Makarov couldn't help but laugh. This was the first time he had seen Arlen look even slightly flustered—his usually expressionless face almost cracking because of Bob.
"Alright, let's head inside. The meeting is about to begin," Goldmine said.
Inside the banquet hall, it was bustling with noise. Guild Masters dressed in all kinds of styles gathered around tables filled with food, chatting freely. Arlen gave the room a quick glance—there were about twenty Guild Masters present.
In one corner, a group of mages quietly talked among themselves or kept to their own business. These were likely the representatives brought by each guild.
"Master, I won't disturb your meeting. I'll wait over there," Arlen said, pointing toward the corner.
"Alright, go on," Makarov nodded. "Make sure to interact well with everyone… and remember—hold back."
The meaning was clear: if someone caused trouble, deal with it—but don't go too far. After all, they still had to give face to the other guilds.
"Yo, Makarov. Still as slow as ever. You really like making everyone wait for you, don't you?"
A voice full of provocation, arrogance, and disdain echoed through the hall.
The lively atmosphere instantly fell silent. All eyes turned toward Makarov—and the speaker.
The man wore a dark purple robe, a pointed wizard hat, and had long hair with a small mustache. His overall appearance leaned toward a sinister, dark mage aesthetic—elegant yet eerie.
"Oh, Joseph. Still the same as ever," Makarov replied calmly, unfazed.
Joseph Pola—Guild Master of Phantom Lord, one of the Ten Wizard Saints. A wielder of Dark Magic, possessing immense and sinister power. His strength rivaled Makarov's, but the two had never gotten along.
"Alright, alright~ Makarov darling, Joseph darling, let's eat and drink first before the meeting starts," Bob chimed in, trying to smooth things over.
"Hmph." Joseph snorted and took a seat.
Makarov simply smiled and sat down as well. "Come on, everyone—let's drink."
Seeing that neither side intended to escalate things, the other Guild Masters let out quiet sighs of relief.
Even those who disliked Joseph had to admit—
He was strong.
Very strong.
Among those present, only Makarov could confidently defeat him.
In the corner, Arlen watched the entire scene expressionlessly.
His gaze lingered briefly on Joseph—
Before shifting.
"So, you're Arlen Viviamilio of Fairy Tail?"
A burly man in black robes stepped forward. A vicious scar stretched across his face, and his expression was full of disdain.
"Hah. Just a pretty boy. And they call you the 'Trembling Noble Prince'? What a joke."
"Remember my name—Kaidan. I'm the one who's going to take you down later."
Arlen glanced at the guild mark on the man's arm.
Phantom Lord.
Of course.
He looked back at him, eyes cold and indifferent—as if staring at trash.
"Finished?" Arlen said flatly. "I just hope your strength isn't as inflated and ignorant as your words."
"Bastard! What did you say?!"
Kaidan's face twisted with rage. Earth-colored magic surged around him as if he might attack at any moment.
But Arlen didn't move.
He simply stood there, calm and composed.
Watching.
Waiting.
He was certain of one thing—
This man didn't have the guts to act here.
Not in front of all these Guild Masters.
He wasn't Joseph.
And sure enough—
Kaidan froze.
Caught between anger and hesitation.
Unable to advance.
Unable to retreat.
His face flushed red as he glared at Arlen, as if trying to kill him with his eyes alone.
Sensing the tension, nearby mages quickly stepped in to mediate.
With an exit finally presented, Kaidan seized it—spitting out a threat before storming off.
A trace of cold disdain flashed through Arlen's eyes.
He took a seat and closed his eyes, resting.
Three days passed in a flash.
The so-called "routine meeting" turned out to be exactly what it looked like—
Eating, drinking, arguing… and occasionally discussing actual matters.
Still, Arlen didn't mind.
This was a civilian alliance, not a rigid institution.
Comfort came first.
During these days, he met quite a few notable figures.
Jura Neekis of Lamia Scale—one of the Ten Wizard Saints. A master of Rock Magic, his strength rivaling both Makarov and Joseph.
Ichya Vandalay Kotobuki of Blue Pegasus—the guild's strongest mage. Short, chubby, with a rather… questionable appearance, yet kind-hearted and righteous. A user of Perfume Magic, and far stronger than he looked.
Bacchus Groh of Quatro Cerberus—an S-Class Mage with a powerful build and incredible tolerance for alcohol, specializing in a martial art known as Drunken Fist.
There were others, but these three left the deepest impression.
Finally—
On the last day at noon—
The long-awaited mage sparring matches began.
Originally intended as friendly exchanges—
They quickly turned into something else.
Kaidan stepped onto the stage.
From the very beginning, his attacks were ruthless.
Every move aimed to seriously injure.
Whether emboldened by Joseph's presence or acting under his orders, he showed no restraint.
Weaker guilds could only watch in anger, unable to speak.
Makarov, Bob, and Goldmine tried to intervene—
But it was useless.
Joseph simply mocked them in return.
One by one, guilds chose to withdraw from the matches to protect their members.
This only fueled Kaidan's arrogance.
His wild laughter echoed across the arena.
Then—
His gaze locked onto Arlen.
"Hey, Fairy Tail's Arlen!" he sneered. "Aren't you the youngest S-Class Mage?"
"What's wrong? Too scared to step up?"
"Arlen, ignore him," Ichya said, grabbing his arm. "That guy's a lunatic—just like his Guild Master."
"Indeed," Jura added calmly, hands clasped. "Arrogant and cruel… such a person will not go far on the path of magic."
Arlen said nothing.
But his eyes had already turned cold.
Ignoring him?
Not possible.
The moment Kaidan dared to provoke him to his face—
The outcome had already been decided.
If not for the sake of his guild and family's reputation—
That man would've been cut down long ago.
Now?
He had talked enough.
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