The gods' prediction was off by exactly one day. On the fourth morning after their warning, a carriage bearing the royal seal rolled into Ferndale. It was far too fancy for the village's dirt roads, all polished wood and gold trim, pulled by horses that probably cost more than most houses in the area.
Greg watched from his workshop window as the carriage came to a stop in the square. A coachman in formal livery opened the door, and out stepped a woman who looked like winter personified.
She was tall and slender, with long silver hair that fell past her shoulders in perfectly straight lines. Her robes were pristine white with blue accents, clearly expensive and tailored to perfection.
Most striking were her eyes, a pale blue that seemed to assess everything with cold calculation. Ice crystals literally floated around her, a casual display of magical power that made several villagers back away nervously.
"Oh no," Greg muttered.
The woman surveyed the village with an expression of barely concealed disdain, as if she'd stepped in something unpleasant. Her gaze swept across the modest buildings, the dirt roads, and the simple folk going about their daily business before finally settling on Lylia's Kitchen, where a crowd was already forming for lunch.
Greg watched as she approached the restaurant, spoke briefly with Lylia, and then turned to look directly at his workshop. Even from this distance, Greg could feel the weight of her analytical stare.
"Yeah, she's definitely here for me," Greg said, already resigning himself to whatever complicated situation was about to unfold.
The knock on his door was precise and perfunctory, three sharp raps that demanded attention. Greg opened it to find the ice mage standing there, flanked by two guards who looked uncomfortable in the summer heat.
"Greg Greyson?" Her voice was crisp and formal, with an accent that screamed noble education.
"I am Seraphine Frostwhisper, Royal Mage of the Third Circle and researcher for the Kingdom's Magical Artifacts Division."
"I'm here to investigate reports of multiple SSS-ranked items appearing in this region."
"Right. Of course you are." Greg leaned against the doorframe.
"Let me guess, you want to confiscate them for study or something?"
Seraphine's perfect composure cracked slightly, one eyebrow rising. "Confiscate?"
"No. I'm here to meet the creator. The kingdom's magical sensors have detected at least seven SSS-ranked items within a ten-mile radius of this village, all appearing within the last month." She pulled out a crystal that glowed with various colored lights.
"That level of activity suggests either a dungeon break, a divine intervention, or the presence of an ancient artifact smith."
"Or just a guy who's really good at his job," Greg offered.
"SSS-ranked items don't simply appear because someone is 'good at their job,'" Seraphine said with the patience of someone explaining basic concepts to a child.
"They require either centuries of masterwork crafting, divine blessing, or access to lost ancient techniques."
"The fact that you've created seven in less than a month suggests you're either a reincarnated god of smithing or in possession of a legendary artifact that amplifies your abilities."
Greg blinked. "That's a lot of assumptions based on some fancy cookware."
"Cookware?" Seraphine's tone suggested she didn't appreciate jokes.
"I've reviewed the reports."
"A farming hoe that causes localized earthquakes. A frying pan capable of deflecting dragon fire. A ladle that absorbs and redirects magic."
"These aren't simple cooking tools, Mr. Greyson. These are weapons disguised as household items."
"They're not weapons," Greg said firmly. "They're tools."
"The fact that people use them for self-defense sometimes doesn't make them weapons. That's like saying a hammer is a weapon just because you could hit someone with it."
Seraphine opened her mouth to argue, then paused. "That's actually a philosophically interesting point, but it doesn't address the core issue. How are you creating these items?"
"I just make things," Greg shrugged. "Good quality things that last. Not my fault if the system decides they're legendary."
"The system?" Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "You have a crafting system?"
"That would explain the consistency of quality, but not the ridiculous power levels. Even with a divine system, most crafters produce B or A-rank items at best."
"SSS-rank should be nearly impossible without specialized materials or rituals."
"Yeah, well, I don't do rituals. I just work." Greg stepped back into his workshop.
"Look, if you want to watch me make something, go ahead. But I'm not going to sit here and be interrogated like I've done something wrong."
Seraphine followed him inside, her guards remaining at the door. She looked around the modest workshop with clear skepticism, taking in the simple forge, basic tools, and cluttered workbench.
"This is it? No magical circles? No enchantment arrays? No rare material storage?" She picked up a hammer from the bench, examining it.
"This is just a regular smithing hammer."
"Yep." Greg was already pulling out materials for his next commission, a butter knife for the village chief.
"What were you expecting, a glowing altar made of dragon bones?"
"Frankly, yes." Seraphine set down the hammer carefully. "Every master craftsman I've studied had elaborate setups."
"Ancient forges blessed by fire spirits, hammers passed down through generations, sacred anvils struck by lightning. You have none of that."
"Don't need it," Greg said, heating up his forge. "I've got skill, materials, and apparently a system that likes to mess with me. That's enough."
He started working on the butter knife, falling into the familiar rhythm of shaping metal. As he worked, he found himself humming an old tune from his previous life, something about a blacksmith and his daughter. It helped him focus, kept his hands steady.
