Legacy of the Void Fleet

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 mean 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. Smell the alien roses. Watch the double suns set.

But no.

They didn’t leave.

Some 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 mean 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 fundamentals. 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 became obsessed.

Absolutely consumed 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 consumed them to their core. Every piece of material, every byte of data, every stray component placed in the R&D district became 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 time.

Let me 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 moment 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 time 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 time 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 time.

So they cultivated. Not to become gods, but to become eternal scholars. They awakened their potential just enough to guarantee themselves centuries, maybe even millennia, to keep working.

And honestly? That’s what broke me a little.To think that even their pursuit of power was just a means 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 become an immortal supreme?

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 become 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 me backing them! and I was backed by the almighty, omnipotent supreme 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 meant nothing.

What did?

Knowledge. Understanding. The pursuit of truth.

They only cultivated to buy more time—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 time to learn. More time to explore the infinite ocean of knowledge.

They didn’t sleep.

They didn’t stop.

They didn’t care.

Tyler and his team became something else entirely.

Architects of innovation. Gods of refinement. Madmen 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 something 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 time.

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 some 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 Development.

And this man? He had eleven more of those shipyards queued up for construction before I could even raise an eyebrow.

In time—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 me — 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 came Arcalite, a metallic alloy with natural magneto-reactive properties. It became the backbone of our armor plating and ship hulls, reinforced with mana through rune-carved layers — some even embedded with self-repair runes.

Next was Ethrour — dense, yet deceptively light. A superconductor for both mana and electricity, Ethrour formed the core of our magitech engines, railgun systems, turbo Leasor, and shield projectors. And more.

Then there was Mytherium — an ultra-rare hyper metal, 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 metal 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.

Some 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 time 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 department.

For one, time on Planet Zen-1 was dilated. The local time ratio there was 1:500 compared to standard galactic time. Later, at Tyler’s request, it was extended even further — to 1:1000. That meant, 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. Time moved slower for them, but their breakthroughs came faster than anyone thought possible.

Meanwhile, the Mining and Industrial Division started with a more modest time 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 time the R&D team emerged — 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 time too much to meet my deadlines.

That alone saved me from having to deal with a riot of time-looped engineers driven insane by stress.

The R&D department is already mad enough—I didn’t need another rebellion on my hands.