Chương 46: Chapter 43: The Reassembled Board

The high-frequency hum of the holographic terminals vibrated through the newly polished floorboards of the Beacon Headmaster's tower. Outside the panoramic glass windows, the massive brass clockwork gears turned with a slow, rhythmic precision, casting fractured beams of the late afternoon sun across the expansive room.

Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch stood rigidly behind the grand mahogany desk, her riding crop tucked tightly beneath her arm, her sharp green eyes fixed on the array of primary viewing screens hovering in the center of the office. The global communications matrix remained unstable across the far reaches of Remnant, leaving several of the operational feeds blinking in a state of encrypted standby. Only two active video windows projected into the room.

To her left, the screen displayed the sterile, metallic command deck of General James Ironwood. The Atlas General sat with his cybernetic hand resting heavily on his desk, his posture immaculately straight, though the deep lines of exhaustion etching his face revealed the weight of his ongoing isolationist mandates. On the central screen sat Leonardo Lionheart. The Headmaster of Haven Academy was visually disheveled, his golden Faunus mane lacking its usual meticulous grooming.

His hands were clasped so tightly against the polished wood of his desk that his knuckles were stark white, and his eyes darted with an erratic, rhythmic panic toward the lower corners of his transmission frame.

"Leonardo," Ironwood's deep voice boomed through the audio receiver, cutting cleanly through the ambient gear-work hum.

"We are waiting on the consolidated status reports from the Mistral regional registry. It has been two weeks since Qrow explicitly raised the issue regarding the complete disappearance of your primary scouting vanguards. We are still registering absolute silence from your outer border outposts." Lionheart flinched subtly, a quick, shallow breath catching in his throat before he managed a weak, strain-laced smile.

"James, please, you must understand the logistical complexity of the current climate. The global network disruption has created unprecedented administrative hurdles."

"We are past the point of network delays, Leonardo," Glynda interjected, her voice striking the room like an iron gavel. She adjusted her glasses, her eyes narrowing as she tracked the subtle tremor in the lion Faunus's shoulders.

"Two weeks ago, you claimed it was simple atmospheric dust interference. Now, your domestic security channels are completely dark. What is the status of Haven's active Huntsmen?" Lionheart swallowed hard, shifting his weight nervously in his high-backed chair.

"There has been... a shift in the local threat matrix. Our internal intelligence indicates an aggressive, highly coordinated series of insurgencies orchestrated by localized White Fang cells along the upper terraced trading routes. They are actively jamming the short-range relays. My trackers are simply maintaining radio silence to prevent their positions from being compromised during active field operations."

"If the White Fang is suppressing your domestic forces to that degree, the kingdom's sovereignty is at risk," Ironwood stated, his brow furrowing deeply as his digital overlay began calculating troop trajectories.

"I will deploy the Ace Operatives to Mistral immediately. They can act as an independent, high-density vanguard to stabilize Haven's perimeter and re-establish a secure military link."

"No!" Lionheart squeaked, his voice pitching high with an abrupt, sharp panic that caused Glynda to instantly grip her riding crop tighter. The headmaster rapidly caught himself, forcing a strained, awkward chuckle as he wiped a sudden bead of sweat from his brow.

"That is... completely unnecessary, James. Truly. Deploying specialized Atlas elite forces into the heart of Mistral right now would cause severe political friction within the high council. The civilian population is already deeply suspicious of foreign military movement after the tragedy in Vale. It would look like an occupation." He leaned closer to his terminal, his eyes pleading through the blue light.

"Haven Academy can handle its domestic obligations, I assure you. We just require a small window of additional time to isolate the White Fang's main relay hubs. If the situation degrades further, I will be the first to contact your office for direct tactical assistance." Suddenly, Lionheart's head snapped toward the heavy double doors just out of his camera's view to his right. His pupils dilated in immediate, primal terror, his jaw dropping slightly as his entire frame froze.

