Chapter One Hundred and Eight

Ozpin sat at his desk, continuing to track the… developments.

Technically, as Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon Academy, this was not his concern, and, like Leonardo, he could turn his gaze inwards.

But 'Ozpin' was merely his current life, his current mask, and the weight of ages made an impression on The Wizard, one that could not be ignored.

And one kept certain… habits.

Specifically, when it came to gathering intelligence.

The cultivation of a network of spies, officially or otherwise, was not terribly difficult, and the number of times that the lack of a clear view of the situation had caused problems, was, well, literally uncountable. And, as such, it was not too much of a bother to ask students he trusted to pass things along, for a number of reasons, and long practice allowed him to collate the mix of rumors, observations, and such into something actionable.

And the situation now was one that called for action, but, at the same time, it was one that tied his hands in ways he was not used to.

The onslaught of Grimm attacks, to a point that seemed like some of the worst days, when he, and She, fought openly, had not persisted, as he had feared, and expected, but had trailed off, not stopping entirely, but towns were not swallowed up, one after another, in a tide of black, red, and bone-white, as he had seen all too often.

Instead, the situation had gotten… odd.

The activity patterns had settled into a state of flux, higher in some places, dropping to nearly nothing in others, and, in doing so, made the standard assessments of Huntsmen and Huntress allocation he'd worked to encourage over the last couple decades absolutely useless. However, with the exception of Atlas' frozen climes, the fluidity of the system he'd pioneered was letting those on the ground address the changing situation faster than most leaders could hope to match. He had been able to nudge it over the years, so there was more likely to be enough people at hand when problems arose, but his efforts had been relatively minor, and that experiment in unity had borne a surprising amount of fruit, even if it did have its own problems.

When he was King of Vale a situation like this would have a vary obvious solution: A mustering of the army, a call to the priests, and a loosening of the coffers. Strength of arms, strength of spirit, and strength of goods would keep his people strong, heartened, and well-fed through the trials ahead, until they came out of it, while other, lesser leaders would oft over-control, creating tension and worry that would bring the Grimm down on them in numbers they were not prepared for, or they would go too far in the other direction, pushing hedonism to try and force the Grimm to pass them by, but such a solution was a temporary measure at best, and if it failed before the crisis was over, they would not be ready for the incoming Tide.

It was a careful balancing act, and one he… could not do now.

Though, given the abnormality in the reports he was receiving, things were simultaneously not that dire, and possible far worse, if only because he had no true reference for what a mass Behemoth emergence like this would entail.

Would they work together?

Would they fight?

Would they stake out territory?

It was that third option that he was leaning towards, as, while Grimm possessed a natural tendency for cooperation, one of the few positive things about their base instincts, if it were not turned towards the destruction of Humanity, yet Behemoths were, by their very nature, defined by stepping past their basest of instincts, gaining a low cunning that enhanced their bestial intelligence, and, with their capacity for speech, after a fashion, perhaps they had also picked up certain other traits intrinsic to more advanced lifeforms.

With that perspective, the inconsistency became consistently so.

Manipulating the map of Remnant before him, drawing lines, grouping like reports, a patchwork pattern started to emerge, though he had to shift his color scheme as he ran out of distinct shades for types of behavior, at least not without detrimental oversimplification, adding in striped patches, and then patterned ones, until he could lean back and take it all in, and…

Kingdoms.

He was looking at Kingdoms.

It wouldn't be so obvious, except the territories often followed natural borders, of nations so old that even the likes of Doctor Oobleck had likely not heard of them, but Oz, in one form or another, had walked them, fought over them, lived with those geographic features as known borders, over, and over, and over again, until they started to blend together, and all of Remnant was his domain.

His eyes flicked towards the northwestern continent.

Almost all of Remnant.

However, looking over his sketches, pushing the lines a bit here and there, matching his recollections, yes, there was Obrias, and that was Tegrin who had that odd summer festival with the cups, and that was almost New Ihganistan who no one sane missed, and…

Lost to memory, hours passed by in the blink of an eye, until the map he was left with was relatively similar, but subtly more, and, more importantly, aligned almost perfectly with the incidents.

Except for three.

Oh, wait, those borders were political, the ancient king remembered, pushing them to better follow the data, and forwarding them to his higher-placed contacts, and, seeing he'd received an update, opened the report, hard-light screens so much easier to read than true scrolls, not the devices that so many now used.

Thankfully, when he'd ordered the implementation of the CCT, as a measure of lasting peace, he'd made sure the old radio equipment was mothballed in ways that the incoming government could not easily undo, with Royal Charters whose records were 'lost' when he stepped down, and, while some of those caches were truly lost, to graft, corruption, and criminality, a great many survived and, with the proper code-phrases and identifiers, were being brought out of storage.

