Chapter 1011 – "What Treasure Do You Want Most?"
The global conversation shifted from fear to fascination. With the new universal ranking system announced, people everywhere — human and supernatural alike — flooded online forums, livestreams, and magical networks with one burning question:
"If you could claim one relic, artifact, or treasure, which would it be?"
From students to elders, farmers to awakened warriors, everyone had an opinion.
Humans loved the romance of legends. Excalibur topped most polls, with memes of people taping kitchen knives into rocks, captioned "Waiting for my moment." Others championed Longinus — "Why stop at kings, when you can pierce gods?"Elves gravitated toward Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, calling it a relic of dignity and heritage. Heated threads argued its superiority over Durandal.Vampires swarmed to the Nemean Hide. "Swords break. Armies fall. But with the Hide, we endure forever." Influencers posted themselves in lion cosplay shouting, "Indestructible is beautiful."Dragons argued between Gungnir (the spear of inevitability) and Gáe Bolg (the spear of reversal). Their forums mocked humans' obsession with swords: "A true weapon strikes from the sky."Merfolk and Beastkin adored the Book of Aten. To them, it wasn't a weapon but hope. Viral clips showed children saying, "With this book, we'd heal everyone." Practical survival won hearts more than glory.
Online polls formed a kind of unofficial global vote:
Excalibur – humans' dream of kingship.Book of Aten – the universal healer's choice.Nemean Hide – survival above all.Gáe Bolg – for warriors craving destiny.Kusanagi – ancestral pride.Longinus – those hungering to slay gods.
Streamers ran mock "Relic Debates," roleplaying what they'd do with each. Some said they'd heal the sick with the Book, others joked about scamming tournaments with Gáe Bolg. One girl tearfully confessed, "If I had the Book, I'd save my mother's life." Her clip trended instantly.
Even the supernatural elite paid attention. Though they had once wielded such treasures in real battles, many watched in secret amusement as mortals argued over fantasies.
The chapter ends with a massive poll trending across platforms:
"The Treasure You Want Most — Cast Your Vote!"
Millions participated, not for war, but for wonder. For the first time in weeks, the world argued not about collapse, but about dreams.
As the global poll stormed the feeds, a new thread began spreading through both mundane forums and hidden supernatural channels:
"If the Book of Aten exists… what else might Aten hold?"
Human scholars debated whether Aten, being revered as a god of light, might also have forged other "Wisdom Tomes" — perhaps a Book of War or a Book of Stars.Supernatural commentators whispered that no god would have just one artifact. Elves suggested Aten surely had a staff or scepter tied to cosmic authority. Vampires speculated about a chalice of immortal flame.Conspiracy forums went wild with claims of a "Vault of Aten," hidden deep under the sands, guarded by constructs no one had ever seen.Memers joined in: one viral video joked about Aten having a "Book of Cooking," with recipes that made food grant permanent buffs. Another popular joke claimed there was a "Book of Dating," full of divine pickup lines.
But amidst the humor, more serious voices emerged. An ancient dragon scholar posted:
"No god who reshaped the world would stop at one creation. The Book of Aten may be only a fragment of a greater system — a library of living truths."
The post gained traction quickly, stirring unease and wonder alike. If true, then the Book of Aten wasn't just rare — it was the tip of an iceberg that could rewrite all of civilization.
leaves the community buzzing, millions speculating not only which relic they would want, but whether more Aten treasures still lie hidden, waiting to surface.
As the polls continued to climb into the tens of millions, threads split into side debates. The focus shifted: not which relic was most desirable, but whether Aten's legacy extended beyond the Book.
Academics on livestreams calmly debated: "If Aten codified healing into a book, why wouldn't he do the same for battle, agriculture, astronomy, or even creation itself?"Occult forums whispered about a "Codex of Aten," a collection of lost volumes scattered across the ages, each one capable of redefining a domain of existence.Youths and casual fans threw out wilder theories: "Maybe Aten made a weapon so strong even gods were scared of it — but humanity hasn't found it yet."Supernatural elders declined to comment officially, but anonymous posts claimed that "several families know more than they admit."
Of course, memes thrived in parallel. Trending edits included:
A fake cover titled "The Book of Aten: Volume 2 – Recipes Edition."A viral skit where someone claimed the next treasure was "The Book of Chores," able to clean an entire house with one command.A parody vote: "Would you rather: Excalibur, Longinus, or Aten's Legendary Pillow of Eternal Naps?"
Despite the jokes, a current of unease remained. If there really were more Aten relics, the Book of Aten might not be a miracle but only the beginning of something much larger — a greater system the world had only glimpsed.
The speculation refused to die down. By nightfall, the top trend worldwide was a simple question:
"What else did Aten leave behind?"
The chatroom scrolled so fast that even moderators gave up trying to slow it down. Between memes of "Aten's Book of Cooking" and endless polls about Excalibur vs. Longinus, one quiet message caught everyone's attention:
User: NightOwl77
"You're all forgetting something important. Do you even know when the last EX-rank artifact was made?"
The room froze. Thousands of replies swarmed instantly.
