CHAPTER 28: CH-28 TEN T-6 GRADE WAR-FLEET

In the Divine Realm, God Pilots possessed the ability to grow stronger through the worship they received from the human population. However, the path beyond the Divine Realms remained unknown and undefined within the Mech Cultivation System. As such, this realm was widely regarded as the peak of a pilot’s journey—beyond it, they had to rely solely on their own comprehension and breakthroughs.

Back to the story—these God Pilots, with their overwhelming might, stood as the final defensive line protecting humanity from the terrifying Greater Lords. These beings, though slightly weaker than the Divine Realm God Pilots in terms of raw power, were still of a similar caliber. What made the Greater Lords truly dangerous, however, was their sheer number.

And over time, their numbers began to overwhelm. Slowly but surely, humanity in the Urance Galaxy was being pushed back.

Even the God Pilots... were helpless.

And even though humanity did not rely solely on their protectors, others—such as Mech Creators and Celestial Designers—were doing everything in their power to break through humanity’s technological limitations. Their goal was clear: to elevate humanity’s capabilities to Tier-7. Only with Tier-7 caliber weapons and systems could humanity truly alter the circumstances they were trapped in.

As the battles raged on, the cost continued to rise. The more humanity fought, the more their already limited resources dwindled. Territory was lost, strategic positions fell, and each setback came at a staggering price. With every destroyed mech, every fallen warship, the weight of loss grew heavier.

Humanity could no longer afford even a single casualty.

As a Fleet Admiral and a Tier-2 citizen of the Federation, Admiral Keving understood all too well what was at stake. The losses, the pressure, the desperation—it weighed heavily on his shoulders. But now, witnessing the overwhelming firepower unleashed by the unknown figure named William and his flagship, a new flame of hope began to ignite within him.

[In the Human Federation, officials are ranked across a structured hierarchy ranging from Tier-10 to Tier-1. The higher the tier, the greater the authority, influence, and decision-making power an individual holds within the Federation. Officials in the upper tiers have the right to vote on and amend Federation laws, propose new legislation, and shape key policies. At Tier-1, an individual possesses enough authority and influence to initiate constitutional amendments, enforce sweeping changes, or even veto proposals they deem harmful to the Federation’s future. These ranks are not inherited or granted by favoritism—they are earned solely through merit, achievements, and meaningful contributions to the Federation.]

For the first time in a long while, he was seeing a way out—a faster, more decisive path to salvation for both himself and the Federation.

Thoughts surged through his mind, possibilities forming like stars in the dark. He was almost lost in them, entering a deep state of contemplation—until a voice pulled him back.

Aboard the Ragnarok, William finally turned his gaze away from the spectacle his ship had created—the brilliant inferno of destroyed enemy vessels. With a calm smile, he reached out once again to the Federation fleet and spoke.

"See that, Admiral Kevin?"

"That’s how you deal with those special kinds of bugs. Overwhelming, right?" William said with a smirk, amused by Kevin’s stunned silence.

The reason William was smiling and amused at Admiral Kevin wasn’t merely because of his stunned silence. No, it was because William could sense exactly what the admiral was thinking. And that was the effect he intended—planted deep within the mind of this seasoned commander.

Admiral Kevin blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His gaze drifted once more toward the Ragnarök, then to the debris field—the shattered remains of the insectoid mother fleet. He gave a slow nod and spoke with newfound respect.

"Indeed, Mr. William... your way of dealing with them is both efficient and overwhelmingly superior to ours."

William smiled again aboard the Ragnarök as Kevin’s voice echoed across the channel. But deep down, his thoughts were far more calculating.

Oh, Fleet Admiral of humanity... if only you knew. What you just witnessed—the point-defense systems and the turbo-lances—wasn’t even a fraction of this ship’s true might. I used no more than one percent of the Ragnarök’s actual firepower... and even that, barely.

William chuckled inwardly.

What would your reaction be, I wonder, if I truly let it loose? Dread? Despair? Most likely both.

He leaned back in his command chair, eyes gleaming.

"And to think... I haven’t even flexed a finger yet.Ah... the future is going to be fun."

