My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 529 Eventualities

Liam had returned to his bedroom inside Bellemere Mansion.

He'd headed to the Pagoda seeking Master Han and Luo, discovering it eerily silent.

Yet his third clone revealed they were tucked away in separate cultivation rooms, fully immersed in a session stretching hours already.

He chose not to disturb them. Halting their cultivation for mere talk—even talk he eagerly awaited—wasn't an option for him. The breakthroughs unfolding in those chambers surpassed his mere inquisitiveness about their strides.

Furthermore, the clone's gaze had already shown him their advancements. Master Han had surged into Foundation Establishment. Luo followed nearly there. Their forging prowess had elevated in tandem with their cultivation.

Pride filled him for them both.

In his quarters, he perched on the bed's edge, quieting his thoughts. The foremost notion rising was the armour he aimed to forge using the five Jörmungandr's Scales.

Those Scales had rested in the Dimensional Space since he claimed them. The instant he touched the first, his purpose for them crystallized.

He had envisioned full-body armour—not ordinary, but merging the scales' traits with the advanced tech layering Lucy innovated for the exosuits.

It appeared utterly implausible, fully known to him all along, yet concern didn't grip him.

He'd mentally drafted the design countless times afterward, always postponing action due to more pressing crises clamoring for his focus.

However, the Tiamat invitation had realigned his urgencies.

He would accept it—not today and not this week—since rejecting a primordial goddess's deliberate summons smacked of fear over wisdom, and fear never dictated his choices.

Preparation came first.

The system promised safety and safeguarding in her domain. He accepted that verdict within its bounds. Never had the system offered him anything crafted for his harm.

Nevertheless, he'd stride into that domain donned in the superior armour at his disposal. Doubt in the system's guarantee wasn't the motive; rather, entering a primordial's realm without readiness—when preparation lay within reach—was reckless folly, and he scorned approaching Tiamat so ill-equipped.

He'd forge the armour prior to venturing there.

Diverting his focus from the invitation, he turned to the wormhole network next.

A sign-in reward it was, lying dormant from the start. He'd acknowledged its inevitable activation but sidestepped timing it, as the consequences demanded contemplation beyond his prior capacity.

Contemplation struck now.

Mechanically straightforward, its activation would birth stable wormholes spanning the galaxy, bridging isolated space nodes. Voyages demanding years or ages at normal velocities would shrink to instants. Interstellar society's backbone would realign in a flash.

The real tangle lay in the fallout.

Conflicts loomed large in his foresight. Galactic species would covet ownership of the network, snatch it wholly, or seize segments linking their home systems or holdings. To some, it screamed territory. To others, unearned infrastructure begging seizure. To yet more, a peril requiring swift elimination lest it turn against them.

Liam would permit no one—no entity however mighty—to stake claim on his possessions. That line stood unyielding; no claimant's stature would bend it.

He recognized his simulation of galactic backlash stemmed from human angles.

He'd pictured parallels to a realm constructing a vital harbor, adjacent empires racing to dominate its gates. Territorial drives. Resource hungers. The dread of entrenched dominions beholding a fresh construct beyond their forge or grasp.

But such a human framework mismatched the galaxy, inhuman in essence.

Relative to the cosmic expanse, the Milky Way stayed juvenile. The solar system's locale within it, even more nascent. Still, youth held relativity.

Fifty billion years remained fifty billion years. The races and civilizations enduring after the universal war—that devastating clash when beings from other universes invaded this one—had evolved in the ensuing period, dwarfing all of humanity's documented past to mere moments.

He lacked any template for the outcomes of fifty billion years of continuous advancement in a civilization. He couldn't gauge the number of such civilizations scattered across the cosmos. Nor could he foresee their reactions to a galaxy-spanning wormhole network suddenly firing up, triggered by an unknown force from a fledgling star system in one of the galaxy's newer zones.

Yet the black forest ideology served as his guiding principle. Always presume the direst possibilities until proven wrong, since any proof to the contrary demands outlasting threats long enough to reveal it.

This harsh perspective fit perfectly, for the universe itself was unforgiving, and those civilizations thriving across eons did so through precise judgments, not hopeful delusions.

Thus, activating the wormhole network demanded a key condition. The Ganymede command center must first stand complete and fully functional, complete with fleet command setups, early alert mechanisms, FTL launch systems, and any military strength he could muster in the interim—all primed and waiting.

He refused to reveal his presence to the galaxy absent the means to protect it.

This necessity stretched the activation schedule far beyond his initial estimates.

Even by Lucy's measures, the Ganymede base loomed as a massive build. The Emperor Class-II lingered in skeletal form. Surveillance and defense posts throughout the solar system sat planned yet unconstructed.

Lucy stressed that civilian tourism paths required those outposts for secure operations. The strategic military need burned even hotter.

Honestly sequencing the steps revealed a timeline exceeding a year—perhaps by a wide margin.

He contemplated this delay and discovered no unease within.

This interval wasn't squandered; it fueled preparation, and such grand-scale readiness held intrinsic worth, no matter the ultimate purpose.

The divide from his current state to the readiness required for wormhole ignition involved no idle waiting.

Rather, it centered on bridging that divide. Meanwhile, Earth demanded attention too.

His mind drifted to the rats as well.

Since Lucy's briefing, he'd devoted scant focused thought to them. He'd stated his stance plainly: personal intervention awaited the right moment.

They'd pieced together his ownership of Nova Technologies. Rather than retreating, they viewed it as a prime opening. They'd woven schemes to test his boundaries and seize company dominance—thus grasping the tech, and through it, all it influenced.

Credit where due: their hunger knew no bounds.

But it spelled disaster. Not due to the greed itself, but because they'd eyed Nova Technologies' feats across four months—the lunar outpost, spacecraft, nanites, the synchronized shifts in markets and governments—and deemed it ripe for the taking.

There lay their fatal misstep.

Today held no moves against them. He'd permit their plotting under the illusion of stealth. Every action stood recorded in Lucy's archives, placing it firmly within his grasp at any chosen instant.

His eventual strike would prove calculated and absolute. No mere caution or show of ire.

It promised swift, utter eradication, imprinting on observers that certain prizes lay beyond reach.

He'd etch into the world the peril of targeting those he valued. Perhaps only then would he unveil his identity and powers publicly.

Yet revealing himself as Nova Technologies' CEO and his abilities to the world remained unpondered for now. Still, he knew it loomed inevitable.