Three days had passed since the incident with the hoe, and Greg had managed to complete the rest of his farming tool quest. A rake that somehow organized crops by ripeness.
A shovel that never got dirty. A pair of shears that made plants grow healthier after being trimmed. And a watering can that purified any liquid poured into it.
All of them are rated SSS-rank. All of them glowing faintly with runic power, making Greg increasingly convinced that his definition of "peaceful items" was cursed. The villagers loved him, of course.
Ferndale's harvest output had tripled in less than a week. The village chief had already sent word to nearby towns about their "miraculous blacksmith," which Greg tried very hard not to think about. He'd set up a small cot in the corner of the workshop and was seriously considering never leaving.
That plan lasted until the door burst open on the fourth morning. "I need a sword!"
A young woman stood in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun. She wore leather armor that had seen better days, a frayed cloak, and carried a chipped blade that looked like it would snap if you breathed on it too hard. Her red hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and her green eyes burned with determination.
Greg looked up from the bucket he was repairing and sighed. "No."
The woman blinked. "What?"
"I said no. I don't make weapons." Greg turned back to his work, carefully hammering out a dent.
"There's a smithy in Brookyn, about two days east. Try there."
"But everyone says you're the best blacksmith in the region!" She strode forward, nearly tripping over a pile of iron ingots.
"They say you make legendary items. I need a legendary sword!"
"I make farming tools," Greg said flatly.
"Very good farming tools, apparently, but still just tools. Not weapons."
The adventurer stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're joking. You have to be joking."
"Do you know how rare master blacksmiths are? And you're wasting your talent on hoes and rakes?"
Greg set down his hammer and turned to face her properly. "What's your name?"
"Marina," she said, straightening up. "Bronze-rank adventurer, member of the Crimson Falcons party."
"Well, Marina, let me tell you something about legendary weapons." Greg's voice was calm but firm.
"I spent forty years making them in my old life. Swords that could cut through mountains. Spears that never missed. Axes that could fell ancient trees in a single swing."
"And you know what happened?"
"What?"
"Wars and massacres happening everywhere! Good people dying because they got too confident in their equipment. So no, I don't make weapons anymore. Not for any price."
Marina's determined expression faltered slightly. "I understand your concerns, but I'm not asking for a weapon of war."
"I need it for monster hunting. There's a young wyvern that's been terrorizing trade routes near here."
"My party is going to take it down, but my sword is barely holding together." She held up her damaged blade.
"Please. People are depending on us."
Greg studied her face. She seemed genuine, not like the glory-seeking adventurers he'd met in his previous life. But the answer was still the same.
"No weapons," he repeated. "That's final."
Marina's shoulders slumped. "Fine. Then can you at least make me some camping gear? My frying pan broke last week, and I'm tired of eating cold rations."
Greg perked up slightly. "A frying pan? That I can do easily."
"Really?" Marina looked surprised.
"That's what gets you interested? Not the heroic monster hunting, but cookware?"
"Cookware doesn't kill people," Greg said, already pulling out materials.
"When do you need it?"
"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn." Marina pulled out a small pouch of coins.
"Will this be enough?"
Greg waved her off. "Keep your money. Consider it my contribution to keeping trade routes safe, just without the direct violence."
As Marina left, looking confused but grateful, Greg set to work. Just a simple frying pan. Nothing fancy, nothing dangerous. Just good ol' quality cookware that would last.
The problem was, his hands had other ideas. He started with a thick iron base, perfect for even heat distribution.
But as he worked, he found himself adding small improvements. A handle that would never get too hot to touch. A surface that nothing would stick to. And because the wyvern apparently breathed fire, maybe a little heat resistance wouldn't hurt.
The runes appeared halfway through, as they always did now. Greg tried to keep them minimal, but the metal seemed to drink in his intent, amplifying everything he wanted the pan to do.
By the time he finished, the frying pan gleamed with an almost mirror-like surface. It was perfectly balanced, surprisingly light despite being nearly indestructible, and yes, there were definitely some runes etched along the rim that he hadn't consciously put there.
[Crafting Complete!]
[Item Created: Frying Pan of the Eternal Flame]
[Quality Rank: SSS]
[Special Properties: Indestructible, Perfect non-stick surface, Absorbs and redirects fire damage, Can be used as emergency shield]
[New Achievement: Kitchen Warrior]
[The gods are laughing]
"What the fuck...?"
