A mech.
Pure white and glowing with icy-blue energy. Sleek, almost serpentine in build. It had a vaguely humanoid structure—but its head resembled a dragon, fierce and regal. At nearly 30 meters tall, it towered above everyone.
A long, dual-bladed sword hung at its waist. One hand already held it, as if ready for war.
The sheer pressure it released made the entire crowd flinch.
This wasn't just any Martial Spirit. It was master-level. Two full ranks above my current level. A terrifying difference.
Everyone watching felt it. The fear. The awe. The unspoken question:
What kind of monster had just awakened in front of them?
And from there, I began my journey to reach the peak.
From Novice Rank to Apprentice, Warrior, Master, and Grandmaster — I achieved them all in just a few years. Less than a decade. All because of my talents, the enhanced physical body granted by my true Martial Spirit of Creation, and the absurd cultivation speed powered by my manifested Mecha Spirit — Aurora, a Transcendent Grade Martial Spirit.
To others, Aurora may have seemed like a Divine Grade spirit, a level above the Saint Grade. But only I knew the truth: Transcendent Grade was beyond classification — beyond even the control of the universal laws. Aurora wasn't just a spirit. It was a fragment of creation itself.
After reaching the peak of the Endite World, I ascended to the Spirit Realm — a more stable and powerful plane of existence. There, I continued my cultivation journey with one goal in mind: reach the true peak — and surpass it.
Spirit Realm Progression:
Spirit Lord
Spirit King (achieved within a decade)
Spirit Emperor (within another decade)
Spirit Sovereign (in four to five decades)
Spirit Enlistment (within a century)
At the peak of Spirit Enlistment, I prepared for another breakthrough. Soon, I transcended into the Divine Realm. I stayed there for around 10,000 years, advancing through:
Divine Realm Stages:
Divine Warrior
Divine Master
Divine Grandmaster
Divine Lord
Divine King
Divine Emperor
Divine Sovereign
Divine Ancestor
A few centuries later, I transcended again — into the Immortal Realm, where I remained for 20,000 to 30,000 years, cultivating through:
Immortal Stages:
Immortal Ascension
Bronze Immortal
Silver Immortal
Golden Immortal
True Immortal
Eventually, I achieved Supreme Sovereign Realm, which marked the final refinement of my foundation. Within a mere thousand years, I advanced through:
God Ascension (1st–9th level)
Supreme God of the Heavens
But even that wasn't the end.
At the peak of the Supreme God Realm, I realized something profound: what we called "the heavens" was only one of many such realms. There were countless others across infinite dimensions — endless possibilities and realities. So, I left.
I wandered the infinite chaos, visiting universe after universe. And in one of them, my Martial Spirit of Creation finally awakened its true form. It smiled — a chimed resonance that echoed in my soul — and told me: "My true power is still limited by your current realm. Keep ascending."
That was when I truly understood: Supreme God Realm wasn't the end.
I began to study the laws of every universe I visited. Each world's rules were fundamentally the same — yet different in nuance. I cultivated, adapted, and refined my understanding across these laws until they no longer felt foreign. They became mine.
Eventually, I transcended everything.
The rules of reality obeyed me. Creation and destruction, time and space, all bent to my will. Infinite realms, dimensions, timelines — I could create them as easily as drawing breath.
And only then did I understand the essence of true creation.
People believe that before anything existed, there was only darkness — that both creation and destruction come hand in hand. But that's wrong.
What would there be to destroy — or to create if there was truly nothing?
True nothingness implies the absence of everything — no matter, no energy, no space, no time, no laws of physics.
If there were truly nothing, then not even the potential for something to exist or emerge would be present. This directly contradicts the theory that creation and destruction are merely two sides of the same coin.
for there is turly noting at the start
No time → no change.
No space → no context.
No laws → no causality.
No potential → no possibility of transformation.
In this case, even the concept of "two sides of a coin" fails, because there's no coin.
Therefore, at the very beginning, there must have been something — meaning that creation is the true starting point, while destruction can only follow after something has come into existence.
Creation doesn't follow destruction. It precedes everything. That's the truth I uncovered through my spirit. And that's what took me beyond gods, beyond immortals — beyond even the concept of power.
And I'm not saying this out of ignorance — far from it. At my level of comprehension, I have not only perceived the state where even 'nothingness' did not exist, but I have transcended to that realm myself. I stood in pure emptiness — the absolute absence of all things, beyond existence and non-existence.
And there, I witnessed the first spark of creation. From true nothingness, something emerged: space, time, law, and the very possibility of potential and transformation. From that seed, chaos was born. And from chaos, infinite dimensions unfolded. Within that boundless expanse, destruction took place for the first time — and yet, creation continued, cycling endlessly, birthing universes, new laws, new times, and ever more realms of being.
Though I had reached the true peak — transcending the limits of power itself — it took me less than 100,000 years to become an omnipotent being.
Though I had reached the true peak — transcending the limits of power itself — it took me less than 100,000 years to become an omnipotent being.
With nothing left to challenge me, I lived a leisurely life with my family — the ones I had kept alive across the eons. They were happy. We shared countless memories, timeless moments, and an endless peace.
