The year is 303 of the Unification Calendar.
Emperor Emeritus IV, the Descending Star, issued a holy decree.
Across the vast lands of the Star Empire, imperial criers climbed stone platforms, city gates, and forum pillars. Trumpets sounded before each proclamation, their brass voices echoing through streets, markets, and plazas.
Then the decree was read.
The Emperor declared that the time had come for the Empire to complete what the ancestors had begun. The Great Wild, that endless expanse of monster-haunted forests, jagged mountains, and untamed valleys beyond the empire’s borders, would no longer remain unconquered.
By imperial will, the Wild would be claimed. Any man or woman brave enough to enter the frontier and tame land from the Wild, expanding the borders of the Empire, would be granted nobility.
Land taken from the Wild would not fall under the traditional authority of the old noble houses. Instead, the frontier would be established as a Special Administrative Territory, where claims to land could be openly contested. Through local battle, competition, and proof of development, settlers would establish their right to rule.
Strength would determine ownership.
Achievement would determine rank.
And the Emperor would watch.
The decree spread like wildfire. In taverns, young adventurers slammed their cups on tables, swearing to claim their own dominions.
In academies, scholars argued about monster ecology and frontier logistics.
Merchants began calculating the profits of supplying an endless frontier.
Crafters sharpened tools and prepared to sell their craft where demand would explode.
And among them all were the Seekers—fighters, hunters, and fortune-seekers who thrived where monsters roamed.
Thousands rushed toward the frontier. The empire had begun a race.
A race for land, power, and nobility.
Among those inspired by the decree was a young man named Maximillian.
Max, as most people called him, was nothing remarkable at first glance. He was the apprentice of a baker from a small provincial town, with flour-dusted hands and the restless energy of someone who had never quite learned how to stand still.
But when the imperial criers announced the decree in his town square, something inside him ignited. So he packed his belongings, took the little money he had saved, and joined the wave of hopeful workers heading toward the frontier.
His destination was Fossa Nova. A city that did not yet truly exist.
When Max first saw it, he blinked in disbelief. Instead of towers and walls, he found a sea of scaffolding, wooden huts, half-built stone structures, and muddy streets crowded with carts, laborers, and shouting overseers.
The air smelled of fresh timber, smoke, and wet earth.
It was chaos.
And Max loved it immediately.
“Now here,” he muttered to himself as he stepped over a ditch where someone was attempting to install drainage pipes, “is where I should be.”
A passing laborer gave him a strange look.
Max only grinned.
Construction sites always reminded him of baking. You gathered the ingredients, built the structure, applied the right heat, and hoped the end result didn’t collapse.
Simple.
Like thousands of others who had come before him, Max searched for work. In his case, that meant knocking on the doors of bakeries.
The first one turned him away immediately.
“No room for apprentices.”
The second didn’t even let him finish speaking.
The third demanded a fee Max couldn’t afford.
By the time he reached the fourth, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon.
This bakery was… modest.
Calling it a bakery was generous. It was a wooden hut with a crude chimney, standing slightly crooked in one of the less desirable districts of the growing city. A hand-painted board hung above the door. It was so badly painted that Max had to lean closer to read it.
He knocked.
A moment later, the door creaked open. The man who looked out was old. Not the kind of old that simply meant grey hair. This was the kind of old that came from too many years and too many experiences.
His back was slightly bent, his beard thin but long, and deep lines carved permanent shadows into his face.
But his eyes were sharp. Sharp enough to study Max from head to toe in a single glance.
“You’re not here to rob me,” the old man said calmly.
Max blinked.
“Well, that’s a very confident opening line.”
The old man shrugged.
“Anyone who wants to rob a bakery doesn’t knock first.”
“Fair point.”
Max straightened.
“Maximillian. Apprentice baker.”
The old man raised an eyebrow.
“Apprentice?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have experience?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can knead dough?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You complain?”
Max hesitated.
“…only if the dough complains first.”
The old man stared at him for a moment.
Then he chuckled. A dry, quiet sound.
“I’m Aldus,” he said, opening the door wider. “Owner of this magnificent establishment.”
