The noble's carriage turned out to be a false alarm. It belonged to a merchant who'd heard about Greg's "revolutionary farming equipment" and wanted to discuss mass production, which Greg politely declined five times before the man finally gave up.
The three adventurers were easier to deal with since they only wanted basic camping gear, though Greg made sure to keep any enchantments as minimal as possible after the dancing vest incident. He'd just finished a remarkably ordinary set of tent stakes when someone knocked on his workshop door with the pommel of a sword. Not hammering or banging, but a precise, rhythmic knock that spoke of military training and discipline.
Greg opened the door to find a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a legend. She stood tall, probably in her late twenties, with blonde hair tied back in a practical ponytail.
Her posture was perfect, shoulders back and chin up, and she wore simple traveling clothes that couldn't hide the obvious muscle tone of someone who'd spent years training with weapons. Most notably, she carried a broken sword at her hip, the blade snapped off about halfway down its length.
"Are you Greg Greyson, the blacksmith?" Her voice was calm and measured, with just a hint of an accent Greg couldn't quite place.
"That's me," Greg said, already suspecting where this conversation was headed.
"Let me guess, you want me to fix your sword."
The woman's lips quirked into a small smile. "Perceptive. Yes, I was hoping you could repair or reforge this blade."
"It's been with me for eight years, and I'd rather not replace it if possible." She drew the broken sword, handling it with the care of someone holding a dear friend.
"I'm Lylia Goldenwind, formerly of the Royal Knight Order."
"Formerly?" Greg asked, despite himself.
"I retired three months ago. Decided I'd had enough of politics and war." Lylia looked at the broken blade with something like regret.
"This happened during my last mission. A particularly stubborn rock troll and an even more stubborn commanding officer who insisted we engage instead of wait for proper backup."
Greg could respect that sentiment, at least. He took the broken sword and examined it.
Decent craftsmanship, nothing spectacular, but it had been well-maintained and clearly valued. The break was clean, which meant it could probably be repaired if he wanted to.
But of course. He didn't want to.
"I don't fix weapons," Greg said, handing the sword back. "Or make them."
"Retired from that business myself."
Lylia's eyebrows rose slightly. "The legendary blacksmith who refuses to work with weapons."
"I'd heard the rumors, but I thought surely they were exaggerated." She studied him with sharp golden eyes.
"May I ask why?"
"Long story," Greg said.
"Short version is I spent my whole last life making weapons, watched them cause nothing but pain, and decided I was done."
"Now I make farming tools, cookware, and apparently cursed clothing that makes people dance."
"I heard about that vest," Lylia said, and for the first time, genuine amusement showed in her expression.
"The whole region is talking about it. Some nobles are apparently trying to commission similar items for their ballrooms."
Greg groaned. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I wish I were. There's a bidding war." Lylia sheathed her broken sword and crossed her arms.
"But back to my situation. If you won't repair my blade, what would you suggest?"
"I still need something for self-defense. Retirement doesn't mean the world suddenly becomes safe."
Greg thought for a moment. She had a point, and unlike the adventurers who came seeking weapons for glory or profit, Lylia seemed genuinely practical about the matter. He respected that. But he still wasn't making her a sword.
"How do you feel about cooking utensils?" Greg asked.
Lylia blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm serious. I made a frying pan recently that apparently can kill wyverns."
"One of my customers took down a young wyvern with a single hit." Greg walked back into his workshop, gesturing for her to follow.
"If you need something for self-defense that isn't technically a weapon, I can work with that."
"You want me, a former Royal Knight, to defend myself with cookware." Lylia's tone was flat, but Greg caught the hint of curiosity underneath.
"Not just cookware. I'm thinking something with a bit more range and versatility." Greg pulled out a chunk of iron and some oak wood.
"How about a ladle? Big one, proper size for serving stews to a whole family. Sturdy, practical, and definitely not a weapon."
"A ladle," Lylia repeated slowly.
"A very good ladle," Greg corrected.
"Tell you what, I'll make it for you right now, and if you don't like it, you can take it to another blacksmith to fix your sword. Deal?"
Lylia seemed to be fighting between incredulity and amusement. Finally, she nodded. "Fine."
"Make me your legendary ladle. But I reserve the right to laugh if this turns out to be ridiculous."
"Oh, it'll definitely be ridiculous," Greg muttered, firing up his forge.
"They always are."
...
...
He worked quickly, shaping the iron into a broad bowl with a long, sturdy handle. As his hammer struck the metal, he focused on Lylia's needs.
She wanted protection, something that could block attacks and maybe discourage assailants without necessarily killing them. She was retired, trying to live peacefully, but the world wouldn't always let her.
The enchantments came naturally. Durability, of course. Weight reduction so it could be wielded easily. And since she'd mentioned magic was sometimes an issue in her old line of work, maybe something to help with that.