User: Sunblade: "Wait, you're saying new ones can be made?"
User: SilverElf: "So when was it then? Last century? Two?"
User: NightOwl77:
"Not even close. The last true EX-rank artifact was probably forged around 1,400 years ago. Maybe a little less. Think about that. A millennium and more."
The chat exploded.
Humans were stunned. "So all the treasures we're arguing about are basically antiques?"Elves typed long replies: "Yes, it matches our archives. The divine smiths vanished; no one since has reached that level."Vampires scoffed: "And you thought you'd just grab one from a shop? Hah. Even we don't touch them unless it's a family heirloom."Dragons confirmed grimly: "Creating something EX-rank isn't 'crafting.' It's rewriting reality. That's why even gods rarely succeed."
The community buzzed with awe. Some tried to laugh it off — "Guess I'll settle for an S-Rank sword then" — but many fell silent, realizing how unreachable such treasures truly were.
A final message from NightOwl77 scrolled by, sending chills even through the jokesters:
"You all dream of relics. But remember — EX-rank isn't just rare. It's almost impossible. That's why the Book of Aten terrifies everyone. It shouldn't exist… and yet it does."
The speculation turned heavier, the fun debate giving way to an undercurrent of reverence.
Chapter 1012 – "The Star That Shouldn't Be"
In the cold dark of distant space, a lone warship drifted silently, its hull patched with scars from countless raids. Inside, its crew of Avarn space pirates moved with practiced ease — smugglers, raiders, and cutthroats who lived on plunder.
To human eyes, they looked indistinguishable from men and women. Their faces, their skin, their proportions — all the same. But to the Avarn Empire, they were outlaws, branded with interstellar bounties that marked them as enemies of all trade routes. Their resemblance to humanity was dismissed as nothing more than convergent evolution, life shaped similarly by the same cosmic rules.
They were not hunting today with purpose. It was simply another drift into unclaimed systems, searching for convoys or weak colonies to raid. Until the sensors screamed.
"Captain," one of them said, eyes wide, "we've… we've found a star."
The crew rushed to the viewing deck. At first, they thought it was a sun — luminous, massive, radiating mana so dense it bent their readings. But then the scanners corrected, and disbelief spread like fire.
"Diameter: 1.4 million kilometers," the navigator muttered. "But it's… not a star. It's a planet."
The deck fell silent. Even for the vast archives of the Avarn, such a thing was impossible. Worlds did not grow to the size of suns. A planet that vast should collapse under its own weight, or ignite into a star. And yet here it was, stable, radiant, alive.
The captain leaned forward, his scarred lips curling into a grin.
"A world this size…" he whispered. "If it holds even a fraction of what it promises, its treasure could pay off every bounty, every debt. We'd be kings."
The crew erupted in hungry speculation.
"Think of the resources—ore, mana, relics—enough for empires!""No empire claims it. It's ours if we take it first."
Yet under the greed, unease lingered. The readings made no sense. No orbiting empire, no visible trade routes, no beacon markers. A planet of that magnitude unclaimed? It was like finding a mountain of gold lying in the open. Too good to be true.
The captain raised his hand, silencing the chatter.
"Prepare landing scouts. If this world is real, we'll carve our names into history. The Avarn Empire wants our heads? Let them come. By the time they reach us, we'll have power enough to make even their fleets tremble."
The pirate ship angled its prow toward the radiant green-blue sphere that hung like a jewel in the void. A world the size of a star. A world alive.
A world named World Frontier.
As the Avarn pirate vessel adjusted its course toward the colossal world, alarms blared.
"Contact! Forward arc!" the sensor officer shouted.
Through the void appeared a fortress, drifting like a black monolith against the stars. Its surface was matte obsidian, but its skin pulsed with blue mana circuits, flowing like rivers of light across its hull. It wasn't a natural construct — it was alive with power.
The captain snarled. "Empire patrol?"
"No," the officer whispered, pale. "That's no Avarn design. Not Imperial. Not human. Not… anything I've seen."
Before the pirates could react, the fortress stirred. Its core lit up, and beams of light traced into massive cannon arrays that rotated and locked onto the ship.
"Shields up! Return fire!"
The Avarn ship unleashed its arsenal — plasma lances, disruptor missiles, ion torpedoes — all the firepower they had plundered over years of piracy. The void lit up in violent brilliance, explosions rippling against the fortress's surface.
And yet—
Nothing.
The black fortress didn't so much as tremble. The blue circuits simply pulsed brighter, absorbing the assault as if it were no more than rain striking stone.
Then came the reply.
The fortress opened dozens of weapon ports, releasing ion beams of blinding intensity. The first salvo ripped through the pirate ship's outer shields in seconds, shredding armor like paper.
The deck shook violently. Systems flared red.
"Shields collapsing!"
"Structural breach on Deck Four!"
"We can't withstand another volley—!"
The captain gripped the railing, eyes wide for the first time.
"This… this isn't a fortress. It's a goddamn executioner."
Another wave of beams charged, their brilliance filling the void. The pirates realized the truth too late: they had not discovered an unclaimed paradise.
