Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 216. What He Made Last

Dorin made a single small ingot of metal from his forge kit. It was dark gold, heavier than it looked, and warm to the touch even though it hadn’t been near fire.

Dorin said, "It’s Ironbottom family stuff."

"We’ve had it for seven generations where my great-grandmother made it from a falling star, or so the story goes."

"She said it was for something important, something worth the wait... I was going to make you something with it when all this was over."

He gave Bork the ingot. "Instead, make it yours."

Bork wrapped his fingers around the metal and felt how heavy it was. "What should I cook?"

Dorin’s answer was simple and awful. "Something to use once."

The suggestion settled over both of them. Bork nodded slowly, showing that he understood everything.

Bork stood up and walked toward the First Forge while the arena was in an uneasy ceasefire and Greg was still working hard with the Key. The impossible flames burned in colors that didn’t exist in real life, and the shadows they cast moved on their own.

When Bork came close, Dorin moved aside without saying anything. The gesture made it clear that the old dwarf agreed.

Bork had never worked at the First Forge before. He wasn’t a famous blacksmith like Greg or a godlike craftsman like his grandfather.

He was a dwarf who hadn’t forged anything in years. He got back into the craft thanks to a pair of magical headphones and the kindness of a blacksmith who wouldn’t make weapons.

But he was excellent at his job.

The Ironbottom family ingot went up in flames, and Bork worked with steady hands. No frills. No attempts to be grand.

His family has passed down simple, honest craftsmanship for generations.

He made a clasp, which is what you use to hold a cloak on your shoulder. It was small enough to fit in a palm and shaped like a dwarf’s fist, with a tight grip.

The design was simple and useful, with just enough detail to show that it had been made with care.

The First Forge took what he made without any fuss. There was no system message or rank display flashing in front of him.

Just fire, metal, and hands that knew what they were doing.

Bork held the clasp up to the light after it had cooled. It wasn’t SSS-level, nor was it famous. It was simply strong, well-crafted, and reliable—work that would endure.

He walked over to where the Brotherhood’s gear was stacked up next to the sanctuary and found Greg’s travel cloak, which he wore all the time.

It had been through a lot since Ferndale and had been patched and fixed many times. The old clasp was bent from fighting and was barely holding the fabric together.

Bork took out the old one and put in the new one, his fingers moving quickly and easily. The clasp fit perfectly, and the dwarf’s fist seemed to hold the fabric tightly.

Greg didn’t see this happen. He was still at the forge with Dorin, and the Key of Infinite Possibility was glowing in his prosthetic hand as he tried one method after another to find a hidden function.

The temporary peace in the arena was coming to an end.

Moira’s threads were getting tighter again. She wasn’t just reading anymore; she was also doing math.

Valthor had finished whatever he was doing to get more power. Divine energy crackled around his armored body, akin to a storm preparing to break.

Kael’thas had finished going around the First Forge and had marked three places where a concentrated strike would do the most damage to the structure.

Bork saw the gods preparing for their next move in the arena, Greg still desperately searching for a way out, and the sanctuary full of reincarnators who chose not to kill.

Thomas Chen was there to help Priya the healer take care of small wounds. Amara Songweaver was singing softly, and her voice calmed people who had been scared just a few minutes before.

Everyone believed that Greg’s promise of protection meant something.

Everyone was counting on the First Forge to stay lit.

Bork put on his headphones and moved them around until they fit well. The music came to life, that calm tune that Greg had enchanted into the metal the first time they met.

Just as Greg had intended, the sound instilled a sense of peace.

He picked up his hammer and felt how heavy it was.

After that, Valthor moved.

This time, the God of War didn’t charge. Instead, he raised both hands, and divine energy came together above him to make something huge and scary.

It was a siege weapon capable of demolishing fortress walls and destroying defensive positions. He wouldn’t use it as a weapon himself.

This weapon-construct, the size of a cathedral and made from concentrated war essence, was designed to perform one task flawlessly.

Taking down the First Forge...

The Key would lose its connection to reality if the First Forge went out. The hole would close.

The death game would start up again right away. And all eighty or more reincarnators who had chosen the other path would be reset and forced back into kill-or-be-killed.

Tom. Amara. Priya. Greg’s promise was believed by everyone.

The sound of a thousand battles happening at once started the construct.

Greg realized the danger too late. He was focused on the key at the forge.

A god of war possessing thousands of years of experience deciphered the precise trajectory of the construct. It would hit the First Forge in three seconds.

Dorin started to run, and even though he was old, his legs were pumping. But he was too far away, in the wrong place, and moving too slowly for something that moved at divine speed.

"Greg! The forge!" Dorin’s voice broke with fear.

Greg turned around, saw the building, and understood right away. No time to make anything.

And there’s not enough time to use the key. There was no other choice but to witness the destruction of the entity that had saved everyone.

The thing was as big as a cathedral and moved like a meteor.

The First Forge was the only thing that kept the loophole open and prevented the death game from starting over.

Seraphine had already reached her limit; her ice magic was gone. Marina’s frying pan wasn’t big enough for this.

No one could stop something big from moving that quickly.

No one but—

The sound came first.

Not the effect of the construct... but... the headphones.

Bork had thrown them up, and the Headphones of Harmonic Peace stood directly between the divine siege weapon and the First Forge.

An SSS-rank household item made in one afternoon to help a dwarf who couldn’t stand the sound of hammering.

The headphones turned on their main function at full power. They took in sound, made it neutral, and turned destructive force into peaceful silence.

That was all they wanted to do.

They absorbed the divine structure in the same manner that they absorbed the sound of hammering.

Everything.

Every ounce of the war-god siege force, the concentrated essence of ten thousand battles, was taken into the enchantment structure all at once.

It was never meant for these headphones... They were told to block out the forge noise, not divine weapons, but they tried anyway.

They stayed up for one point seven seconds.

That was long enough for the First Forge to stay lit.

And then they went off.

The explosion wasn’t as dramatic as battles usually are. There was no slow motion, no last words, and no time to say goodbye.

It was just a flash of gold light as the magic structure fell apart under impossible stress.

And Bork, standing directly beneath the headphones, was caught in the blast.

Gone.

The smoke slowly went away, and where the dwarf had been standing was now rubble. The flames in the First Forge were still burning, just as they always had.

The sanctuary was still there. There was no danger for any reincarnator who chose freedom.

Greg’s hand was outstretched toward where Bork had been. His prosthetic arm was still glowing, but his palm was empty.

His mouth was open, but no sound came out. His brain couldn’t figure out what had just happened.

The Brotherhood didn’t move.

The frying pan that Marina was using fell to the ground.

Lylia made a noise like something was breaking.

Seraphine’s notes fell out of her hands, and the pages flew everywhere.

Felix was yelling something that sounded like Bork’s name.

Elwen was crying and had both hands over her mouth.

Dorin stood in the middle of the arena because he was late. The old dwarf’s face was blank, and he couldn’t move because he was so shocked.

Something shone in the rubble where Bork had been.

A tiny iron clasp.

Like a dwarf’s hand.

Still warm from the place where it was made.

Greg walked forward on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to him. He knelt in the rubble and used his prosthetic hand to pick up the clasp.

It was the last thing left, the only proof that Bork Ironbottom had ever been there.

The clasp fit perfectly in his hand.

The First Forge kept burning behind him. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

The gods had failed to destroy it.

The loophole remained open.

Eighty lives saved.

One life lost.

Greg closed his fingers around the clasp and felt its weight...

Inside him, something broke that could never be fixed by forging.