Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons Chapter 210. I Refuse Your Game

Greg, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was forging with pure will, changing not only materials but also ideas.

The trial was based on a false idea: that a person could only be one thing.

Fighter or peacemaker.

A person also could either be a death maker or a life maker.

Greg was showing that idea to be false.

The thing that was taking shape in his hands couldn’t be put into a category. It was a hamr, but not for fighting.

It was a tool, but not one for building.

It was sothing that could protect without killing, create without destroying, and exist in the philosophical space that Greg had carved out for himself over the years.

The whole pocket dinsion started to break apart.

The voice of God that had called for the trial ca back, but this ti it was shocked instead of authoritative. "IMPOSSIBLE. HE’S REJECTING THE TRIAL’S PREMISE. OVERRIDE. OVERRIDE. SEND IN THE—"

The golden do broke like glass.

But what ca out wasn’t Ferndale. The workshop, the village square, and everything else turned into golden light and then ca back together as sothing much bigger.

A place to fight.

Huge and round, with thousands of seats arranged in tiers that go up. And every seat was taken.

Greg’s eyes got bigger when he saw them.

People... and there’s a lot of them. Everyone looked shocked, confused, or excited.

Everyone was looking at the center of the arena, where Greg and his past self were standing.

"What..." Marina’s voice was barely audible from where the Brotherhood was huddled together, the walls that had kept them apart falling down. "What’s this?"

Felix was the first to figure it out, and his face went white. "S-Sensei...! Those are... those are all the other reincarnators!"

Greg counted quickly, but his brain was having trouble processing what he saw.

There are 246 people currently. For the first ti, all of the reincarnators that the gods had brought to this world were in one place.

So looked like adventurers, with legendary weapons and armor. So people wore mage robes, rchant clothes, or noble clothes.

So of them looked like regular people, and their reincarnation bonuses weren’t obvious right away. But they all had one thing in common: they were watching Greg with the sa intensity as people who knew their lives depended on what happened next.

Three thrones appeared in the middle of the arena, made of golden light.

Greg saw the gods for the first ti since he ca back to life.

Not statues... Not avatars... These were neither divine appearances nor pocket-sized representations.

The real Three Gods, in their various forms, were present.

The God of War was on the left throne. He looked like a huge humanoid figure made of weapons that fit together.

Thousands of blades, spears, and axes made up his body, which radiated violence. His face was a helt with empty eyeholes that still showed emotion.

In the middle was the God of the Forge. She looked like a woman made of molten tal that was always moving and changing shape.

She had a hamr in one hand and tongs in the other. Her eyes were like fires in a furnace, and when she breathed, smoke ca out of her mouth.

The God of Fate was on the right. They looked like a person wrapped in golden threads that kept weaving and unweaving, making patterns that were too complicated to follow.

Their face was hidden behind a mask of pure white porcelain that had no features except for two eye holes that went on forever.

Greg had never felt so small before.

The God of War stood up, and everyone in the arena went silent. His voice sounded like tal hitting tal, like armies fighting, like violence turned into sound.

"Stop playing gas!"

Greg felt like reality itself responded to the gesture when he raised one hand. "Greg Greyson... The Warhamr Saint... The only reincarnator to refuse his purpose..."

"You have broken our trial, rejected our judgnt, and proven yourself... problematic."

Next, the God of the Forge spoke. Her voice sounded like flas crackling. "We gave you a gift... a second life, a system to follow, and a goal to reach!"

"But what did you do about it...? You spit on all of it."

The voice of the God of Fate was a mixture of whispers, difficult to pinpoint to a single source. "But you are not the only thing that can change in our ga."

"There are two hundred and forty-six reincarnators in this world, each with their own purpose and role to play in the wars we have planned."

The God of War smiled, and it was a horrible look. "If you refuse to choose your path, we will force you to do so."

He made a snap.

There were two hundred and forty-six system screens, one in front of each reincarnator in the arena. Greg’s own system interface turned on for the first ti since it was broken, and the ssage it showed made his blood run cold.

[DEATH GA INITIATED]

[TRIAL TWO: BATTLE ROYALE]

[PARTICIPANTS: 247 REINCARNATORS]

[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE]

[RULES: LAST REINCARNATOR STANDING WINS]

[WINNER RECEIVES: THEIR WORLD (SAVED)]

[LOSERS RECEIVE: DELETION (COMPLETE ERASURE)]

[TI LIMIT: NONE]

[BATTLE BEGINS IN: 60 SECONDS]

The arena went crazy. Reincarnators were screaming, demanding answers, and fighting with each other.

So people pulled out weapons right away.

So people turned on their defensive powers.

