Chapter 374 - 374: Gathering of the Ten Wizard Saints
"Overall, the Western Continent is still relatively peaceful right now; there are no signs of large-scale troop movements," Mest reported, shuffling a stack of preliminary reconnaissance documents across the long wooden table.
"I see! That's good, then," Makarov sighed deeply, his small shoulders slumping as a heavy burden briefly lifted from his chest.
He had truly been worried that the Alvarez Empire would take advantage of the recent, devastating chaos across Ishgar to launch a massive surprise attack. If that heavily militarized western giant had marched their fleets across the ocean now, Ishgar would have found it nearly impossible to mount a proper resistance.
As long as Ishgar was given enough breathing room for the Magic Council to be rebuilt from the ashes of Tartaros's assault, they stood a fighting chance. Even if their overall military strength remained far inferior to the monstrous Alvarez Empire, the enemy would at least have to weigh the heavy casualties they would suffer in a direct invasion.
"Master Makarov, are you truly worried they might mobilize against us so soon?" Mest asked, his expression growing tense. "That's impossible, right? Surely they wouldn't cross the sea just to..."
Mest's voice trailed off as a tight knot formed in his stomach. From the deep-cover intelligence he had painstakingly gathered over the years, he knew all too well just how terrifyingly powerful the Alvarez Empire truly was.
"It's not a matter of 'possible' or 'impossible,' Mest. It's an absolute certainty," Makarov said with grim conviction, his one open eye narrowing. "The Alvarez Empire will definitely attack Ishgar; it's just a matter of time."
"This... how can this be?!" Mest panicked instantly, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the table.
Receiving such a definitive, fatalistic answer from Makarov shattered his fragile sense of security. If the Alvarez Empire attacked now, while the continent's leadership remained entirely fractured, how could Ishgar possibly resist?
In the past, they had relied on the devastating orbital strike of Etherion and the continent-wiping pulse bombs known as Face as ultimate deterrents against foreign invasion. Now, the unsealed Face bombs were gone, and the Etherion launch platform couldn't possibly be rebuilt on such short notice.
This catastrophic loss of strategic assets left them with almost no overarching power to fight back against a unified continental threat.
"Don't worry too much just yet," Makarov said, raising a comforting hand to soothe the frantic spy. "The Alvarez Empire hasn't made a move yet, perhaps because they haven't received concrete intelligence regarding what exactly happened in Ishgar."
"As long as we scramble to rebuild the Magic Council during this brief window of ignorance, we'll have at least some organized power to resist them," the old Guild Master reasoned, tapping his cane against the floor.
Mest swallowed hard, breathing a small, shaky sigh of relief upon hearing the steady logic in Makarov's words.
"The old man is right. I told you there's no need to worry so much, Mest," Ren spoke up calmly, leaning back in his chair with a completely relaxed demeanor.
According to his knowledge of the overarching plot, the Alvarez Empire's all-out attack on Ishgar wouldn't happen for at least another two years. There might be some minor butterfly effects due to his interference, but for the most part, the geopolitical movements should rigidly follow the original timeline.
"By the way, Master Makarov, Mr. Ren," Mest said, clearing his throat to forcibly shift the heavy topic. "I was thinking of holding the official inauguration ceremony for the newly appointed Council Members at the new Magic Council headquarters in three days. What do you think?"
When the Ten Wizard Saints officially took office as acting Council Members, they absolutely had to make a public appearance at the Magic Council. Otherwise, the surviving lower-ranking Council Knights and bureaucrats wouldn't even know who their supreme bosses were.
As for voices of opposition regarding the new leadership, there wouldn't be any. After all, the individuals being appointed were living legends—the mages standing at the absolute peak of Ishgar.
"Hmm... the sooner this is finalized and broadcast to the public, the better," Makarov nodded in agreement, stroking his white mustache thoughtfully. "No problem on my end."
"I have no objections either," Ren added with a casual shrug.
He had just completed a grueling string of S-Class missions and hadn't picked up any new requests from the guild board yet. As a result, his schedule was completely clear for the rest of the week.
"Very well, then it's settled," Mest said, quickly jotting down the finalized dates in his administrative ledger.
Even though Mest was now proudly bearing the mark of Fairy Tail, his years of deep-cover work embedded within the Magic Council were very real. As a high-ranking official of the newly reformed Council, he naturally had to consider the governing body's administrative interests and public image.
Mest soon packed up his documents and left to begin the massive preparations for the event. After all, this was the official inauguration of the highest authority in the Ishgar Magic World, and there were mountains of logistical issues to sort out.
Three days passed in a flash. The morning of the ceremony arrived, and Ren brought Makarov to the site of the new Magic Council.
The newly established headquarters wasn't nearly as grand or luxurious as the towering, majestic citadel of the previous Era. It was relatively low-key, built hastily from modest stone and fresh timber, making it hard to imagine that this humble compound housed the supreme authority of the Ishgar Magic World.
"Master Makarov, Lord Ren! It has been a long time!"
Just as they stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the central meeting room, a familiar, welcoming voice called out to them. A tall, imposing man with a cleanly shaven head and a neatly trimmed beard came forward to greet them.
It was Jura Neekis, the formidable Iron Rock Mage, currently ranked fifth among the Ten Wizard Saints. He had bravely accepted the Magic Council's desperate invitation to step up and become a new Council Member in their darkest hour.
"Long time no see, Mr. Jura. So you accepted the heavy burden of the invitation as well," Ren smiled, warmly returning the greeting.