They had trespassed on a world already claimed — and defended — by something far beyond their understanding.
Their ship groaned, fire streaking across its hull as the beams prepared to end them completely.
The fortress's second volley tore through the pirate fleet like a storm of judgment.
One ship.
Two.
Ten.
Nineteen.
Each vessel was reduced to burning fragments, debris scattering across the void like dying embers. Only one ship remained — its hull cracked, its engines sputtering, its crew screaming as systems failed one by one.
"Main reactor's hit!"
"We've lost control of stabilizers!"
"Captain, we're falling—!"
Through the fractured viewport, the surviving pirates saw it: the massive green-blue sphere of the planet swelling to fill their vision. Its clouds glowed with mana, its surface alive with continents and oceans beyond comprehension.
"Impact trajectory locked," the navigator gasped, blood streaking his face. "We're going down."
The captain's knuckles whitened on the command rail. A thousand thoughts raged through him — of treasure, of power, of the bounties on their heads. And now, of the inevitable end.
"Brace for crash," he growled, though his voice trembled.
The ruined vessel roared through the atmosphere, its hull aflame as friction and mana storms tore at its plating. The crew was thrown about, alarms blaring in a cacophony of doom. Outside, the skies of World Frontier shimmered like auroras, the mana itself resisting their intrusion.
The ship struck.
A titanic impact shook the land, carving a crater kilometers wide. Metal shrieked as the vessel snapped apart, its wreckage smoking in the heart of a forest where trees towered like mountains.
Silence fell, broken only by the groans of the dying ship and the distant calls of colossal beasts stirred from their slumber.
Inside the shattered wreck, survivors coughed amid sparks and fire. Out of hundreds, only a handful crawled free — scarred, bloody, but alive. They looked up at the endless skies, mana-heavy and oppressive.
"This… isn't a planet," one whispered, trembling. "It's a prison. A paradise for gods… and a graveyard for us."
Above them, unseen, the black fortress's circuits dimmed, its purpose fulfilled.
The pirates had entered Alex's world.
And they would not leave it.
Chapter 1013 – "The World That Devours"
Smoke rose from the twisted wreckage of the Avarn ship, its broken hull half-buried in a crater of scorched soil. Survivors — barely a dozen from the once-proud pirate crew — staggered out into the alien air.
At once, they felt it.
The atmosphere was thick, heavy with mana. Each breath burned their lungs and filled their veins with a strange energy. The ground stretched out in impossible vastness, grass as tall as their waists, trees towering like mountains, their trunks wider than ships.
"This… this isn't a planet," one muttered, staring up at a canopy so high it vanished into mist. "It's a world for giants."
The crew spread cautiously, weapons drawn, scanning their new prison. For a moment, there was only the sound of crackling fire from the wreck.
Then came the scream.
One pirate at the rear convulsed, dragged into the grass with a sickening crunch. The survivors whirled, weapons raised. Out of the greenery burst a nightmare — an insect-like beast, ten meters long, with black chitin glistening like steel and mandibles snapping with wet hunger.
Its jaws closed again on the screaming pirate, tearing him in half. Blood sprayed across the grass as the creature's multifaceted eyes glittered, reflecting the fire of the wreck.
"Open fire!" the captain roared.
Blaster bolts, plasma arcs, and ion charges ripped through the air, hammering the insect. Its chitin cracked, ichor spraying in sizzling streams — but the beast did not fall immediately. It shrieked, thrashing, tearing apart another unlucky crewman before finally collapsing in a pool of burning fluid.
Silence followed, broken only by ragged breathing.
"By the stars…" one pirate whispered. "That thing… it was just an insect. A bug. And it killed us like nothing."
The captain scanned the treeline, his face pale beneath his scars. All around, more shapes shifted in the shadows. Glints of eyes. Mandibles clicking. Wings humming.
"This world is alive," he growled. "And we're not predators here."
The forest rumbled as if in answer, a distant roar echoing across the vast landscape — something colossal stirring. The survivors froze, realizing the truth.
They had escaped the fortress in orbit only to land in a world far worse.
A world that would not let them leave.
The forest quieted for only a moment after the insect's corpse stopped twitching. The surviving pirates staggered away from the wreck, shaken and bloodied, desperate to put distance between themselves and the swarm of unseen horrors.
Then the ground began to tremble.
Thoom… thoom… thoom.
Trees shook violently, earth cracking beneath the weight of something colossal approaching. The pirates turned, fear twisting their faces. From the treeline, a vast shadow emerged — scales glistening emerald in the filtered sunlight.
It was a reptile. No, a giant beast, its body stretching nearly a kilometer long. Its head rose above the canopy, eyes glowing like molten gold, every breath shaking the air like thunder. Its tongue lashed, tasting the scent of the intruders.
The pirates froze, their weapons trembling in their hands.
"What… what in the void is that?" one whispered.
"A… a lizard," another stammered. "A reptile—"
Before panic could overtake them, the world shifted again.
A shadow eclipsed even the giant reptile. The pirates looked up — and saw another creature, five kilometers long, bursting from the earth like a living mountain. Its scales were black as obsidian, its jaws vast enough to swallow cities.
