But these weren’t questions in the formal sense.
No—these were the cracks in their perception of reality.
For they all thought this was sothing that simply wasn’t possible yet.
They all believed this to be sothing beyond the realm of current possibility.
One junior lieutenant practically scread into his mic, not even sounding like he was using comms but yelling at soone standing in front of him, as if trying to break the world back into sothing that made sense:
"How the hell did they do that in seconds!? That’s not possible!"
A captain, voice low but shaking, muttered under his breath—loud enough to be caught on an open channel:
"The hell with how... are those really point-defense weapons? No way. No goddamn way. They’re lying. They have to be lying. That can’t be point-defense..."
But they were.
And that was the most terrifying part.
Why was it so terrifying?
Because they had seen this kind of destruction before.
This level of sheer, unrestrained obliteration—the kind that left armadas in ruins and planets scarred—was sothing only Federation legends could achieve. And by legends, they ant the Grand Saints or Grand Dominators—godlike beings whose power had long been the bedrock of humanity’s supremacy across the stars.
Just like it was back in their ho galaxy, it remained the sa in this new one—only—only now a bit more difficult and were harder now—because just eighteen of these beings had made it to this side.
Though only eighteen of these beings had made it to this side, their power remained the sa. Fewer in number, yes—but still wielding unmatched might in their ch forms.
Their sword swings could cleave battlecruisers in two.Their divine weapons could lt star-fortresses.They were the guardians of the Federation—The ones no enemy dared face head-on.
But this... this wasn’t them.
"This firepower..." a high-ranking general muttered, still stunned, his voice breaking through the command channel."...this isn’t any ordinary weapon. This kind of destruction... it’s like the devastation our God Pilots cause..."
Gasps rippled through the fleet-wide comms.The silence that followed was deafening.
Even Fleet Admiral Kevin, who had been frozen—srized by the spectacle of erald annihilation—snapped back to himself. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing.
He rembered the Grand Saints—their divine fury, the monts when a single swing of their blade rewrote the course of a battle.
But those were people.Living gods, yes—but still mortal.
They got tired.They bled.They died.
Not a single one of them had fallen since ascending to this realm—particularly here, in this strange new universe. For the Federation, that was a rare and precious rcy.
But even they were not eternal.Nor were they absolute.Powerful as they were, they could still fall.
And in this galaxy—this chaotic, uncharted expanse—falling was just a matter of ti.
They carried a burden few could understand—the weight of protecting a race branded as trespassers in this alien galaxy.To stand between the Federation and a galaxy that wanted it gone... was to stand against fate itself.And not even gods can bear that forever.
But this?
The ship that had unleashed that storm—Ragnarök—was no saint. It wasn’t alive. It was pure technological divinity, a chanical god made tal and fire. And what’s more terrifying...
That was just its point-defense.Just a secondary system.
The main weapon hadn’t even been activated yet.
Kevin felt a chill run down his spine.
"If its auxiliary firepower rivals our Saints... what is its true strength?" he whispered, mostly to himself.
His eyes lit up—both in awe and dread.
Kevin’s eyes lit up—not just with awe... but with dread.
Awe—because unlike the Grand Saints, who were miracles born once in many generations, technology could be replicated.
"Things like that... if you have the blueprints... and the understanding... they can be built," he whispered, hands trembling slightly on the console.
A Grand Saint wasn’t built.It was earned. Forged. Suffered for.
In the Federation’s 10,000-year history, and even in the 500 years since the ch Revolution, only 248 Grand Saints had ever erged. Most had died before fully ascending—destroyed by the impossible trials it took to wield power that rivaled the gods.
But this... Ragnarök?
"You don’t need fate, talent, or divine alignnt," Kevin muttered."You just need the design... and the ans to build it."
Though he wasn’t even thinking of asking for the Ragnarök blueprint—Kevin knew he didn’t have that kind of leverage. Nothing that would make William hand over sothing so catastrophic.
And truthfully, they couldn’t force him either.
Not when William might very well be soone even the Federation couldn’t afford to face.
