Chương 59: Chapter 56: The Closing Jaws

The quiet, rustic settlement of Shion Village was entirely unaccustomed to the harsh, sterilized presence of Atlesian military technology. The soft, ambient glow of the village's paper lanterns was currently drowned out by the harsh, piercing blue light of a portable tactical holo-projector, set up directly in the center of the cratered dirt road. Clover Ebi stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his posture radiating immaculate discipline.

His lucky clover pin gleamed faintly on his white-and-grey tactical armor. Around him, a detachment of Atlesian stealth operatives secured the perimeter, their rifles lowered but their eyes scanning the dark, autumnal treeline.

"Link established, General," Clover announced, his voice smooth and professional as the holographic projection of General James Ironwood flickered to life in the cool mountain air. Ironwood looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes heavily pronounced against the stark lighting of his Atlas command center.

"Report, Clover. Has the target been secured?"

"Negative, sir," Clover replied, his brow furrowing slightly. He gestured to the massive, jagged hole blown completely through the wooden wall of the local inn.

"We missed him by a matter of hours. But we have definitive confirmation that the anomaly was here. And... he left quite an impression." Marrow Amin stepped into the light of the projector, his Faunus ears pinned back and his tail giving an anxious, erratic flick. He looked completely bewildered, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand.

"Sir, with all due respect, the witness testimonies we just collected are completely insane," Marrow blurted out, losing his usual military composure.

"We interrogated the innkeeper and the locals. They claim a single bald man in a yellow suit neutralized an entire Branwen Tribe raiding party in under twenty seconds. They are literally calling him the 'Sheriff of Shion'." Ironwood's cybernetic eye whirred, narrowing as he processed the data.

"Did he use a weapon? Did any of the villagers report seeing a Semblance flare?"

"That's the thing, General," Harriet Bree interjected, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby cabin. She had her arms crossed tightly, her athletic frame practically vibrating with impatient energy.

"There was no Aura flare. No Dust discharge. According to the innkeeper, the target was asked to hand over his wallet. In response, he casually slapped the bandit leader so hard the man broke the sound barrier, shattered that load-bearing wall, and was embedded head-first into an oak tree fifty yards away." Harriet pointed toward the edge of the village, her jaw tight.

"And then, he allegedly kicked a charging, customized dirt bike into the upper stratosphere. Just... kicked it. Without shifting his center of gravity." Ironwood let out a heavy, static-laced sigh through the projection, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And his current trajectory?"

"East," Clover stated, pulling up a digital map on his scroll and transmitting it to Ironwood's feed.

"Straight down the mountain paths. He is heading directly toward the lower terraces of the Mistral capital. If we deploy the Manta ships now, Harriet can lead a rapid-intercept team to cut off the main valley roads before he reaches the city limits."

"He's fast, sir, but he can't outrun a coordinated aerial sweep," Harriet added, a fierce, competitive spark lighting up her eyes.

"Give the order, and I'll have him in stasis cuffs before dawn."

"Absolutely not," Ironwood commanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, terrifyingly absolute register that made all three Ace Operatives snap to attention.

"You are to track him, observe him, and approach him with extreme, diplomatic caution. Do not, under any circumstances, engage him in combat. Do not attempt to restrain him by force. If you provoke him, your armor will not save you, and neither will your Semblances. He is a walking cataclysm. Am I understood?" Clover's eyes widened slightly at the sheer dread in his commander's voice, but he nodded firmly.

"Understood, General. We will maintain distance and attempt a peaceful retrieval. Ace-Ops, pack it up. We're moving east."

Thousands of miles away, the atmosphere inside the Mistral safehouse was suffocatingly tense. The drafty, dust-choked parlor was illuminated only by the flickering orange glow of a solitary oil lamp and the blue radiance of Qrow Branwen's heavily modified scroll, which projected three separate holographic feeds across the wooden table. Oscar Pine sat in the center of the room, though the boy's terrified, youthful demeanor was entirely absent.

His spine was perfectly straight, his hands resting elegantly upon the brass gears of The Long Memory. The ancient, unyielding soul of Professor Ozpin commanded the room, looking out at the holographic faces of his inner circle. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. On the left screen, Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch was massaging her temples, looking as though she hadn't slept in a week.

On the right, Headmaster Theodore and Professor Xanthe Rumpole watched with grim anticipation. General Ironwood's feed occupied the center, having just joined the encrypted channel after concluding his briefing with the Ace-Ops.

"The situation in Vale remains a precarious house of cards," Glynda reported, her voice tight with administrative stress. She adjusted her glasses, fixing her emerald gaze on the group.

"The 'paid leave' narrative is currently holding. The four First-Year students assigned to Mr. Saitama's cover-up have been remarkably convincing, largely because they are living in a state of perpetual, genuine terror. However, the Vale Council is beginning to ask pointed questions as to why our most potent asset is neglecting his municipal patrols."

"Can you stall them, Glynda?" Theodore asked, leaning his heavy boots on his desk in Vacuo.

