The forge burned hotter than the sun itself. Sweat dripped from Greg Greyson's scarred brow as he brought his legendary hammer down one final time. The metal sang, a beautiful note that echoed through the stone walls of his workshop like the closing chord of a symphony.
"Finally," Greg whispered, his voice hoarse from three days of non-stop work. "The Ultimate Sword of Eternity."
The blade gleamed on his anvil, radiating power so intense that the air around it shimmered. Runes crawled along its surface like living things, pulsing with golden light. It was perfect.
Greg had spent forty years of his life at this forge. Forty years crafting weapons that could split mountains, armors that could withstand the wrath of gods, and artifacts that turned ordinary men into legends. Kings and emperors had begged for his creations. Entire wars had been decided by who wielded a Greyson blade.
They called him The Warhammer Saint. The greatest blacksmith to ever live. But as Greg stared at his masterpiece, all he felt was tired.
"One last sword," he muttered, reaching out to inspect the blade. "Then I'm done with all this."
The moment his calloused fingers touched the metal, he knew something was wrong. The runes flared blindingly bright, and the sword began to vibrate. A high-pitched whine filled the workshop, growing louder with each passing second.
"Oh no," Greg said calmly, with the tone of a man who had seen this coming from a mile away. "Not again."
He had exactly three seconds to appreciate the irony. After crafting thousands of indestructible weapons, his final creation was about to do what no monster or army ever could, to kill the Warhammer Saint.
The explosion was spectacular. White light consumed everything, followed by a shockwave that leveled half the mountain his workshop sat on. The legendary forge, the priceless materials, and the countless artifacts, all of it turned to dust in an instant.
And Greg? Well, he died. Quite thoroughly, in fact. For a moment, there was nothing. Just peaceful, comfortable darkness.
No more commissions from pompous nobles. No more desperate pleas from adventurers. No more blood on blades he had crafted. Just silence. Then someone rudely interrupted his eternal rest.
"Awaken, Chosen One!"
Greg's eyes snapped open to a sight that made absolutely no sense. He was floating in an endless white void, facing three beings that could only be described as gods.
One looked like an old man with a beard made of starlight. Another appeared as a beautiful woman wreathed in flowing water. The third was just a floating orb of pure golden light that hurt to look at directly.
"What?" Greg said eloquently.
"Rejoice!" the old man boomed. "You have been selected for reincarnation into a new world."
"A world of adventure, danger, and endless conflict!"
"I'm dead?" Greg asked, still processing.
"Very much so," the water goddess said cheerfully.
"Your sword exploded quite impressively. We were watching."
"You were... watching?"
"We watch many things," the orb hummed. "And we have chosen you, greatest blacksmith of your world, to serve a greater purpose in ours."
Greg had a bad feeling about this. "What kind of purpose?"
The three gods exchanged glances. The old man cleared his throat. "Our world is locked in eternal warfare between five great races."
"Humans, elves, dwarves, demons, and beastfolk. They have fought for centuries, and the balance of power constantly shifts."
"Sounds terrible," Greg said flatly.
"Indeed! Which is why we need you." The water goddess smiled.
"We shall grant you the Blacksmith System, a divine power that will let you craft weapons and equipment beyond mortal comprehension."
"With your skills and our system, you will forge artifacts that will decide the fate of nations!"
"You will arm heroes," the orb continued. "Craft legendary blades that will be sung about for generations. Create armor that will turn the tide of battles."
'Through your forge, the wars will continue, the stories will flow, and our world will thrive with conflict and glory!"
There was a long silence. Greg stared at the three gods with an expression that could only be described as deeply, profoundly done with everything.
"No," he said.
The gods blinked. Well, the two with faces did. The orb just dimmed slightly.
"Excuse me?" the old man said.
"I said no." Greg crossed his arms. "I just died because I made too many weapons."
"Forty years of my life, thousands of blades, and every single one ended up covered in someone's blood."
"I watched kings wage wars with my swords. I saw adventurers die wearing my armor because they got too confident. I'm done."
"But... but you're being given a second chance!" the water goddess protested.
"Divine power! A whole new world! Adventure!"
"I don't want adventure. I want peace." Greg's voice was firm. "If you're sending me to another world, fine."
"I'll be a blacksmith again because it's what I know. But I refuse to make another weapon. Not a sword, not a spear, not even a dagger. I'm done creating tools of war."
The orb pulsed angrily. "You dare refuse the gods?"
"Apparently, yes." Greg shrugged. "What are you going to do, kill me?"
"Already done that. Send me to hell? Can't be worse than spending another lifetime making murder tools."
The three gods huddled together, whispering frantically. Greg waited patiently, floating in the void with his arms crossed. He had spent forty years dealing with difficult customers. Three gods weren't much different from three pompous nobles.
Finally, the old man turned back. "Fine. We shall grant you the Blacksmith System anyway."
"What you choose to create is your own business. But know this..."
"...the system will evaluate your creations and grant rewards based on their power and quality. Perhaps when you see what you're capable of, you will change your mind."
"Don't count on it," Greg muttered.
"Now go!" the water goddess waved her hand. "Be reborn into our world."
"May you find whatever foolish peace you seek."
The void began to spin. Greg felt himself being pulled away, consciousness fading once more. The last thing he heard was the orb's voice:
"He'll make weapons again. They always do."
Greg opened his mouth to argue, but the world went dark. When he woke up again, he was lying in a small bed in a tiny cottage. Sunlight streamed through a window, and birds chirped outside. A translucent blue screen hovered in front of his face.
[BLACKSMITH SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[Welcome, Greg Greyson]
[Current Rank: Unranked]
[First Quest: Create Your First Item]
[Reward: Skill Point +1]
Greg sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. Young hands, a modest room, and an entire new life ahead of him. He could already tell the gods expected him to start forging legendary swords again. Well, they were in for a disappointment.
"Alright, system," Greg said, grinning. "Let's make something that's not related to war."
[The gods are confused]
"Who cares!"
Greg laughed for the first time in years. This new life was already off to a perfect start.