The smaller reptile shrieked, turning to flee. Too late. The titanic predator lunged, its maw engulfing the kilometer-long beast in a single devastating bite. Flesh tore, bones cracked like thunder, and rivers of blood poured into the soil as the massive creature devoured its prey.
The pirates fell to their knees, terror overwhelming them.
"That thing…" one choked out. "It just ate a monster bigger than any warship—like it was nothing."
The five-kilometer reptile's head swung slowly, golden eyes scanning the land. For an instant, its gaze passed over the crater and the tiny survivors clustered within it. Compared to its size, they were no more than insects crawling on dust.
The beast let out a rumbling roar, a sound that made the ground quake and the skies shudder. Then, satisfied, it turned away, dragging the broken corpse of its prey deeper into the wilderness.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The pirates dared not move. They realized with finality: this was no world for mortals. This was a realm where even titans were prey.
And they — broken, hunted, insignificant — were nothing at all.
The forest was silent again, though the echoes of the titan's roar still seemed to hang in the air. The surviving Avarn pirates huddled near the wreck, pale and trembling. Every rustle of the grass made them flinch.
One of them broke the silence, voice cracking.
"Captain… what now? We can't fight things like this. We can't even breathe without feeling crushed."
Another spat blood onto the dirt.
"Our ship's finished. Even if we patched it, the fortress up there would tear us apart. So what do we do? Sit here and wait to be eaten?"
All eyes turned to their captain. His scarred face was tight, but his eyes still burned with defiance. Slowly, he pulled out the ship's emergency transmitter, half-shattered but functional.
"We send a distress signal."
The crew erupted in disbelief.
"Captain, are you insane?!"
"We're pirates! Outlaws! The Empire itself put a bounty on our heads!"
"If anyone picks up that signal, they'll hunt us — not save us!"
The captain slammed his fist against a broken console, silencing them.
"Look around you!" he snarled. "This world doesn't care about our bounty. Here, we're not wanted men — we're meat. Do you want to end up like that insect, or swallowed whole by monsters the size of cities?!"
The crew exchanged uneasy glances, some nodding, others shaking their heads in fear.
The captain's voice dropped low, grim and final.
"If the Empire comes, fine. If bounty hunters come, fine. I'll take a bullet to the skull before I let this damn planet chew me apart. At least humans bleed me clean. These things…" He gestured toward the steaming remains of the giant insect. "…these things devour you alive."
No one spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the transmitter as the captain powered it up.
A red light blinked.
The distress signal pulsed out into the void — a cry for help that carried their position across the stars.
The crew stared at him in stunned silence.
For the first time, none of them knew if their captain had saved them… or doomed them all.
The emergency beacon pulsed again and again, red light throbbing like a heartbeat in the ruins of the wreck. Each ping vanished into the endless sky… or so the crew hoped.
But in the void beyond World Frontier's orbit, it was heard.
Across the comm-lines of a distant ship, a signal cracked through the static. Its crew stirred instantly, their faces lighting up with cruel grins.
"Boss," a bounty hunter muttered, adjusting the receiver. "You're not gonna believe this. We just caught an outlaw distress signal."
At the front of the ship, their leader leaned forward, armored arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he studied the data. The coordinates scrolled across the screen.
"That frequency…" he muttered. "Avarn pirates. Been running from the Empire for years. Every damn one of them's worth a fortune."
The crew laughed, excitement bubbling through the cabin.
"Did they really send out a signal? What, begging for help now?"
"Idiots. Don't they know every beacon's tagged with an ID stamp?"
"Doesn't matter. We find them, we get paid."
The boss raised a hand, silencing them. His expression was sharp, calculating.
"Wait. Check the coordinates again. Where's the signal coming from?"
The navigator frowned, running scans. Then his eyes widened.
"…It's not a ship lane. Not an outpost. Not even a registered system. Sir… it's from a planet."
"A planet?"
"Not just a planet. Look at the size. Diameter… 1.4 million kilometers."
The room went dead quiet.
"Are you kidding me?" one whispered.
"That's… that's the size of a star."
"What kind of hellhole did those pirates crash into?"
The boss's grin spread slowly, like a predator smelling blood.
"Doesn't matter. They're trapped, sending signals like cornered rats. We'll drop in, collect the bodies, and haul what's left to the Empire. The bounty alone could set us up for life."
The ship angled its prow, engines flaring as it began its course toward World Frontier. The bounty hunters were coming.
Down below, in the forests of titans, the pirates had no idea their desperate cry for salvation had only summoned their executioners.
Far above the mana-thick skies of World Frontier, the bounty hunters' vessel emerged from sublight, cutting across the void like a predator moving in for the kill.
"Coordinates locked. Signal source is below," the navigator confirmed.
The crew grinned.
"Poor bastards. They'll never see us coming."
But the void stirred before they could descend.
Just as with the pirates, a black fortress slid out of the darkness, its surface veined with pulsing blue circuits. The hunters froze, recognition dawning too late.