Again, this was an act that would be much easier if he held the Throne of Vale, but he had made that decision, and all choices bore consequences one must live with. Thus, with his position one of shadowy connections and favors instead of sunlit direct authority, he was limited, his Golden Regalia sealed away in the Huntsman Academies he personally saw built, ready in case he needed them, but they were too powerful to be left in the hands of unworthy children.

Now, though, his people were preparing those caches of radio-based communications, for if, though some part of him said when, the CCT fell, and they were needed. When, or if, that happened the kingdoms would not be isolated, though they would not know that communications would remain, and thus the war deterrent aspect of the CCT would remain, as, while he was sure that Ironwood would ride herd on Atlas, Mistral was a beast of a different color, while Vacuo's peacefulness was a matter of natural barriers and not cultural inclination.

And then there were the Faunus, who were still, to this day, restive, despite having their demands met, but that was nothing new.

However, his people were having difficulties integrating the capabilities of modern 'Scrolls' into the limited spectrum of Radio waves, though, dusting off some age-old cyphers, securing their communication from prying eyes was much easier. However, with the other people he had working on, as Jaune called it, 'Cybersecurity', that lack of full utilization of a scroll's computation abilities through the use of radio was a feature, not a flaw, as anything beyond simplistic communications meant that the sudden rush of new 'orders' being put into a device's 'record repository' could not happen swiftly, nor subtly, and thus be stopped before it was completed.

Thus, unlike the way that Jaune had taken over his desk in moments, any enemy action used against one's device could be parried and countered, in a way that he was not truly knowledgeable of, but, speaking in those terms, the team he had assembled to work on things had been abuzz with excitement over the concept of 'Cyber Duels'. He hoped it remained merely an academic interest, but, with how She acted, recruiting the worst that Remnant had to offer and turning them to Her side, he would not be surprised if it eventually devolved into full on 'Cyber Warfare', as strange as such a thing seemed.

It was amusing, how many of the things that the Godling mentioned off-handedly, which, passing them onto his own people, only seemed to further their view of Ozpin as a wise and all-knowing sage, but the blonde Dragon had wished not to be accredited for his contributions, and The Wizard would respect his wishes, not maliciously, but understandingly.

His efforts were bearing the most fruit in Vale, of course, Atlas coming in second, Ironwood, and his predecessor, both having been his, and thus were able to conceal their sequestering of equipment without issue, if in lesser amounts, though James had rankled under the subterfuge, but that young man still had issues dealing with those in positions of power that lacked what he saw as basic honor and duty.

Which meant he usually went uninvited to most of the best parties, not that the General minded, and, given his disposition, he was likely unable to capitalize on the opportunity such events offered.

Mistral and Vacuo were neck-and-neck for last place, and The Wizard knew better than to do any secure planning or research in either locale, but key people were in positions to step in, if necessary, and do more than step in, if truly required.

It would not be the first coup that Vacuo had suffered, though it should be the easiest.

Not like that one time with the fellow with the hat, where a full third of the nation had been put to the sword, not counting the desert tribes, of course.

Again, Vacuans were 'peaceful' only on an international scale, and only because they lacked the force projection to overcome the one-two deterrents of matching desert and tundra, preventing the making of their way to Vale with an invading army, while they also lacked the systemic planning and discipline needed to field a navy worth mentioning of their own.

Making a few suggestions, directing his Beacon-based team to focus on direct communication, then tactical-uses, and only then addressing larger and more complicated utilizations, he settled that issue, at least for now. Audio-only communications were, as they worried, a weakness compared to being able to see the person one was talking to, but combining them with proper codes, counter-codes, and secondary, hidden identifiers would prevent a number of issues, though, of course, no system was perfect, no matter what the Atlesians liked to believe.

But their nation was a young one, even if one counted their original status as Mantle, barely even three centuries having passed since that first settlement declared its independence, to Mistral's shocked disbelief, his skeptical amusement, and Vytal's offended anger, though those people were fond of picking fights they could not win, which is why it was now part of Vale.

Speak of the devil.

"Hello, James," Ozpin smiled, answering the call. "How are things?"

"Could be better," the leader of Atlas Academy and Atlas' Military grimly responded, his position normally a dangerous concentration of power, but even the man's political opponents knew the straight-laced Atlesian would not abuse it, and that giving either position to someone less… straightforward would be worse than letting him hold both. "You were right."

