Jose Porla spread his hands wide, a dense purple magic power filled with the aura of death coalesced before being wildly unleashed like rapid-fire cannon shots.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Makarov extended one hand, and a golden magic circle appeared once more, effortlessly blocking the magical assault.

The barrage couldn't penetrate his defenses.

Whether it was due to age bringing wisdom or not, Makarov was truly versatile.

He was proficient in multiple types of magic—close combat, ranged attacks, offense, defense, one-on-one duels, and group battles—he excelled in all of them.

As Makarov himself would say, his defensive magic was so strong that even if he stood still and let Jose Porla bombard him until his magic power was exhausted, it still wouldn't break through.

"BOOM!"

While defending, Makarov's other hand wasn't idle either.

His arm stretched and enlarged, swatting around like he was smacking flies, forcing Jose to constantly teleport to avoid the blows.

Getting hit by one of those slaps was no joke.

"Ghost Arrow!" Jose continuously unleashed his magics, filling the entire venue with the oppressive and malevolent aura of dark magic.

Just the residual energy from these attacks was enough to make the younger mages feel unbearably uncomfortable, their hearts gripped by waves of fear.

Bacchus and Karen had already taken shelter behind Goldmine and Bob, while the guild masters released their own magic power to help shield the younger members from Jose's sinister magic.

Jose's dark magic was indeed strong.

Most Mages wouldn't even qualify to stand before him and some of the guild masters present might not last more than a few moves against him.

But just like Karen, his mistake was picking the wrong opponent.

The short-tempered old man standing before Jose wasn't tall and when his temper flared, he fought without the slightest mercy.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Makarov's massive hands slapped around wildly, reducing the banquet hall to ruins, with his giant handprints everywhere.

Marco, standing behind the old man, winced at the sight—each slap was money flying away!

With the old man shielding him, Marco naturally felt no pressure and was quite relaxed.

But his thoughts were anything but light—they were downright outrageous.

He was contemplating how to 'steal the kill'.

The system had only asked him to 'Defeat Jose Porla', not necessarily to 'defeat him alone'.

If he and Makarov defeated him together, wouldn't that still count as "defeating"?

But now the question was—for it to be called "defeating," shouldn't there at least be some "fighting" involved?

Could just the "victory" alone suffice?

It's like claiming to have scored 81 points with Kobe—you'd at least have to step on the court and dribble the ball a couple of times, right?

Could you really call it a shared score if you just cheered from the sidelines?

Marco didn't dare gamble.

If he lost this bet, he'd miss out on an opportunity to instantly acquire a 'Gold Saint skill'!

So, Marco was now brainstorming furiously—how could he get in on the 'fight'?

He needed some participation!

Marco's gaze fell on the rose in his system space.

That strikingly vivid, dangerously alluring 'Royal Demon Palace Rose."

'Time to give this bastard a taste of something nasty!'

Marco made his decision instantly.

'You're up—Royal Demon Palace Rose!'Marco immediately took out the 'Royal Demon Rose,' his magic power enveloping the flower and tightly sealing its toxic fumes.

'This will definitely give you a taste of your own medicine!'

Marco channeled his magic power, with three faintly visible star patterns shimmering behind him.

The stars flickered as their radiance flowed and his magic power surged continuously towards the 'Royal Demon Rose'.

In Marco's hands, the 'Royal Demon Rose' had transformed into a glowing magic power orb, its imposing aura truly astonishing.

"What are you up to, kid?" The commotion even caught Makarov's attention.

The old man spared him a glance, his face full of curiosity as he asked.

"Gramps, I'm going to help you!"

Marco declared with righteous determination, continuing to gather his magic power.

With the old man shielding him upfront, he naturally intended to accumulate as much as possible—after all, Jose Porla couldn't interfere with him now.

"Good! Then it's up to you!" Hearing Marco's words, Makarov responded cheerfully.

"Don't mind him—I'll cover your defense!"

Far from being annoyed by Marco's involvement in his battle, the old man began encouraging him enthusiastically.

Truth be told, if Marco could knock Jose down in one strike, Makarov might just laugh himself silly.

Jose dodged attacks while relentlessly unleashing his own.

He had noticed Marco gathering magic power but paid it no mind—such an attack wasn't worth his concern.

"I said take it outside! Outside!"

The heated battle between Makarov and Jose in the conference hall had Goldmine and Bob on edge.

Looking at the utterly ruined banquet hall, the two couldn't help but sigh.

Goldmine and Bob had full confidence in Makarov's strength—they didn't believe for a second he'd lose to Jose unless Makarov had some... unfortunate accident today.

If the two had taken their fight outside, everyone could've enjoyed the spectacle.

But brawling inside the venue was just too much—everyone's belongings were still here!

The banquet hall being wrecked was one thing, but if the entire building collapsed, they'd all be in trouble.

"That bastard Jose just had to provoke Makarov. Now look—he won't be satisfied until this place is in ruins!"

A silver-haired old woman with her hair in a bun grumbled incessantly.

She was Ooba Babasama, the master of 'Lamia Scale'.

"Stop them! We have to stop them!"

The more Ooba Babasama thought about it, the angrier she became.

She stomped her feet repeatedly, her aged appearance belying her formidable strength—despite being over seventy, she was not to be underestimated.

'Lamia Scale' had no shortage of powerful Mages, especially Jura Neekis.

This young man, was hailed as the future the 'Ten Wizard Saints, his strength widely acknowledged.

At this moment, Jura Neekis—nicknamed "Iron Rock"—stood beside Ooba Babasama.

A bald man with stubble on his chin, he held a staff, giving off the serene vibe of a monk with his kind and gentle demeanor.

Jura Neekis, who looked slightly older than his age, was intently watching the battle between Makarov and Jose Porla.

His eyes were filled with curiosity and admiration, as battles between the Ten Wizard Saints were not something one could easily witness!

Anyone with eyes could see that although Jose was putting on a lively show—constantly firing magic blasts and unleashing a variety of spells—he was actually the one running out of tricks.

Makarov hadn't even exerted his full strength yet, and Jose was already drenched in sweat.

"What's that kid doing?"

Jura Neekis turned his gaze toward Marco, who stood behind Makarov.

In the boy's hands, a magic power orb was already becoming unstable.

Not just Jura who noticed it—everyone else did too.

They all stared at Marco in astonishment.

"Grandpa! Now!" Marco gritted his teeth and roared.

He was barely holding on—the magic power orb in his hands pulsed erratically!

"Now!" Makarov also shouted, thrusting his arms forward.

Several golden circular magic circles abruptly expanded outward.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The unleashed magic power shoved aside Jose's dark magic, the deafening explosions sending chills down everyone's spines.

For a moment, Jose Porla froze—then his face twisted into manic glee.

He thought Makarov's defensive magic had finally cracked!

"Go! Royal Demon Rose!"

With a furious shout, Marco didn't hesitate.

He hurled the Royal Demon Rose, wrapped in his magic power orb, straight at Jose Porla.

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