"..." Ulfheim's right hand instinctively tightened its grip.
The young man wheezed, clutching Ulfheim's wrist with both hands, but it didn't budge an inch. His face turned red as the air was squeezed out of his lungs.
Ulfheim finally loosened his grip, only to have his other hand morph into a monstrous claw that clamped down on the man's head.
The beastlike Wizard's eyes glinted fiercely, his teeth lengthening into sharp fangs. "Spit it out. Tell us your purpose, or I'll crush your skull where you stand!"
But instead of fear, the orange-haired youth sneered. "Purpose? We're here to change this rotten Magic world!"
The bold declaration made Rhodes raise his eyebrows. The young man looked dangerous enough with his spiky orange hair and black trench coat, but those shifty little eyes gave him the aura of a schemer. How could someone like that say such grand words with a straight face?
Jura, worried Ulfheim might lose control and kill the captive on the spot, quickly interjected, "What do you mean by that?"
"Hmph, what else?" Ulfheim snorted, losing patience. He released the man with a flick of his arm, tossing him aside. "Dark Guilds always think their suffering is the fault of the legal Guilds. They want revenge whenever they get the chance. But they never stop to think, it's their own fault. They live for money, trampling others for it. That's why they're rejected."
Branches sprouted up at a wave of Warrod's hand, catching the youth before he could hit the ground.
But the boy snapped back with venom in his voice. "Don't lump us together with those shallow fools! We're pioneers, revolutionaries willing to die to change the status of all new-type Mages!"
Rhodes narrowed his eyes. The fanatical gleam in the man's expression reminded him uncomfortably of the cultists who worshipped Zeref. Was this boy another zealot, brainwashed into a crusade?
"Oh?" Hyberion leaned forward, intrigued. "If you put it that way, then I can't pretend not to ask. Have new-type Mages truly suffered so much unfair treatment? And how exactly do you plan to change things?"
The orange-haired youth curled his lip in disgust. "How shameless of you to ask! Isn't it obvious? You traditional Magicians just walk into a Guild, pick up a request, and take it! But we...we're forced through tests, studies, assessments, endless inspections of our equipment! Even our tools can be confiscated on a whim!"
He rattled on, a tirade of grievances spilling out, all aimed at the Council's strict regulations that hemmed in "new-style" Mages and their reliance on Magic Items.
To Rhodes, the orange-haired boy's words translated to something like: "I don't have a driver's license, I don't understand traffic rules, but why won't you let me drive a heavy truck?"
Makarov, more sympathetic toward the younger generation who had gone astray, spoke gently. "I've heard those regulations were meant to protect new-type Mages' lives, and to ensure the safety of the clients as well."
"Don't try to deceive people with those hypocritical excuses!" the youth snapped back. "Those rules were made only to protect the interests of traditional Mages! Otherwise, why did the Council introduce them right when the number of Guilds and Mages was growing fastest? Why did the number of new-type Guilds collapse, while the old ones slowly recovered?!"
Rhode's first thought was simple: Because you're weak. But he bit his tongue. He didn't know enough about the current landscape to say it outright.
The orange-haired boy's anger boiled over, his voice echoing across the mountainside. "But today, that ends! The great change begins now! Once we eliminate you, the so-called pillars of the old order, we'll prove the strength of new-type Mages! My blood will dye the curtain of reform red and water the flowers of tomorrow!"
'Chuunibyou. Definitely tricked by someone. He even rehearsed those lines.'
Jura pressed his palms together, shaking his head with the calm air of a monk. "If you truly understood the purpose of those regulations, or even studied at a proper Magic academy, you wouldn't be saying these things."
Ulfheim snorted. "Why waste words on him? Idiots who don't understand human speech should be crushed outright."
Hyberion shook his head calmly. "Of course we can't do that. They're still young. Misguided, yes, but not beyond saving. Better to capture them alive and re-educate them."
Though he didn't argue, Ulfheim's voice was cold. "Kindness won't stop them. They'll see it only as weakness."
The boy was about to scream another line of fanatic rhetoric, but Jura, worried he would provoke Ulfheim into tearing him apart, moved with a swift chop and knocked him unconscious.
Makarov rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Absurd as it all sounds, the fact remains, they came here intent on killing us. That leaves us no choice but to fight, doesn't it?"
It was also a good opportunity to see what these so-called New-type Mages were capable of. Of course, Rhodes knew that Dark Guilds could hardly represent all of them, but it would still be a test worth watching.
Jura's voice was steady as he reminded the group, "They're here."
Two squads of five had reached the ridgeline, standing at the mountaintop and glaring across at the six Wizard Saints perched atop the massive tree. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ novel★fire.net
Rhode's eyes lit up. "How about letting me handle their capture?"
Jura smiled, thinking he meant a small skirmish. "One against ten? That shouldn't be a problem for you."
But Rhodes shook his head, grinning. "No, I mean all three hundred of them. Leave them all to me."
Ulfheim immediately scowled. "Don't get cocky, brat. New-type Mages might be reckless fools, but their weapons aren't toys. Even we need to take them seriously."
Makarov looked equally uneasy. "We don't understand this generation well enough yet. There's no need to..."
Rhodes leaned closer, squatting by Makarov's chair and whispering with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guild Master, don't you think Fairy Tail's return has been a little too quiet? You know as well as I do that sooner or later, some real troublemakers will appear. Before that happens… wouldn't it be better if I stirred up a storm that makes Fairy Tail shine again?"
Makarov froze. Horrific images flashed in his mind, villages encased in ice, towns burning to ash, cities reduced to rubble. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
Finally, lips trembling, he forced out a shaky laugh and turned to the others. "How about… giving the youngster a chance to show off?"