But time, even when irrelevant, changes everything.
Eventually, I began to feel detached — from the world, from life, from emotion itself. And one day, my parents and loved ones approached me with words I never expected:
"We've lived long enough."
After millions of years, even they felt it. The weight of immortality. The emptiness of a life where nothing was new, and nothing could surprise them anymore. They weren't cultivators chasing eternal life — they had lived for love, for experience. And now, they were ready to move on.
I respected their choice.
So I let them live normally. Without interference. Without barriers. And one by one, over millions of years, they passed — not because of weakness, but because they chose to.
Their passing left a hollow in me deeper than any void I had ever seen.
And so I drifted. For eons, I wandered in solitude. Sometimes visiting new realms for brief amusement. Sometimes watching young talents struggle and grow, even secretly helping them — giving them a nudge, a chance to rise. I suppose… in a way, I was creating new protagonists. Trying to feel something through them.
But even that lost meaning.
And then… I don't even know why, but I made a choice. Not to die. Not to sleep. But to reincarnate.
Not truly, though. I locked away all my powers — sealed everything I was — and cast myself into a universe of my own choice. One ruled not by cultivation, but by technology. A world of machines, spacefaring civilizations, logic over spirit.
I brought with me only one thing: a spaceship I created myself.
And that's where my story begins again.
Also, and that's where my downfall began.
I had no idea that this mission would be my last in this universe — nor that I would be betrayed by the very empire I served, and by the man I once admired most.
Unaware, I left the Imperial Palace with my fleet preparations underway, determined to fulfill the emperor's command.
But back in the palace…
The emperor sat in silence, gazing down from his throne. A shadowed figure approached — an informant.
"He's departed," the envoy said simply.
The emperor gave a tired nod. "You may leave."
As the envoy exited, the emperor turned to the crown prince, his expression unreadable.
"Is the team in position?"
"Yes, Imperial Father," the prince replied with a smirk. "Everything is set. Our operatives are tracking William's route. They're ready to strike as soon as he moves."
The emperor frowned. "You're underestimating him. You know how many impossible situations that man has survived — battles that should've killed him ten times over."
A calm, cold voice chimed in.
"You worry too much, Father."
The princess stepped forward. Her long blonde hair gleamed under the throne room lights, and her eyes were sharp with amusement.
"My brother and I have planned this thoroughly. He won't walk away from this one. Even if one plan fails, the others won't."
"Indeed," the prince said, folding his arms. "We've accounted for his tactics. He'll likely travel with a light strike fleet — fast ships, small numbers. He prefers speed over force at least for this mission. Whoever gets there first will take control of the mechanical civilization's weapon. He knows that, which is why he'll rely on a small, swift force."
The emperor nodded grimly.
"And we've sent over a hundred ships to intercept," the prince continued. "Heavy cruisers. Only ten will engage at first — enough to overwhelm him without raising suspicion. The rest will wait in ambush."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "If the first group needs support, they'll have it. Swift and decisive. He won't see it coming."
The emperor looked down, not speaking.
"Good," muttered the Emperor under his breath. Then, more to himself than anyone else, he added coldly,
"Don't blame me, William. It's not my fault your life ends this way. Blame your charisma… your tactical brilliance… your growing popularity. You left me no choice. You became too big, too fast. You could have brought glory to the Empire, helped us break boundaries we've never reached before… but the cost was too high. And I can't afford it."
He spoke those words like a justification, like a man trying to convince himself that betrayal was duty — that this was for the good of the Empire and his family's reign over Terra.
But the truth was simple.
A year earlier, before his 24th birthday, William had risen through the ranks at impossible speed, earning victory after victory. His brilliance couldn't be ignored. His leadership and magnetic presence rallied soldiers and officers alike. People followed him not out of duty, but out of loyalty.
And that was dangerous.
The Ruling Council — a body older than the current royal family and independent of the imperial bloodline — had seen what Willcom could become. They recognized his unmatched talent, his leadership, and his tactical brilliance. They understood what he could do for the Terra Empirin.And so, they acted.
Against centuries of tradition, they appointed him Supreme Commander of the Terra military — the first non-royal in history to hold the title.
That was the moment the Emperor stopped seeing William as an asset… and started seeing him as a threat.
A threat to his legacy. A threat to the crown prince's future. A threat to the royal line itself.
Still, even then, the Emperor hadn't planned William's death. That decision came later — pushed by whispers from his own children. Persuaded by the prince, who feared losing power. Encouraged by the princess, whose ambition burned brighter than her sense of honor.
And when the reports came of an ancient weapon buried on Utopia — a device powerful enough to reshape the balance of the galaxy — the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.
William would go to retrieve it, unaware. And there, he would fall.
Even if the cost was catastrophic. Even if the Empire bled for it.
The Emperor approved the plan.
Meanwhile, Willam was, as always, quick to act. He had already prepared his fleet for departure — a single destroyer and four frigates, swiftly boarded and ready to move.
A loyal hero was marching toward his own death.And the ones who would kill him... were none other than the very empire he had sworn to serve.