Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 225. Just Call it Home

On the fourth day, Seraphine woke up and sat up against the headboard with her hands folded in her lap. She was very still, as if she had been practicing what to say.

When Greg brought her tea that kept its heat, she looked at the cup for a second and then at him.

"I thought I was going to die..." She said, "I want to make sure you understand that."

"I know," Greg said.

He sat down in the little chair next to the bed.

"I understand that people often express thoughts they wouldn't share otherwise when they believe they are facing death—" She stopped. "Actually, no... I meant every word."

"I was just hoping the fever would give me a way out."

"Did you really... mean it?"

A long pause. The ocean kept crashing against the rocks below.

"I meant it," Seraphine said. "I've loved you since the day you gave me a teacup and told me how you tested comfort as a portable concept."

"I took three pages of notes on how well it kept heat and then went back to my room and sat there for an hour because I couldn't understand what was happening to me." She let out a long breath. "It was pretty clear in hindsight."

Greg said, "I love you too," and he wasn't very smooth about it.

He said it like he said most things: directly and without any extra words. He noticed a subtle change in her expression that felt quiet and private.

"You are sure," she said, as if she were confirming a measurement.

"Yes, I'm sure. I didn't know it until I saw you fall down from your own frostbite, but yes, I'm sure."

Seraphine felt emotional hearing that, and it made her cry. "Greg... I... thank you..."

Seraphine kissed him gently, holding the teacup with both hands. She pulled away and looked at him like someone who was still taking notes.

"Marina knew before I did," she said.

Greg said, "Marina always knows everything before everyone else."

"That makes sense," Seraphine said, and then she reached for a small notebook that she had apparently called up from somewhere even though she was in bed.

...

Greg found Elwen in the workshop that afternoon. She had been looking at a set of tongs on the bench for what seemed like a long time, and she didn't turn around when he walked in.

"I ruined them," she said. "The Sword of Seven Sorrows..."

"The Bow of Silent Death..."

"Every weapon my family made over the course of two hundred years." She ran her fingers over the tongs but didn't pick them up. "I hated what those weapons stood for when I was a kid."

"I hated the cycles of death... and the fact that every amazing thing the Moonwood family ever made was a weapon for someone to use against someone else." She stopped. "Then I met you, and you showed me that amazing things could mean something completely different."

"So when I had to choose, it was easy... and that's what I need you to understand: it wasn't a sacrifice in the way you think it was."

"It was the clearest, simplest choice I've ever made."

She spun around.

"But I need to know if you heard what I said before the fight."

Greg said, "I heard you."

"And?"

He thought about how to say this in a way that was honest.

Finally, he said, "I'm scared of all of it."

"Four people who love me... and somehow... despite everything I know about my personality."

"It doesn't make sense to me, and I don't know how to handle it all without feeling like I'm doing something wrong." He looked at her steadily. "But I'm more afraid of any world where I don't get to know you."

"I fear a world where you aren't here to draw me while I work, help me overthink spells, and tell me the things I need to hear in your uniquely clear way."

Elwen's two hundred years of carefully built calm broke down quietly, like ice that had been under too much pressure for too long.

"I love you." Greg said, "I love every little thing about you."

She walked across the workshop in three steps and kissed him, feeling like two hundred years of waiting were finally over. Her face changed to something that was almost challenging when she pulled back.

"Right," she said. "Good then... we're settled on that."

"Now, I want to make something very clear: I don't do things halfway, and I never will."

"If you ever need someone to tell you the whole truth about anything, I'm here for you." A breath. "I would also really like to never have a feelings conversation this intense again because I was awful at it."

Greg laughed. This was the second real laugh in three days, and it felt cleaner than the first.

"Jeez... don't laugh..."

"Hahaha... I'm sorry."

...

On the seventh day, they all met in the main room and were quiet on purpose, which meant that everyone knew something important was about to happen.

Greg had chosen the night before while lying awake in bed. He had looked at it from every angle in his mind and found that it looked the same from all of them.

When the First Forgemaster appeared, sitting in the armchair by the window as if they had been there the whole time, Greg said, "Keep it at five percent."

The figure moved their head.

"I don't need full capacity." Greg said, "I need the ceiling."

"I need to know that there's still potential there when it matters most."

"The limitation makes me work harder, and everything I make when I have to work harder means more." He looked into those old eyes. "I'll keep the limit."

The First Forgemaster thought about him for a moment, then nodded once, as if to say, "I knew it!"

"And what about the three choices?" they asked.

"Option three." Greg said, "But we do it our way."

"We don't hide or run away, and we build a real place where reincarnators can come and learn what it means to make connections instead of weapons."

"It's a place where people who were moved around and used as pieces in someone else's game can figure out who they really want to be."

The First Forgemaster asked, "What do you call this place?" with a small smile that said he already knew the answer. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Marina said, "The Brotherhood's Forge."

Lylia said, "Haven of Peace."

Seraphine said, "The Sanctuary of Choice."

They all looked at each other.

Elwen, who had been quiet the whole time, shrugged. "How about home?"

The word was in the room.

"We're making a home for people who don't have one," she said plainly. "Why make it harder?"

Greg stared at her.

Then at all of them.

"Home," he said. "Yeah."

The First Forgemaster's smile turned into something real and specific, like the face of someone who has been waiting a long time for something to happen and is finally seeing it start. They made a package that included maps, papers, and a small brass key that looked older than the kingdoms whose maps were around it.

"There's an island." They said, "Three days' sail."

"Neutral ground, protected by treaties that were in place long before the three gods I helped teach everything they knew about divine authority. It's yours." They put the package on the table. "I'll come by now and then when there's something worth teaching, but the work is yours."

They were about to leave when they stopped.

"One more thing," they said, looking at Greg. "Mira's sacrifice powered the Sphere."

"But consciousness born from genuine affection doesn't simply vanish... it transforms, eventually."

"At first, she will not remember being Mira... but something will find its way back." A long look. "These things always happen."

And then they were gone.