Myth: The Ruler of Spirituality

After all, in the Golden Age, the reason humans chose stone rather than other materials was probably due to technological limitations.

In their eyes, stone was probably the most common and durable material.

But as time has passed to today, stone is no longer more durable or easier to write on than a demon's skin... Wizards now have better ways to preserve their writings for millennia.

"Tradition always has its significance, Medea, even for us."

"What is powerful is not necessarily ancient, but most ancient things contain strength."

"Learn to revere History, revere tradition... You are no longer young."

At the end of the passageway, a voice, old yet gentle, came from there.

It's this old guy again... A trace of apprehension flashed in Medea's eyes, but her rebuttal was not polite at all.

"Nonsense."

"True strength must transcend time and space, just like the endpoint we speculate for witchcraft, Deities, and Alchemy combined."

"Let everything converge to a point. A point is everything. So the ancient is not necessarily powerful, but the powerful must be ancient. That is the true truth."

"In contrast, some dregs of the old era should stay in the garbage heap, not remain on the table, hindering the progress of later generations."

She held the elder's view in disdain, though Medea knew she was the one making a sophistry.

After all, the elder spoke of reality, while she spoke of unproven conjecture... But that's what arguments are like.

Striding forward, she crossed the door at the end of the passageway.

The narrow space instantly broadened. Behind the door was a huge, inverted semicircular assembly hall.

Twelve tables floated in mid-air, most of which were already occupied.

Apart from those who couldn't be there for the time being, was she the last one... Ignoring the glare from a certain middle-aged man, Medea casually nodded at the elder she had been speaking to earlier.

Leaping into the air, the witch came to her assigned seat and lounged lazily on the armrest.

Scanning the assembly hall, she found a timing device.

Counting down from three, Medea said plainly:

"Hmm, 3...2...1... I'm here, and three breaths early, not late."

"So if there's no problem, can we start now? After all, everyone's time is tight, no need to waste it here."

"You—!"

Slamming the table, the middle-aged wizard rose angrily.

It was that indifferent attitude again. He had long disliked this Divine Witch who never behaved properly.

Yet despite his anger, Medea did not spare him a single glance.

She merely looked at the elder at the head, inquiring with her eyes about the matter at hand.

"Ahem... Alright, Erwin, sit down first."

"Medea, you calm down a bit too."

At the forefront of the twelve floating platforms, a dark oak staff lightly tapped the ground, and the elder's gaze turned to the witch.

Murky eyes, sparse hair, weak Life aura... No matter how you looked at it, this was a person on the brink of death.

Yet seeing this scene, Medea took a deep breath, barely adjusting her posture.

A hundred years ago, this old guy was already like this. Back then she thought he was finally going to die, but a hundred years passed, and he still looked the same, half dead but not quite.

She wasn't entirely sure how he managed to surpass the mortal lifespan, but one thing was certain.

She indeed feared this old guy, so although she tried various ways to test his condition, as long as he got serious, she would still remain cautious.

"...Very well."

Retracting his gaze, the elder's smile remained gentle.

"Since everyone is here, let's begin."

"The reason I summoned you all today is a matter concerning the life and death of the White Tower."