Max stepped inside. The interior was simple. One work table. Several sacks of flour. A small storage corner.
And most importantly—
A tannur oven, built from clay and reinforced stone.
Max immediately leaned closer, studying it like a scholar examining an ancient artifact.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” he said quickly. “You reinforced the heat chamber with layered brick instead of stone. That distributes the heat more evenly but takes longer to warm up—”
Aldus blinked.
“…You’ve been inside my bakery for five seconds.”
“Yes, but ovens speak if you listen properly.”
Aldus stared.
Max coughed and straightened.
“Sorry. Baking habit.”
The old man rubbed his beard.
“You’re strange.”
“I prefer enthusiastic.”
Another pause.
Finally Aldus sighed.
“I barely opened this place,” he said. “And I barely have customers.”
Max nodded seriously.
“That’s perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“Yes. Means plenty of room for improvement.”
Aldus laughed again.
“You’re either foolish or honest.”
“Both, usually.”
Max gestured outside.
“I can pitch my tent on the empty plot beside the hut. I’ll work hard, learn fast, and help the bakery grow.”
“And what do you want in return?”
Max smiled.
“Flour, knowledge… and eventually a roller pin.”
Aldus’s eyes narrowed.
“So you noticed.”
“Of course.”
Because on a shelf near the oven rested a simple object.
A roller pin.
But it carried a faint, steady glow.
A Masterwork level artifact.
In the Empire, artifacts were power.
Every craft, every trade, every form of combat relied on them.
Artifacts were tools made from magical materials and carefully crafted structures. Their quality determined their rank.
Common.
Superior.
Masterwork.
Relic.
Legendary.
Myth.
And somewhere in tales, Divine.
A respected master of any profession possessed at least one Superior level artifact.
For a baker, that was usually a roller pin. Sometimes, for the truly accomplished, even a tannur oven artifact.
Most apprentices worked for years to earn the right to inherit such tools. They either paid for them through long service… or received them when their masters retired.
Until then, they used the master’s tools.
Aldus only owned one artifact. An old Superior-level roller pin.
It had clearly seen many years of use.
Aldus noticed Max staring.
“That belonged to my father,” he said quietly.
Max nodded respectfully.
“If you work hard,” Aldus continued, “maybe one day it will belong to you.”
Max grinned.
“That’s motivation.”
The old man leaned against the doorway.
“I didn’t come to the frontier for glory,” Aldus said after a moment.
“My family lived in a quiet town once.”
His voice remained calm, but the air in the room seemed heavier.
“Then monsters came down from the mountains.”
Max said nothing.
Aldus continued.
“They took everything.”
For a long moment, Aldus said nothing.
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Max undertood he would taking on a heavy responsability.
Then he nodded slowly.
“You can set your tent outside,” the old man said.
Max beamed.
“Thank you, master Aldus!”
“Don’t call me master yet.”
“Future master?”
Aldus sighed.
“…Just start kneading the dough.”
Max rolled up his sleeves immediately.
“Yes, sir!”
However, Max’s simple plans were suddenly overturned.
It happened only three nights after he had pitched his tent beside Aldus’s bakery. The ground there was still rough, the district barely developed, and Max had decided to dig a shallow trench around the tent to keep rainwater from flooding inside. He worked under lantern light, humming quietly while pushing the shovel into the earth.
“Always prepare the dough bowl before the rain,” he muttered to himself. “Same principle.”
Then the shovel struck something.
Clunk.
Max paused.
“That’s not soil.”
He crouched and brushed the dirt away with his hands.
Soon, a corner of dark wood appeared.
“A buried box?” he whispered.
Curiosity immediately replaced his exhaustion.
Max dug faster, uncovering an ancient chest, its wood darkened with age and its metal corners eaten by rust. Strange symbols were carved along the surface, faint but still visible beneath the dirt.
“That's definitely not normal construction debris.” Max murmured.
He dragged the chest out of the hole and wiped the lid. A lock sealed it shut.
Max tried to open it.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
“Hmm.”
He inspected the lock, turning it left and right.
“No keyhole…”
He scratched his head.