"Contact! What the hell is that—"
The fortress lit up.
Ion beams split the void in blinding arcs, piercing the bounty hunters' ship through shields and hull alike. In seconds, their proud vessel was reduced to fire and twisted metal. The crew's laughter turned to screams as systems failed, oxygen vented, and fire consumed everything.
There was no chance to fight back.
No time to flee.
No mercy.
The ship's broken remains were dragged by gravity, flaming wreckage tearing into the upper atmosphere before slamming into the surface far away.
And then there was silence.
This time, it was almost a kindness. The bounty hunters had not touched the ground alive. They would never know the horrors waiting in the forests, nor the titans stalking the land. Their end was swift, their corpses scattered across smoldering steel.
—
Down below, the pirate survivors had seen it.
From their crater, they watched a streak of fire carve across the heavens and slam into the horizon. The captain's eyes narrowed, reflecting the distant glow.
"A ship," he muttered. "That was a ship."
The crew exchanged nervous glances.
"Bounty hunters?" one asked.
"Or maybe a rescue team," another whispered hopefully.
The captain spat. "Doesn't matter. Wreck's a wreck. And wrecks mean salvage. Weapons. Supplies. Maybe a shuttle still intact."
He turned to his battered men, voice hard.
"We're not dying in this crater. If there's anything left in that crash, we'll take it. Move out."
Reluctantly, the survivors armed themselves and began marching across the colossal wilderness — toward the smoking wreckage on the horizon.
Unaware that each step only pulled them deeper into the jaws of World Frontier.
Chapter 1014 – "Hunted in the Dark"
The pirate crew pressed on through the endless wilderness, the distant glow of the crashed bounty hunter vessel their only hope. The world around them felt unreal — grass as tall as their chests, trees so massive they blotted out the stars, the air thick with glowing motes of mana drifting like fireflies.
By the time the twin moons rose, their bodies were exhausted. Their food was gone, their water already low, yet still the captain pushed them forward.
"Halfway," he growled, eyes fixed on the horizon. "We make it halfway before resting. That wreck is our only chance."
The crew stumbled on. And then—
A scream cut through the night.
One of the men vanished into the tall grass, pulled down so fast none even saw what struck him. Blood spattered the blades, and then came the crunching sound of bones breaking.
"Captain!" another shouted in panic. "Something's here—"
The words ended in a shriek as his body was yanked backwards, his boots scraping against the soil until he too vanished into the dark.
Shapes moved all around them, the grass swaying unnaturally. Gleaming eyes reflected the moonlight. Chittering sounds echoed, shrill and sharp.
And then they saw it — a massive insect, its body ten meters long, armored in black chitin, mandibles dripping with gore. It lunged, seized another man in its jaws, and dragged him screaming into the grass.
"Run!" the captain roared. "Run as fast as you can!"
The survivors bolted, stumbling through the colossal field, weapons firing wildly behind them. For every plasma bolt that struck, two more insects appeared, their armored legs clicking, mandibles snapping.
One by one, the crew was dragged screaming into the dark. Limbs torn. Flesh shredded. Blood soaking into the soil. Each death was fast, brutal, and merciless.
The captain ran with all his strength, his chest burning, his mind a storm of rage and despair. Every few steps he looked back — and every time, another of his men was gone.
Until he realized only a handful remained.
And the insects were still coming.
The survivors ran through the night, lungs burning, hearts pounding like drums of war. The glow of the distant wreckage grew brighter with each step, a fiery beacon in the endless dark.
But the insects did not relent.
Another scream tore the night apart. A pirate was pulled into the grass, his cry cut short by the wet crack of mandibles. Seconds later, another vanished, dragged into the shadows by armored legs.
"Keep running!" the captain roared, though his voice cracked with desperation. "The wreck's just ahead! Move!"
They stumbled onward, the wreckage looming closer — torn steel and firelight rising from the forest floor like the bones of a fallen god. But hope was devoured as quickly as the men.
One by one, they fell.
One by one, their blood stained the soil.
Until only the captain remained.
He burst from the grass, alone, gasping, his body battered and slick with sweat. Behind him, the chittering swarm echoed, closing in like a living tide.
The wreckage towered before him, its metal hull split and burning. He staggered inside, the stench of scorched fuel and corpses filling his nose. Sparks rained from broken circuits, firelight casting long shadows across the torn corridors.
Desperately, he searched. Every step echoed through the shattered halls, his boots splashing in blood and oil. His mind burned with one thought: There has to be something left. A shuttle. A pod. Anything.
And then he saw it.
Half-buried beneath twisted beams of metal lay a small ship — an auxiliary shuttle, scorched but intact. Its hull was cracked, but the frame was whole.
His breath caught.
"By the stars…" he whispered, a wild grin breaking through his bloodied face. "Luck… luck hasn't abandoned me yet."
But behind him, the sounds of chittering and scraping claws grew louder, closer. The swarm had followed him into the wreck.
The captain placed his hand on the shuttle's hull, eyes blazing with desperation.
"This is it," he muttered. "This is my way out."
The insects hissed in the dark.
And the captain realized: survival would demand more than luck.
