Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons-Chapter 307: The Guild Council Meeting

After sorting out the village and players' conditions, Arthur realized it was almost time for the guild council meeting.

He couldn't afford to be late. Not when so much depended on establishing his position among Caldera's elite.

He teleported from the village to his guild quarters, space folding around him like paper origami before opening to reveal the familiar halls of Power.

Wearing Azarel's face, he stepped out into the corridor.

They are still watching.

The sensation of eyes on his back hadn't faded. If anything, it had intensified since arriving in Caldera. The four elite families clearly hadn't given up. Still waiting for their chance to strike.

He didn't know which family or group maintained the surveillance. Didn't particularly care.

Let them watch. It's not like they can see anything besides what I want them to see

Arthur headed to the meeting place with measured strides, his expression revealing nothing of his inner calculations. The king had promised support despite his absence. Whether that promise held value remained to be seen.

The guild council building rose before him—a monument to tradition and status. Six-sided like the power structure it represented, crafted from marble that caught the late afternoon light in a way that made it seem to glow from within. Surprisingly few guards stood at its entrances.

Why bother with mundane security when the patriarchs of the four elite families are inside? Who would be foolish enough to attack such a concentration of power?

Arthur arrived five minutes before the appointed time—early enough to demonstrate respect, not so early as to appear eager.

The council meeting room waited behind massive double doors of age-darkened wood. Arthur pushed them open to reveal a perfect hexagon of polished stone, dominated by a table of the same shape. Six ornate chairs marked the positions of power—one for each elite family, one for Arthur's upstart guild, and one for the king's representative.

Stepping inside, Arthur's eyes landed on the room's sole occupant.

Seraphina Gilderhaven.

So she arrived even earlier than I did. Interesting.

The notorious leader of Caldera's assassins and mercenaries lounged in her designated seat, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Blood-red lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her dark eyes. Raven hair cascaded over shoulders clad in armour so fine it might have been mistaken for formal wear.

Everything about her exuded danger wrapped in seduction. A beauty that could topple kingdoms.

"Azarel." Her voice flowed like honey laced with poison. "The mysterious newcomer himself. How... unexpected to find you arriving early."

She uncrossed her legs with slowness, the movement drawing attention despite its simplicity.

Arthur inclined his head slightly—acknowledgement without submission. "Lady Gilderhaven. I believe punctuality demonstrates respect for the proceedings."

"Does it?" She ran one finger along the table's edge. "And here I thought you might be eager to see who supports your... unusual petition."

He claimed his designated chair, movements unhurried. "I'm merely interested in establishing proper relations with Caldera's existing power structure."

"Proper relations." Seraphina's laugh held no warmth. "Such a diplomatic way to describe your rapid acquisition of territory, influence, and personnel."

Arthur met her gaze directly, allowing a small smile to touch his lips. "I prefer to think of it as filling an unmet need in the market."

Her eyes narrowed fractionally—the only indication his calm demeanor might have unsettled her expectations.

She wanted to provoke a reaction. To measure my temperament before the others arrive.

"The market." She tapped one perfectly manicured nail against the table. "What an interesting way to describe the balance of power that has maintained Caldera's stability for generations."

"Stability is valuable," Arthur conceded. "But adaptation ensures survival."

Something flickered in Seraphina's eye.

She leaned forward slightly. Every move was seductive, whether by intent or not.

"You're not what I expected, Azarel." Her voice dropped lower, more intimate. "The others believe you're merely ambitious. Hungry for status."

"And what do you believe?"

Her blood-red lips curved into a genuine smile—the first since he'd entered. "I believe you're playing a game. And that makes you far more interesting than most who sit at this table."

Before Arthur could respond, the doors swung open. The remaining council members had arrived.

Sauron Ashencroft swept in first, his presence commanding attention without effort.

His guild insignia decorated his midnight-blue robes, the fabric rippling like water as he moved.

His eyes—cold as winter frost—scanned the room, lingering on Arthur for two heartbeats before he claimed his seat.

The flame wielder. S rank talent.

General Raemund Draketower followed, military training evident in every step. Unlike Sauron's fluid grace, the general moved with calmness, his ceremonial armour gleaming under the crystal chandeliers.

"Lady Gilderhaven. Lord Ashencroft. Sir. Azarel, " He nodded to each.

Arthur returned the greeting.

Arch-Healer Eldon Thornwyck entered next. Despite his advanced age, he moved with surprising agility, his healer's robes flowing against the marble floor. The contrast between his gentle demeanour and the hardened warriors surrounding him couldn't have been clearer.

"Forgive my near-tardiness," he said, voice surprisingly strong. "A complicated procedure required my attention."

Last came the king's representative—a slender man with calculating eyes and the plain yet expensive attire of high bureaucracy.

"Minister Caldwell," Seraphina greeted, surprise evident in her tone. "The king sends his first minister? How... significant."

The minister offered a thin smile as he took his seat. "His Majesty sends precisely what is needed, Lady Gilderhaven."

Arthur observed the dynamics unfolding around the hexagonal table. Each person carries decades, perhaps centuries of legacy—except himself.

The outsider in a room built on bloodlines and tradition.

Sauron leaned forward, fingers steepled before him. "Shall we dispense with pleasantries and proceed to the matter at hand?"

The flame emblem on his signet ring caught the light as he gestured toward Arthur. "The petition of this... new guild."

"Power," Arthur supplied calmly.

"Yes. Power." Sauron's lips curled around the word like it amused him. "A rather direct name, wouldn't you agree?"

General Draketower's laugh held no humour. "Direct, indeed. The young generation is truly brave."

Arthur met their gazes evenly. "I find honesty refreshing. Power is what guilds seek. Power is what we offer."