"It's just a frying pan," Greg told himself firmly. "What's the worst that could happen?"
...
...
He found out exactly one week later. Greg was fixing a wagon wheel when he heard the commotion in the village square.
A crowd had gathered around someone, and there was a lot of excited shouting. His stomach sank as he recognized Marina's voice rising above the others.
"And then the wyvern came at me with another blast of fire!" Marina was saying, gesturing wildly.
"But the pan just absorbed it all. The beast looked so confused when I deflected its own flames back at its face!"
Greg dropped his hammer. "No, God! Please no!"
He pushed through the crowd to see Marina standing proudly in the center, completely unscathed, holding up the frying pan like a trophy. Her party members stood around her, equally excited and slightly singed.
"The pan was perfect for blocking attacks," a burly man who must have been the party tank said.
"When Marina got in close and whacked the wyvern over the head with it, the thing went down in one hit!"
"One hit?" the village chief repeated, amazed.
"One hit!" Marina confirmed.
"I think I actually dented its skull. This pan is incredible! It's better than any shield I've ever used."
Greg felt his eye twitch. "There's no way fucking way..."
"And the best part," Marina continued, "we cooked some of the wyvern meat right there on the battlefield."
"It was the best meal we've ever had! Nothing stuck to the pan at all, and it cooked perfectly even though we were in the middle of a burned forest."
The crowd erupted in cheers. People were already calling Marina the "Wyvern Slayer" and praising Greg as the genius who had armed her with such a magnificent weapon.
"It's not a weapon!" Greg finally shouted. "It's cookware!"
Marina spotted him and lit up. "Master Greg!"
"Your frying pan is amazing! It saved my life!" She rushed over, still holding the pan.
"Look, there's not even a scratch on it after fighting a wyvern. And I was wondering if you could make me a matching pot? Maybe a ladle too?"
"You killed a monster with a frying pan," Greg said slowly.
"Well, technically I killed it with your frying pan," Marina corrected cheerfully.
"There's a big difference. A normal pan would have melted or bent."
"It was supposed to be for cooking!"
"And it's excellent for cooking! But it's also excellent for self-defense." Marina's expression turned serious.
"Master Greg, I know you don't want to make weapons. But this pan kept me safe while still being a cooking tool."
"Isn't that exactly what you wanted? Something that helps people without being designed to kill?"
Greg opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. She had a point, much as he hated to admit it. The pan had protected her, yes, but its primary purpose was still cooking.
The fact that it could double as emergency protection was just a side effect of good craftsmanship. That didn't make him feel any better about the situation.
[Quest Complete: Create an Indirect Combat Tool]
[Reward: Skill Points x3]
[New Title Acquired: Culinary Combat Creator]
[The gods are having too much fun with this]
"I hate this system," Greg muttered.
"What was that?" Marina asked.
"Nothing." Greg sighed deeply.
"Fine. I'll make you a pot and a ladle. But they're cooking tools, understood?"
"If I hear you've used them to fight anything, I'm never making you shits again."
Marina saluted cheerfully. "Understood, Master!"
"Cooking tools only. Unless there's an emergency. Or if a monster attacks while I'm cooking. Or if someone tries to steal my food."
"What did I just said earlier?"
"Right, right. Cooking only. Definitely."
As she bounced away to celebrate with her party, Greg trudged back to his workshop. The villagers patted him on the back as he passed, congratulating him on creating such a versatile tool. Someone had already started spreading the story to travelers at the tavern.
By this time tomorrow, everyone in the region would know about the blacksmith who made legendary cookware that could kill wyverns. Greg collapsed onto his cot and stared at the ceiling.
"I just wanted to make peaceful things," he said to no one in particular. "Why is that so difficult?"
[Because you're too good at your job]
[Also, the definition of 'peaceful' is subjective]
[Would you like a quest to make bedroom furniture next?]
"Please stop talking and fuck off, will ya?" Greg groaned.
[The gods suggest a bed that never lets people have nightmares]
[Or a rocking chair that soothes even the angriest warriors]
Despite everything, Greg felt a small smile tug at his lips. A nightmare-blocking bed did sound kind of nice. And that rocking chair idea had potential.
"Fine," he said quietly.
"But no more cookware for adventurers. I mean it this time."
[Sure you do]
[P.S. Three more adventurers are heading to Ferndale to request items]
Greg pulled his blanket over his head. This was going to be a long new life that felt almost like hell.