"Zzzzz"

In the frozen banquet hall, Makarov lay snoring on a relatively intact table.

Night had fallen and Marco stayed behind with Makarov to ensure the building didn't collapse while everyone slept.

With a resigned expression, Marco picked up a blanket and draped it over Makarov once more.

Though he had taken a blanket, the old man refused to cover himself in the bone-chilling banquet hall, casually tossing it aside as he sprawled out on the cold banquet table.

One could only say a Mage's physical constitution was truly impressive.

While it was supposed to be two people keeping watch together, Makarov had drunk quite a bit and needed to speak at the formal meeting tomorrow.

He really did need proper rest, so Marco took it upon himself to stand guard for everyone through the night.

Moreover, since Marco had been the one to place the final straw that collapsed the banquet hall, he felt responsible for this duty.

Marco didn't idle either, continuing to study his newly acquired skill.

Truth be told, after a night's work, Marco had actually grasped some new insights, deepening his understanding of this technique.

With Scarlet Needle, the number of poisonous needles released per attack could be determined at will.

It was even possible to fire all fifteen needles simultaneously for an instant kill, leaving no chance for survival—though Marco couldn't yet perform such advanced maneuvers.

The reason for the skill's unexpectedly high destructive power had also become clear: its inherent force wasn't weak to begin with.

Just because it seemed unremarkable against Saints didn't mean it would be equally unimpressive against others—this was simply a case of preconceived notions.

Marco had thought Scarlet Needle would only leave a small hole in that pillar, but it ended up making quite the impact.

"Scorpio's techniques don't synergize well with the Orion Bronze Cloth. Best avoid using them together," Marco mused.

Clad in his Orion Bronze Cloth, Marco examined the red, sharp nails on his right hand, feeling something distinctly off.

This sensation was completely different from when he'd used Pegasus Meteor Fist while wearing the Equuleus Bronze Cloth—they were polar opposites.

Pegasus and Equuleus could resonate with and complement each other, even allowing Marco to establish connections with both constellations simultaneously.

Yet between Scorpio and Orion, everything felt awkward and discordant.

This forced Marco to use them separately.

After some reflection, he stopped finding this strange.

Both in myth and reality, Scorpio and Orion shared a contentious history as two incompatible constellations.

Mythologically speaking, Orion was slain by Scorpio.

In reality, Scorpio and Orion were the most prominent constellations of summer and winter respectively—one rising as the other set, never meeting in the same sky.

*****

"Is it morning already?"

Just as Marco pondered the mysterious connections between constellations, techniques and Cloths, Makarov finally awoke.

"Yes, almost time for the meeting."

Marco looked at Makarov, who had climbed off the table.

Sitting on the edge, the old man rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off sleep—he still had to give his speech soon.

"Let's go then. Looks like there won't be breakfast today."

Makarov jumped off the table, glanced at the devastated banquet hall, and said with a laugh.

This routine meeting would probably go down in history as the shortest one ever held.

After today's session, everyone could head home since there wasn't even a place to eat anymore.

"Thankfully the decor here is simple, otherwise we'd really be bleeding money. It doesn't look too bad now."

Marco had already done the math last night.

Rebuilding this banquet hall wouldn't cost too much—just a few million J, definitely not exceeding ten million J.

They were lucky only this one hall was affected, or they'd truly be hemorrhaging funds.

The reason for such simple decor in this meeting venue—could it have been designed with this exact scenario in mind?

Marco eyed the wrecked banquet hall suspiciously.

He had good reason to suspect this place had been rebuilt before!

But Makarov firmly denied it, insisting this was the first time and he'd definitely never damaged it before.

Whether Marco believed him or not, Makarov certainly believed himself.

The grandfather-grandson pair left the banquet hall for the conference room.

Before leaving, the cautious Marco reinforced the hall again, adding another layer of ice over the existing one.

The entire meeting venue was actually one connected structure.