“Well that’s inconvenient.”
As he continued examining it, a splinter from the chest scratched his finger.
“Ah—!”
A drop of blood fell onto the lock.
For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the lock emitted a faint click.
Max froze.
“…That was not supposed to happen.”
Slowly, very slowly, he lifted the lid. Inside rested a single object.
An artifact.
But not one Max had ever seen before.
It looked… strange.
It was made of dull metal, with a crude handle and a vaguely geometric shape that didn’t resemble any tool Max recognized. The craftsmanship looked poor, almost careless, as if someone had tried to build a tool without understanding how tools worked.
Max blinked.
“That’s it?”
He expected jewels. Glowing symbols. Something impressive. Instead it looked like something a beginner apprentice might accidentally forge on their worst day.
He carefully picked it up.
The moment the artifact left the chest, the wood beneath it collapsed into gray dust.
Max jumped backward.
The chest crumbled completely, dissolving into ashes that scattered in the wind. Only the strange artifact remained.
Max stared at it.
“…Well that’s concerning.”
He turned it in his hands, studying every angle.
“What are you supposed to be?”
He tapped it.
No reaction.
He flipped it around again.
Still nothing.
The more he examined it, the more confused he became.
“I’ve seen hammers, chisels, scrapers, kneading blades… even those ridiculous fish-scaling forks,” he muttered. “But you? I have no idea.”
Max sighed.
“You know what would actually be useful?”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched.
“A roller pin.”
The artifact shifted in his hand.
Max blinked.
The metal twisted, folded, and reshaped itself like liquid iron. Within a single breath, the strange tool became a perfect roller pin.
Max stared.
“…What.”
Then he dropped it.
The artifact hit the ground and instantly snapped back into its original unknown form.
Max took three cautious steps backward.
“That… was really not normal.”
He stared at the tool for a long moment.
Then slowly walked back toward it.
“Alright,” he whispered, crouching down. “Let’s test a theory.”
He picked it up again.
“Chisel.”
Nothing happened.
He frowned.
“…Roller pin?”
Still nothing.
Max scratched his chin.
Then he tried to imagine the tool. The artifact immediately transformed again.
Max’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
He grinned.
“Oh!”
For the next hour, Max tested the artifact like a child discovering a new toy.
“Knife!”
Shift.
“Shovel!”
Shift.
“Saw!”
Shift.
“Carpenter’s square!”
Shift.
Each time the artifact changed shape smoothly, perfectly replicating the tool he imagined.
Max leaned back against the tent pole, breathing quickly.
“This… this is insane.”
Artifacts already held incredible value. But one that could become any tool?
Max swallowed.
“It has to be high-level.”
He turned the tool again, examining its dull metal and awkward craft.
“But then why do you look like you were forged by a blind apprentice?”
The poor appearance was almost laughable.
Then again…
Max’s eyes slowly widened.
“…Actually, that might be a good thing.”
If the artifact looked impressive, someone might try to steal it.
But looking like a useless piece of scrap?
That was the perfect disguise.
Max nodded thoughtfully.
“Still,” he muttered, “high-level artifacts always have special properties.”
He tapped the roller pin against his palm.
“Well… I know baking.”
He suddenly stood.
“Experiment time.”
The bakery was dark when he entered.
Because it was the middle of the night.
Max didn’t even notice.
He quietly prepared flour, water, and yeast.
The familiar rhythm calmed him.
“Alright,” he whispered to the artifact.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
He shaped the dough, then picked up the roller pin.
The moment he rolled it across the dough—
Max froze.
The dough spread perfectly.
Not just flattened.
Perfect.
Each pass of the roller pin smoothed the dough further, improving its texture in a way Max had never experienced before.
He ran the pin again.
And again.
The dough became softer, lighter, and more elastic with every motion.
Max’s breathing quickened.
“This is ridiculous.”
Normally kneading took time.
Effort.
Skill.
Now the dough responded like it wanted to become perfect.
Max finished in a fraction of the usual time.
“Four times faster,” he whispered.
“…maybe five.”
He stared at the dough.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s get ambitious.”
He held the artifact.
