Cultivator vs. Galaxy: Rebirth in a World of Mechas
Chapter 55: Ch 55 Council

Chapter 55: Ch 55 Council

Another team had engineered a sub-light-speed engine designed for advanced mechas. This drive could slip into sunlight mode and navigate between star sectors independently—an unprecedented leap in tactical flexibility.

But the engine came with a massive flaw: fuel.

The drive couldn’t run on standard energy sources—no fusion, no antimatter, no quantum cores. It required something rare. Something found only in trace amounts within Federation-controlled space.

it needed what the locals called space water—a shimmering, semi-liquid plasma-fuel found in abundance only in distant sectors now controlled by the Servance Alliance, a former vassal turned hostile power. That made the fuel incredibly expensive, practically inaccessible.

So the breakthrough sat on the edge of viability—promising, and at the same time not. As

Yet they remained shackled by the scarcity of the most crucial resource—the core component of the sub-light speed engine.

This same resource powered high-level propulsion systems on certain spacecraft, but even there, its use was limited. Only a rare few vessels had the privilege of running on it.

All the Celestial Designers knew this.

So, while they were disturbed by the sudden summons, they shared the same thought as they read their respective messages: If the Goddess of Wisdom says this meeting is more important than our research... maybe she’s not wrong.

Besides, attending a Council meeting—especially a brief one—wasn’t a burden. And if the discussion held even the faintest possibility of shifting the political or technological playing field toward what they were more interested in, it would be more than worth their time.

If nothing else, a change of scenery might offer some unexpected benefit. All the more reason they should go.

And then, there were the Grand Admirals.

There were sixteen in total—fifteen if you didn’t count Grand Admiral John, who rarely attended Council sessions and was often deployed on the fringe sectors. Each of them received their own summons, not much different from ones sent to celestial designers and were even nearly identical to the one sent to the Celestial Designers—but slightly more direct:

[To the Respected Grand Admiral of the Federation,

This is the Goddess of Wisdom.

If you’re reading this, then I sincerely thank you for your time. You are hereby formally summoned to attend the Federation Council meeting, set to begin shortly.

A critical matter will be presented—one that directly concerns you and your fellow Admirals and is not limited to just yourself. Your presence is not only vital but expected. Absence will be noted, and may be viewed as counterproductive to your otherwise exemplary record.

—G.W.]

The reaction was immediate. Each Grand Admiral was surprised—some visibly taken aback. Not by the call to attend a Council meeting; that was routine.

Though such meetings were never compulsory, and they almost never attended unless it was truly important, usually sending their subordinates in their stead.

But the wording—rather, the last sentence—left them a bit stunned: "Absence will be viewed as counterproductive to your otherwise exemplary record."

The Grand Admirals were surprised, even taken aback, especially by the last few lines.

Which they all found surprising, as all previous meetings had been routine, and they were always allowed to choose whether to attend or not. But this one was different from previous summons—here, they were expected to attend, not the other way around.

And yet, that wasn’t what truly caught the Grand Admirals’ attention. It was the middle part of the summons that held their focus—it clearly stated that the matter involved them directly.

How exactly, they didn’t know.

And from the Goddess of Wisdom—whose words were never wasted—that meant something serious. Whatever was about to be revealed, it was big. And every one of the Grand Admirals knew it.

But one thing was certain: all sixteen—well, fifteen—were intrigued.

And, in spite of themselves, they were actually looking forward to the meeting.

To attend the meeting, they each directly teleported to their offices aboard their respective flagships and prepared to join virtually. They were too far from the Federation’s main world, and more importantly, they couldn’t leave the front lines they were defending after all.

And they weren’t the only ones attending virtually—everyone was, except for the Divine Pilots and even the Celestial Designers.

....

....

Federation Council Hall – Planet Omega(One of the most heavily protected worlds under the Federation’s direct control)

The Council Hall was vast—an enclosed chamber housed within the Federation’s main headquarters established on Planet Omega. The Omega planetary system was a twin-star system, boasting two suns that bathed the planet in perpetual brilliance.

