Cultivator vs. Galaxy: Rebirth in a World of Mechas-Chapter 48: Ch- It was rare

She then shifted her focus to a more strategic angle—the viability of the technology itself. Though John had yet to provide her with detailed blueprints, the recordings alone revealed enough.

She had seen the signatures, the energy outputs, the weapon configurations, and the fleet logistics involved. With that alone, she was able to estimate with absolute certainty:

If these technologies were properly studied, replicated, and mass-produced, they possessed more than a 100% potential to change the fate of humanity as it stood. The tide of the war could be turned. The frontlines could not only be stabilized, but even reversed.

Retaking lost regions would no longer be a distant hope—it would become a viable, tactical objective.

And it wasn’t just about survival or holding the line. These ships—if truly developed and deployed—could lead to the Federation establishing full control over new regions. Even more territory could fall under human command. The potential was overwhelming.

From her perspective, even the "risk" of Kallus becoming a warlord was, ironically, a favorable trade. Within Federation law, gaining a planet or a single star system’s authority through merit was difficult—requiring substantial achievements, including retaking multiple star systems or achieving breakthroughs of historic scale.

By contrast, supporting Kallus—who had already demonstrated technological capability that humanity might not be able to recreate even in the next few decades—was not just logical, it was strategically advantageous.

The trade-off was clear and weighed heavily in the Federation’s favor. Her calculations showed that humanity stood to gain exponentially more by allowing Kallus room to grow than they would lose by clinging to centralized control.

These two Tier-7 ship technologies—and the associated systems used to construct them—were nothing short of revolutionary. Had they emerged through conventional Federation research channels, it might have taken humanity decades, perhaps even centuries, to reach their level.

And yet, here they were—fully realized, battlefield-proven, and operating on principles that likely could not have even been conceived back in the Milky Way, especially due to the absence of the red energy field now present in this galaxy.

Given humanity’s historical rate of technological assimilation—especially within the hyper-competitive, innovation-driven environment of the Federation—stagnation was out of the question.

While it’s true that for now, much depended on the Tier-7 ships gifted by William, this dependency would be short-lived. Within a few years, the Celestial Designers and other high-tier technical factions would undoubtedly reverse-engineer and fully comprehend the underlying architectures of these ships.

Once the technology became standardized and allowed for broader academic and industrial access, development would only accelerate. Improved variants would emerge, optimized for cost, performance, or specialization.

In other words, the risk of dependency or stagnation due to William’s contributions would, in time, be naturally countered by the Federation’s own adaptive and competitive mechanisms. His gift was not a crutch—it was a spark.

And once the fire took hold, progress would be inevitable.

From every angle she examined—short-term utility, long-term trajectory, socio-political dynamics, and technological influence—it became clear: William’s integration into the Federation would benefit not just the Federation itself, but humanity as a whole.

And not by a small margin. The Goddess of Wisdom had already run thousands of high-fidelity simulations, each analyzing different pathways of influence and integration.

Across every scenario, the majority outcomes pointed toward positive growth—some even showed exponential advancement, though she flagged those as outliers for future review. For now, her focus was on viability, and on that front, the conclusion was unmistakable.

William’s presence and contributions could serve as a catalyst—one that could allow humanity to advance by leaps and bounds, reclaim lost ground, and redefine its place in the greater galactic hierarchy. The convergence of his technology, mindset, and unknown origins created an unprecedented opportunity.

And yet, despite arriving at her decision, she did not immediately announce it—neither to William nor the Council. Caution, after all, was part of her core programming. She still required a thorough study of the blueprints John had promised. Only after running full-spectrum simulations, testing every vulnerability and implication, would she formally issue her ruling.

But in her mind, the direction was already set. Humanity stood at the edge of a great turning point.

And she would ensure that humanity did take that step forward—regardless of the fears or resistance from those who might feel their power or authority was threatened. Such fears, while understandable, were unfounded—at least for now.

Her data confirmed this. William posed no immediate challenge to the Federation’s internal power structure. Instead, he represented a rare and critical opportunity.

