Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 211. Sanctuary

The countdown reached zero, and the arena went nuts.

A reincarnator with flaming swords immediately attacked the person closest to him, a young woman who was only guilty of being too close when the fight started. Marina moved without thinking, and her frying pan hit the blow with a loud clang that echoed through the arena.

"Back off!" she screamed, and the Eternal Flame turned on, making the attacker back off because of the sudden heat.

Greg’s thoughts were racing as he tried to figure out what was going on. There are two hundred and forty-seven reincarnators here, all brought here by the gods to play a death game where only one person survives.

The winner got to keep their world. It was as if everyone else had never been born.

The gods must have designed this kind of game. It’s cruel and effective. By eliminating everyone else, they ensure that only the strongest champion emerges.

Around him, alliances were forming at a breakneck pace. Three warriors stood close together, weapons raised to keep anyone who came near at bay.

A group of mages was already casting spells together to make a barrier around themselves. Some people who were reincarnated were running around the arena looking for safe places to hide.

And some were killing.

A dark elf with two daggers came out of nowhere behind a merchant-looking reincarnator. The daggers shone, and the merchant fell to the ground before he could even scream.

Before anyone could do anything, the dark elf disappeared into the shadows.

"That’s Sylas Blackthorn," Felix said, his Infinite Luck System apparently giving him information. "He’s the best reincarnator ever."

"Before this arena even existed, he killed thirty of the reincarnators!"

Greg felt nauseated. This wasn’t a test; it was murder disguised as divine judgment.

The Brotherhood had formed a circle around him with their weapons drawn. He had Bork’s hammer in one hand and his headphones in the other.

Ice was forming around Seraphine’s fingers. Elwen even pulled out emergency weapons, even though she hated every second of it.

"Greg," Lylia said quickly. "We need a plan! We can’t just sit here."

Greg said, "I’m thinking," but his mind was having trouble finding a way through a solution that didn’t involve violence.

The three gods on their thrones above the arena looked down with obvious pleasure. The huge man in armor, the God of War, leaned forward with interest.

His voice echoed through the whole room like grinding steel. "What a great fucking show! Three eliminations in the first minute!"

"This is going better than I thought it would."

The God of the Forge shook her head in disappointment, wearing a blacksmith’s apron over her heavenly robes. She looked at Greg in particular.

"I gave you the perfect system, Greg... It lets you make anything you can think of."

"And you used it to make spoons. That’s rude, wasteful, and shameful."

The Goddess of Fate spoke with a calm, cold voice as she wove golden threads with her hands. "Warhammer Saint, every choice has consequences... and you... chose to defy."

"And now... this is your consequence."

The golden circuits in Greg’s prosthetic arm glowed with anger. "You call this a consequence?!"

"This is fucking murder! You’re making people kill each other like we’re your playthings!"

"We’re not forcing anything," the God of War said with a smile. "Everyone here is free to choose not to fight."

"But if they do, they’ll die when someone else chooses to fight, and that... just how it is."

"THAT’S INSANE!" someone screamed from across the arena.

A woman in mage robes was backing away from the fight with her hands up. "I didn’t sign up to kill people!"

"I was supposed to help fight monsters, not kill other people!"

The Goddess of Fate’s fingers never stopped moving. "Amara Songweaver, you signed up when you died and agreed to our offer of reincarnation."

"Every reincarnator agreed to do what we wanted in exchange for a second life."

"You never said those reasons included this!" Amara shot back.

Greg’s mind grabbed onto that. He looked around the arena more closely, past the violence that was happening right in front of him, to see who else was hesitating.

There were other people like Amara.

A man in chef’s clothes who looked scared.

A young healer stood still, unable to make up her mind about what to do.

A builder-type reincarnator trying to construct walls for protection rather than attacking.

Individuals who have received systems but are not fighters are also included. Classes designed for support roles.

Individuals who are abstaining from combat. The gods made poor investments that did not result in the creation of warriors.

"Felix," Greg said in a hurry. "How many people who have come back to life aren’t fighting here?"

Felix’s eyes glazed over for a moment as his Luck System looked over the arena. "Thirteen! No, wait, fourteen!"

"A small group is staying at the edge to avoid fighting! They don’t seem to be having fun with the whole death game thing."

"Who’s in charge of them?"

"Someone named... Thomas Chen? Apparently, he’s in a chef class."

"His system gives food buffs. He just wanted to make good food, but now he’s stuck in a battle royale."

Greg’s choice became clear in an instant. Marina groaned when she saw his face.

