Chapter 375 - 375: Hyberion
"It's me!"
Ren smiled faintly. He remained comfortably seated, his posture relaxed and entirely unbothered by the heavy stares directed at him.
"The current Magic Council is growing more pathetic by the day. Actually letting a green brat claim the 1st Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints... No wonder Tartaros wiped them out."
Wolfheim spoke with absolute disdain, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in deep annoyance. The diminutive old man crossed his arms, his aggressive magical pressure leaking into the room like a caged beast pacing its enclosure.
To a veteran like him, magic power was supposed to be strictly proportional to a mage's talent and their years of relentless cultivation. Which of the 10 Wizard Saints wasn't a one-in-a-billion prodigy who had bled for their title?
There had been a supposedly talented brat before named Siegrain. That arrogant boy had become one of the 10 Wizard Saints at roughly the same age as the smirking teenager sitting before them now.
But that treacherous kid was only ever the 8th Seat, and he had ultimately brought disaster upon the old Council. To the true elites, the lower seats of the 10 Wizard Saints meant absolutely nothing. Anyone with above-average talent and the right political connections in Era could obtain one.
The top four seats, however, existed in an entirely different realm. The top four of the 10 Wizard Saints were officially revered as the Four Gods of Ishgar. Separating those four from the rest of the continent's elite demonstrated just how massive the gap in strength truly was; they were considered anomalies of nature rather than mere mortal mages.
"This... Lord Wolfheim, it might not be right to say that..."
Jura said in a low, careful voice. A bead of sweat formed on his bald head beneath the suffocating tension of the room. Although the previous Council members severely lacked combat strength, they had dedicated their lives to maintaining the peace of Ishgar's magical world.
Now that they were dead, slaughtered mercilessly by demons, Jura firmly believed they deserved respect. As for Ren, Jura—having fought both alongside and against him—had the most right to speak on the matter.
Although Lord Wolfheim was a seasoned veteran among the 10 Wizard Saints with strength far exceeding his own, the Iron Rock Mage didn't believe Wolfheim's power could ever truly compare to Ren's. After all, this was the terrifying young man who had physically crushed a Dragon and decimated the dark underworld.
"Not right? What's not right about it?" Wolfheim snapped, his voice echoing sharply off the stone walls.
"Brat, I don't acknowledge you as the 1st Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints." Wolfheim glared fiercely at Ren, speaking without a shred of courtesy or political tact.
Ren merely spread his hands, completely unfazed by the hostility radiating from the 3rd Seat. "Acknowledge it or not, that's entirely up to you. The Magic Council forced this on me anyway."
Leaning back in his chair, Ren let out a soft sigh. "To be completely honest, I'm not really interested in the title. It just paints a pointless target on my back."
"What did you just say?!" Wolfheim barked, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. He felt completely looked down upon by this upstart.
The kid bore an entirely indifferent attitude toward the highest honor a mage could achieve in Ishgar. It was as if he couldn't care less about the prestige of the title, treating it like a discarded piece of trash.
"Brat, talk less," Makarov hissed out of the side of his mouth, sharply nudging Ren's arm.
The Fairy Tail Guild Master wiped his brow, internally groaning at how the kid's mouth was always so flawlessly irritating. He quickly stepped forward, waving his hands in a placating manner to soothe the fuming old man.
"Lord Wolfheim, please don't be angry with him. This foolish kid just says whatever comes to his mind without a filter." Makarov forced an apologetic smile. "Trust me, he irritates me to no end back at the guild, too."
"He's a young man! Full of fire and rebellion. That's exactly how they should be at that age, oh ho ho ho!" Warrod waved his wooden, bark-like hand dismissively, offering a warm, eccentric laugh.
Seeing Wolfheim slowly turn his furious, trembling gaze toward him, Warrod immediately stiffened. "...I'm joking, of course."
At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors of the chamber clicked open. Another voice rang out, instantly silencing the room.
"The 1st Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints... after so many long years, is the pinnacle no longer vacant?" The voice was smooth, elegant, and carried a chillingly vast magical undertone.
"I never imagined the 1st Seat would be claimed by such a young boy. It seems the new generation truly surpasses the old."
The group turned in unison to see a meticulously dressed middle-aged man walking into the council chamber. The sheer weight of his latent magic power made the very air in the room feel dense and cold, commanding absolute respect without him having to lift a single finger.
The man wore a dark, high-collared cloak that draped elegantly over his shoulders. With his pointed, elven ears, pristine white shirt, tailored black pants, and neat bowtie, he was dressed flawlessly. He resembled an aristocratic vampire straight out of a gothic legend.
However, although he looked like a well-groomed, distinguished gentleman, his aura carried an undeniable air of extreme antiquity. His true age was likely similar to Makarov's, or perhaps even centuries older.
"Lo—Lord Hyberion... You came too?!" Jura stuttered, genuinely shocked to see the newcomer step into the light.
It was the 2nd Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints, Hyberion himself. He was the legendary man known publicly as the absolute second-strongest mage on the entire continent of Ishgar.