“Tannur.”
The roller pin twisted and expanded.
Moments later, a small tannur oven stood before him.
Its appearance was still crude. The metal surface looked unfinished, the structure awkward and plain.
But Max no longer cared about appearances.
He filled the base with coal and lit the fire. Then he carefully placed the dough inside.
Max crouched beside the oven, watching it without a single detail.
The heat circulated perfectly. The baking process felt… controlled.
The crust developed a beautiful golden color. The smell alone nearly made Max dizzy.
His stomach growled loudly.
When the bread was finally ready, he pulled it out with trembling hands.
Steam rose gently from the loaf. Max tore off a piece and tasted it.
He froze.
His eyes widened.
“…This.”
He slowly chewed.
The crust was crisp but delicate. The interior was soft, airy, and perfectly balanced. The flavor was deeper than anything he had ever baked before.
Max leaned against the table.
“…This is the best bread I’ve ever eaten.”
He looked at the artifact.
And finally understood.
This wasn’t just a useful tool. This was a treasure beyond measure.
Max’s expression slowly became serious.
“I will never tell anyone about you.”
He held the artifact tightly.
“Not a single soul.”
At first, Max decided to use it only carefully.
During baking, he alternated between the artifact roller pin and Aldus’s Masterwork level pin.
Never the entire process.
Never too obviously.
Still, the improvement was noticeable.
Within days, Aldus began staring at the dough with suspicion.
Then at Max.
Then back at the dough.
Finally he crossed his arms.
“Boy.”
Max looked up innocently.
“Yes, master Aldus?”
“You’re doing something.”
Max blinked.
“Doing something?”
“With the dough.”
Max laughed nervously.
“Well, technically that is the job—”
Aldus narrowed his eyes.
“This bread is better.”
Max scratched his head.
“Well… practice?”
The old man studied him for a long moment.
Then sighed.
“Hmph.”
He turned away.
“I suppose hard work does produce results.”
Max quietly exhaled in relief.
Aldus didn’t press further.
He trusted the boy.
Months passed.
Customers slowly began talking.
Then recommending.
Then returning with friends.
Soon the small bakery in the forgotten district of Fossa Nova began attracting long lines every morning. People crossed entire districts just to buy a loaf.
One afternoon Aldus stood outside the bakery watching the crowd.
He rubbed his beard.
“…How.”
Max wiped flour from his hands.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “good ingredients, patience, and the right temperature.”
Aldus squinted at him.
Max grinned.
“Bread is serious business.”
The old man chuckled.
And little by little, he began leaving more responsibilities to Max.
The oven.
The recipes.
The morning batches.
Before long, the truth was undeniable. The humble hut bakery had become famous. They were now known for baking the best bread in the entire city of Fossa Nova.
And the frontier city was growing every day.
As the months passed, Aldus worked less and less.
At first it happened gradually. He would knead the dough for only one batch instead of three. Then he would only supervise the oven. Later he simply sat beside the worktable, giving occasional advice.
Max did most of the work now.
The old baker insisted he was merely enjoying the luxury of having a capable apprentice.
But Max noticed the truth.
It was as if a great burden had finally been lifted from the old man’s shoulders, revealing the fragile body beneath it. Without the constant struggle to survive, Aldus seemed to age ten years in only a few months.
His hands trembled more often.
His breathing became shallow.
Sometimes he stared into the distance for long minutes.
Max tried everything to lift his spirits.
“Master, you should bake today,” Max insisted one morning, pushing a bowl of dough toward him. “Your hands still know the rhythm better than mine.”
The old man chuckled softly.
“My hands know many things,” he replied. “Unfortunately, strength is no longer one of them.”
“You just need practice again.”
“I have been practicing for sixty years, boy.”
Max crossed his arms stubbornly.
“That just means you’re an expert.”
Aldus smiled, but shook his head.
“I am content watching you now.”
One evening, Max prepared dinner as usual.
Fresh bread, warm stew, and a small cup of cheap wine.
He carried the tray to Aldus’s small room behind the bakery. The door was slightly open.
Max knocked softly.
