Three days had passed since the hoe incident, and Greg had finished the rest of his farming tool quest. A rake that somehow sorted crops by how ripe they were. A shovel that never got dirty. A pair of scissors that helped plants grow better after they were cut, and a watering can that cleaned any liquid that was put into it.
All of them have an SSS rating, and of course all of them glow faintly with runic power, which made Greg more and more sure that his definition of "peaceful items" was cursed. But the villagers loved him.
In less than a week, Ferndale's harvest had tripled. Greg tried very hard not to think about the village chief's "miraculous blacksmith," which he had already told people in nearby towns about. He had made a small bed in the corner of the workshop and was seriously thinking about never leaving.
That plan worked until the door burst open on the fourth day. "I need a sword!"
The morning sun shone on a young woman standing in the doorway. She had on leather armor that had seen better days, a frayed cloak, and a chipped sword that looked like it would break if you breathed on it too hard. Her green eyes were full of determination, and her red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Greg sighed as he looked up from the bucket he was fixing. "You could at least knock first before barging in like that. As for your answer to 'I need a sword,' it is a clear no."
The woman blinked. "What?"
"I said no. I don't make weapons." Greg went back to work, carefully hammering out a dent.
"Try the smithy in Brooklyn, which is about two days east."
"But everyone says you're the best blacksmith in the area!" She walked forward, almost tripping over a pile of iron ingots.
Greg was shocked hearing he was famous already because of the rumors. This means he really can't live his peaceful life without people coming and barging in without knocking on the door.
"I heard you make legendary items. I need a legendary sword, please!"
"Sorry to say, I only make tools for farming," Greg said without any emotion.
"Very useful farming tools, apparently, but still just tools. Not weapons."
The adventurer looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "You have to be kidding. You can't be serious."
"Do you know how rare master blacksmiths are? You're wasting your skills on rakes and hoes?"
Greg put down his hammer and turned to look at her. "Let me know your name first."
"Marina," she said, standing up straight. "Member of the Crimson Falcons party, a bronze-rank adventurer."
"Well, Marina, let me tell you something about legendary weapons." Greg's voice was calm but firm.
"I made them for forty years in my old life— I meant village. Swords that could cut through mountains, spears that never missed, and axes that could cut down ancient trees with one swing."
"And do you know what happened?"
"What?"
"People are dying in wars and mass killings all over the world because they were too sure of their weapons. So no, I don't make weapons anymore, no matter how much money I could make."
Marina's determined look wavered a little. "I get why you're worried, but I'm not asking for a weapon of war."
"There's a young wyvern that's been terrorizing trade routes near here, and I need it to hunt monsters."
"My party is going to take it down, but my sword is barely holding together." She showed Greg her broken sword.
"Please! People are counting on us."
Greg looked closely at her face. She seemed real, not like the glory-seeking adventurers he had met before. But the answer was still the same.
He said again, "Like someone would say, no capes! But for me is no weapons. That's my final answer."
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? Now that. I can do it 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 to pay up?"
Greg waved her off. "Keep your money. Consider it my contribution to keeping trade routes safe, just without the direct violence."
"Thank you so much, you really are a good guy." As Marina left, looking confused but grateful, Greg set to work. Just a simple frying pan. Nothing fancy, nothing dangerous. Just good old-fashioned pots and pans that would last.
The problem was that his hands had other plans. He began with a thick iron base that would spread the heat evenly.
But as he worked, he kept making small changes to improve things. A handle that would never get too hot to hold. A surface that nothing could stick to. And since the wyvern could breathe fire, it might not hurt to be a little resistant to heat.
The runes showed up in the middle, just like they always did. Greg tried to limit the runes, but the metal seemed to absorb his thoughts and enhance everything he wanted the pan to accomplish.
When he was done, the frying pan shone like a mirror. It was perfectly balanced, surprisingly light even though it was almost impossible to break, and yes, there were definitely some runes carved into the edge that he hadn't meant to put there.
[Crafting Complete!]
[Item Made: Frying Pan of the Eternal Flame]
[Quality Rank: SSS]
[Special Properties: Can't be broken, has a perfect non-stick surface, absorbs and redirects fire damage, and can be used as an emergency shield]
[New Achievement: Kitchen Warrior]
[The gods are laughing]
"What the fuck...?"