"I am stonewalling them with bureaucratic red tape, but public patience is finite," Glynda replied sharply.

"If a major Grimm incursion occurs and the 'Hero of Vale' does not appear, the panic will be uncontrollable."

"Then we must expedite his retrieval," Ironwood stated, crossing his arms.

"I just received the sit-rep from Clover. Saitama is confirmed to be in the Anima continent. He devastated a Branwen raiding party in Shion Village and is currently traveling south on foot. He is heading directly into the capital of Mistral."

"Oh, wonderful," Qrow muttered from the corner of the safehouse, taking a slow, cynical drag from his flask.

"The guy who treats the laws of physics like a suggestion is wandering right into the epicenter of a shadow war, and he's probably just looking for a discount grocery store."

"Let us hope his mundane priorities keep him occupied," Ozpin said smoothly, his hazel eyes reflecting the blue light of the holograms.

"Because the board here in Mistral is moving rapidly. Qrow, if you please." Qrow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling a crumpled piece of high-grade parchment from his coat pocket. He tossed it onto the table in front of the projector lens.

"I got a ping on the secure local channels this morning," Qrow explained, his crimson eyes narrowing with absolute suspicion.

"A direct, private courier message from our old friend, Leonardo. He wants a face-to-face meeting. Just me. In two weeks' time at Haven Academy."

"Finally," Rumpole noted, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses up her nose.

"He breaks his silence. Did he offer a location within the campus?"

"The main hall. After hours," Qrow said, leaning forward, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

"But there's a catch. He specifically stipulated that we are to arrive completely unarmed. He claims that carrying Huntsman weaponry into the academy during a time of 'heightened political tension' would cause unnecessary panic among the few staff members remaining on campus." A dead, heavy silence fell over the digital council.

"Unarmed," Ironwood repeated, the word dripping with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"It is a blatant, transparent trap."

"He is definitely terrified. Leonardo must have been cornered by Salem's agents. If I walk into that main hall without my weapon, surely I won't be greeted by a diplomatic headmaster," Qrow murmured while rubbing his chin.

"Well, I wonder which of her operatives would I meet."

"They want to execute you quietly," Theodore growled, his fists clenching on his desk.

"If you go in there, Qrow, it's a slaughter. Tell me you aren't actually considering honoring that coward's request."

"Don't worry, Theodore. He won't be alone," Ozpin replied, his voice a calm, immovable anchor amidst the rising panic of the council. Glynda's eyes widened behind her glasses.

"Ozpin, you cannot be serious! You are currently residing within the body of a fourteen-year-old boy! Your magical reserves are nowhere near their peak, and Qrow cannot fight Salem's entire inner circle alone!"

"It won't be just the two of us, Glynda," Ozpin countered softly, a fierce, unwavering light kindling within Oscar's hazel eyes. He leaned forward, looking directly at the faces of his most trusted allies.

"Salem's faction believes they hold the absolute tactical advantage. They believe Leonardo has lured one, or two, isolated, unarmed men into a secured kill-box. They expect us to walk through the front doors like lambs to the slaughter." Qrow stepped up beside the table, resting his hand on the hilt of Harbinger. The cynical smirk vanished, replaced by the deadly, focused aura of a veteran Huntsman preparing for war.

"But we aren't going to play their game," Qrow said, his voice low and gritty.

"If they want an ambush, we'll give them one. Just not the one they're expecting."

"A reverse ambush," Rumpole deduced, her analytical mind instantly piecing the strategy together.

"You intend to breach the academy parameters before the meeting occurs."

"Precisely," Ozpin nodded.

"Thanks to Mr. Saitama's... unorthodox presence at Beacon, Miss Rose, Mr. Arc, and their respective teams have undergone an accelerated, brutal crucible of physical and mental conditioning. They have spent the last few days in this safehouse refining their unarmed combat and Aura control. They are no longer simply students. They are soldiers." Ozpin planted the tip of The Long Memory firmly against the floorboards.

"Under the cover of darkness, hours before Leonardo's scheduled meeting, Team RWBY and Team JNPR will infiltrate Haven Academy. They will secure the perimeter, locate the entrance to the Vault, and position themselves in the shadows of the main hall." Ironwood's cybernetic eye whirred as he processed the tactical layout.

"You are turning the trap inside out. When Salem's forces reveal themselves to spring their ambush on you and Qrow, the students will strike them from the blind spots."

"It is a massive risk," Glynda warned, her hands trembling slightly as her maternal instincts warred with her military logic.

"If Cinder is there, she possesses the Fall Maiden's power. Hazel's sheer physical durability is monstrous. If the students' coordination falters for even a second..."

"It will not falter," Ozpin stated, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable faith.

"They have stared into the face of true, insurmountable power, and they did not break. They are ready." The ancient Headmaster looked out at the holograms, the weight of the impending battle settling over the room like a physical shroud.

"Prepare yourselves, my friends," Ozpin whispered, the shadows of the safehouse flickering across his young face.

"In two weeks, the shadow war steps into the light. We make our stand at Haven."