The runes spread across the metal in swirling patterns that looked almost like steam rising from a pot. Greg tried to keep them understated, but by now he knew better than to fight the system's tendency toward exaggeration.
[Crafting Complete!]
[Item Created: Ladle of Magical Dispersion]
[Quality Rank: SSS]
[Special Properties: Indestructible, Can deflect and absorb magic, Returns spells to sender with 50% power, Excellent for serving soup]
[Achievement Unlocked: Domestic Defense Master]
[Note: This is getting weird even by your standards]
"Of course it is," Greg said, holding up the finished ladle.
It gleamed in the forge light, the bowl large enough to serve a generous portion of stew and the handle long enough to double as a short staff. The metal had a faint blue sheen that definitely wasn't natural.
Lylia took the ladle, testing its weight and balance with the expertise of someone who'd handled countless weapons. Her eyes widened slightly. "This is remarkably well-balanced. And the craftsmanship is exceptional."
"Try it against something magical," Greg suggested.
"There's a mage in the village who owes me a favor. We could ask him to throw a spell at it."
"Or," Lylia said, setting down the ladle and pulling out a small crystal from her pocket, "we could use this practice ward."
"It's harmless, but it'll give us a good test."
She activated the crystal, and a glowing barrier sprang up between them. Then she picked up the ladle and gave the barrier a gentle tap with the bowl.
The barrier shattered like glass, the magical energy flowing into the ladle and spiraling around its surface before shooting back at the crystal. The crystal cracked and went dark.
"That was a military-grade ward crystal," Lylia said quietly.
"Those are supposed to withstand artillery magic."
"Is that good or bad?" Greg asked nervously.
"Good if you're using the ladle. Terrifying if you're on the receiving end." Lylia stared at the utensil in her hand with something approaching awe.
"This isn't just anti-magic. This is a magical black hole disguised as serving ware."
"So you like it?"
Lylia laughed, a genuine sound that transformed her serious face. "Like it? Greg, this is absurd, impractical, and completely breaks every conventional weapon standard I know."
"It's perfect." She hefted the ladle like a warrior inspecting a new blade.
"I can defend myself without carrying an actual weapon. People will underestimate me. And I can still use it for its intended purpose."
"Which is serving soup," Greg emphasized.
"Which is serving soup," Lylia agreed, still smiling.
"Though I suspect if I hit someone with this, they'd have a very bad day."
[New Achievement: Converted a Warrior to Cookware Combat]
[Title Unlocked: The Peaceful Armorer]
[Lylia Silverwind's favorability has increased significantly]
[The gods are taking notes for future romantic comedy scenarios]
Greg chose to ignore that last notification. "So we're good? You're happy with a ladle instead of a sword repair?"
"More than happy." Lylia tucked the ladle into her belt where her sword usually hung. It looked ridiculous, but somehow she made it work.
"Though this does raise a question. If all your items are this powerful and unconventional, why stay in a small village like Ferndale? You could make a fortune in the capital."
"Because the capital would want weapons," Greg said simply.
"Here, people want plows and cooking pots. That's exactly what I'm looking for."
Lylia nodded slowly, understanding crossing her face. "A peaceful life after years of violence."
"I can relate to that." She glanced around the workshop, noting the various tools and half-finished projects. "You know, I was planning to pass through Ferndale on my way to the coast, but I think I might stay a while."
"This village could use someone with combat experience, even retired experience. And I'm curious to see what other 'peaceful' items you create."
"You're staying?" Greg wasn't sure how he felt about that. Having a former Royal Knight around might attract the wrong kind of attention.
"If the village will have me. I have savings, and I can help with security, training the local militia, that sort of thing." Lylia's expression turned wry.
"Besides, someone should probably keep an eye on you. If you're handing out dragon-slaying cookware and magical ladles to anyone who asks, who knows what chaos you'll cause next."
"I don't cause chaos," Greg protested.
"I make helpful items that happen to have unexpected side effects."
"That's just chaos with extra steps." Lylia headed for the door, then paused.
"Thank you, Greg. For not treating me like just another soldier looking for a weapon upgrade. And for making something that lets me stay retired without being helpless."
...
...
After she left, Greg sat down at his workbench and stared at his hands. A former Royal Knight was now staying in Ferndale because of a magical ladle.
Marina was probably telling everyone about her wyvern-killing frying pan. Thomas was presumably still processing his dancing vest experience.
And Greg still had a line of people waiting for commissions tomorrow. His peaceful new life was becoming increasingly less peaceful, and somehow it was all the fault of soup ladles and farming tools.
[Quest Complete: Create Anti-Magic Cookware]
[Reward: Skill Points x4, Recipe: Cutlery of Chaos]
[New Quest Available: Deal with Your Growing Reputation]
[Warning: More interesting people are heading your way]
"I should have become a baker," Greg muttered, but he was already thinking about tomorrow's commissions. Maybe he could make that opera-singing broom work after all.