Reincarnated as an SSS-Ranked Blacksmith Who Refuses to Forge Weapons-Chapter 90. The Smell of Home

Chapter 90: 90. The Smell of Home
It took three days by carriage to get back to Ferndale, and every mile felt like a long time. Greg sat in the back of the Eternal Engine carriage, and Marina curled up next to him with a blanket around her shoulders.
She hadn’t let go of his hand since they left the dungeon, as if she was afraid he would disappear if she did. He understood how she felt because he kept checking to see if she was still breathing.
Bork drove in silence, his usual joyful energy replaced by something more serious and quiet. Felix was sitting next to him in the front, and every now and then he would look back at Greg and Marina with a look that looked like guilt and relief.
Seraphine had fallen asleep on Mira’s shoulder because she was worn out from days of using healing magic and keeping ice barriers up. Mira seemed quiet, too. She wasn’t reorganizing things like she usually does. Instead, she just held Seraphine and looked out the window.
There wasn’t much talking. In the blood and darkness of the Sunken Citadel, there was nothing more to say.
Helena, the guild master, stayed behind with her team to collect the bodies and write down everything. She said she would call them within a week to talk about what would happen next, both legally and politically.
Even if killing Elias was justified, Greg knew there would be consequences. Adventurers with an S rank didn’t die without investigations, questions, or people wanting answers.
But that was a problem for later. At this point, he just wanted to go home.
...
Greg felt a little bit of tension in his chest ease when they finally got to Ferndale on the third day. The village looked just like it did when they left, calm and quiet in the late autumn sun.
There was smoke coming from the chimneys, kids were playing in the streets, and the smell of fresh bread came from the bakery. Given everything they had experienced, the normalcy of the scene felt almost wrong.
The carriage stopped in front of Greg’s workshop, and before it could even stop, the door flew open and Lylia ran out. She looked pale, and her eyes were red, like she had been crying for days. Elwen came up behind her, holding one of her sketchbooks to her chest like a shield, and Donetta, who looked unusually serious.
"Greg!" Lylia yelled, and before Greg could even get up, she was at the door of the carriage.
She looked at him quickly, taking in the bruises on his face, the bandages on his hands, and the tired look in his eyes. Then she looked past him and saw Marina, and her face fell. "Oh gods, Marina!"
Marina forced a weak smile. "Hey, Lylia... Sorry, we’re late."
"Late?! It’s been more than two months since you left!" Lylia’s voice broke when she said the last word. "We’ve been going crazy with worry."
"The crystal went dark weeks ago, and we thought... we thought..."
Greg knew why she couldn’t finish the sentence. They had the same thought as everyone else that the trip had failed, that everyone was dead, and that Greg had gotten there too late.
Greg said softly, "We’re okay," but the words sounded like a lie. "We got back at the end, that’s all that matters."
Lylia stared at him for a long time, and he could tell the exact moment she realized that something big had changed. She gasped and reached out to touch his face, her fingers softly brushing against his bruised cheek. "What went wrong down there?"
Greg said, "We can talk about that later..."
"Can you please help us inside right now? We all need to be safe for a while, and Marina needs to rest."
Lylia quickly nodded and stepped back so they could get out of the carriage. Greg was the first to climb down.
When Marina tried to stand, she swayed on her feet. He picked her up without even thinking about it, even though his tired muscles were telling him to stop.
"Greg, I can walk," Marina said, but her words didn’t have much power behind them.
Greg said, "I know. But you don’t have to."
He took her inside, and the smell of the workshop hit him like a physical thing. There was sawdust and metal, leather and oil, and the faint smell of whatever Lylia had been cooking that morning. Greg could smell the scent of home, and he felt something inside him that had been wound too tightly finally starting to come apart.
Lylia had already moved ahead of them and made room on the long wooden table where Greg usually kept his tools and sketches. "Put her here. I’ll get water, bandages, and... food."
"Food is what you all need. When was the last time you all had a tasty meal?"
Felix said quietly from behind them, "I don’t remember. Everything blends together."
Elwen stood next to Greg, her big eyes shining with tears that she hadn’t cried yet. "Master Greg, are you... hurt? Your hands..."
Greg looked at his bandaged knuckles and felt sick to his stomach. The Guild’s medics had bandaged them up, but he could still feel the ghost of the impact and remember how his fists broke bones. "I’m okay, Elwen. Just sleepy... the old usual self, you know."
"You’re not fine," Lylia said sharply.
When Greg looked at her, he saw the steel in her face that reminded him that she had once been a Royal Knight. "None of you are okay. So, everyone, please sit down and let me take care of you. That’s not a request."
No one disagreed. They were all too exhausted to argue about it.
Greg put Marina on the bench next to the table and made sure she was steady before letting go. She grabbed his hand again right away, and her fingers went through his.
He sat down next to her without even thinking about it. Bork fell heavily into a chair, Felix almost fell into another one, and Seraphine carefully lowered herself onto the bench across from Greg and Marina, with Mira hovering protectively next to her.
Lylia moved around the kitchen like a possessed woman, taking out pots and pans, lighting fires, and chopping vegetables with a level of focus that made it seem like she needed to do something to keep from falling apart. Elwen and Donetta helped her, but Elwen kept looking back at Greg with a look that made her chest hurt.
"I made soup," Lylia said after a few minutes, her voice steady. "And bread."
"There’s also stew that has been cooking all day because I kept thinking that today might be the day you came back, so I made food just in case."
"Well, in fact, I’ve made food every day for two weeks."
Marina’s grip on Greg’s hand got stronger. "Thanks, Lylia..."
"You really are kind..."