"Hurrrrr~~~"
Inside the frozen banquet hall filled with chilling cold air, Makarov was lying on a table that was still relatively intact, sleeping soundly.
It was already night. Moen and Makarov stayed behind together in the banquet hall to prevent the building from suddenly collapsing while everyone else was asleep.
Moen picked up the blanket and helplessly covered Makarov again.
Even though he had taken the blanket, in this bone-chilling banquet hall, the old man was completely unwilling to use it, casually tossing it aside and sleeping sprawled out on the icy banquet table. It could only be said that a mage's physical constitution was truly impressive.
Although the plan was for the two of them to keep watch together, Makarov had drunk quite a lot of alcohol, and he still had to speak at the formal meeting tomorrow, so he really needed a good rest. Thus, Moen took on the task of keeping watch alone.
Moreover, the final straw that crushed this banquet hall was ultimately placed there by Moen himself, so he felt he bore responsibility as well.
Moen did not idle away his time. He continued researching the newly acquired skill.
Sure enough, after an entire night, Moen really managed to grasp a bit more of its essence, further deepening his understanding of the skill.
This Scarlet Needle allowed the number of poison needles released with each attack to be freely determined. It was even possible to release fifteen needles simultaneously, achieving instant death without leaving any chance of survival, though the current Moen was still unable to perform such high-level control.
As for why this skill's destructive power exceeded expectations, the reason had already been found—its inherent power was never weak to begin with.
Just because it was inconspicuous when striking a Saint did not mean it would be inconspicuous against others. This was simply a case of preconceived bias.
Moen had originally thought that hitting the pillar with Scarlet Needle would only leave a small hole, but instead it produced a massive result.
"A Scorpio skill really doesn't match well with the Orion Bronze Cloth. There's no reaction at all. It seems best to avoid using the two together."
Moen was wearing the Orion Bronze Cloth. Looking at the sharp red claws on his right hand, he always felt something was off.
This feeling was completely different from using Pegasus Meteor Fist while wearing the Equuleus Bronze Cloth—it was practically the opposite.
Pegasus and Equuleus could resonate with and draw upon each other, even allowing Moen to successfully establish a connection with both constellations.
But between Scorpio and Orion, everything felt awkward and incompatible.
This forced Moen to use the two separately, and after giving it some thought, he no longer found this strange.
Whether in mythology or reality, Scorpio and Orion had deep ties and were famously incompatible constellations.
In mythology, it went without saying—Orion was slain by Scorpio.
And in reality, Scorpio and Orion were the most prominent constellations of summer and winter respectively. As one rose, the other fell, never appearing together in the sky.
"In life, we never meet; in movement, we are like Shen and Shang."
Among them, Shen referred to Betelgeuse of Orion, while Shang referred to Antares of Scorpio, also known as "the heart of the scorpion."
The fifteenth needle of Scarlet Needle, "Antares," landed precisely on this star. These fifteen needles were not fired casually—each one corresponded to a specific star.
"Is it morning already?"
As Moen was contemplating the profound connections between constellations, skills, and Cloths, Makarov finally woke up.
"Yes, it's almost time for the meeting."
Moen looked toward Grandpa Makarov. The old man had already climbed off the table, sitting on its edge and rubbing his eyes, trying to wake himself up. He still had to give a speech later.
"Then let's go. Looks like there won't be any breakfast today."
Makarov jumped down from the table, glanced at the chaotic banquet hall, and said with a smile.
This routine meeting would likely become the shortest in history. Once it ended today, everyone could head back home, since there wasn't even a place to eat.
"Luckily, the interior decoration of this venue was relatively simple. Otherwise, we'd definitely suffer a huge financial loss. As it is now, it's still acceptable."
Moen had already calculated it silently last night. Repairing this banquet hall wouldn't cost too much—several million J at most, definitely not exceeding ten million J. Fortunately, only this banquet hall was affected; otherwise, it would truly have been a massive expense.
The reason this venue's decoration style was so simple—could it be that this issue had been considered from the very beginning?
Moen looked suspiciously at the devastated banquet hall. He had reason to suspect that this place had already been renovated before!
However, Grandpa Makarov flatly denied it, insisting that this was the first time and that he had definitely never damaged this place before.
Whether Moen believed it or not, Makarov himself believed it completely.
The grandfather and grandson left the banquet hall and headed toward the conference hall. Before leaving, the cautious Moen reinforced the banquet hall once more, adding another layer atop the ice covering it.
