The silence that followed Ankh's insult was deafening, broken only by the subtle, stifled reactions of the two youngest council members.
Standing in the shadows behind the elders, Jellal's lips twitched involuntarily.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain his stoic facade, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of dark amusement.
Beside him, Ultear pressed her painted red lips together into a thin line, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly.
She was barely suppressing a laugh.
For years, she had been forced to play the role of the obedient servant to these decaying relics of a bygone era.
To hear someone finally speak to them with such raw, unfiltered disdain was nothing short of cathartic.
'Ankh... no, Master's words are truly sharp,' she thought, admiring the brazen confidence of the man seated in the center of the room.
However, the Council Chairman was not amused.
Crawford, the tall, rotund man sitting at the very center of the high podium, slammed his hand onto his desk.
His face, usually a mask of absolute authority, flushed a deep crimson.
"Ankh of the Ten Wizard Saints!" Crawford bellowed, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls.
"Please show some respect! This is the Magic Council, the highest authority in the ishgar continent, not a tavern for you to act recklessly in!"
Ankh didn't flinch.
He merely sneered, his eyes scanning the motley crew of elders before him with bored indifference.
He propped his chin on his hand, leaning back in the chair with the casual air of a king addressing his subjects, rather than the other way around.
"Respect?" Ankh repeated the word as if it were a foreign concept he found distasteful.
"This is the only attitude I have. If you don't like it, feel free to dismiss me. If you keep spouting nonsense about etiquette, don't blame me for turning around and walking right out that door."
A collective gasp rippled through the chamber.
To the astonishment of all the council members, this genius Mage under Makarov's wing was nothing like the cunning, political old-timers they were used to dealing with.
Usually, even powerful Guild Masters like Makarov had to adopt a humble, apologetic attitude when summoned to the Council.
They would bow, scrape, and offer vague pleasantries to smooth over any infractions.
After all, the Council controlled the magical order of the entire continent of Ishgar.
Anyone looking to develop their guild's influence or maintain their standing had to grit their teeth and endure the Council's bureaucracy.
There was simply no other way.
For those involved in magical endeavors, the Council's legal and political constraints were a shackle they could not break.
But then, there was Ankh.
This man swaggered into the heart of their power like he owned the building, showing not an ounce of regard for their titles or history.
While others greeted the councilors with forced smiles, Ankh looked at them with cold, dead eyes—as if he were a coroner examining a row of rotting corpses.
The stony faces of the councilors twisted with profound anger.
Their attempt at intimidation—the silence, the staring, the pressure—had failed spectacularly.
Instead of fear, they had elicited nothing but contempt from this young monster.
'Do you truly hold us in such low regard?' they thought, their egos bruised.
'Such an ignorant young lad. Is he not afraid we might retaliate? Does he think his title makes him untouchable?'
Fortunately, Ankh couldn't hear their specific thoughts, or he would have been doubled over with laughter right there in the chamber.
'The Council's retaliation?'
Under normal circumstances, a mage might have been somewhat wary of angering the governing body.
But Ankh was playing a game with a cheat sheet.
He knew the timeline.
Soon—very soon—once his and Jellal's converging plans were implemented, chaos would engulf this building.
Ultear, acting under his secret direction, would manipulate Jellal into destroying the Council building.
The ultimate chaotic event would involve the firing of the Magic Particle Cannon, Etherion.
After that catastrophe, the Council would face insurmountable public dissatisfaction and condemnation from the mundane governments.
Eventually, due to the pressure from the continent's political institutions, this version of the Council would be forcibly dissolved and reorganized.
By then, the new Council would be formed.
The current members sitting before him—Crawford, Michelo—would all be swept away into forced retirement or disgrace, replaced by new faces.
Although the replacements would likely still be a bunch of stubborn old folks, at least they wouldn't be as deeply entrenched in corruption and arrogance as this current batch.
At that point, the heavy atmosphere targeting Fairy Tail would lighten up, if only for a while.
Admittedly, the relief would be temporary, but for Ankh, it was enough.
In this dying Council, Ankh only needed to protect his own Thought Projection, Anselion, and ensure 'he' continued to serve as a council member in the next administration.
That was his only strategic goal here.
Pandering to these old men and women who were walking dead men without knowing it? Ankh had absolutely no time for such trivialities.
Seeing Ankh's resolute, unyielding attitude, the council members turned pale.
They stubbornly refused to speak, sensing that if they spoke first, it would be an admission of defeat in this clash of wills.
Ankh found this foolish standoff utterly incomprehensible.
"Fine," he grunted.
He stood up, kicking the chair back as he prepared to leave.
"Child, don't be in such a hurry."
A calm, gentle voice finally broke the deadlock. "We just wanted to ask you about the incident with Lullaby last time. Please, sit."
The speaker was Yajima, a short, elderly man wearing a chef's hat and squinting eyes.
He looked at Ankh with a kind, grandfatherly expression.
Ankh, who had been halfway to the door, paused.
He sighed, turned around, and eventually sat back down.
