Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 233. The Last Teacup

Greg was in the workshop at dawn six months after the ceremony.

After 15 years of mornings, he felt like he was part of the workshop.

The tools were still hanging in the same places they had always hung, in the same order that Bork had arranged them a long time ago. Greg had never changed the order because it was right and because some things you keep.

He built the forge in the island's third month, and it was still the same one, but bigger and fixed.

Greg saw that the place, which was always used and loved more than the smell of it being there, lacked the smell of metal and woodsmoke. It was like, "You only notice the sound of a clock when it stops."

He was making a cup of tea.

He wasn't preparing the tea because someone had requested it or because the island was in need of more teacups. He made the best things for specific people because he wanted them to have something that was just right.

For example, Seraphine had a teacup from the second year of Home that was starting to show its age. He loved the way her face looked when she held a cup that kept heat perfectly and was just the right weight in her hands.

He took his time. Five percent capacity meant that everything took three times as long as it used to, which he had first considered a problem but had come to see as the right speed for making something he really cared about. Hurrying was only for things that weren't very important.

Before he heard the footsteps, he heard the door to the workshop open.

Then all four were there, as they sometimes were in the early morning when the Eternal medallions' connection was so strong that one person waking up brought the others.

Marina had been running drills since before dawn, and her hair was still tied back. Lylia had been up for at least two hours because she had just come from the kitchen.

Seraphine had her notebook with her, which she was probably writing in. Elwen had a pad of paper for drawing.

Greg put down his hammer and stared at them.

For the past few months, he had known in a general way. He was tired in a way that was different from normal tiredness, and he had a second lifetime's worth of knowledge about what his body was doing at any given time.

He hadn't said anything about it because there was nothing he could say that would improve it, and he would rather spend the time he had doing what he was doing than talking about it in ways that would hurt everyone.

But the Eternal Connection medallions were clear about some things, and his wives were smart, so he couldn't put off this conversation any longer.

"Sit down," he said.

Lylia sat in the chair that was closest to the forge. Marina rested against the workbench.

Seraphine found the stool she had been using since she was about four years old. Elwen sat cross-legged on the floor in the same corner she had been sitting in for ten years. She had a sketchpad in her lap, but it was not open.

Greg said first, "I'm not in pain," because that was the most important thing to know. "I want to make that clear before anything else..."

"I'm tired in a way that doesn't go away, and I have been for a while, and I think I have a few months."

Marina opened her mouth.

"I know," he said. "I know." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

She shut it again and stared at the wall.

Greg went on, "I've been thinking about what I want to say to you, but I keep getting stuck because most of what I want to say is that I'm thankful, which doesn't seem like a strong enough word for what I really mean."

"I thought I would be an anonymous blacksmith who made tools in peace and died quietly."

"Instead, I got four wives, ten kids, an island with a thousand people on it, and a divine being who still drops in unannounced and expects tea."

Seraphine laughed, wet and sudden, and then quickly put her hand over her mouth.

Greg said, "What I want you to understand is that I'm not sad about any of it."

"I'm tired, but not in the way you get when you've been forced to stop..."

"I'm tired in the way you get when you've actually finished something," he said, picking up the teacup he had been making, which was still warm from the forge. "I've built what I wanted to build and I've loved who I wanted to love."

"The kids will be fine, every single one of them, even Lyssa, who will either change how people think about chaotic magic or accidentally turn the workshop into something else. Honestly, both outcomes sound intriguing."

Marina made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh.

He said, "What I need from you is to let it be what it is..."

"Is that you have to let it be what it is... I know that's a lot to ask, and I know it's not the same kind of hard for each of you." He looked at Elwen, who was very still in her corner. "I know you have to carry it longer than the others."

"I know what that means, and I'm sorry I can't change it, but I know what we have, and I know it was worth having, and I think you know that too."

Elwen looked up at him with the calmness of two hundred and fifteen years, but none of it was working right now.

"You can't say you're sorry for dying." She said, "You didn't pick this."

"I chose fifteen years of happiness that shortens life." He said, "I think it was a fair deal."

He walked over to the bench and sat down with them. The four of them and he were in the workshop where so many things had been made.

They stayed there for a long time, just to be together, which was the most important thing to them.

He died in the workshop, sitting in his chair by the forge, with the finished teacup on the shelf next to thousands of other things he had made.

His wives, the kids who were home, and Dorin were all there. Dorin had lived ten years longer than he had expected and showed no signs of stopping.

The Hearthstone in the plaza had been glowing steadily all night and had not dimmed.

The space between life and what comes after was white, like a blank page. It wasn't empty; it was waiting.

...

Greg stood in it and looked at both of his hands, the real one and the fake one. He realized that he was neither young nor old, but just himself, which felt right.

The presence that came had no form that words could describe. It wasn't the First Forgemaster, a god, or the System.

It was something that existed at a completely different level of abstraction, like how thoughts are different from the words you use to say them.

The sound emanated from all directions as it spoke.

"Greg Greyson." It said, "The Warhammer Saint who chose peace."

"The Peaceforger who taught gods humility. You are one of only three mortals I have appeared to directly in this world."

Greg waited.