The entire conference venue was actually a single structure. Moen was worried that if the banquet hall collapsed, it would drag other areas down with it. This was also the reason they had stayed behind overnight.
Soon, the grandfather and grandson arrived at the conference hall. This hall was built far more formally than the banquet hall—at the very least, it wasn't as simple and even carried a sense of solemnity.
However, the participants appeared somewhat lax. Groups of people sat together in twos and threes, with no fixed seating arrangement. Whoever wanted to sit wherever they pleased did so, resulting in everyone clustering with familiar faces.
Aside from Moen, younger members who had come along, such as Jura Neekis, Bacchus, and Karen, were also present. There was no need to avoid or keep any meeting content confidential.
Perhaps it was because the mages who accompanied them were generally trusted aides or close juniors of the guild masters, so there was no special need for discretion.
Of course, the most important reason was that the topics to be discussed at the meeting were not things that needed to be kept from the public.
"Sit properly! All of you, sit properly! Otherwise, I'll make you run in circles!"
On the podium at the front of the conference hall, the short Oba Babasama stood on a small stool, constantly muttering and giving orders, directing the guild masters who were arriving one after another to take their seats.
"Grandma Oba really looks like the type who can never stay idle."
After Moen and Grandpa Makarov found a seat and sat down, the grandfather and grandson quietly whispered about Oba Babasama, whose mouth never seemed to stop moving.
"It's been like this for decades. Wherever she is, there's never any peace."
Makarov commented sharply. They had known each other for dozens of years, and their personalities couldn't be more familiar to one another.
"Moen! Makarov! Quiet!"
It was unclear whether she heard someone whispering about her, but Oba Babasama suddenly called out Moen and Makarov by name, causing the grandfather and grandson to immediately shut their mouths.
Before long, the participants of the meeting gradually arrived. Goldmine and Bob came over with Bacchus and Karen, sitting together with Makarov and Moen.
Karen's expression was cold, still wearing that look of indifference toward everyone, and it was unclear whether she had taken Moen's advice to heart.
As for Bacchus, he remained as enthusiastic as ever, practically turning into Moen's little fanboy, even though he was slightly older than Moen.
After exchanging only a few words, the routine meeting officially began. Oba Babasama stood on the stage as the person in charge of this meeting, responsible for presiding over the proceedings.
The host of the routine meetings rotated every time. Everyone took turns, so that no single guild master was burdened with hosting every meeting, and so that everyone had the chance to stand on stage and lead.
"X778, the third routine Guild Master Conference, officially begins."
On the podium, Grandma Oba announced loudly, followed by a sparse round of symbolic applause from below.
"What's going on?! Didn't you all eat breakfast?!"
The scattered applause clearly displeased Grandma Oba. She slapped the podium and loudly questioned the guild masters below.
"I really didn't eat!"
"This old lady really has too many demands…"
"Just endure it, or she'll make you spin in circles!"
The guild masters below muttered their complaints, but they were already used to Oba Babasama's style. One by one, they obediently clapped, half-heartedly shouting a few cheers.
Although she was complained about, Grandma Oba didn't care in the slightest. Satisfied with the applause, she continued with the agenda.
Seeing this scene, Moen found it both amusing and baffling. Clearly, these were walking human weapons, each leading a group of highly destructive mages, yet the organization they had formed looked more like a makeshift comedy troupe.
It was truly hard to associate such a group with the terrifying power they represented.
However, in a sense, it was precisely because of a group of people with such personalities that peace on the continent of Ishgar could be maintained to this day.
On the podium, Grandma Oba chattered on, while Moen listened quietly, searching for useful information within her words.
The meeting content covered all aspects and was entirely positive, mostly concerning the development of their mage guilds.
For example, how to adapt to policy changes in the Kingdom of Fiore, fluctuations in the magic materials market, and new policies from the Magic Council.
Listening to it, it sounded just like an ordinary industry association, no different from the concerns of other industry groups.
'This is the power of order that has remained stable for hundreds of years. We, the official guilds, are united under this kind of order.'
Moen thought silently. This kind of order had not been easy to establish; it was built only after countless upheavals.
He had read history and knew that in the early days, the world was chaotic, and the harmonious coexistence between ordinary people and mages was something hard-won.
Without a doubt, mages did count as a privileged class in daily life. Although some did not live very wealthy lives, they were still far more secure than ordinary people.
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