Seraphine watched in silence for a few minutes, her analytical expression gradually shifting to confusion. "You're singing while you work."
"Helps me concentrate," Greg said without looking up.
"But this is artifact crafting. It requires intense focus, precise magical control, and careful attention to runic alignment." Seraphine stepped closer.
"You should be chanting incantations or at least maintaining complete silence."
"Should I?" Greg continued humming, his hammer striking the metal in rhythm with the tune. The runes began appearing as they always did, flowing across the blade of the butter knife in elegant patterns.
"You're not even consciously directing the enchantments!" Seraphine's voice rose slightly, her composure finally cracking.
"They're forming on their own based on your intent and the rhythm of your work. That shouldn't be possible without decades of practice binding your will to your craft."
"Had decades of practice in my last life," Greg said absently, then realized what he'd just admitted. "Uh, forget I said that."
But Seraphine was too focused on the butter knife to notice. The runes were multiplying, covering the small blade with intricate patterns that glowed softly. "What is it doing? What properties are you adding?"
"Just want it to spread butter smoothly without tearing the bread," Greg said. "Maybe stay sharp longer than normal. Nothing fancy."
[Crafting Complete!]
[Item Created: Knife of Perfect Spreading]
[Quality Rank: SSS]
[Special Properties: Indestructible, Spreads any substance perfectly, Never needs sharpening, Slight warming effect for cold butter]
[Achievement: Even Your Butter Knives Are Legendary]
[This is getting embarrassing]
Greg held up the finished knife, which gleamed with an almost ethereal light. "See? Just a butter knife."
Seraphine took the knife with trembling hands, her icy composure completely shattered. "This is a masterwork. For spreading butter. You've created a legendary artifact for spreading butter."
"Beats making swords," Greg said.
"But why?" Seraphine looked at him with genuine bewilderment.
"With your abilities, you could craft weapons that would make kingdoms tremble. Armor that could stop dragon claws. Magical items that could change the course of wars."
"Why waste your talent on butter knives and cooking pots?"
Greg set down his hammer and met her eyes. "Because I've already made those weapons."
"Spent forty years doing it, watching people die because of what I created. I'm done with that life. If I'm going to make legendary items now, they're going to be things that help people live, not things that help them kill."
"That's absurd," Seraphine said automatically, but her tone lacked conviction.
"Power should be used for power's sake. Creating weapons for the kingdom would bring you wealth, status, protection."
"And send me right back to the life I died escaping," Greg finished.
"No thanks. I'd rather make ridiculous cookware in a small village than become the capital's weapon supplier."
Seraphine was quiet for a long moment, turning the butter knife over in her hands. The ice crystals around her had stopped swirling, settling into a calm pattern. "You really mean that."
"You'd rather be unknown and peaceful than famous and powerful."
"Every single day of the week," Greg confirmed.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Seraphine said, but she was smiling slightly.
"Most people would kill for your abilities and the recognition they'd bring."
"Most people haven't watched their creations cause wars," Greg said quietly.
The ice mage studied him with new eyes, the cold analytical gaze replaced by something more thoughtful. "The reports said you were eccentric. They didn't mention you had principles."
"Is that going to be a problem? Are you here to drag me back to the capital?"
"I'm here to study the anomaly," Seraphine said, straightening her robes.
"Which apparently means studying you and your philosophy of peaceful artifact creation. The kingdom will want a full report."
"Great. More attention," Greg muttered.
"However," Seraphine continued, "I see no reason to rush that report. Thorough research takes time."
"I'll need to observe your work, interview your clients, and fully understand the implications of your methods." She tucked the butter knife into her robe.
"I'll be staying in the village for the foreseeable future."
"Of course you will," Greg said, though he noticed she seemed more curious than hostile now. "Let me guess, you'll want a room at the inn?"
"Already arranged. The village chief was very accommodating once I mentioned I was here on official business." Seraphine moved toward the door, then paused.
"That song you were humming. What was it?"
"Just an old tune about a blacksmith and his daughter," Greg said.
"It was quite pleasant," Seraphine said, almost reluctantly.
"Perhaps you could teach it to me sometime. For research purposes, of course."
After she left, Greg sat down at his workbench and stared at the ceiling. A Royal Knight turned chef, an adventurer with dragon-killing cookware, and now a kingdom researcher who was supposedly here to study him but seemed more interested in his anti-weapon philosophy.
His peaceful life was getting crowded with interesting women, and Greg wasn't sure how he felt about that. "What's the next worse things that could happen..."
[Quest Update: Deal with Your Growing Reputation]
[New objective: Don't let the ice mage discover too much too quickly]
[Bonus objective: Teach her your humming song]
[The gods are thoroughly entertained]
"I hate all of you," Greg said to the system, but he couldn't help smiling a little.
Despite the complications, it was nice to have people who understood, or were at least trying to understand, why he'd chosen this path. Even if one of them was a stuck-up ice mage who probably thought singing while working was unprofessional.