Cultivator vs. Galaxy: Rebirth in a World of Mechas
Chapter 54: CH 54 Celestial Designers

Chapter 54: CH 54 Celestial Designers

The Goddess of Wisdom held no armies, commanded no fleets, and ruled no territory outright. Her role was purely administrative—an overseer of the Federation and all human-aligned systems, kingdoms, and states within it. On paper, she had no direct power to threaten anyone.

But in truth, she held something far more dangerous: influence.

She wielded deep institutional authority. She understood how systems worked—how to disrupt, expose, or eliminate operations from within. Time and time again, she intervened in covert activities that could have brought immense profit to those involved—both politically and financially. Yet no matter how carefully these criminal factions planned, the Goddess of Wisdom always managed to uncover them.

She called their actions dangerous. Harmful to society.

Still, they always escaped. They left behind no proof, no trace that could be tied back to them. They knew that if any evidence emerged linking them to these illegal operations, the Goddess of Judgments would be unleashed—and escape from her was nearly impossible. She held total control over the Federation’s judicial system. Her rulings were final. Her authority was imperial. And she could not be bribed or manipulated.

Then there was the Goddess of War.

She commanded every weapon in the Federation’s arsenal—from scout shuttles to dreadnoughts, from infantry rifles to planet-shattering ordnance. If it was built for war, she controlled it.

The Federation had always been greater than any one faction’s military, economic, or scientific power. But even its most ambitious power brokers knew better than to provoke the goddesses. They feared them. They feared what would happen if their greed ever crossed the line into open defiance.

They weren’t foolish enough to trigger their own annihilation.

But that was in the past.

Even then, the ruling factions had always resented the three goddesses. They were furious at their interference. Still, they kept their distance—maintained a certain boundary. The goddesses may not have been overwhelmingly powerful, not even when humanity was still in the Milky Way. And here, in the Uranus Galaxy, their influence had waned even more.

But ignoring them completely? Disrespecting their authority outright?

That was something else. This time, the Goddess of Wisdom had crossed a line—and it cut deep.

The Council of Twenty-Four—leaders of the most powerful factions—erupted in outrage. Some openly cursed her name, furious that she dared to speak with such boldness.

"Who does she think she is, acting like this?" one leader snapped, slamming a hand on the table.

"Such blatant disrespect," another muttered. "And now she’s threatening consequences for those who didn’t show up to the Council session? Calling them traitors? Since when does she have that authority?"

A third scoffed. "She’s a glorified AI. A servant of humanity. That’s all she was ever meant to be. And now she speaks like she rules us?"

A fourth leaned back, shaking their head. "I don’t know what our ancestors were thinking when they built her. They believed they were laying the foundation for progress. Maybe they were. But now? Now she’s acting like a tyrant. Just read the wording on that summons—she’s not inviting us. She’s ordering us."

As furious as those 24 council members were, they were still a minority. Their outrage meant little in the grand scheme of things. They could lobby the Council, shout until their voices cracked—but they couldn’t touch the Goddess of Wisdom, not directly. Even if they pushed through laws to limit her authority as humanity’s overseer, it wouldn’t make a dent. If anything, it would just provoke the other goddesses.

Especially the Goddess of Judgement—considered the sister of Wisdom.

And crossing her? That wasn’t just political suicide. That was defying humanity’s legacy itself.

Meanwhile, not everyone on the Council was like those 24 reactionary hardliners. There were others—far more influential, far more respected. They were the Celestial Designers.

Every word they spoke carried weight. Their status was just shy of divine. Known as the "Gods of Creation," they were responsible for the very foundations of the Federation—every mech, every weapon, every starship. Calling them the "treasures of humanity" wasn’t an exaggeration. It was fact.

They weren’t rulers by choice. They didn’t crave power. They saw themselves as servants of humanity—guardians of its survival. But their knowledge, their intellect, their influence? Unmatched. When they spoke, the galaxy listened.

And in this Council meeting, their presence mattered more than anyone else’s. Without their cooperation, nothing could move forward. Their protection was a priority.