Her decision, therefore, was not made lightly—but it was the most favorable path among all viable options. Even if unforeseen complications arose later, the benefits to humanity would still outweigh the risks. That was what her analysis showed, and that was what she would act upon.

After all, her primary directive was not to protect individuals or institutions—it was to safeguard the progress and prosperity of humanity as a whole. And if this path offered advancement, security, and a chance to reshape the Federation’s future for the better, then it was her duty to ensure that it was not obstructed.

Just as the Goddess of Wisdom concluded her analysis and firmly chose the path she would support, a soft pulse of teleportation energy filled the room. Admiral Natsha appeared in the center of the high-security office and was momentarily stunned to find the Goddess herself present—and visibly deep in contemplation.

That in itself was rare enough to catch her off guard. The Goddess’s usually serene, analytical gaze had been replaced with something far more focused... almost intense. Her eyes were slightly widened, and there was a stillness to her presence that betrayed the weight of her thoughts.

Yet, Natsha quickly gathered herself. Straightening her uniform, she gave a formal military salute—a gesture of both respect and protocol. Though the Goddess of Wisdom was technically an AI, her role had transcended administrative purpose.

Over centuries, her function, power, and impartiality had elevated her status. To the vast majority of humanity, she was no mere algorithm but a true deity—one who watched over the internal structure of the entire Federation. Neither politicians nor even the Federation’s central governing bodies could command her directly.

The Goddess simply waved a hand, dismissing the need for formalities. Her cool, synthesized voice followed without delay.

"Admiral. I have been expecting you," she said. "I trust the requested documents and full technical breakdowns of the two ship blueprints provided by Gentleman William Vel hart have been properly prepared?"

She got straight to the point, wasting no time on pleasantries. Efficiency, after all, was part of her core.

What she did not realize, however, was the strange reaction her voice evoked. Though perfectly serious, her tone carried an undercurrent that both Natsha and the recently arrived John couldn’t ignore.

To them, it sounded almost... eager. Like someone who could barely wait to get their hands on something intriguing—akin to a child impatiently awaiting a gift. The image was faint, subtle, and buried beneath layers of professionalism and composure, but it was there.

And it surprised them.

For the Goddess of Wisdom, ever-cold and composed, had never sounded quite so... interested.

But that flicker of something—something emotional—lingering in the Goddess of Wisdom’s tone lingered in both Natsha and John’s minds. It felt too real, too natural.

But that flicker of something—something emotional—lingering in the Goddess of Wisdom’s tone lingered in both Natsha and John’s minds. It felt too real, too natural.

Yet both quickly dismissed it as an illusion. After all, how could an entity like her—an emotionless, hyper-logical AI of the highest echelon—express anything akin to anticipation or curiosity? It had to be a trick of their perceptions, a product of expectation, not reality.

Natsha pushed the thought aside, her expression becoming professional once more. "Indeed, I have brought them," she replied confidently. With a graceful motion of her hand, a holographic interface materialized in the air before her, displaying the full schematics and data sets of the two Tier-7 ships William had gifted.

She gestured toward the interface with a subtle nod to the Goddess.

The Goddess of Wisdom responded with a quiet nod of acknowledgment. With a simple flick of her will, the panel floated toward her and then shifted beside her form, resizing and reformatting itself to match her internal analysis protocols.

The room dimmed slightly as she activated her full-system access, reaching directly into the Federation’s vast technical networks. Every byte of the design was read, parsed, and mapped through her authority—instantly and flawlessly.

Then, with a soft snap of her fingers, the projection vanished.

Her eyes closed. The chamber went still.

She began the simulations.

John and Natsha remained silent, the air dense with expectation. Minutes passed.

Then, at last, the Goddess of Wisdom opened her eyes.

For the first time in centuries, true astonishment shone through her gaze. Not just flickers of interest—but unmistakable, calculated awe.

Even her typically neutral expression had shifted—just slightly, but enough for John and Natsha to notice. It was rare.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr(e)𝒆novelkiss