And the craziest part?
The Anvil Starforger—as monstrous and divine as it already was—got reengineered.
Yeah. I let Tyler and his crew of mad scientists and engineers get their hands on it.
And when I say mad, I an it. You'd think spending 500 years in a city I personally built—a paradise, a lush R&D sanctuary filled with beauty, natural inspiration, artificial wonders—they'd occasionally step outside. Sll the alien roses. Watch the double suns set.
But no.
They didn't leave.
So of them, I kid you not, locked themselves in the library for over 100 years straight. That wasn't an exaggeration. I saw the logs.
All I did was give them access to a few rare technologies, alien components, ancient blueprints… just a taste. A tease.
A tease.
And when I say tease, I an tease.
Every piece of knowledge in the library I created on Zen-1—every scroll, shard, and etched glyph—was nothing more than the basics. The fundantals. Just the entry-level blueprints of advanced technology that's considered commonplace across the Super universe. I recorded it all using my Authority of Knowledge, cataloged and stored it for those with the hunger to see.
But to Chief Imperial Engineer Tyler and his team of a thousand scientists, engineers, and researchers?
It was a treasure trove.
What followed was an obsession
Yeah!
They beca obsessed.
Absolutely consud by it.
A thousand brilliant minds spiraling down a rabbit hole of raw potential, decoding, dissecting, and dreaming with curiosity.
A burning, blinding curiosity that consud them to their core. Every piece of material, every byte of data, every stray component placed in the R&D district beca an unending riddle they were desperate to solve.
Tyler especially—he wasn't just studying it. He was feeling it. Like he could sense the universe opening up, one equation at a ti.
Let tell you one more thing. One more reason why I call these scientists mad.
You'd think a bunch of top-tier researchers would ignore anything as mystical as awakening or cultivation, right?
Wrong.
The mont they found out that cultivation could help them rank up, evolve, unlock strange abilities—and yeah, extend their lifespans—they were hooked.
But here's the crazy part...
It wasn't the cool powers that got them all fired up. It wasn't the idea of shooting lightning from their fingers or transcending physical form.
No.
It was the lifespan extension.
Because in their minds, the longer they lived… the more ti they had to research.
To discover.
To decode the universe and every hidden law it held.
That's what truly excited them.
Not immortality for the sake of being eternal.But immortality so they wouldn't run out of ti to learn.
They were scared—not of death itself—but of dying before they finished their work.
They feared that they'd be on the edge of unlocking a new physics model or ancient power system… and just run out of ti.
So they cultivated. Not to beco gods, but to beco eternal scholars. They awakened their potential just enough to guarantee themselves centuries, maybe even millennia, to keep working.
And honestly? That's what broke a little.To think that even their pursuit of power was just a ans to keep chasing knowledge…
What a sad, brilliant, unshakable reality.
In a universe driven by power, where the strong dominate and the weak vanish into the void… who wouldn't want to beco an immortal supre?
where immortality is a ladder to domination and supremacy...
To rise above it all. To rule.
But not them.
These mad scientists… they were different.
They had the potential. More than most. they all could've beco ancient lords or eternal paragons of the universe and even in infinite reality they have their place, that to be on the top of the ladder.
They had the resources.They had the access.Hell, they had backing them! and I was backed by the almighty, omnipotent supre being the one and only.
But they weren't interested in any of that.
Power didn't thrill them. Control didn't tempt them. Glory ant nothing.
What did?
Knowledge. Understanding. The pursuit of truth.
They only cultivated to buy more ti—to stretch their lives across centuries, millennia if needed—not to dominate, but to learn.
In a universe filled with warlords and emperors, they chose to be students forever.And that… might make them the rarest beings of all.
They didn't chase immortality for power.
They didn't want to cultivate for strength or status.
No, they just wanted more ti to learn. More ti to explore the infinite ocean of knowledge.
They didn't sleep.
They didn't stop.
They didn't care.
Tyler and his team beca sothing else entirely.
Architects of innovation. Gods of refinent. Madn who rewrote the possible.
"For their madness… I have nothing but respect."
They weren't warriors. They didn't crave battle.They didn't care for titles, power, or immortality for dominance.