One of them, Zander—also called the God of Weapons—was deep in his laboratory when it happened.

He was humanity’s top weapons developer. Right now, he was trying to invent something no one had dared attempt before: a weapon powered by red particles—also known by their common term, mana. The goal was to convert that volatile energy into a stable, usable power source for next-generation weaponry.

But he was stuck.

Years had passed. He still couldn’t design a device that could store and convert the mana safely. His understanding of the particle was like that of a toddler trying to solve advanced calculus. Progress? Zero.

He was nearing the edge—mentally, at least. Not full-blown madness, but the frustration had pushed him to his limits.

Then, suddenly—chime.

A sound echoed through the lab. A notification.

Zander froze. What the hell? he thought. I muted everything.

He tapped his jaw, puzzled. Then it hit him like a lightning bolt. He snapped his fingers and said aloud:

"Must be a message from the Goddess

"It might be from the Goddess," Zander muttered. "Only she could bypass my lockdown protocols and get a message through... unless it’s from the Divine Pilots."

Either way, he shrugged and said aloud, "Let’s see what this message is—and who it’s from."

With a snap of his fingers, a holographic display blinked to life in front of his eyes. The message unfolded in clean, formal text:

To the Respected Tier-1 Council Member and Celestial Designer,

This is the Goddess of Wisdom.

First, allow me to apologize for interrupting your research. I know your time is invaluable. But the current situation demands urgent action—and so, with a heavy heart (figuratively speaking), I must reach out to you directly.

The full context will be presented during the emergency Federation Council meeting, scheduled to begin in approximately ten minutes.

I understand that your work is crucial. However, what will be revealed in this meeting may prove even more critical to the survival and direction of the Federation—and potentially your own research in ways not yet clear.

Please attend without fail.

Thank you.

—G.W.

Zander let out a slow breath. "It is from the Goddess..."

He frowned. "Strange... she never calls emergency meetings. And asking all of us to be present? Claiming it’s more important than our research?"

His pride flared for a moment. "Is she implying my work is less important?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

But then he paused, shook his head, and softened his tone. "No... no, that’s not it. If anything, she was choosing her words very carefully. She wasn’t dismissing my work. If anything, she was warning me."

He stared at the glowing message a moment longer.

"What could be more important than my current project?" he wondered aloud. "What could benefit us more than our research?"

His eyes lit with curiosity.

"This is weird. But... interesting. Very interesting."

He looked around his lab—the scattered prototypes, the failed mana converters, the alloy fragments still waiting to be tested. He sighed.

"Well, it’s not like I’m on the verge of a breakthrough," he muttered. "Might as well go. Who knows? Maybe this meeting will give me the insight I’ve been missing."

And with that, Zander closed the display and made his way toward his personal chamber.

Meanwhile, across the vast reaches of Federation space, the same message reached all 28 Celestial Designers.

Each received it directly—unfiltered, bypassing every firewall, every privacy protocol. It could have come only from one source: the Goddess of Wisdom.

Many responded just like Zander—with surprise, a flicker of irritation, and a growing sense of unease. A few were outright angry at the interruption. But the truth, which none dared admit aloud, was that the timing of the message had struck a nerve.

Most of them had been struggling.

Some hadn’t seen real progress in decades. Projects once expected to revolutionize human civilization had stagnated. And while it was easy to blame the Goddess’s message for disturbing their research, the deeper frustration came from knowing that even before the interruption, things weren’t working.

They were still brilliant, yes. And there had been breakthroughs—just... limited ones.

One group had recently developed a new type of shielding technology: the Red Particle Shield. It was roughly 20% stronger than the Tier-6 "Peach Shield" system previously considered state-of-the-art.

The improvement came not from a new energy source or computational advance, but from the use of exotic new materials—materials that could channel red particles into the shield’s structure.

The boost was small in scale—less than 1% in usable red particle integration—but still meaningful. A step forward. Not revolutionary, but undeniable.