With the 1st Seat notoriously vacant for years, Hyberion had essentially acted as the strongest active mage in Ishgar. His presence alone was usually enough to deter entire armies from crossing the continent's borders.
"With great power comes great responsibility, Jura," Hyberion spoke softly, his tone laced with a quiet melancholy.
"Unless absolutely necessary, I would much rather be a wandering mage, enjoying a quiet life. But now that Ishgar faces an existential crisis, it is undeniably necessary for us to step forward from the shadows. Naturally, I cannot refuse the call."
As he spoke, Hyberion turned his piercing gaze toward Ren. He studied the young man's relaxed posture for a long moment before giving a slow, respectful nod. "To possess such impossibly strong magic power at a tender age... you are indeed worthy of bearing the burden of the 1st Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints."
"Hyberion, you genuinely think highly of this disrespectful brat?" Wolfheim asked, his voice laced with incredulity.
Hyberion was currently the strongest known person in Ishgar on the surface. Yet here he was, openly willing to surrender the highest position of authority to an untested brat without a single complaint.
"Time is constantly moving forward, Wolfheim, and the future inevitably belongs to the youth," Hyberion replied gracefully, taking a seat at the circular table. "Even if they have obvious shortcomings due to their age and lack of worldly experience, it is our duty as their elders to support them, not tear them down."
Jura cleared his throat, sensing a brief lull in the tension. He finally asked a question that had been burning in his mind. "By the way, I wanted to ask... since Ren has officially become the 1st Seat of the 10 Wizard Saints, what exactly happened to the original 1st Seat, Lord God Serena? Where did he go?"
"..."
Jura's innocent question instantly silenced everyone in the room. The comfortable warmth of the sunlight filtering through the windows suddenly felt cold, and an oppressive, suffocating dread settled over the elder mages.
"Did something happen?! Surely Lord God Serena hasn't met with some tragic accident..." Jura trailed off, his heart sinking at the thought that he had broached a taboo subject.
Hyberion slowly closed his eyes, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. "No, Jura. Nothing physically happened to that man."
Jura breathed a massive sigh of relief, wiping the nervous sweat from his brow. "Phew... that's good, then. I was worried we had lost another pillar of Ishgar."
Wolfheim suddenly slammed his fist onto the table, snorting coldly as his eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated venom. "Hmph! Good? It would have been a thousand times better if something fatal had actually happened to him!"
"Wha—what do you mean by that...?" Jura asked, completely bewildered by the sudden outburst of hatred from the usually proud 3rd Seat.
Hyberion opened his eyes, staring blankly at the polished wood of the table as he explained the grim reality. "That man abandoned this land, Jura. He completely forsook his vows, crossed the ocean to the Western Continent, and has already become a high-ranking member of the Empire."
"How is that even possible?!" Jura gasped, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. God Serena was supposed to be the ultimate guardian of their homeland.
"The twelve absolute shields protecting Emperor Spriggan... they are globally known as the Spriggan 12." Hyberion's voice was grim, laced with a tremor of genuine fear. "God Serena has willingly become one of them."
"Twelve shields... twelve of them..." Jura muttered, the horrifying reality of that statement slowly sinking into his mind.
"That's right," Hyberion nodded solemnly. "There are eleven others over there who perfectly rival the strongest mages of Ishgar. Some may even surpass us. That is the true, terrifying might of the Alvarez Empire."
As Hyberion reached this horrifying point, the atmosphere in the room grew incredibly heavy. The silence was deafening.
In terms of conventional military force, the continent of Ishgar was already far inferior to the militarized juggernaut that was the Alvarez Empire. But now, learning that the gap in top-tier magical power was even more massive, it felt like a death sentence.
This agonizing reality was exactly why these reclusive legends finally had to step forward. Compared to the unified might of the Alvarez Empire, Ishgar seemed far too divided, fractured, and hopelessly weak.
Furthermore, everyone in the room knew the Alvarez Empire was ruthlessly ambitious. Judging by how they had violently unified an entire massive continent under one banner, their conquest certainly wouldn't stop at the ocean's edge. The continent of Ishgar would undoubtedly become their next prime target.
Just as suffocating despair threatened to swallow the room, Mest pushed open the heavy double doors and entered. Seeing that all the required VIPs had finally arrived, a brief look of relief appeared on his scarred face.
"My lords, I see you've all arrived," Mest announced, his voice snapping the mages out of their grim thoughts. "The Council administrators are completely ready. You may proceed to the grand hall for the inauguration ceremony."
After sweeping his gaze around the room, Mest's eyes deliberately bypassed the legendary Gods of Ishgar and landed squarely on Ren, waiting for him to make the final decision.
Ren stood up smoothly, dusting off his jacket with a casual flick of his wrist. He looked at the seasoned veterans sitting around him. "In that case, let's begin."
Although everyone present in the room was decades older than him and possessed immense prestige, they were only being inaugurated as mere Council members today. Meanwhile, he was being officially inaugurated as the Supreme Council Chairman. In other words, he unequivocally held the highest rank.
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