Mest and Lahar both felt their worldview shatter.
The Fiore Kingdom's number one guild, Fairy Tail, might be infamous for troublemaking and large-scale destruction, but it had also made countless contributions to the magic world.
They generally followed the rules expected of a mage guild, and even submitted honest written apologies when they stepped out of line.
Overall, they were still considered a legitimate guild.
But now they were learning that the dark guild Grimoire Heart had been founded by Fairy Tail's Second Guild Master?
Which one was the real guild, and which one was the offshoot?
If not for the fact that Grimoire Heart was currently locked in a deadly battle with Fairy Tail on the island, and the little white cat beside them wore an expression of genuine shock, Lahar might have suspected something far more sinister, perhaps that Mest's identity had been exposed, and Fairy Tail and Grimoire Heart had conspired together to lure the Council's forces into a trap.
Reality was so absurd that Makarov, Carla, Lahar, and Mest all needed time to digest it.
But Hades, or rather, Precht, wasted no time at all. He struck at Makarov without hesitation.
Two purple-white chains of magic, their tips tipped with sharp grappling hooks, formed in the air and shot forward, piercing directly into the giant Makarov's shoulder and leg joints, right at the scapula.
With a violent swing of his arm, Precht hooked Makarov's massive frame and hurled him through the air.
"Guild Master Makarov!" Lahar and Mest cried out in alarm.
Even after learning such a shocking truth, it seemed clear to them that, for now, Fairy Tail was still an ally. If Makarov couldn't stand against the Master of Grimoire Heart, then there was nothing they themselves could do.
"Maste—" Carla began to shout alongside them, but her words stopped short.
Her often-unreliable precognition magic had activated again on its own, and what it showed her was something even worse than what they were seeing now.
No… I can't just stand here!
Fortunately, Makarov was not so easily brought down. The instant he was flung away, he returned to his normal size and broke free of the chains' hold.
He twisted in midair, landing lightly on the ground, and even took a moment to use Re-equip Magic, his floral shirt and loose shorts shifting into the formal attire of a Ten Wizard Saints.
Perhaps it was to project a sense of authority, or perhaps it was out of respect for the Second Master before him.
Even so, Makarov had no desire to fight Precht. This was the man who had raised him, taught him magic, and instilled in him the values that had guided him as Guild Master for decades. To cross blades with him now was agony.
Precht, unfazed, leapt from the airship to the shore and began walking toward him, smiling faintly.
"Don't look at me like that," he said. "It pains me a little to personally crush Fairy Tail."
Makarov's voice rang out, heavy with both anger and disbelief.
"You personally handed Fairy Tail over to me back then. Why have you joined a Dark Guild now? And why are you attacking Fairy Tail?!"
The words seemed to summon memories for them both.
That day, decades ago, Precht had suddenly announced he was going on a journey, then, on a whim, placed the guild in Makarov's hands.
Now, just as suddenly, he had returned to Tenrou Island… and declared that he would crush Fairy Tail.
Back then, Makarov had questioned him the same way.
And back then, just like now, he could never truly understand Precht's actions.
"You still don't understand darkness, boy," Precht said, his tone calm but laced with something cold. "The absolute darkness lurking in the abyss. You've exposed magic far too much to the sunlight."
Makarov frowned, thinking he meant the dark era, before the first guild was formed, when mages were persecuted.
Although he had not lived through that time, he had heard of it.
"Allowing magic into the sunlight, making it part of daily life, was the result of every mage working together," Makarov replied firmly. "Now, both magic and magicians have long been an indispensable part of this world. You should know that."
Precht only shook his head.
This conversation was going nowhere.
He was no longer the Second Master who had once taught this boy, and Makarov was no longer that boy.
And so, just as before, Precht had no intention of making him understand.
This was no longer a talk between teacher and student, it was a clash between two Guild Masters.
Or perhaps… not even a clash.
Precht lifted his right hand, hooking two fingers, and drew a line from his left shoulder down to his chest.
A storm of deep-violet runes appeared in the air, weaving together into an intricate magic circle.
Most of the sigils revolved tightly around him, forming the control and source layers of the spell. The rest snapped into place around Makarov, clearly marking the attack's target.
"Amaterasu Twenty-Eight-Style Magic Circle?!" Makarov's eyes widened, not in fear of the magic itself, but at the speed of its creation.
He knew this magic well. All Amaterasu-style circles required setup time, the larger the number, the more complex the spell, and the longer it took to cast.
The more difficult forms required both hands for intricate seals.
Yet Precht had finished in an instant, reducing the seals to a single motion.
Just how far had his magical mastery reached?
Makarov had no time to dwell on it. He threw up a defensive magic barrier as the attack detonated.
A deafening boom shook the shore.
"You can't resist me, boy."
"Don't call me 'boy.' You're no longer family to me!" Makarov roared.
"Is that so?" Precht's voice held neither surprise nor anger. If anything, there was a trace of satisfaction, perhaps even pride, that the boy had finally grown strong.
But that changed nothing.
He still intended to kill him with his own hands.
Two chains of magic shot from his palms. Makarov twisted to avoid them, but one still punched clean through his shoulder joint.
This magic was far more sinister than it appeared.
Once again, Makarov was hurled through the air, his massive frame slamming hard into the trunk of a great tree.
He fought to tear himself free from the grip of the magic chains, but before he could, the earth rumbled violently. The towering Tenrou Tree groaned and toppled.
"The Tenrou Tree…" Makarov's words broke off. A deep weakness flooded his body, his strength draining away all at once. Clutching his wounded shoulder, he collapsed to the ground, his face pale.
Carla had already rushed to the spot, guided by the vision she had seen, a vision of the Guild Master's defeat.
She had planned to grab Makarov and escape, but the moment she spread her wings, they vanished into nothing. Her body gave out, and she crumpled to the ground beside him.
"Has Azuma finally made his move?" Precht murmured, without a trace of surprise. His estimate for how long it would take to seize control of the island's magic had been exactly on point.
"You've lost, Makarov," Precht said, his tone utterly certain now, no longer calling him "kid." "Lost Magic, Great Tree Arc. The one who cast it is a mage I personally raised for many years. Now, Fairy Tail doesn't even have one ten-thousandth of a chance to win."
Great Tree Arc…
Makarov knew the name of this magic. He had never even sensed such a dangerous presence arriving on the island.
And now… his children's lives were no longer guaranteed.
His heart ached with grief and guilt. He was truly an unworthy parent.
"Then I'll use this next move to send you on your way," Precht said coldly, spreading his hands wide.
"Amaterasu, Hundred Style!"
Magic circles, several times more intricate than the previous Amaterasu Twenty-Eight Style, flared into being, encircling both the fallen Makarov and Carla in a deadly lattice of light.
...
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