Chapter 93: The Power of Order (Requesting Subscriptions!)

“Zzzzzzz~”

In the frost-chilled banquet hall, Macao lay fast asleep on a table that had remained relatively intact.

It was already night; Mo En and Macao were keeping watch together in the banquet hall to prevent the building from collapsing while everyone slept.

Mo En picked up a blanket and helplessly draped it over Grandpa Macao again.

He’d taken the blanket, yet in this bone-chilling banquet hall, the old man refused to cover himself—he tossed the blanket aside and sprawled across the icy table, snoring loudly. One could only say that mages truly had exceptional physical endurance.

Though they were supposed to keep watch together, Grandpa Macao had drunk quite a bit, and he needed proper rest for his speech at tomorrow’s formal meeting, so Mo En took on the duty of guarding everyone alone.

Moreover, the final straw that had crushed the banquet hall had been placed by Mo En himself—he felt he bore responsibility for it.

Mo En wasn’t idle; he continued studying his newly acquired skill.

Honestly, after just one night, Mo En had indeed grasped a bit more of its mechanism—he deepened his understanding of the skill.

The Crimson Poison Needle could release any number of needles per strike, even up to fifteen at once, delivering a lethal blow with no chance of survival—but Mo En currently couldn’t achieve such an advanced technique.

The reason for its higher-than-expected destructive power had also been identified: the skill’s inherent destructive force was never weak.

Its lack of visible impact on a Saint’s body didn’t mean it wouldn’t leave a mark on others—that was just a stereotype.

Mo En had assumed the Crimson Poison Needle would leave only a small hole when striking the pillar, but it had instead created a massive crater.

“The Scorpio skill doesn’t mesh well with the Orion Bronze Saint Cloth—zero synergy. Better avoid using them together.”

Mo En wore the Orion Bronze Saint Cloth; he stared at his red, sharp fingernails and felt something was off.

This feeling was completely unlike the sensation he got when wearing the Pegasus Bronze Saint Cloth and using the Pegasus Meteor Fist—it was the exact opposite.

Pegasus and Little Horse could resonate and pull at each other, even allowing Mo En to successfully establish connections with both constellations.

But Scorpio and Orion radiated nothing but awkwardness between them.

This forced Mo En to use them separately; after some thought, he no longer found it strange.

Whether in myth or reality, Scorpio and Orion have deep historical ties—they are two constellations that fundamentally clash.

In myth, of course, Orion was slain by Scorpio.

In reality, Scorpio and Orion are the most prominent constellations of summer and winter respectively; one rises as the other sets, never appearing together in the sky.

“Men’s lives rarely meet; like Canopus and Antares, they drift apart.”

Canopus here refers to Orion’s Betelgeuse; Antares refers to Scorpio’s Antares—the “Heart of the Scorpion.”

The fifteenth needle of the Crimson Poison Needle, “Andarits,” struck precisely this star—these fifteen needles weren’t fired randomly; each corresponded to a specific star.

“Is it morning yet?”

As Mo En pondered the mysterious connections between constellations, skills, and Saint Cloths, Macao finally woke up.

“Yeah, it’s almost time for the meeting.”

Mo En looked at Grandpa Macao—the old man had climbed off the table, sat on its edge, rubbing his eyes to wake himself up; he’d soon need to speak.

“Then let’s go. We probably won’t have breakfast today.”

Macao jumped down from the table, glanced at the ruined banquet hall, and chuckled.

This routine meeting would likely become the shortest in history—after today’s session, everyone could go home, since there was nowhere left to eat.

“Luckily the banquet hall’s decor was simple; otherwise we’d be bleeding cash. As it is, it’s not too bad.”

Mo En had quietly calculated last night—the cost to rebuild this banquet hall wouldn’t be too high, maybe a few million J, certainly under ten million J. It was fortunate only this one hall was affected; otherwise, the losses would’ve been catastrophic.

Could it be that the banquet hall’s decor was so plain because they’d already anticipated this problem?

Mo En eyed the ruined hall suspiciously—he had reason to suspect this place had been rebuilt before!

But Grandpa Macao flatly denied it, insisting this was the first time and he’d never damaged it before.