The captain's ragged breathing echoed through the shattered hull as the swarm closed in. Dozens of glittering eyes pierced the dark, mandibles clacking, claws scraping against steel.
They were inside.
With a roar, he fired wildly — plasma bolts slamming into the chitinous tide. One insect shrieked and collapsed, ichor spraying across the floor. Another lunged, its legs tearing into his arm as he blasted its head apart at point-blank range.
He staggered, bleeding, but refused to fall.
"Not here," he snarled through clenched teeth. "Not in this hell!"
He fought his way toward the shuttle, every step a battle. Mandibles snapped inches from his throat, claws slashed across his armor, but still he pressed forward, rage and desperation driving him where strength failed.
Finally, he slammed his fist against the shuttle's control pad. With a groan of ancient hydraulics, the hatch opened just enough for him to squeeze inside. He threw himself through, blasting another insect that clawed for his legs before slamming the hatch shut.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The insects rammed the shuttle's hull, their screeches filling the air, their mandibles sparking against steel. The captain, panting and trembling, scrambled into the pilot's chair.
Systems flickered to life — damaged, but functional.
"Come on… come on!" he growled, slamming his fists against the console until the engines roared. The shuttle shook violently, its frame groaning under the strain. Warning lights screamed across the panel, but it lifted, rising through the wreckage.
The swarm leapt after him, clawing at the hull as the shuttle lurched into the night sky. He shouted over the alarms, blood dripping from his jaw, his eyes wide with madness and triumph.
"Yes! YES! You won't take me, you monsters!"
With a final surge, the shuttle broke free of the treeline and shot upward, tearing through the heavy mana clouds. Below, the swarm shrieked in fury, vanishing into the vast forest.
The captain laughed — a broken, hysterical sound — as the stars filled his view once more.
"Back to the void," he whispered. "Back to freedom."
The shuttle's emergency thrusters ejected, propelling it into space on a narrow escape trajectory.
He had survived the fortress in orbit.
He had survived the horrors of the planet.
And against all odds, he was leaving.
The shuttle rattled and shook as it broke free of the upper atmosphere, its thrusters screaming against the pull of the superworld. Erlin's hands gripped the controls so tight his knuckles went white, his body trembling from blood loss and exhaustion.
Then—silence.
The flames of reentry faded. The crushing air of the colossal planet fell away. The void opened before him once again, vast and cold and endless.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw them: the black fortresses. Dozens of them, silent giants scattered across the void, their surfaces veined with glowing blue circuits. They hovered in orbit like executioners, each one capable of annihilating fleets.
Erlin froze, sweat running down his neck. The last time he saw these things, they had torn entire ships to pieces in moments. His shuttle was no more than a fragile insect in their sight.
He waited for the beams.
For the light.
For death.
But none came.
The fortresses did not move. Their weapons did not glow. Their circuits pulsed in steady rhythm, watching… but not striking.
Erlin's lips parted in disbelief.
"They're… not attacking."
He maneuvered cautiously, expecting annihilation with every adjustment. Still nothing. The fortresses remained still, as if he did not exist.
His mind raced. Why?
And then it struck him:
The pirates.
The bounty hunters.
All of them had entered the planet that day — and were erased.
But he, alone, had left. Broken, bleeding, the last survivor… and somehow, spared.
For reasons he could not fathom, the fortresses had no interest in him now.
A ragged laugh escaped his throat, half-mad, half-exultant.
"By the void… I made it. I'm alive. Erlin survived!"
The shuttle drifted forward, carried by emergency thrusters into the deep, dark beyond. Behind him, the colossal planet loomed, glowing like a star, its guardians watching in silence.
Erlin didn't know if this was mercy or mockery. But he knew one truth:
He had escaped the world that devoured gods.
The shuttle drifted through the void, its frame groaning, sparks occasionally flickering across the fractured console. Erlin had been flying for hours, his blood dried stiff against his torn armor, his body trembling from exhaustion.
But fortune — or perhaps fate — had not completely abandoned him.
When the auxiliary tanks finally leveled out, he noticed something on the readout: a reserve fuel cell, intact. Enough to prime the hyperspace drive for one final jump.
He laughed weakly, the sound ragged in the stale air.
"Luck's still with me… enough to get off this cursed system."
He set the coordinates, his hands shaking as the nav-computer scrolled through nearby star routes. Then the result flashed across the cracked screen.
Nearest planet within range: Avarn Empire territory.
His smile faltered.
The Empire. The very power that had branded him and his crew outlaws. His name, his face, his crimes — all known. Stepping into their space was suicide.
But what choice did he have?
Drifting forever into the void meant certain death. Staying near that monstrous world was worse. The only chance left — slim though it was — lay on the other side of hyperspace.
His knuckles whitened on the controls. His reflection in the cracked glass looked hollow-eyed, crazed, but alive.
"No choice," he muttered. "Better a traitor in their hands than meat in the jaws of that planet."
He slammed the lever forward.
The shuttle shuddered violently as the hyperspace engine roared to life, stars stretching into lines of light. Erlin was thrown back into his chair, his chest heaving as the void bent around him.