Yajima was different.
He was an old friend of Makarov and a staunch ally of Fairy Tail.
On numerous occasions, Yajima had put his own reputation on the line to protect the guild from the Council's wrath.
He had even visited the guild when Ankh, Erza, and the others were just children.
To Ankh, Yajima was an elder worthy of respect, someone who had watched him grow up.
Facing such a senior, Ankh's attitude shifted.
The jagged edges of his arrogance smoothed out, and his tone softened significantly.
"During that mission," Ankh began, addressing Yajima directly and ignoring the others, "I merely happened to encounter Lullaby. It had already transformed into its giant demon form, so I fought it. I resolved the situation quickly to prevent it from using its death curse."
Ankh shrugged. "As far as I know, there were no casualties. The guild acted in self-defense. May I ask what exactly you wanted to know, Yajima-san?"
Yajima nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but a wheezing, grating voice suddenly cut him off from the side.
"Hmph! Stop lying, brat!"
Ankh's expression instantly froze.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he glared at the source of the interruption.
It was Michelo.
The old man had narrow, murky eyes and wore strange, spotted clothing with two cat-ear-like accessories on his head.
His short stature was similar to Yajima's, but where Yajima was warm, Michelo was repulsive.
At first glance, he hardly looked human, resembling a cunning, sly old alley cat that had eaten one too many canaries.
"You defeated the demon," Michelo accused, pointing a trembling finger, "but did the Magic Flute it turned back into just disappear? Do you take us for fools?"
Ankh didn't answer the old man's question immediately.
Instead, the air in the room suddenly grew heavy, the temperature dropping several degrees.
Unabashedly, Ankh released a surge of fierce, menacing magical energy.
It wasn't an attack, but a suffocating pressure that made the air vibrate.
He spoke in a low voice that rumbled like distant thunder.
"Who do you think you are? How dare you interrupt my conversation with Yajima-san?"
Michelo trembled physically under the sudden, fierce aura.
The pressure made it hard to breathe, triggering a primal fear in his gut.
But, remembering his status as a Council Member, he frantically tried to regain his composure.
"How dare you!" Michelo shouted, though his voice cracked. "You are merely a—"
"Enough!"
Crawford's voice boomed out, sounding weary rather than angry this time.
He rubbed his temples, stopping the red-faced Michelo from escalating the situation further.
"Council Member Yajima," the Chairman instructed, "you take over the questioning. Let's not stir up any more trouble."
The Chairman realized they were in a bind.
Facing a Ten Wizard Saint who was also a reckless, powerful youth... it was a delicate situation.
The more Ankh acted impulsively, the harder it became for the Council to take disciplinary action.
Revoking his title was pointless—Ankh clearly no longer cared for the honor, having already milked all the privileges and benefits over the years.
Conversely, the current Council desperately needed to leverage the reputation of these young Wizard Saints to maintain their waning authority over the magical world.
They needed Ankh more than he needed them.
Yajima nodded, offering Ankh an apologetic look.
"Then... Ankh, let's get to the heart of it. Do you happen to know where that Magic Flute ended up?"
Ankh shook his head bluntly. "No idea. I never saw that thing revert back to a flute."
He leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "My Magic is highly destructive—it focuses on obliteration. When I struck the finishing blow, the demon body crumbled. It was probably completely pulverized into dust."
This time, Ankh wasn't technically lying.
The demon indeed never turned back into the wooden Magic Flute.
Whether that was due to the unique nature of his Magic Power or other means, the result was the same: the artifact had vanished entirely.
Yajima nodded slowly, accepting the answer, then gave the Chairman a somewhat helpless glance.
Crawford's expression was grim.
A silence fell over the semicircle.
The council members present couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of regret.
"Such a powerful curse-killing Magic..." one muttered. "Just destroyed like that."
The Council was known for hoarding forbidden and dangerous Magics.
They claimed it was to prevent misguided developments in the magical world, to keep the peace.
But in reality, they coveted these artifacts because they bolstered the Council's military deterrent power.
Their biggest concern hadn't been Ankh's safety; it was that Ankh might have hidden the Magic Flute for personal gain.
That was the reason for the subtle interrogation.
But judging by Ankh's dismissive demeanor, it seemed the flute genuinely wasn't in his possession.
'What a waste', the members sighed inwardly. 'What a fine weapon it was! If only the Council could have controlled it...'
"Ah..."
Hearing the old men sigh in unison, lamenting the loss of a dark weapon rather than celebrating the safety of the people, Ankh found it incredibly odd.
Their greed was palpable.
Just then, he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
Ultear, seated to the side of the elders, subtly winked at him.
She offered a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk, acknowledging their shared deception.
Honestly, Ankh thought, she looked quite charming like that.
Catching Ultear's signal, Ankh averted his gaze before Jellal could notice.
The plan for Galuna Island was nearly ready.
Seeing how well they operated together today, Ankh decided it was about time to fully make Ultear his ally—not just a pawn, but a partner in the chaos to come.
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