Marco worried the banquet hall's collapse might bring down other sections too—that's why he'd stayed overnight to keep watch.

Soon, the two arrived at the conference hall.

This space was much more formal than the banquet hall, at least not as plain, with a somewhat solemn atmosphere.

However, the attendees seemed rather lax.

Groups sat scattered about without assigned seating—everyone just sat wherever they pleased with familiar faces, forming small clusters throughout.

Besides Marco, junior members like Jura Neekis, Bacchus and Karen who'd come along were all present too.

There didn't seem to be any confidential or sensitive meeting content requiring their exclusion.

Perhaps considering these accompanying Mages were generally the guild masters' trusted aides or close juniors, there wasn't any real need for secrecy.

Of course, the key reason was—none of the meeting topics required confidentiality.

"Sit properly! All of you sit properly! Or I'll make you spin in circles!"

At the podium in front, the old hag Ooba Babasama stood on a footstool, constantly muttering orders for arriving guild masters to take their seats.

"Granny Ooba really can't sit still, can she?"

Marco and Makarov found seats and quietly gossiped about the endlessly chattering Ooba Babasama.

"Been like this for decades. Wherever she is, silence doesn't stand a chance." Makarov offered his sharp critique.

Having known each other for decades, they understood each other's personalities all too well.

"Marco! Makarov! Quiet!"

Whether she heard someone whispering about her or not, Ooba Babasama suddenly called out Marco and Makarov's names, immediately silencing the grandfather-grandson duo.

Before long, the attendees arrived one after another.

Goldmine and Bob brought Bacchus and Karen over, sitting down together with Makarov and Marco.

Karen's expression remained cold, her demeanor as unapproachable as ever.

It was unclear whether she had taken Marco's advice to heart.

Bacchus, on the other hand, was as enthusiastic as ever, practically turning into Marco's little fanboy—despite being slightly older than him.

The two barely exchanged a few words before the routine meeting officially began.

Ooba Babasama stood at the podium as the presiding chairperson for this session, responsible for guiding the proceedings.

The role of presiding chairperson rotated for each meeting, ensuring no single guild master was burdened repeatedly while giving everyone a chance to lead.

"X778, Third Guild Masters' Routine Meeting—commence!"

The old hag announced loudly from the stage, met with a half-hearted applause from below.

"What's this?! Did none of you eat breakfast?!"

The lackluster applause clearly displeased her.

She slammed the podium and barked at the guild masters below.

"Actually, no, we didn't!"

"This old hag is so damn annoying..."

"Just bear with it, or she'll make you spin in circles!"

The guild masters grumbled among themselves, but they were all too familiar with Ooba Babasama's antics.

Reluctantly, they clapped properly, tossing in a few perfunctory cheers.

Unfazed by the complaints, Ooba nodded in satisfaction at the renewed applause and continued with the agenda.

Watching this, Marco couldn't help but find it absurd.

These were walking humanoid weapons, each leading a guild of formidable Mages—yet the organization they built resembled some slapstick comedy troupe.

It was hard to associate such a group with the terrifying power they collectively represented.

But in a way, it was precisely because of people like them that peace had been maintained across the Ishgar continent.

As the old hag rambled on stage, Marco listened quietly, sifting through the information for anything useful.

The meeting covered a wide range of topics—all constructive, mostly concerning the development of their Mage guilds.

Subjects included adapting to policy changes in the Fiore Kingdom, fluctuations in the magic materials market, and new regulations from the Magic Council.

It sounded no different from an ordinary trade association meeting, worrying about the same mundane concerns.

'This is the power of an order that has endured for centuries. We, the legitimate guilds, unite under this structure.' Marco reflected silently.

This order had been hard-won, forged through countless upheavals.

He had studied history and knew how chaotic the world once was.

The harmony between ordinary people and Mages today was not easily achieved.

There was no doubt that Mages indeed enjoyed a privileged status in society.

Though some didn't live particularly wealthy lives, their circumstances were far more secure than those of ordinary people.

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