Conclave

"Grand tower mistress, are we really offering these terms to him? It is like throwing doors of our vast library without asking anything in return?" Ask women who looked to be in the early fifties nervously to the frail-looking woman sitting at a head table.

"It is exactly like throwing the doors of our library for him without asking anything in return." Said the middle-aged man sitting beside the old woman.

The square conference table had twelve people, some sitting in their real bodies while others were just a projection.

If Micheal had been here, he would be shocked to see these people; it was a conclave, the highest governing body of the wisdom tower. 

Sitting on the head chair is a frail-looking woman who looked to be in her eighties; looking at this old woman, one would think even a ten-year-old child could beat this woman; these thoughts will vaporize the moment they see the old woman's grey eyes, and they would shudder incomparably.