“Master? Dinner—”
The old man was lying on the bed, staring calmly at the ceiling.
For a moment Max thought he had fallen asleep.
Then Aldus turned his head slowly.
“Ah, Max.”
His voice was weak, but peaceful.
Max immediately felt something tighten in his chest.
“Here,” Max said quickly, placing the tray down. “You should eat while it's warm.”
Aldus gestured for him to sit.
“Stay a moment.”
Max obeyed, pulling a chair beside the bed.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Finally Aldus said quietly,
“I think my time is coming.”
Max froze.
“No.”
“Max—”
“No,” Max repeated, his voice shaking. “You’re just tired. I can call a healer. The city has several now. They say some of them even carry Relic level medical artifacts—”
Aldus gently grabbed his wrist.
His grip was weak, but firm enough to stop him.
“No healers.”
“But—”
“I am not afraid.”
Max’s eyes filled with tears.
“That’s not the point!”
Aldus looked at him with a soft expression.
“Young people always think death is an enemy.”
“Because it is!”
The old man chuckled faintly.
“No. It is simply the end of a journey.”
He turned his gaze toward the window.
“You know… I should have died years ago.”
Max frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“When the monsters came,” Aldus said quietly. “They took my wife. My two children.”
The room became silent.
“I survived,” he continued. “Not because I was strong… but because I was lucky.”
His eyes softened.
“For a long time, I asked myself why.”
Max swallowed.
Then Aldus looked back at him.
“I think it was because I still had something left to do.”
Max shook his head slowly.
“You built this bakery.”
Aldus smiled.
“No.”
He raised a weak finger toward Max.
“I found you.”
Max’s breath caught.
“My job,” Aldus whispered, “was to make sure you would stand on your own feet.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“And now you do.”
Max lowered his head, tears falling onto his hands.
After a while Aldus spoke again.
“Max.”
“Yes?”
The old man studied him carefully.
“Would you like to tell me your secret?”
Max froze.
His heart skipped a beat.
“…What?”
Aldus smiled knowingly.
“Do you think an old baker cannot recognize bread?”
Max said nothing.
“You tried to hide it well,” Aldus continued. “But bread tells the truth.”
Max looked up slowly.
“You… knew?”
“I suspected.”
The old man’s voice was calm.
“I am leaving soon. Whatever your secret is… it will die with me.”
Silence filled the room.
Max’s thoughts raced.
Fear.
Relief.
Uncertainty.
For months he had believed he was hiding the artifact perfectly.
But Aldus had seen through him.
Finally Max exhaled.
“…Alright.”
He stood.
“Wait here.”
Aldus chuckled softly.
“I was planning to.”
A few minutes later Max returned carrying a bowl of flour, water, and yeast.
The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp.
Aldus raised an eyebrow.
“You’re baking?”
Max held the strange artifact in his hand.
“This… is my secret.”
He focused.
“Roller pin.”
The tool shifted instantly.
Aldus’s eyes widened. He was silent for over a minute.
“Well,” he whispered. “That explains several things.”
Max began preparing the dough.
But this time, he did not hold back.
For the first time since discovering the artifact, Max used it without restraint.
His movements were fast and precise. The roller pin glided across the dough like a living thing.
Max spoke rapidly while working.
“Dough is like metal in a forge,” he said excitedly. “Pressure, timing, temperature—they all shape the final result. If the structure collapses too early, the air pockets die. But if you guide it properly—”
Aldus watched silently.
His tired eyes shone with fascination.
Max finished the dough and placed the artifact on the table.
“Tannur.”
The tool transformed.
Even though the oven’s appearance remained crude, Max treated it with absolute care.
He prepared the fire.
Adjusted the heat.
Placed the dough inside.
Every movement was meticulous.
Every step perfect.
The aroma slowly filled the small room.
Aldus closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
“That smell…” he murmured.
Finally the bread was ready.
Max removed it carefully and placed it on a small plate.
Then he carried it to the bed.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he presented it with both hands.
Like an offering.
“Master Aldus.”
The old man accepted the bread gently.
He broke a piece and tasted it.
For a moment he simply chewed.
