Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons Chapter 208. The Trial Begins

BAAAAAAAAMMMMM!

The sky shattered into fragnts.

Three huge shapes appeared in the golden light, coming down through the broken world like gods coming down from heaven. And that’s exactly what they were.

They all could see statues, and they were all over a hundred feet tall and looked like people, but they didn’t have any features. The perfect golden figures were so imbued with divine presence that Greg felt his knees buckle.

They were the Three Gods.

God of War.

God of the Forge.

And...

God of Fate

The beings who had reincarnated him and provided him with the system were the ones responsible. They had been closely observing him for years. And now, finally, they had co to collect what they believed he owed.

The villagers, unable to withstand the weight of the divine presence, collapsed under the imnse divine pressure. The Brotherhood was also having a hard ti, too.

Seraphine was gasping for air, Bork’s knees were shaking, and Felix fell forward onto his hands.

Greg was the only one still standing, and that was only because his prosthetic arm was holding up against the pressure. The stolen divine power knows where it ca from and fights against it.

Marina was on one knee, holding the frying pan with white-knuckled hands. Lylia had fallen all the way down, and her ladle had rolled out of her hand.

They were trying to stand, using only their own will to fight against God’s will, but it wasn’t enough.

No one could fight against the gods.

Except for the stupid blacksmith who stole their power and made it his own.

Greg walked forward with an angry expression.

The pressure got stronger, trying to push him down, but his prosthetic arm glowed even more.

The golden circuits spread, crawling up his shoulder and across his chest. They were fighting back against divine authority with stolen divine power.

He moved forward again.

"Greg!" Marina’s voice was strained. "Stop...! They... will... kill you...!"

"Let them try," Greg said, and he was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

He had spent his whole first life making weapons for war. Over the course of forty years, he created renowned weapons that claid thousands of lives.

He had died in the blast of his own pride, as the Ultimate Sword of Eternity destroyed everything he had built.

The gods granted him another opportunity, but it ca with a demand that he had to forge more weapons. Provide them with resources for their conflicts and beco the instrunt they required.

And he had refused, as he always does.

Every. Single. Ti.

He had chosen peace over power. Family cos before divine favor. Love over fate.

And if that ant going up against the gods, then so be it.

Greg walked up to the three statues and stood right under them. He tilted his head back to look into their eyeless eyes.

The pressure was too much, and reality itself seed to bend around divine anger, but he didn’t kneel. He lifted his prosthetic arm, and the stolen power was so bright that it made shadows in the golden light.

"FUCKING DO IT if you want to judge !" His voice echoed through the quiet square. "Stop pretending this is about justice and hiding behind manifestations!"

"You’re mad because I broke your toy, stole your power, and wouldn’t play your ga!"

The statues didn’t say anything. Three godlike beings stood there, watching and judging.

They had probably destroyed whole civilizations for less than what Greg had done.

Greg’s voice rose as he said, "I broke your soldier!"

"I killed Elias instead of using him!"

"I exposed the Royal Knights’ corruption instead of keeping your precious stability!"

"I stole the First Hamr’s power instead of leaving it buried!"

"And I’d do it all again! Every single choice! Because peace matters more than your ga!"

After Greg said all of that, there was no answer other than silence.

Then, slowly and defying all expectations, the statues began to move.

All three raised their arms at the sa ti, which made Greg’s spine tingle. Power ca together around them, and golden circles appeared in the air, getting bigger and bigger until they covered the whole village.

Greg felt the barrier forming, and reality shifted as Ferndale beca detached from the real world. The buildings elongated and morphed in shape.

The ground undulated like water. The village was drawn into another realm, and the very fabric of space transford. The village beca a tiny sliver of a world.

There’s also a testing ground, a place where lives are extinguished.

"Greg!" Marina scread, trying to get to him, but the divine pressure held her down. "What is going on?!"

The statues spoke for the first ti since they got there. Their voices were perfectly in sync, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the sa ti.

The sound of divine judgnt made real.

"Thief of divine power, warhamr saint, and defiant soul."

Every word had a aning that physical sound shouldn’t have. Greg could feel them pushing against his mind, trying to make him understand, obey, and give in.

"YOU ASKED FOR JUDGNT... AND NOW... YOU. WILL. GET. IT!!!"

The golden circles were finished, and now there was a perfect wall around Ferndale. Greg could see the outside world fading through the clear walls.

It was being replaced by sothing else entirely.