"You'll have to be more specific," The Wizard smiled, allowing himself to reheat his tea with a small bit of Magic. Jaune's presence had been a boon in more ways than merely informational, and, with the sheer amount of energy he gave off merely by existing, The Wizard had a surplus of power at his fingertips, akin to what he wielded before, in his desperate loneliness, he…

Before The Maidens.

"Our networks were not as secure as my people had led me to believe," the mostly-dark-haired soldier reported. "While there was a great deal of grumbling, when we found the first backdoor that Arthur Watts left in them, along with certain if-then bits of code, that stopped soon enough. If the man wasn't already dead, I would have had that corrected based on what we found."

"That bad?" The Wizard inquired, his own people having already caught the control program that someone tried slip into their own systems, which now only controlled a 'ghosted' system, as Jaune called it, like a spirit without a body, and about as dangerous. Sadly, his people's surface level attempts to track down the source were fruitless, and to do more risked tipping off the would-be saboteur that their initial attempt had failed.

"Worse," Ironwood declared. "There were plans in place to drop Atlas onto Mantle itself, if the systems that kept it afloat were what he thought they were. My people are closing them up, but they're walking through a minefield they didn't even know existed. Thankfully, other than the loss of a few installations, Atlas is fairing the latest storm better than the other nations."

Taking a sip, Ozpin questioned, "Speaking of storms, any luck in understanding the one that has sprung up to the North?"

Wincing, the other man shook his head. 'Negatory. Doctor Polendina has a few drone ideas he's working on, but the issue is the temperature. It's at levels that should require Ice Dust, though none can be detected, and it should be freezing the Grimm that enter it solid, yet they are passing through it without issue."

"Perhaps putting the drone inside of a newly-deceased Grimm?" The Wizard suggested off-handedly.

Pausing, Ironwood slowly nodded. "A Mistralian Horse? Possibly. I'll pass it on to my people. But that's not why I called you. Atlas has our situation well in hand, and so, when I arrive, as planned, I will be bringing the Fist, Third, and Seventh fleets with me."

Ah. Well that… changes things.

"And how did the Council of Vale respond to your intent to do so?" Ozpin inquired, blandly.

"We'll both find out when I arrive," the General declared. "They might pretend otherwise, but Beacon is not Vale, and if they have an issue with the additional defenses we can supply, I'll be open to hearing it," the man smiled, with all the social grace, and blithe confidence, of a Goliath stomping its way through a trade caravan that thought it harmless merely because it didn't go after them directly.

Sighing, The Wizard observed, "And I'm sure that the fact that doing so puts you in a position to rapidly deploy to Mistral or Vacuo if need be is entirely incidental, James."

"Of course," Ironwood smirked, the ploy only not painfully transparent because most of the aristocracy thought the General was like them, and viewed his actions through a selfish lens, instead of the heroic one that the man so clearly used, which they, in turn, believed to be a painfully thin mask.

It was why the Atlesian commanded such loyalty from his people, and, if he were being honest, one of the reasons that Ozpin had a soft spot for the man.

He reminded The Wizard of himself, uncountable lifetimes ago, back before it all went so terribly, terribly wrong.

Normally, such a display of military power in what was a time of peace was something that The Wizard would discourage, but that period of history had, unfortunately, come to an end. And, with it, Ozpin was less needed, though whether it was Ozlo, or Ozlan, that was required now was the question.

"And how is Fria?" the white-haired immortal questioned.

"Stable," Ironwood stated. "I've heard of what you have done for Madame Sepper. I don't suppose…"

Shaking his head, Ozpin informed his fellow Headmaster, "Regrettably, the very thing that makes her special would resist my attempts to assist her."

Frowning, the soldier argued, "But what you did for Amber, the Fall Maiden-"

"Is entirely separate, and, unfortunately, both not something that can be replicated any time soon, and would likely not help Fria," The Wizard declared. "Their situations are completely different, thankfully."

Mulling that over, Ironwood slowly agreed, stating, "This is your field of expertise, Ozpin. I just… wished there was more I could do for her."

"Mrs. Kalt has served her country well, and lived equally so," the much older man gently rebuked. "Time comes for us all, in its own way, and while we may be granted a temporary reprieve, it is in the works we leave behind that we should take comfort."

"Not all of us have the benefit of seeing how those turn out," the General mused, "but I understand. I could not forgive myself if the answer was yes, but I merely did not think to ask. And as to asking, do you believe I should bring another Fleet? My analysts are going over the possible map you sent, but the section for Atlas was just… Atlas."

