A threat

CHAPTER 7

"You know, I never thought your people would find me," I said to the man sitting casually in front of my house with a walking stick. His ginger hair peeked out from beneath a cloak that covered most of his body.

"Well," he replied with a sly grin, "you did try your best. But it wasn't good enough. You left hints, even if you didn't realize it."

"I see... Well, what do you want? I don't have anything a god would want to buy in my humble blacksmith store," I said to the stranger, his divine aura unmistakable.

"I just want to talk," he replied, standing leisurely. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I sighed, my distaste evident. "I don't like gods, but what choice do I have?" I muttered while walking to my door. Taking out my key, I unlocked it and pushed it open. Turning to the god, I gestured inside. "Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you," said the stranger as he stepped inside. I noticed a limp in his right leg, and his gait was uneven but deliberate.

Walking behind him, I veered off to the kitchen while he made his way to the sitting room. I brewed some tea with leaves I'd gathered from the forest behind my house. Once ready, I carried three items to the sitting room: two cups of tea and a jar of honey.

Placing the items on the table, I opened the jar and added two spoonfuls of honey to my tea, stirring it carefully. Then, I passed the jar to the divine stranger, who mirrored my actions but added three spoonfuls instead.

I settled into my seat, sipping my tea while observing him as he finished preparing his tea.

After stirring his tea, the god took a long, uninterrupted sip that seemed almost impossible for a mortal. It was the kind of sip you could only take if you didn't need air—and being a god, he probably didn't.

When he finally finished, he set the cup down with a deliberate motion and looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"This is good tea," he said.

"Thank you," I replied.

And then, silence.

The room felt heavy with unspoken words as the minutes stretched on. Neither of us spoke for what felt like an eternity, the stillness broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling.

"I have a question," I finally said, cutting through the quiet.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"How did you find me? I made sure to keep everything about me hidden. I didn't use large amounts of magic, and I avoided divine abilities altogether."

"You did well to hide yourself," he admitted, nodding. "But here's the thing—I'm the god of smithing. I know every technique there is for creating anything. I could craft a human if I wanted, and I have before. I made the first woman. So, when I felt a new technique being used in a forge—one I didn't recognize—I had to investigate. To my surprise, it wasn't just any mortal smith. It was a foreign divinity using it."

"So, you found me because I used a technique you didn't know about? But how did you sense me using it in the first place?"

"As the god of smithing, anything involving a forge or crafting in this land is within my domain. No matter where it happens, I know of it."

"Does anyone else know about me?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he said thoughtfully. "But I think Kratos does. After all, you did help her daughter."

I blinked, stunned. "Pluie is the daughter of Kratos? As in Kratos—the god of strength?"

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "The very same one."

"That's... unexpected," I said, crossing my arms. "But better now than never, I suppose. Let's cut to the chase—what do you want from me?"

He leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade. "You. I want to know who you are, where you're from, how you got here, and why you're hiding from us."

I frowned. "No. I won't let you turn me into some divine science project. I've had enough of God meddling in my life."

The air grew thick and heavy, the temperature rising unnaturally. The wooden beams of my house groaned in protest, and his eyes ignited with flames that seemed to pierce through me. "You don't have a choice."

My instincts surged to life. The Warrior avatar activated, and in an instant, my golden sword materialized. Power coursed through me, filling every fiber of my being. My heart pounded like a war drum, and my breaths came steady and deep. "I always have a choice," I said, my voice low and resolute.

His fiery aura receded as his expression softened, though his eyes still held a simmering intensity. I didn't lower my guard, keeping my sword at the ready.

"If you somehow manage to kill me," he said calmly, "I'll just come back. And when I do, the others will know exactly where to find you. You know what that means, don't you?" His voice was steady, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

"I'm not letting you experiment on me," I said firmly. "And I don't care who comes after me."

His expression darkened, and his words cut like steel. "What if I start with your little apprentice? Pluie, isn't it?"

My body moved before I could think. One hand slammed onto the table, and the other swung the golden sword. Its edge stopped just shy of his neck, the blade drawing a thin line of golden ichor. The god's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing into an unreadable expression.

"I will take your head before you lay a finger on her," I said, my voice cold and unwavering.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he raised a hand and pushed the sword aside with a measured calmness that only deepened my frustration. "Fine," he said, his tone almost amused. "No need to be so dramatic."

I didn't lower my sword, but I listened as he continued. "How about a trade? You like magical items, don't you? I'll craft you ten—good ones, I promise. In return, you let me study your technique. That way, I get what I want, you get some shiny toys, and I don't mention your existence to anyone. It's a win-win."

I hesitated, pulling back my sword but not dismissing it entirely. My mind raced through my options. Fighting him was out of the question—my chances of winning were practically nonexistent. And as much as it burned my pride, accepting the deal seemed the safest path forward.

Still, the thought of relying on a god made my stomach churn. If another Campione knew, they'd call me a disgrace, a failure of the Godslayer name. But this wasn't just about my pride. It was about survival—mine and Pluie's.

"Fine," I said, at last, my voice clipped. "When do we start?"

He smiled faintly, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "Right now."

Before I could react, his hand gripped my shoulder. The world spun, and I felt the unmistakable pull of divine teleportation.

When the dizziness faded, I found myself standing on a narrow railing overlooking a sea of molten lava. Heat waves shimmered in the air, and the metallic tang of molten ore filled my nose. The forge was colossal, lit by the glow of molten metal and the roaring flames of countless furnaces.

In front of me stood an imposing door with a massive sign that read:

"Do not disturb, or you're getting nothing."