Cultivator vs. Galaxy: Rebirth in a World of Mechas

Chapter 12: ch 12 William in the Mirror

Back in reality, after William finished donning his sleek, high-grade attire, he stepped before the large mirror mounted near the wardrobe. And of course—of course—he paused.

Because for all the power William wielded, for all the galaxies he had crushed or created, there was one truth that remained constant through every life, every death, every reincarnation:

William was a narcissist.

Not the subtle kind. No—his was a grand, unapologetic, poetic kind of self-worship. A full-blown admiration for the masterpiece he believed himself to be.

He stared at his reflection, captivated.

"Truly," he thought, "if beauty had a form, it would simply borrow mine."

His face—sculpted with such precision it would make entire planets’ worth of influencers and idols question their worth. If there were a universal modeling competition, they might as well shut it down before it began. Even the Grand Witch—had she been stronger than him—might have kidnapped William just to study his impossibly perfect face.

He didn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t want to analyze such divine aesthetics?

He gently ran his hand through his hair—long, flowing strands that shimmered with golden streaks woven through midnight-black silk. The golden highlights weren’t artificial; they were naturally occurring, because of course they were.

Then there were his eyes. Deep, piercing blue—so profound, so perfectly luminous they seemed to reflect the birth and death of galaxies. They carried a mystique, a depth, and a ruthless clarity that could inspire awe and fear all at once. One could fall into them and be lost in visions of creation and destruction, of time bending and reality warping.

Power. Elegance. Majesty. Mystery.

It was all there—perfectly curated in one single being.

He continued staring. Admiring. Turning slightly to catch different angles. Tilting his chin upward. Smirking just enough to admire how sharp his jawline looked under the lighting.

The world—no, the universe—had just watched him die.

A forbidden weapon had been unleashed.

The structure of the galaxy was at risk.

And what was William doing?

Admiring his own reflection.

As if none of it mattered.

Because, for now, in this quiet space between resurrection and vengeance—William was everything that mattered.

Ten minutes passed.

Finally—finally—William was done admiring himself in the mirror. With one last, lingering glance at his godly handsomeness, he turned with a dramatic swirl of his coat.

"Perfection," he muttered, satisfied.

Without another word, he vanished in a flicker of blue-gold energy—teleporting directly to the command room of his flagship, the colossal war vessel known as the Ragnarok Ascendant.

This was no ordinary ship. No relic of lost empires or legacy of forgotten alien races.

The Ragnarok Ascendant was William’s dream given form.

Born from his obsession during his first life—on Earth—with a certain legendary sci-fi series, the ship’s design was a love letter to that fascination. That series had sparked a deep curiosity within him: a hunger for the stars, for warships that roamed the void, for dreadnoughts that carried power like gods.

It was a fascination so potent that it seeped into his very soul. His second spirit, now his Soul Weapon, had been forged by the Spirit of Creation itself in response to his love of mechas and spacefaring warfare. And the Ragnarok? It was the crown jewel of that obsession.

The vessel bore an unmistakable resemblance to the Bellator-class dreadnought from that old series. But William, never one to settle for less, had doubled the scale. The Ragnarok Ascendant stretched a titanic 14,000 meters—a full 14 kilometers of relentless war machine.

Forged from some of the toughest, near-indestructible alloys known in this galaxy and beyond, the ship was a fortress among stars. Its armor was impervious to most known weapons, and even void storms failed to scar its hull.

It was a thing of terrifying beauty—an unstoppable leviathan designed for both elegance and annihilation.

Its primary weapon systems were devastating:

64 heavy dual turbo-lasers

192 heavy quad turbo-lasers(Mounted along the upper deck, forming the ship’s main barrage line)

But these classifications were merely weapon classes, not names. Each system bore its own identity, crafted and named through ancient forges or modern labs alike.