Waving a dismissive hand, Ozpin reassured him, "No, three shall likely be more than enough, given Beacon, and all of those young, talented fighters here for the Vytal Tournament. And as for the map, it was based on the historical borders, while your nation…"

"Has none that came before us," Ironwood agreed. "Except for Mantle. The perils of progress, I suppose. When will we make the announcement about the Behemoth's nature?"

"With any luck, we won't," The Wizard mused.

Which was not what the General wanted to hear, arguing, "I understood about Salem, but she has been keeping to the shadows. These Behemoths are not, nor can we eliminate them fast enough to effectively hide their presence. Already, I've had to lie to my men about hearing that Centinel Behemoth's words, and in a battle less pleasantly one-sided, one not handled at range, I will not be able to do so again. Already, my graduates in Mistral have started asking questions, questions I have not been able to answer."

That was, unfortunately, a position that Ozpin himself was struggling with, however, while he could reassure them that it was being handled, James' more… straightforward reputation was working against him here. "Tell them that there may be a new classification of Grimm, but that information about them should be considered to fall under Invocation Protocols, with all that entails."

Because, as well meaning as they could be, those who spoke the truth about an unpleasant situation often did more harm than good, calling the Grimm down upon them, making the problems present several times worse.

Smiling, relieved, Ironwood nodded sharply. "I will. Thank you, Ozpin."

"It was going to happen sooner or later, with how things have developed," The Wizard deferred. "I suppose it best to get in front of this particular Ursa, then try and lead it along for a bit longer. In that case, we both have people to discuss things with."

"And what of Lionheart? Crowe?" the General inquired.

"Leonardo is having a hard enough time as is," the white-haired man stated, "And Sayeh would not keep it secret. Not something of this magnitude. She may try, but she would only tell a few, who would do the same, and the same, until…"

Sighing, Ironwood agreed, "Until we might as well just make an announcement ourselves. Agreed. I shall see you soon. You and that apprentice of yours," the man stated teasingly.

"Oh?" Ozpin inquired, wondering what provoked such a reaction.

"Winter has been receiving reports from her younger sister, and she is, shall we say, concerned," the General stated. "She's not sure if the young man is a prodigy, a fool, an asset, a charlatan, or even a member of the White Fang in hiding."

"Well, she can rest assured that he's certainly not the last two," The Wizard stated.

"But the second?"

"He is a teenager," the reincarnator reminded the soldier. "You'd be hard pressed to find one who was not, in some way, both of us included."

Standing with faux-stiffness, the Atlesian declared, "I have no idea what you are talking about!" Before cracking a smile. "At least in a way that can be proven."

"And all who remember my youthful indiscretions are long since gone, but they exist all the same," The Wizard agreed. "See you soon, James."

With one last sharp nod, the other man replied, "You too, Ozpin. Ironwood, out!"

And then he was left with his thoughts once more, looking over everything that needed to be done.

In the face of such a threat, the likes of which the world had not seen for millennia, possibly ever, though, more likely, they had before they just hadn't been aware of it, The Wizard was aware that many would excuse certain… expediencies.

It was ironic, deeply so, that, nearly a hundred lifetimes later, he'd finally understood what it was that She had been attempting, back when he'd first come back. She hadn't understood what he had truly wanted, but, at the same time, he hadn't explained things properly, and, now, knowing Her, knowing how She'd come to be, he could see Her mistake, trying to unite the world under the sword.

Doing so would allow them to make the decisions needed, to coordinate forces to fight the Forces of Grimm, to fight those that wished their fellow man harm, and enact a lasting peace, but… no. Such a regime would rule, ultimately, not through understanding, but through fear of punishment, and Humanity needed to Learn To Live In Harmony, And Set Aside Their Differences.

He had considered attempting to seek Her out once more, not in combat as he had from time to time over the millennia, in every clash only ever occasionally winning in that he had delayed Her long enough for his people to get away, to achieve their own goals, many times dying in the process, but that meant increasingly less as the lives stacked up. Pushing through the migraine that always reared its ugly head in his whenever he considered such a thing, no, from time to time he'd considered, at the very least, attempting to re-open a dialogue, even though, every time Grimm ravaged the land, every time a Tide swept away a settlement, he Knew that it was Her Fault.

But… he couldn't.

He just Could Not Do So.

No, the God of Light was, indeed, correct, that The Woman He Held Dear In His Memories, Was Gone, And Where He Sought Comfort, He Only Found Pain.

And, while His servant, that Mistress of Truth, had informed him that there was nothing that he could do to stop Salem?

Now, With His child, Ozpin was no longer alone, was he?

And, compared to that, what were a few dozen Behemoths, in the grand tapestry of ages?