Benjamin Franklin is universally recognized as the greatest alchemist under the stars, the chief advisor to the Alchemists’ Guilds of the Three Continents, and the only living titled Artificer. In the world of Starforge, divine artifacts are the exclusive domain of the gods; throughout human history, not a single person has ever managed to forge one. Thus, quasi-divine artifacts have become the pinnacle of achievement for human alchemists, and a full third of all quasi-divine artifacts in the Starforge world were crafted by this master’s own hands.

　　Any piece of equipment, as long as it bears the master’s “Holy Hand of Flame” insignia, can fetch a sky-high price—even if it’s nothing but a pile of scrap metal.

　　What’s more, Benjamin Franklin completely changed the public’s perception of alchemists in the Starforge world as being eerie and eccentric. He is gentle and refined, like the most beloved mentor in an academy. He is courteous and polite, so much so that even the most fastidious gentleman could find no fault with him. He is charitable and generous; his name is always found on the disaster relief donation lists of the Three Continents.

　　Yet today, this amiable white-bearded old man was in a towering rage. The target of the Starforge world’s greatest alchemist’s volcanic fury was pitifully cowering on the ground, covering its head with its furry paws, its squirrel-like, plump ears drooping down to cover nearly half its body.

　　That’s right, the one being scolded by Lord Benjamin Franklin was none other than the adorable magical pet he had personally created, the illustrious Emma Green.

　　“Half a bag of Black Marsh Nine-Seed Grass, a whole Rifttooth Ichthyosaur eye, two kilograms of Horned Serpent gallbladder... these are all top-tier spatial alchemy materials, and you’ve wasted them all! You’re just too much, too outrageous, you have absolutely no respect for your master’s words! You—You—You listen to me: from now on, you are never allowed within ten meters of my laboratory. Otherwise, you’ll never be allowed to eat Hami fruit again!”

　　“Wuu wuu wuu...” Miss Emma Green shook her ears, looking aggrievedly at the white-bearded old man. Benjamin Franklin snapped angrily, “You’re still not convinced?” Emma Green defiantly waved her paw at the old man, then pointed outside, and with a hop and a skip, darted out the window. Benjamin Franklin was furious; he misunderstood Miss Emma Green’s intentions, thinking she was challenging him to a duel outside.

　　“Fine!” Benjamin Franklin gritted his teeth. Though he was old and frail, he was no pushover. The old man grabbed his cane and stormed out.

　　The moment he stepped outside, the old man was stunned. On the lawn, there were rings of charred black marks—something Benjamin Franklin recognized well, the result of Emma Green wasting his most precious spatial alchemy materials. But now, lying amidst those blackened rings, was a young man who had lost consciousness.

　　This young man was somewhat different from the average person in the Starforge world: his hair was a rare black, and though his build was a bit slimmer than most, his muscle lines were perfect, hinting at terrifying explosive power.

　　“Did you summon him?” Benjamin Franklin asked Emma Green in disbelief. When he created Emma Green, he had, on a whim, imbued her life imprint with some magical talent, but he had never imagined that one day Emma Green would actually be able to cast magic!

　　Emma Green, however, nodded with certainty. As for whether she had done it intentionally or it was just a fluke, there was no need for an inquest—after all, she and Benjamin Franklin were different species and couldn’t communicate in the same language.

　　“This is impossible...” The white-bearded old man adjusted the crystal glasses on his nose, tossed aside his cane, and hurried over to the young man’s side. To outsiders, the crystal glasses looked unchanged, but with that adjustment, Benjamin Franklin had activated a function, and a number flashed rapidly across the lens: sixty!

　　These glasses were also the master’s own creation—a quasi-divine artifact, the Eye of Appraisal, capable of seeing through a person’s strength. Sixty might not seem high, but considering the master’s status, to receive a passing score in the evaluation system of the greatest alchemist under the stars was no small feat.

　　This value indicated that the young man lying on the ground possessed at least the strength of a level-six warrior or a level-six mage.

　　In the Starforge world, all professions are divided into twelve levels, with levels one through six as one tier, and seven and above as another. Below level seven, the titles remain unchanged; at level seven and above, warriors become War Generals, mages become Archmages, and alchemists become Alchemy Masters. As for those who surpass level twelve and reach the demigod thirteenth level or higher, they are called War Gods, Mage Gods, or Artificers, respectively.

　　Once someone reaches the demigod thirteenth level or above, they are revered across the continent and receive a unique title. Any titled professional has the power to influence the balance of power across the entire continent.

　　Benjamin Franklin is currently the only alchemist in the Starforge world to hold a title: the Inhuman Artificer. “Inhuman” is not a derogatory term here, but rather praise for having reached a height unattainable by ordinary humans.

　　Benjamin Franklin looked up at the sky. A dome of water-blue light hovered three hundred meters overhead, allowing sunlight, wind, and birds and beasts to pass freely, but blocking humans alone. This, too, was the master’s creation: the “Cloak of the Goddess of Wisdom.”