing it put so plainly made her feel guilty again.

"I hated what I did back then," Greg said in a barely audible voice.

"But you still did it," the Saint said again. "Warhammer Saint, you can’t escape who you are..."

"You proved it in the Sunken Citadel... when things got tough and violence was the only answer, you chose it."

"You made weapons, and then you killed your enemy. You became exactly like me."

Marina hit the barrier with her fist. "He HATED what he did! That’s the difference!!!"

"He didn’t like it at ALL!"

He looked at her with a mocking look on his face. "Hypocrisy is when you hate violence but do it anyway..."

’It doesn’t matter how you feel about breaking someone’s skull if it still happens because the result is the same whether you cry about it afterward or not."

"That’s not true," Lylia said, her voice cutting through the argument with surprising force. "Intent and choice matter!"

"Greg chose violence once when there was no other option, and it broke something inside him, but the likes of you would have chosen it every time without hesitation!"

"That difference defines everything."

The saint laughed once more. "How can you lecture me about choice when you broke your oaths?"

"That’s rich coming from the Royal Knights who left because she couldn’t handle the compromises needed for real peace. You’re both cowards hiding behind different excuses."

Greg could feel his prosthetic arm flickering and the golden circuits getting a little dimmer. The Saint saw right away that his doubt was making the stolen divine power weaker.

The Saint said with satisfaction, "There it is..."

"The doubt... and the guilt. You know I’m right."

"How many people died because of the weapons you used in your past life? Thousands? Tens of thousands? And you think making spoons fixes that?"

"Do you really believe that a few years of producing household items can compensate for forty years of crafting legendary weapons?"

The prosthetic arm flickered again, and Greg could feel the First Hammer’s power fading. His belief gave him strength, but the saint was slowly breaking it down with harsh truths.

"Greg," Seraphine called out, her voice both analytical and urgent. "He’s using psychological warfare..."

"Everything he says is meant to make you doubt yourself! Don’t let him get over your head!"

"I don’t have any control," the Saint said. "I’m just stating facts."

"The Warhammer Saint Greg Greyson made weapons that killed thousands of people..."

"The Champion of Peace Greg Greyson made weapons again when he needed them and killed a man with his bare hands..."

"Same person, different excuses."

He lifted the Ultimate Sword, and divine fire crawled up and down its length. "The gods made me perfect, boy."

"I have your skills and knowledge, but none of your flaws... I’m what you could have been if you’d stayed true to your calling."

"I’m here to show you that your path was wrong."

Greg’s mind was racing. It was harder to ignore what the Saint was saying because it was all true in some way.

He had made weapons for Elias. He had killed people with violence. He had the deaths of thousands of people from his first life on his shoulders.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Marina had said. "The difference is that he hated what he did."

And Lylia added, "Intent and choice matter."

Greg said, "You’re right about one thing," and he straightened up even though it hurt. "I am the Warhammer Saint..."

"I carry forty years of death... Every weapon I made, every war they started, every life lost..."

"I can’t forget that, and I can’t even pretend it didn’t happen."

The saint’s face changed to one of happiness. "Finally... acceptance."

Greg’s prosthetic arm suddenly lit up more brightly, as if something had changed in his mind. "But that’s not all I am," he said.

"I’m also the blacksmith who learned from his mistakes, chose a different path, and showed that making something doesn’t have to mean destroying it."

The saint’s smile went away. "You’re being too picky, but you’re still a weaponsmith at heart."

Greg said, "I’m both," and the circuits in the prosthetic arm started to spread and crawl up his shoulder. "I’m the Warhammer Saint who knows how much violence costs."

"I’m the Champion of Peace who knows that sometimes you have to do what you have to ."

"I’m not running away from what I was, and I’m not pretending my past doesn’t exist."

The circuits spread across his chest, and Greg felt Mental Forging turn on in a way he’d never felt before.

The First Hammer’s power was reacting to a change in the way he saw himself.

"I’m integrating it," Greg said, and the workshop around them started to change.

The weapon racks remained in place, but household tools began to appear alongside them. It wasn’t about acquiring new weapons but about establishing a connection with them.

"What are you doing?" the Saint asked, his mocking confidence giving way to real confusion. "You have to choose! That’s not how the trial works!"

"No," Greg said, and he felt a rush of power as the stolen divine energy recognized something the gods hadn’t seen coming.

"You think there are only two choices... weapon smith or peaceful blacksmith, warrior or pacifist, past or present."

The golden circuits now covered half of his body, and the Mental Forging drew forth not just metal from the pocket dimension, but also truth, ideas, and goals.

Greg said, "I’m choosing both," and his voice sounded more serious than it had before.

"I’m the Warhammer Saint who learned how to be peaceful through war."

"I’m the blacksmith who knows how much violence costs and chooses to do things differently anyway."

"And... I’m not running away from who I was."

The Ultimate Sword dropped a little as the Saint stepped back. "You can’t be both!"

"The trial says you have to choose between being a weaponsmith or a household creator, war or peace!"

"Look at me," Greg said.

The Mental Forging came together around his hands, and he started to make something. Not a weapon. Not a tool for the home.

Something that was in the space between, and depending on how you looked at it, it could have served both purposes or none at all.

The golden light got stronger and stronger until it was too bright to see, and the Warhammer Saint screamed.

"T-T-T-THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE!!!"

"THE TRIAL REQUIRES YOU TO CHOOSE!!!"