Whether Mo En believed him or not, Macao himself was convinced.

The grandfather and grandson left the banquet hall and headed for the conference hall; before departing, Mo En, still uneasy, reinforced the banquet hall once more, adding another layer of ice over the existing frozen surface.

The entire meeting complex was structurally connected; Mo En feared that if the banquet hall collapsed, it might drag down other areas too—that’s why he’d stayed behind at night.

Soon, the two arrived at the conference hall. This venue was far more formal than the banquet hall—not nearly as plain, and it carried a sense of solemnity.

Yet the attendees seemed lax—people sat in small groups, no assigned seats, everyone choosing wherever they liked, resulting in clusters of familiar faces huddled together.

Besides Mo En, junior members who’d come along—Jura Regis, Pacas, and Karin—were also present; there was no need to keep the meeting content secret or avoid certain people.

Perhaps because the attending mages were typically trusted lieutenants or close juniors of their guild masters, there was no need for special secrecy.

Of course, the most crucial point was that the topics to be discussed at the meeting weren’t sensitive or confidential.

“Sit down! All of Itachi, sit down! Or I’ll make Itachi run laps!”

On the podium at the front of the conference hall, the short Oba Babasama stood on a small stool, muttering orders as guild masters arrived one by one, urging them to take their seats.

“Oba Granny clearly can’t sit still.”

Mo En and Grandpa Macao found a seat and quietly whispered about Oba Babasama, who never stopped talking.

“For decades, she’s always been like this—wherever she is, silence is impossible.”

Macao delivered a sharp critique; they’d known each other for decades and understood each other’s personalities all too well.

“Mo En! Macao! Be quiet!”

Perhaps sensing someone whispering about her, Oba Babasama suddenly called out Mo En and Macao’s names—immediately, the grandfather and grandson fell silent.

Soon after, all attendees had arrived; Gao Deman and Bob brought Pacas and Karin over to sit with Macao and Mo En.

Karin’s expression remained cold, still dismissive toward everyone—no one knew if she’d even listened to Mo En’s advice.

Pacas, however, remained enthusiastic, practically becoming Mo En’s biggest fan—even though he was slightly older than Mo En.

They exchanged only a few words before the routine meeting officially began. Oba Babasama stood on stage as the chairperson, responsible for guiding the meeting’s proceedings.

The chairperson for each meeting rotated among members—this prevented one president from being burdened continuously and gave everyone a chance to lead.

“The third annual meeting of Year X778 is now officially open.”

On the podium, Granny Oba announced loudly; below, the guild masters offered a scattered, token round of applause.

“What’s going on?! Haven’t Itachi all had breakfast?!”

The weak applause displeased Oba; she slammed the podium and shouted at the guild masters below.

“We really haven’t eaten!”

“This old woman’s got too many demands.”

“Just bear with it, or I’ll make Itachi run laps!”

The guild masters grumbled, but they were used to Oba Babasama’s style—they obediently clapped, half-heartedly cheering.

Though mocked, Oba didn’t care; the applause satisfied her, and she continued with the agenda.

Watching this, Mo En found it absurd—these were walking weapons of war, each leading squads of devastating mages, yet their organization looked like a shabby comedy troupe.

It was hard to imagine such people represented the terrifying power behind them.

Yet, in a certain sense, it was precisely because of people like this that peace across the Ishgar continent had endured.

On the podium, Granny Oba chattered on; Mo En listened silently, searching for useful information.

The meeting covered many aspects—all positive, mostly concerning the development of their mage guilds.

For example, how to adapt to Fiore Kingdom policy changes, shifts in magical material markets, and new policies from the Magic Council.

It sounded like an ordinary industry association, no different from others worrying about similar matters.

‘This is the power of a stable order that has endured for centuries—we regular guilds unite under this order.’

Mo En thought silently; this order had been hard-won, forged through countless upheavals.

He’d read history—he knew the world had once been chaotic, and peaceful coexistence between commoners and mages had been hard-earned.

Undoubtedly, mages were a privileged class in daily life; though some weren’t wealthy, their lives were far more secure than those of ordinary people.

(End of Chapter)