Glynda stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

"Leonardo? Is there an active breach in your sector?" Lionheart tore his gaze back to the screen, forcing a loud, remarkably hollow laugh that echoed awkwardly through the feed.

"Ah! Forgive me, Glynda! No, no breach at all! It is simply... a junior student arriving early for an administrative disciplinary review. The youth today have very little regard for proper operational hours." He scrambled to adjust his papers, his hands trembling violently.

"If you will excuse me, I must handle this internal matter immediately. We will reconvene once the border sweeps are finalized." Before Ironwood could issue a countermand, Lionheart's screen pixelated rapidly and went entirely black, leaving only the steady, sterile glow of the Atlas command feed.

"He is compromised," Ironwood growled, his cybernetic fist striking the edge of his console.

"That wasn't the posture of an administrator dealing with an unruly student. He was looking at a predator."

"Agreed," Glynda murmured, her face hardening into a grim expression.

"His excuses are mutating. He is running out of time." A chime echoed through the primary console as another feed materialized on the right side of the deck. The sun-drenched, sand-dusted office of Shade Academy flickered into view. Headmaster Theodore sat with his heavy leather boots propped casually on a stack of unorganized logistics crates, while Professor Xanthe Rumpole stood just behind him, her arms crossed tightly over her tailored uniform, her expression fixed in a perpetual, no-nonsense scowl.

"Apologies for the delay, people," Theodore said, swinging his feet off the crates and leaning forward, the golden accents of his armor catching the bright desert light.

"We were tied up in the lower vaults dealing with the late administrative transit documents for Team BRNZ. Nolan Porfirio is still proving to be a highly complex operational case after what happened at the Battle of Beacon." Glynda's expression softened with genuine, academic concern.

"How is the boy recovering? The loss of his entire unit during the breach was a catastrophic psychological blow."

"He's standing, which is more than most could manage," Rumpole answered, her voice flat and analytical.

"We are currently navigating the bureaucratic red tape required to transfer him into an active team structure. The search is ongoing, but finding a compatible combat rhythm for a sole survivor takes time."

"We just finished a brief dialogue with Leonardo," Ironwood informed them, his voice cutting straight through the pleasantries.

"He has rejected my offer to send the Ace-Ops to Mistral, claiming White Fang interference is the sole cause for his missing patrols." Theodore's casual demeanor vanished instantly, his green eyes sharpening as he looked toward Glynda.

"White Fang? In the upper Mistral valleys? That doesn't match the migration patterns we've intercepted from the continental shipping manifests. Leo is hiding something massive. He looked shaky during our last meeting, but this sounds like a complete structural collapse." Before the discussion could spiral, a high-priority encryption override tone beeped across the main console. A fifth screen expanded across the upper tier, revealing the messy, low-lit interior of an outpost tavern.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Qrow Branwen leaned against the wooden counter, a familiar, roguish smirk playing on his face despite the deep shadows of fatigue coloring his features.

"Hey, inner circle. Glad to see everyone's still breathing. You're going to want to take a look at this." Qrow stepped back from his terminal, his screen widening its horizontal field of view to reveal the small wooden bench adjacent to his seat. Sitting awkwardly beneath the glare of the scroll's lens was Oscar Pine. The young farm boy shifted uncomfortably in his dirt-stained vestments, his hands gripping his knees as he offered a small, deeply terrified wave toward the digital display.

"Uh... hello. Nice to meet you all, I think." For a long, unbroken beat, the screens fell into complete silence. Ironwood leaned closer to his display, his brow furrowed in utter confusion, while Theodore and Rumpole exchanged a brief, skeptical glance.

"Qrow," Glynda said, her voice dropping into a warning register.

"We are in the middle of a high-security continental crisis. Why are you introducing a civilian child from the Mistral outskirts to an encrypted frequency?"