Ren had a very good impression of Jura. The man had continuously helped Fairy Tail when they were in dire straits, and despite his overwhelming magical power, he remained a deeply humble and steady person.
Jura nodded solemnly, his expression reflecting the gravity of their current era. "Yes! Now that the Ishgar Magic World has been plunged into chaos, I cannot simply sit idle. Since I have the ability, I should naturally step forward to help maintain order."
"Yo! Little Makarov! Little Ren! You're finally here!" a raspy, cheerful voice suddenly echoed across the room.
A bizarre humanoid treant with bark-like skin and a small green sprout growing from the top of his head turned around to face them, casually holding a small watering can.
"Mr. Warrod!" Makarov's attitude immediately shifted, his posture straightening as a look of deep, profound respect crossed his aged features.
Ranked fourth among the Ten Wizard Saints, Warrod Sequen was a living legend and one of the original founding members of Fairy Tail. When Makarov was just a small child running around the guildhall, Warrod had taken great care of him.
"Old man Warrod, I see you've made it here too," Ren said, raising a hand to casually greet the ancient, plant-like mage.
"Sigh! I really had no choice in the matter!" Warrod complained playfully, dramatically shaking his wooden head. "I'd much rather just stay in my garden planting flowers and trees than come all the way here to sit in a stuffy room as some Magic Council Member."
As Warrod spoke, he tipped his watering can over a potted plant in the corner, but his aim was completely off, sending a stream of liquid splashing onto the floorboards.
"Mr. Warrod, the water is spilling onto the floor," Jura politely reminded him, pointing at the growing puddle near the ancient mage's feet.
"Oh, this is my pee, you know," Warrod replied deadpan, not missing a single beat.
Jura was instantly startled. His jaw dropped in sheer horror as he scrambled backward, away from the puddle in absolute shock.
"...I'm just kidding," Warrod added a second later, his wooden face breaking into a wide, mischievous grin.
"..."
The entire room fell into a heavy, speechless silence. Ren couldn't help but sigh, remembering that when he had first met Old Man Warrod, the eccentric founder couldn't go half a sentence without making some ridiculous, deadpan joke.
"Isn't this old man Warrod? How long are you going to keep acting like a damn fool, hey?!" a gruff, heavily accented voice barked from the doorway.
A somewhat short, elderly man stomped into the meeting room. He was dressed fashionably in a tailored coat and cape, wearing a pair of thick, sharp glasses that framed his furious scowl.
"Lord Wolfheim! You've come as well?" A look of genuine surprise appeared on Jura's face as he instantly recognized the newcomer.
It was Wolfheim, a highly respected veteran of the Ten Wizard Saints, currently holding the prestigious rank of third on the continent.
"Oh, oh, Wolfheim. Your name is still so strange to say, guhuhu," Warrod chuckled, completely unbothered by the small man's aggressive tone.
Hearing Warrod's blatant teasing, Wolfheim's face turned beet red. He clenched his fists, entirely ready to settle the score right then and there, but Warrod quickly waved his hands.
"I'm just kidding," the treant said smoothly.
"Hey, hey, hey! At a time like this, when tensions between this continent and the Alvarez Empire are rising daily, you actually have the leisure to joke around and plant grass?! Hey!" Wolfheim roared, his patience snapping entirely.
As Wolfheim shouted, a terrifying surge of Ethernano erupted from his small frame. His body rapidly expanded, violently transforming into the hulking, muscular form of a massive, snarling beastman that cast a terrifying shadow over the room.
"Please stop, Lord Wolfheim!" Jura cried out, stepping forward while sweating profusely.
If the Third Seat and the Fourth Seat of the Ten Wizard Saints actually started exchanging blows in this small room, the newly rebuilt Magic Council headquarters would be reduced to rubble before the inauguration even began. It would be an absolute disaster.
"Stop it."
A voice rang out, cutting through the heavy, oppressive magical pressure of the beastman with absolute, chilling indifference.
"Hmm?!" Wolfheim growled, his massive bestial head snapping toward the source of the interruption.
He looked over and saw a young brat leaning casually against a chair, his dark eyes entirely devoid of fear.
"Brat, who the hell are you? You dare tell me to stop?!" Wolfheim snarled at Ren, baring his razor-sharp fangs as he loomed menacingly over the younger mage.
"Lord Wolfheim, please lower your voice. This is the First Seat of the Ten Wizard Saints, Mr. Ren," Jura quickly intervened, hurriedly introducing him before things escalated into violence.
Although Jura was the Fifth Seat of the Ten Wizard Saints and possessed immense fame—widely regarded as a prominent, untouchable figure in the entire Ishgar Magic World—he was remarkably humble.
In this specific room, surrounded by living legends, Jura's status could arguably be considered the lowest. Because Makarov had mysteriously gone missing on Tenrou Island seven years ago, his official rank had slipped to the Sixth Seat. But Jura never put on airs. He knew full well that there was still a significant gap in sheer combat prowess between himself and the Fairy Tail Master.
Hearing Jura's respectful introduction, Wolfheim's ferocious expression instantly froze, and the overwhelming magical pressure radiating from his bestial form vanished in a heartbeat.
He shrank back down to his human size, adjusting his glasses as he scrutinized Ren carefully from head to toe. "You're the new First Seat of the Ten Wizard Saints?!"
He had recently heard from the Council's frantic missives that they had finally awarded the long-vacant First Seat of the Ten Wizard Saints. He just hadn't expected the absolute strongest mage on the continent to be such a young brat.
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