Greg told himself firmly, "It's just a frying pan."
"What could go wrong?"
The statement he made raised red flag right there. He didn't notice it at all.
...
...
A week later, he learned the truth. Greg was working on a wagon wheel when he heard the noise in the village square. There was a lot of excited shouting around someone, and a crowd had formed. He felt shocked when he heard Marina's voice rise above the others.
Marina was waving her arms around and saying, "And then the wyvern came at me with another blast of fire!"
"But the pan just took it all in, making the beast look so confused when I threw its own flames back at its face!"
Greg let go of his hammer. "Oh god, please, no!"
He pushed through the crowd to see Marina standing proudly in the middle, unharmed, holding the frying pan like a trophy. Her party members stood around her, just as excited and a little burned.
A big guy who looked like he was the party tank said, "The pan was perfect for blocking attacks."
"When Marina got close and hit the wyvern over the head with it, it went down in one hit!"
"One hit?" the chief of the village said again, shocked.
"One hit!" Marina said.
"I think I really dented its skull with this amazing pan! It's better than any shield I've ever used."
Greg's eye twitched. "There's no way in hell..."
"And the best part is," Marina said, "we cooked some of the wyvern meat right there on the battlefield."
"It was the best meal we've ever had! Even though we were in a burned forest, nothing stuck to the pan, and it cooked perfectly."
People in the crowd cheered. People were already calling Marina the "Wyvern Slayer" and praising Greg as the brilliant person who had given her such a powerful weapon.
Greg finally yelled, "It's not a weapon! It's pots and pans!"
Marina saw him and smiled. "Master Greg!"
"Your frying pan is amazing! It saved my life!" She ran over, still holding the pan.
"Look, there's not even a scratch on it after fighting a wyvern. Could you please make me a pot that matches it? And maybe a ladle too?"
Greg said slowly, "You killed a monster with a frying pan."
"Well, I technically killed it with your frying pan," Marina said with a smile.
"There's a big difference. A normal pan would have bent or melted."
"It was meant to be used for cooking!"
"And it's excellent for cooking! But it's also great for self-defense." Marina's face got serious.
"Master Greg, I know you would rather not make weapons, but this pan kept me safe while I cooked."
"Isn't that what you wanted? Something that helps people but isn't meant to kill?"
Greg opened his mouth to argue, but then he shut it again. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Yes, the pan had kept her safe, but its main job was still to cook.
It was just a side effect of good craftsmanship that it could also be used as emergency protection. He didn't feel any better about the situation after that.
[Quest Complete: Make a Tool for Indirect Combat]
[Reward: 3 Skill Points]
[New Title: Culinary Combat Creator]
[The gods are having too much fun with this]
Greg said, "I fucking hate this system."
Marina asked, "What was that?"
"Nothing," Greg said with a deep sigh.
"Okay, I'll make you a pot and a ladle. But you know they're for cooking, right?"
"If I find out you've used them to fight, I'll never make you shits again."
Marina raise her thumbs up with a smile. "Got it, Master!"
"Only cooking tools. Unless there's an emergency, or a monster attacks while I'm cooking, or someone tries to steal my food."
Greg then paused and pointed at her. "What did I just say earlier?"
"Yes, yes. Only cooking. For sure."
Greg walked back to his workshop while she bounced away to celebrate with her friends. As he walked by, the villagers patted him on the back and told him what a wonderful tool he had made. Someone had already informed the travelers at the tavern about Greg's story.
Everyone in the area would know about the blacksmith who made legendary cookware that could kill wyverns by this time tomorrow. Greg fell onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling.
He said to no one in particular, "I just wanted to make peaceful things."
"Why is that so hard?"
[Because you do your job too well]
[Also, what "peaceful" means is different for everyone.]
[Would you like to make bedroom furniture next?]
"Stop talking and fuck off, will you?" Greg said with a groan.
[The gods suggest a bed that keeps people from having bad dreams]
[Or a rocking chair that calms even the most angry warriors]
Greg felt a small smile pull at his lips, though. It did sound nice to have a bed that kept nightmares away. That idea for a rocking chair could work.
"Okay," he said softly.
"But no more cookware for adventurers. This time I mean it."
[Of course you do]
[PS: Three more adventurers are going to Ferndale to ask for things.]
Greg put his blanket over his head. This new life was going to be long and feel like hell.