The cottage turned out to be on the outskirts of a small village called Ferndale, which was exactly the kind of quiet, peaceful place Greg had dreamed about during his forty years of weapon crafting. Rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with modest farms and grazing livestock. The air smelled clean, free from the acrid smoke of forges and the metallic tang of blood.
Greg stepped outside, still getting used to his younger body. He looked maybe twenty-five now, with the same scarred hands but far more energy than he remembered having in decades. The system screen followed him like an eager puppy, floating at the edge of his vision.
[New Quest Available: Explore Your New Home]
[Reward: Basic Materials Pack]
"Sure, why not," Greg muttered, starting down the dirt path toward the village proper.
Ferndale was smaller than he expected. Maybe thirty buildings total, clustered around a central square with a dried-up fountain. The houses were well-maintained but showed signs of age and wear. What caught Greg's attention immediately was the state of the tools he saw lying around.
A farmer struggled with a hoe that had been repaired so many times the handle was more rope than wood. Another villager carried a bucket with three different patches welded onto its bottom. Even the sign hanging over what looked like the village tavern dangled from a single rusty chain, the other having broken off completely.
"Excuse me," Greg called out to an elderly woman sweeping her doorstep with a broom that had maybe six bristles left.
"Is there a blacksmith in this village?"
The woman looked up, her weathered face creasing into a sad smile. "Not anymore, young man."
"Old Marcus passed away six months back, and his apprentice ran off to the capital. Said there was no money in fixing farm tools." She gestured at her pathetic broom.
"As you can see, we're managing as best we can."
Greg felt something stir in his chest. It wasn't pity exactly, more like recognition. These people needed help, and for once, it had nothing to do with killing monsters or winning wars.
"Where was his workshop?" Greg asked.
The old woman pointed toward a run-down building at the edge of the square. "Right there, but it's been locked up."
'The village chief has the key, but I doubt he'd just give it to a stranger." She squinted at him suspiciously.
"You a blacksmith?"
"Something like that," Greg said, already walking toward the building.
...
...
The workshop was in worse shape than he thought. The roof had several holes, the forge was cold and filled with old ash, and most of the tools had been looted or rusted beyond use.
But the anvil was still good, solid iron that rang true when he tapped it. The bellows needed repair, but that was manageable. He could work with this.
[Quest Complete: Explore Your New Home]
[Reward: Basic Materials Pack received]
[New items available in inventory]
A small pile of materials appeared on the workshop floor in a flash of light. Iron ingots, coal, some wood for handles, and basic smithing tools. Not much, but enough to get started.
Greg rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, let's see if I still remember how to do this."
He spent the next few hours cleaning out the forge and getting the fire going again. Muscle memory took over, his hands moving through familiar motions even in this younger body. By the time the sun started setting, he had a proper workspace ready.
"Now then," Greg said, pulling up the system interface.
"Let's make that hoe."
"Hahaha..."
[Crafting Mode Activated]
[Select item type: Farming Tool - Hoe]
[Available materials: Iron Ingot x3, Oak Wood x1]
[Estimated completion time: 2 hours]
Greg ignored the timer. He didn't need a system to tell him how long it took to forge a hoe.
He heated the iron until it glowed cherry red, then brought his hammer down in steady, rhythmic strikes. Shape the head, curve the blade, temper it properly. Add the socket for the handle, make sure it's secure.
As he worked, something strange happened. The metal seemed to respond to him in ways it never had before. Each strike of the hammer felt perfect, like the iron wanted to become exactly what he envisioned. Runes began to appear along the blade, faint but definitely there, glowing with a soft blue light.
"Wait, no," Greg said, alarm rising in his voice.
"It's just a hoe. You don't need runes. Stop that."
The metal didn't listen. By the time he attached the oak handle, the farming tool practically hummed with power. It looked like a normal hoe, plain and functional, but Greg could feel the energy radiating from it.
[Crafting Complete!]
[Item Created: Hoe of Unbreaking]
[Quality Rank: SSS]
[Special Properties: Indestructible, Tills soil with 1000% efficiency, Minor earth manipulation]
[Achievement Unlocked: First SSS-Rank Item!]