But there were other possibilities.
He—or rather, the Federation—could ask for advanced technologies. Systems, materials, or knowledge that could elevate their current tech base—not just by one tier, but by two, or even three.
Enough to change the balance of power.
And what was worse?
That secondary weapon, the one that had just vaporized an enemy fleet like dust in a storm—it wasn’t even the main gun. The main cannon hadn’t fired yet.
He could feel the breath catch in the throat of every admiral, engineer, and crewman across the 300 ships of the Federation fleet.
They were all thinking the sa thing.
If one ship could do this... how many more could be made?
It could change the very balance of power. It could restore the Federation’s grip. It could buy them ti. It could even offer them a way to claw back the losses they’d been enduring for centuries.
But then ca the dread.
Because Ragnarök didn’t belong to them.
Its commander, William, wasn’t Federation. He wasn’t even aligned to any known superstate. His claim? That he ca from another galaxy—or worse, another universe.
"Another galaxy... that’s hard but plausible," Kevin thought."Even we migrated from another spiral arm of the cosmos long ago..."
But another universe?
That was absurd.
And yet...
William’s power wasn’t.It was real.It was asurable.And it was comparable to the Federation’s own divine-level warriors.
He could fight their Saints.
He could match their Dominators.
He could match the Grand Saints’ power with just the secondary weapon of his ship.
So then... what about the main weapon?
Would it destroy them outright?
And what about him, personally?
They didn’t know.In truth, they had no intel—no data, no profile, not even a confird na until now.
William had simply appeared... or rather, co to their rescue only minutes ago.
A complete unknown.
And wielded power that made even their legends feel small.
And that... that gave William a kind of leverage that no outsider should have.
Kevin swallowed hard, his voice dry.
"If soone like that... with that kind of power... doesn’t share our vision..."
"...then we’re not negotiating. We’re praying."
Because in that mont, Kevin realized sothing bone-deep and terrifying:
William didn’t need the Federation.
But the Federation might co to need him.
...
The ch Cultivation system that the human federation has:
As previously ntioned, the ch cultivation system in this world follows a willpower-based cultivation path. Through sheer determination and unyielding spirit, a pilot pushes beyond their limits—shattering their bottlenecks—to ultimately ascend to the God Realm, also known as the Grand Domination Realm.
The first step toward reaching such a realm begins with:
1. The early state- Foundation of the will!
-1. Novice Pilot:The entry-level stage for aspiring ch pilots. At this level, individuals can operate basic chs but only at a fundantal level. Due to their inexperience and lack of real combat exposure, their control is often clumsy, and their synchronization with the ch remains shallow. Most pilots at this stage are still learning how to manage energy flow, neural feedback, and basic maneuvering.
2. Apprentice Pilot:An apprentice pilot is one who has begun to solidify their willpower and lay the foundational frawork of their path. Through rigorous training, real combat experience, and repeated life-or-death encounters, their control over their ch becos noticeably more precise, fluid, and responsive. Their willpower starts to manifest in subtle yet significant ways—granting brief surges of power that allow their ch to montarily transcend its technological limitations. These enhancents may include temporary boosts in speed, strength, or reaction ti, reflecting the first signs of will-fueled ch resonance.
-3. Advanced Pilot:At this stage, the pilot’s budding willpower fully takes shape, manifesting as a tangible force that resonates with both their body and their ch. This resonance significantly enhances the pilot’s life force and reaction capabilities, while also pushing the ch beyond its designed limits—temporarily elevating it to a higher state of performance.
The process often awakens during the crucible of real combat, akin to a "Lightning Tribulation"—an ordeal that tests the pilot through imnse pressure and danger, but also forges them into sothing far greater. Through this trial by fire, the pilot gains deeper synergy with their ch, unlocking bursts of speed, strength, and precision that surpass normal technological constraints.
With the force of their will alone, an Advanced Pilot can dominate dozens—if not hundreds—of Apprentice Pilots. Even their sword strikes or energy-based attacks beco empowered, imbued with willpower that magnifies their destructive potential far beyond their original design.
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