Cultivator vs. Galaxy: Rebirth in a World of Mechas
Chapter 25: ch-25 No way. No goddamn way. They’re lying
CHAPTER 25: CH-25 NO WAY. NO GODDAMN WAY. THEY’RE LYING
Only after hearing Admiral Kevin’s command through the internal fleet transmission did the Federation ships finally cease their friendly fire.
It wasn’t hesitation—it was shock.They hadn’t immediately stopped because their minds were still stunned by what they saw:
The Ragnarok, that enormous, mysterious vessel, had just teleported directly into the crossfire using unknown warp technology—right into the heart of the battle.
The sudden appearance disrupted auto-targeting systems and human reactions alike. Now, with weapons finally lowering, Kevin let out a long, weary sigh of relief as he watched his ships halt their misguided assault.
Turning toward William—who appeared deep in conversation with his own crew—Kevin tried to hail him. But the voice from William’s side was muted, and Kevin couldn’t hear a thing. All he could see was William’s lips moving, unreadable across the comm-link.
Still, Kevin offered a sincere message.
"Apologies, Mister William. The fire from our side... it wasn’t intentional. We were simply surprised that you’d warp your flagship directly into the frontlines."
William glanced toward Kevin’s image on his monitor. A small smirk formed at the corner of his mouth.
"No need to apologize, Fleet Admiral. As you can see, your shots didn’t even dent our shields. Not a scratch."
"Even so," Kevin said, nodding solemnly, "it was a blunder on my part. An apology is only fair."
William didn’t argue. He knew the admiral meant it—and that was enough.
Instead, he shifted the conversation, his tone sharpening:
"Now then, Admiral Kevin... Watch closely. Watch how we handle this insectoid race."
He raised his voice deliberately, ensuring the human fleet could hear him this time.
"Ascendancy, prepare all point-defense weapons and quad heavy turbolasers. Target forward vector."
"Yes, Master," Ascendancy replied smoothly.
She tapped a series of commands into her panel, and the Ragnarök lit up like a war machine ready to roar.
Its dagger-shaped design gave it a unique advantage in frontal combat: almost all of its weapons—from dorsal and ventral turrets to forward, port, and even some starboard mounts—could focus their fire straight ahead.
Unlike most battleships, where many weapons were blocked by the ship’s own structure or limited in firing arc, the Ragnarök’s form allowed for simultaneous, concentrated frontal firepower
.
Its point-defense network alone was a terrifying marvel:
7,700 turrets in total.
About 80% were high-output laser-based quad defense turrets.
The remaining were kinetic-based systems, dual-mounted for rapid-fire anti-ship suppression.
And then... There were the 58 quad heavy turbo lasers.
Each cannon was a 50-meter-long, 24-meter-wide behemoth with 1.5-meter quad barrels, forged from the same nearly indestructible alloy as the Ragnarök’s hull itself.
From their monstrous barrels, a glow of emerald energy began to pulse.
Ascendancy’s voice returned.
"Master, all weapons are in position. Ready to fire."
William nodded, eyes gleaming.
"Then let’s fire. Let them witness what the Ragnarök truly is."
Ascendancy initiated the countdown:
"Firing in 3... 2... 1..."
PIU-PIU-PIU-PIU!
The point-defense turrets lit up space, releasing a barrage of high-concentration laser fire, joined by streams of hypersonic kinetic projectiles. Though these weapons were designed for close defense.
But that didn’t mean the point-defense weapons were limited to close-range interception. On Transcendent-grade ships, even those systems carried devastating firepower and flexibility. Their capabilities matched their classification—built to adapt to nearly any battlefield scenario William envisioned.This time, he had chosen to unleash them as forward assault units, spearheading the attack against the insectoid fleet.He wasn’t ready to activate the main weapon—not yet—and most of the secondary systems remained offline... all except the 59 heavy quad turbo-lasers.
And they worked
.
The energy beams tore through magnetic shielding like it didn’t exist.
{[Magnetic Shields.]Unlike standard shielding systems— which typically rely on generic energy fields to create a force barrier around the vessel, either to absorb, deflect, or disperse incoming attacks depending on their design— the magnetic shield system used by the insectoid race operated on a fundamentally different principle.
As the name suggests, magnetic shielding generates a powerful magnetic force field around the ship. This field is specifically designed to deflect or trap charged plasma particles, energy beams, and laser-based weaponry.