"THIS VILLAGE... THESE BONDS... THIS PEACE YOU TREASURE..."

The hands of the statues moved in complicated ways, like weaving reality.

"ALL WILL BE YOUR TRIAL GROUNDS."

Golden light burst out in all directions, destroying everything in its path. Greg tried to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t look away.

The light was in him and around him, changing reality itself.

He could feel Ferndale breaking apart and coming back together, the familiar village changing into sothing else. Everything, from the workshop to the square to the houses, was being turned into a place for divine judgnt.

Greg blinked away the spots in his vision and looked around when the light finally went out.

Ferndale was no longer present. It wasn’t ruined, but it had transford.

The village square had beco sothing entirely different, it existed in a different realm.

The buildings remained, but they had morphed into bizarre shapes that defied logic. The sky had vanished, replaced by a blinding golden void that was painful to gaze upon.

They were stuck in whatever the gods had made for his trial because reality had been changed.

The Brotherhood was trying to get up behind him, looking around in fear and confusion. Marina got to Greg first and grabbed his arm.

"G-Greg...!!!" Marina shouted in panic.

"W-Where are we?! What did they do...?!"

"Pocket dinsion," Seraphine gasped, her analytical mind working even though she was scared. "They’ve made a new world based on Ferndale..."

"We’re not... in the real world anymore."

"What...?! I had enough with pocket dinsions...! How are we going to leave this place alive?!" Lylia asked, helping Elwen get up.

Greg heard footsteps before anyone could respond. They were slow and asured, coming from the direction of his workshop.

The door swung open.

And everything in Greg’s life stopped.

The one who opened the door was himself. He was standing there with a serious expression on his face.

No, not really. This version was older, maybe by forty years. Scars on his skin showed that he had been in many fights.

The eyes were harder and colder, full of bitter recognition and cruel humor. And there was the Ultimate Sword of Eternity in his hands, which was impossible but true.

It was the sa weapon that had claid Greg’s life in his previous existence. It had malfunctioned and ruined everything. Once broken and gone, it shouldn’t exist.

But here it was, whole and shining, giving off power that made Greg’s prosthetic arm feel like a toy for kids.

Greg, the original Warhamr Saint, smiled in the older version. It was not a pleasing look.

"Hello, boy," he said in a voice that was rough with age, regret, and maybe even madness. "The gods thought it would be poetic."

He raised the sword, and Greg understood what was going on in a terrifyingly clear way.

This wasn’t just a decision. It was punishnt ant to completely break him.

"You want peace so badly, eh?" The Warhamr Saint said, stepping forward, "If you really believe all that idealistic nonsense about household items and found families and refusing destiny..."

The sword was full of power, and Greg saw Marina moving to block it, Lylia raising her ladle, and the Brotherhood getting ready to fight.

But they couldn’t help with this.

This was his test. His decision. His past returns to haunt him.

The Warhamr Saint’s smile grew wider, cruel, knowing, and completely sure.

"Then prove it...! Try fighting yourself! Kill the version of you that chose war, made the weapons, and did exactly what the gods wanted."

Greg rembered the fighting stance from forty years of fighting in another life.

"Get rid of your past, Champion of Peace."

"Or it destroys everything you’ve made."

Greg barely had ti to raise his prosthetic arm to block the sword. The blow sent him flying backward, and his stolen divine power scread in protest at the legendary blade’s overwhelming strength.

The Brotherhood was shocked to see Greg get blown away so easily. They rushed to help, but golden walls sprang up between them, creating individual cells that forced them to watch without intervening.

""Greg...!!!"

Greg was the only one on trial.

The Warhamr Saint moved forward with his sword raised, and Greg could see the craziness in his eyes.

This wasn’t just a show of power.

This was the person he had been. He had the potential to beco the person he once was.

Every bad choice, every weapon made, and every life lost has a shape and a purpose.

"Co on, boy," the Saint said with a sneer. "Show this peace you value so much..."

"Fight for it and try to fucking defend it."

"Do it."

"Just like I did."

And as the sword ca down again, Greg tried to think of a way to get out of this without violence. That’s when he realized the terrible truth.

The gods hadn’t co to kill him.

They had co to show that peace was not possible.

The gods demonstrated that when presented with the appropriate pressure, threat, and decision between violence and losing everything, the Champion of Peace would still choose war.

The Champion of Peace would still choose war.

The trial was on.

Greg had no idea how to win without losing himself completely.