Then tears slowly rolled down his cheeks.
“…Magnificent.”
Max blinked.
Aldus smiled weakly.
“This is the most delicious bread I have tasted in my entire life.”
He took another bite.
“I can finally rest.”
Max struggled not to cry again.
After finishing the bread, Aldus looked at the artifact.
“There is only one explanation,” he said quietly.
“That is a Divine level artifact.”
Max’s breath caught.
“It's only a guess,” Aldus continued. “But such power cannot belong to any lesser creation.”
He grabbed Max’s hand again.
“Listen to me carefully.”
Max leaned closer.
“You must never reveal this artifact.”
“Of course.”
“Not to friends.”
Max nodded.
“Not to family.”
“I understand.”
“Not even to the woman you might one day love.”
Max hesitated… then nodded again.
“I promise.”
Aldus studied him for a moment.
“Good.”
Max took a deep breath.
“I will become the greatest baker in the world,” he declared. “I swear it.”
Aldus chuckled painfully and shook his head.
“Max… that artifact was not meant only for bread.”
Max blinked.
“Then for what?”
The old man’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“In the great cities of the Empire,” he said slowly, “there are people known as Omni Masters.”
Max frowned.
“Craftsmen who pursue many trades.”
“Most people call them fools,” Aldus continued. “Because mastering even one craft takes a lifetime.”
Max nodded.
“That’s true.”
“But a few,” the old man whispered, “become legends.”
He smiled faintly.
“Sometimes a solution from one craft inspires innovation in another.”
Max leaned forward.
“A blacksmith learning from a baker’s timing…”
“A mason understanding structure from a taylor’s knots…”
Aldus continued.
“Those who walk many paths sometimes see further than those who walk only one.”
Max’s mind raced.
“You want me to become one of them?”
“I want you to pretend to be one.”
Max blinked again.
“You will travel,” Aldus said. “Apprentice under masters. Learn every craft you can.”
“But never use the artifact in front of them.”
“People will think you are simply talented.”
“Or eccentric.”
Max smiled slightly.
“That part will not be difficult.”
Aldus chuckled weakly.
“Good.”
Then he continued.
“Years from now… when you know enough…”
“You will go beyond the frontier.”
Max’s eyes widened.
“The Great Wild?”
“Yes.”
“Far from greedy nobles.”
“Far from jealous masters.”
“There,” Aldus whispered, “you will build something new.”
Max felt his heart pounding.
“A settlement?”
“Perhaps more.”
Silence filled the room.
Max looked at his hands.
“I’m not a genius,” he said quietly.
“I’m just stubborn.”
Aldus smiled.
“That is often better.”
His breathing slowed.
Max squeezed his hand.
“Master?”
The old man’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Build something… magnificent.”
A moment later…
He stopped breathing.
Max bowed his head.
Tears fell silently onto their joined hands.
“I promise,” he whispered.
“I will build the strongest settlement in the Wild.”
“For you.”
At the massive gates of Fossa Nova, five figures waited.
They were Seekers. Veterans of monster hunts and frontier battles.
Each carried a weapon of exceptional quality.
Masterwork artifacts.
All crafted by a single man.
Maximillian Verus.
The young man known in several cities as an eccentric but brilliant and promissing craftsman.
Some even called him something else.
An Omni Master.
The contract he had offered the Seekers was insane.
Escort him into one of the most dangerous regions of the Great Wild.
In return, each of them would receive a Relic level artifact weapon.
But only after the expedition.
They would need to gather the rare materials required.
Then wait while Max forged their weapons.
Only then would their contract end.
No sane Seeker would accept such a deal.
But this group did.
Perhaps they were desperate.
Perhaps they were reckless.
Or perhaps…
They believed in the strange craftsman who spoke about metal and wood the same way bakers spoke about dough.
One of the Seekers glanced toward the road.
“Where is he?”
As if summoned by the question, a young man approached the gate carrying a large pack and several wrapped tools.
His steps were quick.
His eyes bright.
And his mind already racing with plans.
Max had returned.
And the adventure of their lives—
—or their deaths—
was about to begin.