The seating arrangement formed a grand circular layout, with all seats perfectly angled toward the central platform. At its heart stood three elevated thrones, larger and more ornate than the others—reserved for the Council’s Presidents. In this case, they belonged to the Three Goddesses.

The rest of the seats were fully occupied; every Council member was present, including 24 individuals who were clearly displeased with how they had been summoned. Yet, none had dared to defy the call—for fear of being branded traitors, simply for choosing not to attend.

The 28 Celestial Designers sat on shimmering golden seats, clad in neural synth-weave robes coded by the discipline they represented.

Blue symbolized the Energy Department—shielding systems, propulsion arrays, and power generation.

Red represented Destruction—housing those devoted to weaponry, from laser and plasma systems to kinetic and cold weapon technologies.

White signified Core Systems—those responsible for internal structure, integrity frameworks, and more.

Then came the 16 Grand Admirals, wearing pristine white uniforms trimmed with insignias denoting their ranks. Their presence exuded sharp discipline—crisp, orderly, and radiating the precise aura of central command. Even seated, they looked like they were leading fleets.

Scattered throughout the hall were planetary governors, kings of kinships, coalition presidents, and other high-ranking political figures—24 in total.

Among them sat four individuals whose very presence screamed royalty. Though not formally introduced, it was clear—they were the Emperors of the Four Major Powers within the Federation. Known collectively as the "Big Four," these Tier-6 superpowers held authority and strength just slightly beneath the Federation itself, limited only by certain treaties and restrictions.

And then, seated on thrones forged from prismatic alloy, were the 18 Divine Pilots, each present in full form. Even though they restrained their auras, the atmosphere around them was heavy—those nearby could feel a mix of dread and reverence, an overwhelming urge to fall to their knees in worship.

Even among those 24 Council members, some felt that instinctive pull—just for a fleeting moment—before their minds caught up, and they forced themselves back under control.

Meanwhile, the others—be it the Grand Admirals, the three Emperors, or the single Clan Elder of the Big Four—did not feel the same overwhelming urge to bow or worship, despite being mortals just like the 24 Council members. Why was that? No one knew for certain. But it had been observed countless times before, so by now, no one was surprised.

Then there were the 28 Celestial Designers. Though divine beings in their own right, they were not made for combat and destruction like the Divine Pilots, who were often referred to by another title: Gods of Destruction—for that was what they brought upon their enemies.

In contrast, the Celestial Designers were known as the Gods of Creation, for they quite literally created wonders—though many of those creations served the purpose of destruction as well.

.....

Shaking off the brief and embarrassing urge to worship, the twenty-four Council members began speaking quietly among themselves. They were surprised to find that every single Council member had been summoned and were curious whether their summons had been the same—or different.

Of course, that was just the surface. What they really wanted to know was whether they had been disrespected or reprimanded by the goddesses in the same manner—or if they had been singled out.

But just as their hushed discussion was about to begin, a soft chime echoed through the grand chamber. At the very center—where the three great thrones floated above the ground—three figures materialized, each accompanied by a divine pillar of light.

They were none other than the Goddess of Wisdom, the Goddess of Judgment, and the Goddess of War and Expansion.

The three goddesses appeared as humanoid projections—though to the naked eye, there was no discernible difference between their forms and that of physical, living beings. There was nothing holographic about them; their presence felt entirely real.

Each of them wore translucent yet regal blue attire, adorned with flowing fractal-patterned robes that shimmered with an otherworldly light. But these robes were not just fabric—they were something far beyond mortal craftsmanship, woven from divine essence itself.

Their glowing blue eyes shone like compressed stars, radiating a brilliance that made it hard to look directly at them, as if the very cosmos were staring back.

The three goddesses briefly glanced around the Council chamber, which—for some reason—had fallen completely silent the moment they appeared. Their radiant eyes swept across the assembly before finally settling on the 18 Divine Pilots seated directly in front of them.

The pilots, in perfect unison, gave respectful nods toward the goddesses—a gesture that was calmly returned.