[Bonus Reward: Skill Point x5, Title: "The Ridiculous Craftsman"]
Greg stared at the notifications in horror. "SSS-rank? It's a farming hoe! How is it SSS-rank?"
[The system evaluates items based on quality, durability, and magical properties regardless of item type]
[Congratulations on your exceptional work!]
"I don't want congratulations! I wanted a normal hoe!" Greg grabbed the tool, and immediately felt its power coursing through his hands.
"This is exactly what I was trying to avoid."
He heard voices outside. A crowd had gathered, drawn by the glow of his forge. The village chief, a portly man with a magnificent mustache, pushed his way to the front.
"Who are you?" the chief demanded.
"This workshop is village property. You can't just break in and start using it."
"I'm Greg," he said simply, still holding the glowing hoe. "I'm a blacksmith."
"I saw you needed one, so I figured I'd help out."
The chief's eyes locked onto the hoe, and his jaw dropped. Even from a distance, the tool's quality was obvious. The way it caught the fading sunlight, the perfect balance, the subtle glow of the runes.
"Is that..." the chief stammered. "Did you just make that?"
"It's just a hoe," Greg insisted weakly.
"Just a hoe?" An old farmer pushed forward, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Young man, I've been farming for fifty years. I've never seen a tool like that. May I?"
Greg hesitated, then handed it over. The moment the farmer's weathered hands touched the handle, his expression changed to one of pure awe.
"It's perfect," the farmer whispered.
"The balance, the weight, the feel of it.
This is a masterwork." He looked at Greg with something approaching reverence.
"You must be a blacksmith sent by the gods themselves."
"No, no, definitely not," Greg said quickly, remembering his recent conversation with said gods.
"I'm just a regular blacksmith who happens to be decent at his job."
The farmer walked over to a patch of hard, rocky soil that nobody had been able to cultivate. He raised the hoe and brought it down once.
The earth seemed to sigh, the rocky ground turning into perfectly tilled, dark soil in a circle ten feet wide. Small tremors rippled outward, and several villagers stumbled.
Everyone went silent. Then they erupted into cheers.
"A miracle!" someone shouted.
"The gods have sent us a master craftsman!" another voice called out.
"We're saved!" the old woman with the broken broom cried, tears streaming down her face.
Greg wanted to sink into the ground. This was not how his peaceful new life was supposed to start. He'd made one simple farming tool, and already people were treating him like some kind of divine messenger.
The village chief grabbed Greg's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Master Blacksmith Greg, on behalf of Ferndale, I officially offer you full use of this workshop."
"Name your price for tools. Whatever you need, we'll provide it."
"I don't want payment," Greg said tiredly. "I just want to make useful things in peace."
"Useful?" The chief gestured at the hoe, which was still glowing faintly.
"That tool just solved a problem we've had for three years! You could charge a fortune for something like that."
"It's a hoe," Greg repeated, though he was starting to doubt his own words.
"It's supposed to till soil. That's what it does."
[New Quest: Establish Your Reputation]
[Objective: Create 5 farming tools for Ferndale villagers]
[Reward: Workshop Upgrade, Reputation +100]
Greg looked at the crowd of hopeful faces, at their broken tools and desperate eyes, and felt his resolve waver. He hadn't wanted to be famous, and wanted to create legendary items.
He just wanted a quiet life making ordinary things. But apparently, his idea of ordinary and the system's idea of ordinary were very different things.
"Fine," Greg sighed. "I'll make you some tools."
"But I'm warning you now, I only make peaceful items. No weapons, no armor, and especially no instruments of war."
"We're farmers," the old farmer said, still clutching the magical hoe like it was his firstborn child.
"We have no need for weapons. Just give us tools that won't break after a month, and you'll be the hero of Ferndale."
Greg nodded slowly, already dreading what would happen when he made a simple rake or shovel. If a hoe came out as SSS-rank, what would happen to everything else he created?
"This is going to be a disaster," he muttered.
[The gods are watching with interest]
[Your peaceful life is off to a great start!]
Greg glared at the system message. Somewhere, he was certain those three gods were laughing at him
"Fuck 'em."