"Oh no, no... I know that look. It’s the look you get when you’re about to do something stupidly brave."

Greg said, "We keep them safe."

Lylia blinked. "All of them?"

"Everyone who doesn’t want to fight," Greg confirmed. "We make a safe place."

"We show the gods that not everyone is willing to play their game."

Seraphine’s sharp mind saw the problem right away. "Greg, that’s suicide!"

"We can’t protect non-combatants and fight off two hundred aggressive reincarnators at the same time! The math doesn’t work."

Greg said, "Then we change the numbers." His prosthetic arm was on fire now, reacting to his belief.

"We make it work because the other option is to accept that the gods are right, that violence is unavoidable, and that peace is impossible."

Bork smiled as he picked up his hammer. "I was hoping you’d say something like that, boss!"

"It’s not practical, and it’s definitely stupid, but it’s exactly what we do best."

Greg turned to look at the gods on their thrones. His voice echoed across the arena, thanks to the way his prosthetic arm vibrated.

"You want a champion? Someone who kills when you tell them to? Then you’ve already lost, because I’m done playing your game!"

He hit the floor of the arena with his prosthetic arm.

He used Mental Forging on a scale he had never tried before. Not making one thing, but changing the environment itself.

There was a burst of golden light at the point of impact that spread out in geometric patterns.

Barriers rose from the ground—they were walls of sanctuary, not weapons or shields intended for battle. Designed as places of safety, these walls of sanctuary held the hope of achieving peace amidst this turbulent environment.

"ANYONE...! Who wants to live without killing! Get behind me!" Greg screamed. "NOW!"

The reincarnators who weren’t fighting hesitated for just a moment before running. The first person was Thomas Chen, the chef, who was pulling a young healer along with him.

Amara, the bard, came next, looking grateful but scared. Others came, fighting for the safety that Greg was giving.

The God of War got up from his throne and spoke in a loud voice. "What the fuck... are you doing?"

"Exactly what I always do," Greg said, and his hands kept working as more barriers went up. "Keeping people safe."

The God of the Forge’s voice was full of disbelief. "You can’t win by defending! The rules say you have to get rid of them!"

Greg said, "I’m not trying to win," and he meant it. "I’m trying to stay alive while keeping my values!"

"That’s a totally different shit."

The Goddess of Fate’s weaving stopped for the first time. "That’s interesting..."

"He’s completely rejecting the victory condition."

The aggressive reincarnators didn’t care about philosophy. They saw easy targets grouped together behind Greg’s barriers and ran at them.

More than fifty of them came together at the sanctuary, weapons drawn and spells ready.

The Brotherhood faced them directly.

Marina was everywhere at once, and her frying pan stopped sword strikes that should have been impossible to stop. The Eternal Flame made a wall of heat that made attackers stop for a second.

Lylia stood next to her, and the Ladle of Magical Dispersion absorbed spells that were coming in and sent them away safely.

Seraphine made ice walls to trap enemies in kill zones and then hit them with Absolute Zero blasts that froze weapons in mid-swing. Bork’s hammer made shockwaves that knocked down whole groups of people.

Felix cleverly employed his Infinite Luck System, summoning house cats strategically to distract attackers or divert their attention during crucial moments.

Elwen was even fighting, and her emergency weapons were flashing with spells she had made weeks before. She hated every second, but she didn’t think twice.

Mira and Donetta passed through enemies, and their spirit form confused them by appearing in their personal space and then disappearing again.

Greg also fought, but not with weapons. His Mental Forging made platforms that rose up under the feet of allies, giving them the high ground.

Attacks were deflected by barriers, while walls guided enemy movements in expected patterns.

He was changing the battlefield itself so that it was better for defense than for offense.

The Warhammer Saint’s voice echoed from where he was still standing, watching from the sidelines. "This won’t work! You have to fight back! Hurt them for real!"

"I AM fighting," Greg yelled back, making another wall that stopped a fireball. "But not in your way."

More people who weren’t fighting were coming to the sanctuary now. Thirteen turned into twenty, then thirty.

People in the arena were talking about how there was another choice besides killing or being killed.

Even some reincarnators, intent on fighting, hesitated, casting confused glances at Greg. A warrior lowered her sword a little and looked at the walls of the sanctuary.

"If he’s defending everyone... maybe there’s another way?"

The domino effect was beginning, with reincarnators starting to question the orders of God. They wondered if killing was truly the only way to survive.

It was clear that the gods were angry now. The God of War hit the armrest of his throne with his fist.

"That’s the whole point! They’re supposed to kill each other!"

But Greg’s safe place stayed the same.