And then—silence.
Erlin had left World Frontier behind. Ahead lay the vast dominion of the Avarn Empire… and whatever fate awaited a pirate who had somehow survived the impossible.
The shuttle tore out of hyperspace in a burst of light, its battered hull creaking but still holding together. Ahead, the blue-green surface of an Avarn Empire world filled the viewport, its orbit lined with defense stations and patrol ships.
Alarms blared the moment his vessel was detected. Automated scanners swept across his shuttle, pinging back a hundred alerts. He braced himself for the usual — warning shots, orders to identify — but somehow, the defense grid allowed him through. Maybe his ship was too broken to be seen as a threat.
The shuttle descended through the atmosphere, trailing smoke. Erlin's teeth clenched as he fought the controls. His vision blurred, his body aching, but finally the vessel touched down on a landing strip at the edge of a city spaceport. The impact rattled his bones, but he was alive. Again.
He sagged in the pilot's chair, laughing bitterly.
"Still breathing… still Erlin."
The hatch hissed open. Cool, sterile air rushed inside, followed by footsteps.
Not soldiers.
Not bounty hunters.
But a man in official robes, flanked by aides carrying datapads. His insignia marked him as a government official — a planetary administrator of the Empire.
Erlin's heart sank.
Of all the people who could have come first, it had to be one of the Emperor's dogs.
The official adjusted his spectacles, his expression stern but curious. He studied the smoke-stained shuttle, then the bloodied, ragged man who stumbled out of it.
"You," the official said sharply. "Identify yourself. This vessel carries no registry code."
Erlin's mind raced. His bounty poster would still be plastered across half the Empire's databases. One wrong word, one slip, and he'd be in chains before he could take a second breath.
For a moment, he stood frozen, staring into the eyes of authority.
Luck had carried him this far.
Would it abandon him now?
Chapter 1015 – "The Face on the Poster"
The spaceport lights bathed Erlin in a harsh glow as he staggered down the ramp, his ragged breath visible in the cool night air. His clothes were scorched, his body smeared with blood and grime, yet his eyes still burned with the defiance of survival.
The official studied him carefully, fingers tapping against the datapad held by one of his aides. His gaze lingered on the scar across Erlin's cheek, the sharp set of his jaw, the wild glint in his eyes.
And then his expression hardened.
"…You."
Erlin froze.
The official's hand flicked across the datapad, pulling up a dossier. A holographic image shimmered into view — the same scarred face, cleaner but unmistakable. Beneath it, the name: Pirate Captain Erlin. Status: Wanted. Bounty: 12 million credits.
The aides gasped, recoiling in shock. The official's voice rang out, cold and absolute.
"Erlin of the Black Rift. By decree of the Avarn Empire, you are under arrest."
Armed guards moved in instantly, rifles raised, forming a circle around the half-dead captain. Their boots echoed like the tolling of a bell.
Erlin's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched toward the hidden knife at his side, but the numbers were hopeless. Ten guards. Twenty. An entire garrison ready to swarm at the official's word.
Still, he laughed — a low, bitter sound.
"Survive hell itself," he rasped, "only to be chained by the bastards who threw me out in the first place. That's rich."
The official didn't smile. His eyes glinted with suspicion, as if even the wreck of a pirate before him carried hidden danger.
"Seize him. We'll decide his fate before the council. Perhaps the Emperor himself will want words with a man who returns from the dead."
The guards surged forward, locking magnetic cuffs around Erlin's wrists. He didn't resist — not yet. His eyes only burned brighter as they dragged him across the landing strip.
Because deep inside, one thought still clawed at him:
If I survived that world, I can survive this.
And perhaps… twist this noose into a weapon.
The magnetic cuffs bit into Erlin's wrists as the guards dragged him across the spaceport, their formation tight and precise. The government official walked ahead, his robes swaying, his aides whispering furiously about the bounty they were about to claim.
Erlin's boots scraped against the polished black stone of the landing strip, his body aching from every wound he carried. He tilted his head back, staring up at the crimson banners hanging from towers along the city skyline — the symbol of the Avarn Empire stretched above him like a bloody shadow.
A grim laugh rattled in his throat.
"Planet Kalaha," he muttered under his breath. "Of all the cursed rocks in the Empire, I had to crash here."
Kalaha was infamous even among outlaws. A fortress world, known for its brutal prisons and unwavering loyalty to the Emperor's will. For pirates, smugglers, and deserters, it was less a planet and more a death sentence.
Truly unlucky, Erlin thought with biting sarcasm. Survive monsters the size of mountains, only to land in the one place where survival's even less likely.
The march ended at the looming gates of the city's central fortress — a black monolith of steel and stone, spires jutting skyward like spears aimed at the heavens. The guards shoved him through, the air thick with the smell of oil and iron.
Down endless corridors they dragged him, past barred cells filled with criminals who shrank back at the sight of him. Some recognized his face and whispered his name. Erlin. The pirate captain. The one with a price high enough to buy a fleet.
