Although this senior looks somewhat unreliable, he surely won't lead us astray, so Rhode and Makarov follow him obediently.
The two are torn between asking him about his health and whether life is treating him well, but seeing how energetically he walks with such optimism, it doesn't seem necessary.
Suddenly Vorod speaks, "By the way, Makarov, I plan to visit Celestial Wolf Island in a few days, is that okay?"
Makarov and Rhode exchange a glance, seeming to see the same confusion in each other's eyes—he called Makarov, but should you answer, or should I?
They then wonder if the question was just a joke.
Makarov internally adjusts his tone and replies, "Although Celestial Wolf Island is the Guild's Holy Land, if you wish to go, you can go anytime, right?"
He guesses Vorod might be going to visit Mebius's grave or something.
"Because I've retired," Vorod responds somewhat melancholically, "Technically, I'm no longer a member of Fairy Tail, and it wouldn't be right to trespass on the Holy Land."
Makarov hurriedly says, "No, you..."
Vorod interrupts with a cheerful laugh, "I'm just joking."
"Uh..." Makarov is at a loss for words.
Vorod adds, "The joke just now was a joke."
Before they can untangle the logic, Vorod quickly clarifies, "Ah, the previous sentence was the joke."
Talking with him is exhausting. Not long after leaving, Makarov already feels homesick.
Rhode sighs, "Mr. Vorod, it would be great if you could be ninety years younger."
Vorod remains joyful, "Wahahaha! Is it because I'd be more energetic that way?"
No, because then I could beat you up, Rhode thinks disrespectful thoughts about the centenarian while nodding on the surface.
"Here we are," Vorod leads them into a spacious lounge, which could also pass as a banquet hall.
In the middle of the hall is a long table surrounded by seven chairs with intricately carved designs on the back.
On both sides, there are several doors leading to different rooms, with two doors currently closed.
A small round table and sofas against the back wall?
Rhode thinks those sofas resemble thrones in a castle.
As soon as Vorod enters, he cheerfully spins around and runs to the window, pulling out a watering can from nowhere to carefully water the potted plants while humming an unknown cheerful tune.
Rhode asks, "Have the others arrived?"
"Yes, you two are the last to arrive. The others got impatient with the wait and left early, the gathering was canceled."
Vorod bursts into laughter, "Wahahaha, kidding, just kidding!"
Suddenly, one of the closed doors opens with a bang, and out walks a short old man, only slightly taller than Makarov.
He sports a goatee, wears narrow-framed glasses, hunches over slightly, yet exudes a fierce demeanor:
"Vorod! Can you be quiet for a bit? Didn't you say plants and trees hate noise?!"
Vorod turns to look at him, still giggling, "Of course that was a joke, plants and trees love human voices! Hahaha!
"You're just too old-fashioned, Uluvheim, even your name is old-fashioned... That was a joke too, wahaha!"
There's a surge of Magic Power from Uluvheim, his neck and cheeks appear to be turning green, his body seems to swell up.
Rhode is startled, Hulk?
No, not this scene.
The feeling resembles Elfman's transformation, is it Receiving Magic? Seems to be of the Beast King type.
Perhaps aware of others present, Uluvheim doesn't actually transform.
He nods at Makarov, then scrutinizes Rhode and finally frowns:
"Another young one chosen, if it's six years ago, wouldn't he be younger than Jellal? What is the Council thinking?"
He seems to have stereotypes about the young. Rhode responds lightly with a smile, "Perhaps they're considering the aging issue of the Ten Wizard Saints?"
Among the four present, Vorod is over a hundred years old, Makarov is eighty-eight (officially ninety-four), and Uluvheim seems to be seventy or eighty.
Rhode, barely in his twenties, feels he's in the wrong place.
Uluvheim's forehead pulses with veins.
Rhode imitates Vorod's tone and gestures, "Just kidding, just kidding. Young folks are adventurous, while the elderly are mature and stable."
He knows Vorod and the President won't get angry, and even if they do, at most they'll give him a punch.
Uluvheim now just wants to punch him; couldn't the young man learn something better than Vorod's unruly behavior!
Vorod laughs heartily; he originally thought Rhode was the quiet type, but it turns out he's lively as well, truly Fairy Tail.
Makarov stretches his hand to knock on Rhode's head, "Show more respect to your seniors."
"Okay." Rhode rubs his head, it doesn't hurt.
It's like a parent disciplining a mischievous child in front of outsiders.
Uluvheim feels these three are a team, feeling tempted to transform and fight.
He's obviously not one of ours; if he were from Fairy Tail, half of this banquet hall would be demolished by now.
Makarov, not unfamiliar with Uluvheim, amicably approaches to chat, asking about his travels these past years, trying to ease the awkwardness.
Rhode listens quietly, as long as he's not provoked, he's not keen to argue with elders.
After some awkward small talk, a bald man walks in at the entrance, dressed in wide sleeves and black long beard, greeting those inside, "Looks like I'm a bit late."
"Mr. Jura," Rhode greets, recalling the Snake Princess ship parked in front of the castle, "Didn't you arrive long ago?"
Jura explains, "Yes, since people hadn't arrived yet, I went out to handle a commission, got delayed a bit."
Makarov and Rhode feel a twinge of envy, seeing how Lamia Scale regularly receives international commissions.
Uluvheim seems to have a decent impression of Jura, nodding at him and sitting down by the long table.
At this moment, the other closed door opens, and the gathering's initiator, Hayberion, steps out, holding a wineglass in his right hand and pouring 'wine' from a glass bottle resembling a red wine bottle with his left.
Rhode glances over, noticing the liquid poured is white. Looking closer, the bottle's label seems to read 'xx milk'.
Rhode: "..."
Turns out it's not blood or wine? Totally kills the vibe, geez!
Hayberion seems unfazed, gently swirling the milk in his glass, raising it elegantly to taste with a satisfied smile.
He looks at those present, lingering his gaze on Makarov and Rhode for a few seconds more, then casually sits at the head of the table:
"Now that everyone has arrived, please take your seats, I've had lunch prepared in advance."
Rhode counts and asks in puzzlement, "Is it just the six of us?"