So people tried to run, but they hit invisible walls at the edge of the arena.

The God of War’s voice cut through the noise like a knife. "The rules are easy!"

"Fight, kill, and stay alive! The last reincarnator to die gets to keep their world."

"Everyone else is erased from existence, not killed. It’s like you never existed in either life."

A woman with two swords shouted from the stands, "You can’t do this!"

"We’ve been doing what you asked us to do! Following our goals!"

The God of Fate laughed, and it sounded like wind blowing through dead leaves. "All of you have let down."

"Greg showed that one rebellious person can ss up our whole plan. So we’re making it easier: one reincarnator, one purpose, and the rest are useless."

Greg’s thoughts were racing. There are two hundred and forty-six other people.

The gods brought everyone here to play their ga. All about to be forced into a fight to the death, with only one person living.

Marina took hold of his arm. "Greg, we can’t fight them..."

"There are too many of them! And even if we could, they’re people, just like you..."

"The gods want us to fight each other!"

Lylia was on the other side of him. "You broke the first trial by not agreeing with its premise, but..."

"Can you do that again?"

Seraphine was already looking at the situation. "The system interface is working again."

"That ans the gods are using their original architecture. There could be holes in the rules structure that people can take advantage of."

Bork lifted his hamr. "Or we all stand together and refuse to fight."

"What can they do if we all just sit down?"

Felix was watching the tir count down. "Sensei, we only have forty-five seconds before this starts."

"We need to make a decision quickly."

It was clear that the God of War was having a good ti watching them. "Go ahead and try peaceful resistance, Greg."

"Let’s see how long your beliefs last when the only other option is watching everyone you love die."

He made a gesture, and all of a sudden, a wall of force separated Greg from the Brotherhood. Marina was screaming and banging on it.

Lylia was trying to get rid of it. Bork was using all of his strength to swing his hamr, but nothing worked.

The God of War asked, "You want to save them, right?"

"Then win! Kill everyone else who has been reincarnated here! Show that you’re ready to do whatever it takes."

The God of the Forge added, "Or watch them die."

"Your choice, Peace Champion."

Greg looked at the people in the arena. There were two hundred and forty-six people, all scared, all ard, and all getting ready to fight for their lives.

He saw soldiers and wizards, rchants and nobles, regular people and famous heroes. They had all died in their own world and been given a second chance.

Like him.

The countdown went on.

[30 SECONDS UNTIL BATTLE]

"Greg!" Marina’s voice was full of fear. "Don’t you dare give up! We’ll figure this out!"

Lylia was calr, but she was still very intense. "You passed the first test! And I know that you can pass this one too!"

"I believe in you!"

Felix caught his eye, and even though the young reincarnator looked scared, he managed to smile. "Sensei, show these gods why you’re the main character!"

"You’ve got this."

Greg looked at his prosthetic arm, which was still glowing with stolen divine power. The First Hamr’s power that the gods never ant for him to have.

The strength that gave him the ability to turn down their offer and make his own way.

He looked at the thing he had made while fighting the Warhamr Saint. It was neither a weapon nor a tool, but sohow both.

The physical proof that he didn’t have to choose between who he was and who he wanted to be.

He looked at the gods on their thrones, waiting for them to do sothing. He was sure they had finally found a test he couldn’t pass.

Greg smiled.

"Do you want to know what I choose?" he shouted, and his voice echoed across the whole arena. "Do you want to show you if peace is possible or if violence is unavoidable?!"

The tir went off after twenty seconds.

Greg said, "I don’t choose either!!!"

"I refuse your ga! Your trial! And I refuse every fake choice you’ve given since the day you brought back to life!"

The golden circuits on his prosthetic arm lit up brighter than ever, spreading across his whole body. ntal Forging turned on at a level that made reality itself groan.

Greg shouted, "You want a battle royale?"

"Okay, but now we’re going to play by my rules."

The gods leaned forward on their thrones, unsure all of a sudden.

And Greg started to make things.

Not weapons.

Not shields.

He was seeking a ans to conclude this trial in the sa manner as he had concluded the previous one.

The countdown reached ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Greg’s hands moved in ways that drew energy from the pocket dinsion, the stolen divine energy in his arm, and the strong belief that had shaped his whole second life.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

The thing taking shape was impossible—famous, even. Sothing that shouldn’t exist.

Four.

Three.

The gods got up from their thrones and saw what he was doing too late.

Two.

One.

The fight was about to start.

And Greg was about to show one last ti that the Champion of Peace didn’t need to hurt anyone to win.

He just had to be incredibly, stubbornly, and famously creative.

The countdown hit zero.

[BATTLE ROYALE: STARTING]

Greg was done with forging.

And everything was different.