Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 213. The Gods Descend

When Greg raised the Key of Infinite Possibility, the arena changed.

The system interface of every reincarnator flickered like a candle in the wind, with text scrambling and forming into something that the gods had clearly never programmed.

The order to kill or be killed that had been hanging over everyone’s heads went away, and in its place were words that made many people gasp.

[DIRECTIVE: REVISED]

[DEATH GAME: SUSPENDED]

[NEW CONDITION AVAILABLE: FORGE YOUR OWN PATH]

[WARNING: GODS’ AUTHORITY CHALLENGED]

[CHOOSE: COMPLY WITH DIVINE ORDER / REJECT DIVINE AUTHORITY]

Like a fire losing oxygen, the fighting slowed down in waves.

Warriors stopped swinging and looked at their screens.

Mages put down their staffs and read the choice that was now available to them.

A few people looked confused. Some people looked relieved, as if they had been holding their breath since the battle began.

Without thinking, Thomas Chen, the chef reincarnator, chose "Reject Divine Authority."

He was shaking as he did it, and then he fell to his knees and cried. "I just wanted to cook... and that’s all I fucking wanted to do! To make good food!"

At the same time, the bard Amara Songweaver chose freedom. She took Thomas’s hand and pulled him up, and they both ran to Greg’s sanctuary with tears streaming down their faces.

Felix’s system information said that the young healer’s name was Priya Saltwell. She froze completely.

She shook as she looked at the choice, unable to pick one. He remained motionless, akin to a deer caught in the spotlight.

Marcus the Berserker looked at his screen, then looked at it again. He made a noise that sounded like rocks grinding together.

"It doesn’t change anything... I still like fighting." He chose to comply, but instead of charging the sanctuary, he looked around the arena for stronger opponents.

He was no longer interested in the weak prey.

When Helena Ravencroft, the necromancer, saw the choices, she laughed. She made her choice right away and on purpose.

"Reject Divine Authority." But when her undead army stopped attacking Greg’s sanctuary, they didn’t leave.

Instead, they turned their attention to the three gods who were coming down from their thrones.

Helena’s voice echoed across the arena as she said, "A death game with only one winner is wasteful."

"I like having an audience, but... if the gods want to come down here in person, they can deal with my collection."

The wave effect spread out. About sixty percent of the remaining combat reincarnators stopped fighting altogether.

Some people chose to be free.

Some people chose to be confused and just sat down, feeling overwhelmed by the fact that they finally had a real choice after being reincarnated.

Some people were clearly trying to figure out what "Forge Your Path" really meant.

However, forty percent of the reincarnators who prioritized fighting would always engage in combat, regardless of the gods’ directives.

These warriors, berserkers, and assassins who lived for battle stayed aggressive. They were just fighting each other instead of going after the sanctuary.

The situation had finally shifted in Greg’s favor.

But the gods were clearly very angry.

Dorin stood at the First Forge, working the bellows in a steady rhythm to keep the flames going. The smoke from the pipe curled up in ways that didn’t make sense.

"That gives us some breathing room," he said without looking up from his work. "But still... not safe enough."

Greg was catching his breath, and his prosthetic arm was still smoking from being used too much. "How long will it last?"

Dorin said, "The gods can’t undo what that key did," and his hands never stopped moving.

"The loophole is real, and it’s built into the basic rules they used to make this game... but they can destroy the source."

"What source?"

"The First Forge." Dorin nodded to the three gods, who were now fully stepping down from their thrones.

The ground in the arena cracked and buckled with every step. "They can’t take away the choice you’ve given everyone, but they can destroy what made it possible."

Greg saw the gods come down slowly and carefully. "How?"

"By sending something strong enough to break what’s older than them." Dorin looked very serious. "They’re not wise gods, boy."

"They’re gods of war, forging, and fate... and when they can’t think of anything else to do, they hit things with aggressiveness."

As Valthor, the God of War, came down, he made a sword. The blade was taller than a house and made of pure conflict.

It hummed with the sounds of ten thousand battles that had been fought and won.

"I fucking mean it," Dorin said in a low voice. "They’re going to hit things... and there’s no doubt about that."

When the three gods walked onto the arena floor, everything changed.

