Arthur looked down at the terrified councilors, his expression utterly cold.
He gently cradled Botamon, who was snuggled tightly against his chest, trembling like a frightened kitten.
This sight—the fear of his new, innocent partner—was the final spark.
Mission objectives be damned; this was now personal.
The anger of a being who carried the title True Dragon was hard to quench.
"Kneel,"
Arthur commanded, his voice a low rumble that carried the conceptual weight of the entire Tower Dungeon.
It was a single, absolute word from his Authority.
Every active councilor—Jellal, Ultear, Gran, and Org—immediately found their wills overwritten.
Their bones screamed in protest, their muscles strained, but they had no choice.
The four most powerful mages in the magical governance of Fiore were forced onto their knees, their faces pressed against the cold stone floor.
"Now, apologize to my Botamon,"
Arthur demanded, his tone icy.
He wasn't asking; he was asserting a new law in this room.
If they refused, he would erase the need for a Magic Council entirely.
"I apologize…" Jellal (Siegrain) was the first to comply.
His mind was racing, trying to find a counter, but his mouth moved on its own accord, the compulsion overwhelming his pride and magic.
"M—Me too, I am sorry…"
Ultear (Oración) followed, her voice strained and humiliated.
Arthur watched them, his own power still boiling.
He wasn't satisfied. He knew their apologies were born of compulsion, not genuine regret.
"No, you two are not,"
Arthur declared, focusing his rage specifically on the two manipulators he recognized.
He released a terrifying amount of his latent power.
The ambient magic in the room—the very Aetherano of the world—screamed in submission.
Jellal and Ultear felt the entire world crumble around them.
Their immense, complex magic meant absolutely nothing in front of his MAG: EX-9999, an infinite, self-regenerating source of conceptual energy.
They understood, in that paralyzing instant, that only beings like Zeref or Mavis—creatures who transcended normal magic into pure concept—could even hope to challenge him.
Just as Arthur's released power peaked, threatening to vaporize the entire chamber and everyone in it, the door burst open.
Makarov Dreyar ran in, his face etched with terror, closely followed by the shimmering, ethereal form of the First Master, Mavis Vermilion.
"Please hold on! Please don't kill them!"
Makarov yelled, his voice desperate.
He didn't like the Council, but their existence was a necessary evil to prevent complete magical anarchy.
Arthur blinked.
He stopped the release of his annihilating power, his focus momentarily shifting from his rage.
He was genuinely surprised to see Mavis physically manifest before the canonical time.
Her presence was a major divergence from the original timeline.
He looked from the terrified Makarov to the serene, ethereal form of the First Master, and then back to the four prostrated Council members.
"Then what do you think I should do then?"
Arthur asked, his voice returning to a smooth, though still deeply dangerous, tone.
The remaining councilors, Gran and Org, looked up, completely shocked to see the legendary First Master.
They could sense her formidable, Level 7 magical power—it was stronger than their own—but even Mavis's essence could still not be compared to the vast, quiet infinity of the power that Arthur held in check.