Coming out of his own thoughts, William spoke calmly, "No need to look down on yourself, Admiral Kevin. From the moment your fleet engaged the enemy until now, I could see it clearly—you led with efficiency and made excellent use of your resources. It was impressive, to say the least. You held your ground longer than most could."

Admiral Kevin offered a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. It was forced—but present."Thank you," he said quietly.

His thoughts, however, were far more bitter.

Yeah... but what for?I still couldn’t destroy the Hive Mind’s mothership.Sigh... no point dwelling on it now.

He shook his head and then looked toward the main comms screen.

Raising his voice, Kevin straightened and said, "Mr. William, first let me thank you—for rescuing us from a desperate situation and, more importantly, for not going back on your word. Now, please tell me: what can I do for you?"

He paused, then added more directly, "You mentioned earlier that you’re alone in this galaxy—just you, your ship... and your wife." He glanced toward Elsa, her beauty nearly divine, a celestial presence standing silently beside William.

William blinked—he hadn’t expected Kevin to be so straightforward.

"Oh," he muttered, slightly caught off guard. But then he nodded and composed himself. "Indeed, Fleet Admiral. As I told you, I’m not from this galaxy. Perhaps not even this universe—though I can’t say for certain. I’ve been wandering from system to system for quite a while now," he added, opting to bend the truth slightly.

"But thanks to you, your ship, and your fleet’s systems, I now know something I wasn’t sure of until today: that humanity still exists in this galaxy. That was... unexpected."

Kevin’s face turned serious, eyes narrowing slightly. He had a suspicion about where this was going—and to his surprise, he found himself a little hopeful.

William continued, "What I want from you and your Federation... is to let me become one of your citizens."

Kevin raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

"I understand that humanity is currently in danger," William said firmly. "Its extinction isn’t a distant risk—it’s a possibility. But you’ve seen the capabilities of my flagship. I believe you can tell that it is far beyond your Federation’s current technology—beyond even your most powerful Guardians."

He let that sink in, then added with calm certainty, "I can help. In your struggle, in your survival—and in more ways, if trust is built."

"As for the rest... we can discuss it later."

He looked Kevin directly in the eyes. "So, what do you say, Fleet Admiral?"

That same composed, confident smile remained on William’s face—but his eyes held something deeper. An invitation. A warning. A choice.

Kevin had expected something along these lines—at least vaguely. But even with that expectation, he still found himself stunned by the weight of William’s words. So did his vice admiral, and likely every officer aboard the Pegasus-class research and battleship.

William had just admitted it himself.

His flagship alone—not even his full fleet—possessed power beyond that of the Federation’s Guardians.

The Guardians... the so-called God Pilots.

No, not just matched. Surpassed.

Kevin’s thoughts spiraled, dragged to a memory long burned into the psyche of the Federation’s upper command—a memory of the Sword God, one of their most legendary Guardians. They had all seen the footage. One swing of that man’s blade had annihilated an entire Fox Clan star-fortress fleet.

They had all seen the footage. One swing of that man’s blade had annihilated an entire Fox Clan star-fortress fleet.

Ten T-6 grade war-fleets... erased with a single stroke.

And the planet behind them? Scarred. Deeply. Permanently.

To even imagine a ship—a thing made by hands, no matter how advanced—possessing more destructive power than that... It was madness. Or should have been.

Yet... not a single soul aboard the Pegasus-class ship could deny what they had witnessed. The Ragnarok’s point-defense systems alone—and secondary weapons, no less—had caused devastation on a scale so vast, so overwhelming, that their minds struggled to quantify it.

Thousands of insectoid ships had been wiped out in seconds. Tier-4 and Tier-5 Hive Motherships—reduced to scrap. And even the Tier-6 Hive Mind Mothership, a behemoth of organic warfare, had crumbled under the weight of a single full volley.

By a ship.

Not a Guardian. Not a god-pilot.

A machine.

Kevin’s breath caught as one thought echoed through his mind—and perhaps, silently, through the minds of everyone watching:

"If this is only a fraction of its power... then...