But their obsession—no, their devotion—to knowledge…That built this fleet.
Every bolt, every reactor, every weapon system aboard these ships exists because a so-called 'madman' spent years, decades, even centuries perfecting the math, the design, the logic behind it.
And now? With my vision and their genius…The Void Fleet stands as sothing few in the universe can ever hope to rival.
And this is only the beginning.
As long as they keep researching—and I keep feeding them the resources to dream—we will only grow stronger.
One breakthrough at a ti.
So yeah—I handed the Anvil Starforger, my supermassive shipyard, over to Tyler and his team of mad engineers and scientists.
And I don't say mad lightly. These people practically dissected every corner of the shipyard like it was a divine artifact dropped from the heavens.
And in so way, it indeed was.
Within months, they didn't just understand it.They reinvented it.
Reverse-engineered it.
Rewrote its schematics.Then handed those schematics off to Minister Evans, head of Industrial Developnt.
And this man? He had eleven more of those shipyards queued up for construction before I could even raise an eyebrow.
In ti—no, in record-breaking speed—twelve Anvil Star forgers stood ready, churning out warships with terrifying efficiency.
The fleet?
Prepped.
Outfitted.
Yes, outfitted — we had our old, yet new ship. I hope you all understand — outfitted with our new mana technology, made compatible with the more basic energy of the Super universe: mana.
Reinforced.
Yes, reinforced too — with materials that allow mana to flow through them.
We used specialized alloys.
First, there was Manacite — a crystalline mineral that channels raw mana, whether produced by a mana generator or even compatible with electric-based energy. A perfect fit for the new dual-power generators of our fleet.
Then ca Arcalite, a tallic alloy with natural magneto-reactive properties. It beca the backbone of our armor plating and ship hulls, reinforced with mana through rune-carved layers — so even embedded with self-repair runes.
Next was Ethrour — dense, yet deceptively light. A superconductor for both mana and electricity, Ethrour ford the core of our magitech engines, railgun systems, turbo Leasor, and shield projectors. And more.
Then there was Mytherium — an ultra-rare hyper tal, found only in my personal Universal Plane. It resonated with high-tier weapon structures, enhancing them through its unique ability to absorb and harmonize with different kinds of mana. We used it in magecraft weaponry, FTL modules, and hyperspace engines.
And finally — the mysterious Azuro. A special tal that stabilized the mana around it. Installed throughout the fleet, it prevented mana dispersion and created a calm, anchored flow of energy within and around our ships
These materials weren't just added — they reinforced our ships, especially the old-yet-new ones. In truth, we practically recreated them from the ground up.
So ships were rebuilt completely using these mana-compatible alloys, while others were constructed anew — purpose-built for this new age of dual-energy systems. We phased out the materials once extracted for the Sol System. But no, they weren't wasted. Those resources were carefully stored, set aside with intent.
They would be gifted — to the empires and nations back on Earth — when the ti was right. When the pieces were in place. So they, too, could begin building their own ships, guided by what we had learned out there among the stars.
And yes — construction started much later than the R&D departnt.
For one, ti on Planet Zen-1 was dilated. The local ti ratio there was 1:500 compared to standard galactic ti. Later, at Tyler's request, it was extended even further — to 1:1000. That ant, for every year that passed in realspace, the R&D team experienced a millennium of focused work.
In total, they spent the equivalent of 126 years in that accelerated state — researching, designing, refining. Ti moved slower for them, but their breakthroughs ca faster than anyone thought possible.
anwhile, the Mining and Industrial Division started with a more modest ti dilation — 1:2. But to match the rising demands of ship production, it was increased to 1:5. That shift was critical. The goal? To construct 1,022 ships — each incorporating the R&D team's final designs, each fully reimagined for the new era of mana-based and dual-energy systems.
By the ti the R&D team erged — after nearly 124.6 years of relentless work — they had done more than complete their research. They had forged the blueprint of a fleet that would change the shape of the stars.
And for once, I didn't even have to accelerate ti too much to et my deadlines.
That alone saved from having to deal with a riot of ti-looped engineers driven insane by stress.
The R&D departnt is already mad enough—I didn't need another rebellion on my hands.
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