Secondary armaments added even more destructive power:

160 octuple-barbette heavy turbo-lasers

58 heavy quad railgun batteries

58 quad heavy ion cannons

30 heavy quad ion cannons

650 strategic missile tubes

1728 light missile tubes (paired in a groups of 144 launchers)

586 medium quad turbo-pulsars

7,400 light quad defense turrets

These weapons were spread meticulously across the entire hull, allowing the Ragnarök Ascendant a full 360-degree engagement envelope, capable of simultaneously tracking and destroying targets across every vector of space.

But the true terror of the Ragnarok Ascendant wasn’t just its devastating weapons or immense size.

It was what powered it.

At the heart of the ship pulsed a refined stellar core—but not from any ordinary star. No. William had sourced the core of a Super Star—a massive celestial titan that had once dwarfed entire systems in its glow. That star had been miniaturized, compressed, and stabilized into an engine of destruction—a living sun, shackled in machinery, its fusion endlessly feeding the ship’s endless hunger for energy.

And yet, even that wasn’t enough.

Alongside the Star Core pulsed a second source: a Transcendent-Grade Antimatter Power Generator. This generator didn’t just harvest antimatter. It siphoned raw energy directly from space itself—tapping into quantum vacuums and interdimensional threads, providing theoretical limitless output.

Together, these two power systems granted the Ragnarok Ascendant more energy than most fleets combined—enough to level continents, pierce planetary shields, and plunge into black holes without so much as flickering the lights.

And to move such a divine war machine?

The propulsion system was nothing short of godlike.

14 Transcendent-Grade Dark Propulsion Engines formed the spine of its movement.

8 of them were Supermassive Cores—each larger than most capital ships.

The remaining 6 were High-Grade Precision Engines, fine-tuned to allow maneuverability despite the ship’s leviathan scale.

This configuration granted the Ragnarök Ascendant the acceleration and velocity to chase down ships a fraction of its size—an unnatural trait in vessels of this scale.

But it didn’t stop there.

For faster-than-light (FTL) travel, the Ragnarök had not one, but three Transcendent-Grade FTL Drives, each built for a different class of travel:

Warp Drive – Capable of reaching Warp Factor 10, allowing folding of space across solar systems in instants.

Hyperdrive – A Transcendent-Class Hyperspace Tunnel Generator, enabling the ship to cross the galaxy in mere hours with pinpoint precision.

Quantum Tunneling Drive – A rare and borderline-mythical tech allowing for inter-universal travel—theoretical in many circles, yet fully functional aboard the Ragnarok. This system allowed the vessel to shift through dimensions, slipping from one reality to another.

This was more than a ship.

It was a statement.

A mobile empire.

A thunderous answer to the silence of the stars.

And as William stood at the center of its command room, surrounded by glowing interfaces and arcane tech blended with ultramodern design, a faint smirk touched his lips.

"Now," he whispered to himself, voice low and commanding, "let’s see what this new universe has to offer."

William stood in the center of the command room, the endless hum of the Ragnarök’s systems vibrating through the air like a quiet storm waiting to be unleashed.

His piercing gaze swept across the room.

As if searching for someone.

But the room was empty.

With a faint scowl, William exhaled and muttered to himself, "Is she still sleeping...?"

His voice echoed in the silence, but there was no answer—only the ever-present thrum of power surrounding him. With a sigh heavier than his usual arrogance allowed, he closed his eyes and turned inward.

Deep within himself.

[William’s Spiritual Universe]

Not a world.

Not a realm.

A universe.

Vast and infinite—a cosmos forged as a byproduct of his cultivation technique, an internal world that transcended mere physical boundaries.

It was his Spiritual Universe.

Empty at first glance. Boundless space stretching in all directions. But in this emptiness, at the very heart of it all, stood a towering, divine presence.

The Tree of Eternity.

Its colossal canopy stretched endlessly, branches spreading like galaxies in bloom. Its roots curled deep into the core of this universe, anchoring reality itself. The Tree was no mere spiritual metaphor—it was a living manifestation of William’s dominion over space, time, and life.