This wasn’t avatars or manifestations or divine pressure from far away. These were the real gods, right there in the mortal world, burning with all their divine power.

The air pressure changed quickly, causing ears to pop. In just a few seconds, the temperature dropped twenty degrees and then shot up forty degrees.

Several reincarnators fell over just because they were close to so much power.

Valthor was the first person to fully appear on the arena floor. His divine armor was made from the patterns of every cavalry charge, shield wall, and last-ditch stand that had ever happened in a war.

He went right to the First Forge without saying anything first.

His voice was like cannon fire when he said, "I’ll unmake it."

"The loophole goes away with the forge."

The God of the Forge, Kael’thas, came closer at a slower pace. Greg couldn’t quite figure out what she was thinking as she looked at the First Forge.

Something between rage and sadness, like seeing a trusted teacher who had let her down.

"You shouldn’t have been able to do that," she said, her voice quieter than Valthor’s but somehow more dangerous. "No mortal should have been able to get to the First Forge, let alone use it..."

"That was the whole point of hiding it."

Moira, the Goddess of Fate, didn’t go to the forge at all. She stood perfectly still in the middle of the arena, and golden threads spread out from her fingers to fill the whole space.

The threads wrapped around the feet of each reincarnator, but they didn’t trap them; instead, they somehow read them.

"Interesting," she said softly, tilting her head. "The threads changed when the key was made..."

"I need to see where they go now."

Dorin stepped up and stood between Valthor and the First Forge. He didn’t seem scared at all.

He looked like an old craftsman who was bitter and hurt when someone disrespected his workshop.

"Valthor, if you come near this forge, I’ll tell you why you haven’t said my name in sixty years."

In fact, the God of War stopped in the middle of his step. Greg realized that it wasn’t out of fear but out of calculation.

Whatever had transpired between Dorin and these gods in the past was significant enough to make a god reconsider engaging in direct combat.

Dorin looked at Greg and spoke in a low voice that only the blacksmith could hear. "My Divine Forgemaster System is as powerful as theirs, but only here, near the First Forge."

"Out in the open, I’m just an old dwarf with a hammer." He looked at the Brotherhood. "When this gets real, and it will, I can hold Valthor, but not all three."

"What should we do?"

"Your people need to keep Kael’thas away from the forge!"

"She knows its weaknesses better than anyone." Dorin’s eyes went to where Moira was standing, her threads still spreading. "Don’t let the Goddess of Fate finish her calculations."

"She’s reading something about you and your group that is very important."

"What will happen if she is done?"

Dorin’s face was serious. "She’ll know exactly how this ends... every possible outcome, every price that will be paid..."

"And she’ll tell the others."

The Brotherhood was taking a break while Greg and Dorin talked about strategy. The fighting had slowed down enough for them to regroup near the sanctuary.

They still had their weapons drawn, but they weren’t fighting anymore.

Bork was standing next to his grandfather for the first time in three years.

He slowly took off the Headphones of Harmonic Peace, holding them with enormous care. The magical object that Greg made on the first day they met changed his whole life.

Bork looked at Dorin in a way that Greg had never seen on the dwarf’s face before.

Younger, in some way. Like a grandson who didn’t know how to be mad at someone he missed.

Bork said, "You were alive this whole time."

"Aye," Dorin said.

"You made us believe you were dead."

"I did."

"Why?"

There was a long silence between them, heavy with three years of being apart. Dorin looked at his grandson with a deep and painful look in his eyes.

"I didn’t want you anywhere near it because I knew what was coming."

Bork clenched his fists. "Well, I’m close to it."

"I know." Dorin reached out and grabbed Bork’s shoulder like a dwarf would.

Dorin gave Bork a firm, short, wordless acknowledgment that conveyed more meaning than any words could. Then his eyes went down to the headphones that Bork was holding.

"The blacksmith made those for you."

"Yeah... It was the first day I met him... He didn’t even ask for anything in return."

Dorin watched Greg from across the arena, taking in his prosthetic arm, his tiredness, and his stubborn determination. "What a nice fucking guy he truly is..."

"Best I’ve ever met," Bork said without thinking.

"And there’s not even a blacksmith who came close to that guy."