However, while highly effective against energy-based attacks, magnetic shields are notably less effective against kinetic projectiles, which are not influenced by magnetic fields in the same way.}
And the reason why these magnetic shields—supposedly highly effective against energy-based attacks—failed to mount any real defense against Ragnarök’s most weakest and lesser kind of devastating strikes came down to one thing: the fundamental difference in technological principles and power levels.
It was like a paper barrier trying to protect someone from an asteroid crashing down from the heavens. Just as paper cannot stop an asteroid, the magnetic shields of the insectoid vessels stood no chance against the sheer force of Ragnarök’s point-defense weapons.
Though powerful in their own right, those shields were simply not built to withstand weapons that operated on such overwhelming principles—where even secondary systems functioned like main guns, and motion itself became a weapon.
The kinetic rounds punched clean through the carapace hulls of T4 and T5-class hive motherships, ripping them apart with overwhelming force. Even swarm carriers were vaporized in an instant.
In the distance, the Hive Mind’s biological command vessel—a grotesque, five-kilometer-long monstrosity—was already wounded.
Though not completely destroyed, the abomination had managed to absorb some of the energy from Ragnarök’s point-defense attacks. But as mentioned before—just as no person can stop an asteroid with bare hands—no amount of biological armor or adaptive shielding could fully withstand a direct assault from weapons of such magnitude.
The Hive Mind had endured, but only barely. Its core remained intact, yet its ability to produce and command had been shattered. Its regenerative tissue burned, its neural conduits severed—its productive power crippled beyond immediate repair.
That’s when the 58 quad heavy turbo lasers fired.
And that’s when the 58 quad heavy turbo-lasers fired—right alongside the point-defense weapons.
Massive green projectiles of condensed energy thundered through space, slamming into the five-kilometer-long Insectoid Hive Mother vessel. Each blast unleashed a concentrated emerald beam, tearing through bio-organic armor and flooding its hull with destructive frequency harmonics.
Explosions erupted across the grotesque vessel in a twisted symphony of destruction. The convergence of energy was nothing short of a spaceborne storm of annihilation—an overwhelming cascade of fire and fury that turned the battlefield into a spectacle of pure devastation.
Those explosions lit up the void like an early festival of lights—less an attack, and more like a grand fireworks display unfolding in the silence of space.At least, that’s how it looked to William, Elsa, and Ancedy.
But not to the Human Federation fleet.
To them, it was something entirely different.
Across all 300 of their warships, crew members involuntarily gasped—again and again—as if their life support systems had suddenly failed, as if the air had grown thin and they had to draw multiple breaths just to satisfy their lungs.
But it wasn’t real.
They weren’t suffocating.
What they were experiencing was pure, overwhelming awe.
They had been fighting the insectoid fleet for hours, throwing every ounce of firepower they had—yet they had barely made a dent.
Granted, most of their vessels weren’t built for front-line combat—nor were they public, multi-purpose ships hastily repurposed for war. However, they were ships that possessed more than enough power to fight their own battles. Though not entirely suited for full-scale warfare, they were dual-class vessels—designed with versatility in mind.
Yes, they had destroyed more than 60% of the hive fleet—but with the hive mothership still standing, that progress was hardly worth mentioning.
And now—before their very eyes—a single vessel had ended that struggle in seconds.
It wasn’t just an attack.
It wasn’t even a festival of light.
Wait—hold it. Hold it.What even is a "festival of light"? That would’ve been the Federation fleet’s first question—if they weren’t already too stunned to speak. Their minds, already reeling from the sheer scale of destruction, couldn’t even process metaphors anymore.
No, what they witnessed wasn’t a celebration, wasn’t symbolic, and certainly wasn’t beautiful—not to them.
To the Federation fleet, it was something greater. A display... no, a declaration.
A declaration of It was power.Cold. Absolute. Unapologetic
And they witnessed one
Not one spoken with words, but shown through raw, incomprehensible power.
And William... he wasn’t just making that declaration—he was letting them see it for themselves, with their own eyes.
In less than a second, the Hive Mind’s flagship was completely obliterated, reduced to smoldering fragments and vaporized biomass.
Tactical readings showed total structural loss.
There was no counterattack.
No scream. Only silence.
As the energy from the Ragnarök’s barrage dissipated, a stillness fell across the battlefield.
For the first time in this war, space was quiet.
The Federation fleet’s comms, after a brief stunned silence, suddenly erupted into chaos.
It wasn’t just a few voices—it was an avalanche.
A barrage of frantic questions, shocked outbursts, and desperate speculation flooded the channels from every rank imaginable. Lieutenants, captains, second officers, command generals—hell, even some engineering staff—they all began shouting over one another. But these weren’t questions in the formal sense.