"Look at the cane, Glynda," Qrow said softly, his smirk fading into a look of profound, quiet solemnity as he pointed down to the wooden frame resting against the boy's side. Glynda's breath caught sharply in her throat. Her green eyes widened behind her lenses as she recognized the polished brass accents, the ancient, intricate clockwork gears etched into the pommel, and the long, weathered wood of The Long Memory, Ozpin's personal weapon.

"No..." Ironwood whispered, his cybernetic hand freezing entirely. Oscar's posture suddenly locked. His shoulders squared, his spine straightening into a regal, perfectly balanced alignment that did not belong to a farm boy. When he raised his head, the nervous panic in his hazel eyes had vanished, replaced by an ancient, infinitely deep sorrow and a calm, familiar resonance that echoed perfectly through the audio relays.

"Hello, my friends," Ozpin said through the boy's lips, his voice carrying the exact rhythmic cadence of the lost Headmaster.

"I see the world has continued to turn in my absence." A heavy, emotional silence gripped the line. Glynda brought a trembling hand to her mouth, her rigid military composure cracking as a solitary tear threatened to break. General Ironwood stood up completely from his seat, his jaw tight, his chest heaving with a mixture of profound relief and immediate tactical calculations.

"Ozpin..." Theodore breathed, a rare, uncharacteristic gentleness softening the Vacuan Headmaster's face.

"You magnificent old bastard. You actually made it back."

"The process is... as it has always been," Ozpin explained calmly, Oscar's young hands tracing the brass grip of the cane.

"When my physical form was taken during the battle, my soul was drawn across the currents of Remnant to bind with a like-minded successor. Oscar has been gracious enough to share his home with me, though the transition is understandably jarring for a mind unaccustomed to the weight of centuries." Ozpin turned his gaze toward Glynda's screen, a warm, protective kindness in his eyes.

"Glynda. Qrow has provided me with brief updates via the local news networks, but I wish to hear it from you. How stands Beacon Academy after the autumn?" Glynda took a slow, deep breath to steady her voice, her fingers locking onto her riding crop.

"The structural foundations are entirely restored, Headmaster. The automated defense grids are active, and the administrative transition has concluded smoothly. I have assumed the role of Headmistress for the term. The incoming class of First Years has been successfully integrated, meaning Teams RWBY, JNPR, and CRDL have officially advanced to their Second Year, while Team CFVY is operating as our primary Third Year vanguard." Ozpin gave a measured nod, his expression shifting to a more complex, analytical note.

"And our...

'Special Campus Security Consultant'?" Glynda let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as an immediate, familiar migraine threatened to bloom.

"He remains... remarkably consistent, Ozpin. His cluelessness and simplistic mindset are entirely uncompromised. He recently disrupted an advanced field exercise in the Emerald Forest because he was tracking a discount grocery sale, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was casually vaporizing multiple alpha-class Grimm with his bare hands. The civilian population has taken to calling him 'The Hero of Vale,' a development that creates an endless cycle of administrative public relations coverage."

Ozpin let out a soft, genuine chuckle through Oscar's throat.

"Qrow mentioned that you have also integrated him into your advanced combat classes as a 'Tactical Kinetic Evaluator'."

"He is a living training dummy, Ozpin," Glynda corrected sharply, though a rare hint of dry appreciation touched her tone.

"The students are allowed to strike him with their maximum dust-enhanced outputs without any risk of structural damage to the target. It has enhanced their practical combat efficiency against apex threats far beyond my original curriculum projections." Glynda paused and closed her eyes for a moment, before continuing.

"For all his... chaotic simplicity, Saitama is fundamentally a good person, and he has grown remarkably close to the student body."

"A relief," Ozpin murmured. Then, his face grew profoundly serious.

"And what of the truth? Have you informed him of Salem?"

"We have kept her existence absolutely hidden from him," Ironwood answered firmly, leaning over his terminal.

"We have reinforced the narrative that the Grimm are merely a decentralized, mindless force of nature with no commanding intelligence. Furthermore, the Council and my office have placed a strict mandate prohibiting Saitama from ever leaving the boundaries of Vale." Ozpin's brow furrowed slightly through Oscar's features.