At last, the guards shoved him into a cold chamber lit only by a single mana-lamp. Chains clattered as they locked him into a chair bolted to the floor. His hands and ankles were bound, and iron clamps locked his head in place, forcing him to face forward.
Across from him, a polished table waited. And on the other side of it, a chair — empty, for now.
Erlin smirked, despite the blood still crusted on his lips.
"Well," he muttered. "Let's see what hell the Empire has cooked up for me this time."
The door opened with a hiss. Footsteps echoed. Someone important was coming.
The interrogation was about to begin.
The door groaned open, and with it came a chill.
A tall figure stepped into the chamber, clad in the black armor of the Imperial Inquisition. His helmet bore no insignia, only a smooth, featureless mask, as if the Empire itself stared out through him. The air seemed to grow heavier with his presence, the faint hum of suppression fields crackling along the walls.
The guards saluted and retreated, leaving Erlin bound in silence. The Inquisitor sat across from him, movements precise, deliberate, like a machine wound too tightly.
"You are Captain Erlin," the voice rasped through a vox-distorter, cold and metallic. "Outlaw. Pirate. Murderer. Wanted for twelve counts of fleet-raiding, thirty-seven counts of smuggling, and treason against the Avarn Empire."
Erlin smirked, blood on his teeth.
"You make me sound busy."
The Inquisitor ignored the remark. Fingers tapped the datapad before him.
"Your bounty is worth more than the city you stand in. You should be dead. Yet you arrived here alive, in a shuttle traced to no registry. Explain."
Erlin leaned back in his chains, shoulders aching, but his grin didn't falter.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
The Inquisitor's head tilted slightly. The room's suppressors buzzed louder.
"Try me."
Erlin hesitated. He could lie, invent some story of stolen fuel and scavenged wrecks. But the memory of that planet — the fortress beams, the titanic beasts, the swarm dragging his men into the dark — it pressed on him like a weight he couldn't shake.
For once, he spoke the truth.
"I found a world," he said. "Or maybe it found me. My ship was torn apart by fortresses in orbit. Dozens of them. Black as night, veins of blue light. They killed every pirate ship but mine."
The Inquisitor didn't move, but the silence was sharper than a blade.
"I crashed," Erlin went on, his voice rasping. "A place so big it looked like a star. Forests that stretch forever, beasts the size of cities. We ran. We fought. We died. Every last one of my crew, eaten alive. Insects ten meters long. Reptiles five kilometers in size. I only survived because I found a shuttle in another wreck and blasted into orbit. And those fortresses… they let me go."
He chuckled darkly, shaking his head.
"Hell itself, Inquisitor. That's what I saw. A world that shouldn't exist. And I walked out of it."
The Inquisitor sat perfectly still. No reaction. No shift. Only the faint hum of his distorter, masking whatever humanity lingered behind the mask.
Finally, he spoke.
"You expect me to believe this tale?"
Erlin's grin widened, manic and defiant.
"I don't care what you believe. I told you what I saw. Make of it what you want."
The chamber fell silent again, but for the first time, Erlin saw it — a flicker. A hesitation in the Inquisitor's stillness.
As if the Empire had just heard a secret it didn't know it needed.
The Inquisitor rose without a word, his masked gaze lingering on Erlin for one final, unreadable moment. Then he tapped his datapad, the sound sharp in the silent chamber.
"Guard. Secure the prisoner."
Chains rattled as Erlin was locked tighter into the chair, the suppressor fields humming louder, denying him even the faintest chance of escape. The Inquisitor turned, cloak trailing behind him as he left the room.
In a private comms chamber deeper within the fortress, he transmitted the recording. The voice of Erlin — hoarse, half-crazed, yet unflinching — played back in perfect clarity:
"Forests that stretch forever, beasts the size of cities. Insects ten meters long. Reptiles five kilometers in size. A planet so vast it looked like a star… fortresses in orbit that erased fleets… and they let me go."
Silence followed. The Imperial Intelligence officer on the other end of the encrypted line sat rigid in his chair, his face pale in the glow of the holo.
"A planet with a diameter comparable to a star…" the officer murmured. "That is… impossible. No world of that scale could exist without collapse."
The Inquisitor's voice rasped through his mask, cold and precise.
"Yet this outlaw survived it. He has no reason to invent such details — especially not while bound under Inquisition suppression. His words carry weight."
The officer steepled his fingers, his eyes narrowing.
"If what he claims is true… then we are speaking of a system unknown to the Empire. A world that should not exist. A world large enough to reshape the balance of power."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"A planet as large as the Sun."
For the first time, the Inquisitor broke his stillness. His masked head tilted slightly, as though even he, cold instrument of the Empire, felt the unease of such words.
"Shall I proceed with interrogation, to strip the truth from him entirely?"
The officer hesitated.
"No. Not yet. Keep him alive. If this World-Star exists, he may be our only path to it."
The transmission ended.
The Inquisitor stood alone in the chamber, the faint hum of circuits echoing around him. For the first time in his service, a sliver of curiosity crept into his iron heart.
What kind of god could forge a planet the size of a star?
And more importantly—
Who claims dominion over it?