"An absolute quarantine, James? What is the strategic rationale?"

"The rationale is global survival, Ozpin," Ironwood stated, his voice dropping into a dark, unyielding register.

"We witnessed what he did to the Wyvern with a single strike. If Saitama were to leave the kingdom and cross paths with Salem, the resulting confrontation would rewrite the geography of Remnant. The pure kinetic feedback and the massive, unprecedented Grimm outbreak triggered by her panic would plunge all four kingdoms into an uncontainable apocalypse. Keeping him contained and ignorant is the safest parameter for every soul on this planet."

Ozpin closed his eyes for a long moment, internalizing the weight of the General's words. When he opened them, there was a profound, somber acceptance in his gaze.

"A dangerous game of containment, James... but given the nature of his power, I cannot fault your logic. Let us pray the shield holds." He shifted his focus to the larger board.

"However, the crisis at Haven cannot be ignored. Theodore, Xanthe, what is the availability of Shade's vanguard units?"

"Zero, Ozpin," Theodore replied grimly, shaking his head.

"Vacuo is running on fumes. The influx of refugees and the resource strain after the Battle of Beacon has turned our lower territories into a powder keg. We are handling localized riots and dust smuggling rings on a daily basis. I can't spare a single team without losing my own walls."

"And Beacon's veteran upperclassmen, including Team CFVY, are already committed to long-term border threat assessments along our own outer settlements," Glynda added, her voice dropping.

"We have no seasoned teams available for deployment to Mistral, save for RWBY and JNPR." The room fell into a heavy, quiet contemplation.

"They already know who we are," Ironwood murmured softly, his eyes tracking Glynda's screen.

"During the Vytal Festival, we brought Pyrrha Nikos into the vault. We told her the truth about the Maidens, the Relics, and that we are the guardians of this world. Given the absolute trust between those two units, it is a statistical certainty that she has shared that reality with the rest of her team and Team RWBY."

"Then the choice is clear," Ozpin said, his voice carrying the absolute weight of command.

"Glynda, you must deploy Team RWBY and Team JNPR to Mistral. Send them to Haven Academy."

"No!" Glynda snapped instantly, her maternal and protective instincts flaring fiercely as she slammed her hand down onto the mahogany desk. Her green eyes flashed with raw, emotional defiance.

"Ozpin, they are children! Have you forgotten what they endured during the Battle of Beacon? They were thrust into a war zone, forced to witness the near-destruction of their home! We failed to transfer the Fall Maiden's power to Pyrrha, and the psychological scars of that night are still healing! They are not ready to be used as frontline soldiers in a shadow war!"

"Glynda," Ozpin said softly, his voice an unyielding anchor against her fury.

"By your own admission, their combat skills have improved exponentially under the training parameters with Mr. Saitama. Their growth is unprecedented. The world outside our walls does not afford us the luxury of standard academic timelines." He leaned forward, Oscar's face cast in the golden light of the tower.

"They have been involved in this conflict since the day we told Pyrrha the truth. They chose to stand and fight during the breach, and they will choose to stand again. Furthermore, Vale is secure. With Saitama stationed at Beacon, the kingdom possesses an absolute deterrent against any external threat Salem can deploy. It is the other three kingdoms that are burning in the dark." Glynda stood frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at the screen of her returned Headmaster.

She looked at Ironwood, who offered a slow, solemn nod of agreement, and then at Theodore, whose silent expression mirrored the grim reality of their desperation. For a long, agonizing beat, the only sound in the tower was the slow, steady ticking of the clockwork gears. Finally, the tension left Glynda's shoulders in a long, defeated sigh. She lowered her gaze, her hand resting heavily on the pommel of her riding crop.

"Very well," Glynda whispered, her voice laced with a deep, protective sorrow. She raised her sharp green eyes to meet Ozpin's.

"How do we break the truth to them?"