Chapter 40: Take Out the Trash
"Hold on. Let's try one more thing."
Uriel stopped right at the edge of the roof. An idea had just sparked. The Witch skidded to a halt and waited.
"Drop the mask," Uriel said, turning back to her. "If we're trying this, I need to see your full expression."
The Witch blinked, but her fingers twitched obediently. The black-and-silver mask dissolved into faint traces of mana, scattering into the air.
"Picture this," Uriel said, slowing his cadence as he built the scenario. "Some entitled brat."
Uriel stopped right at the edge of the roof. An idea had just sparked.
The Witch skidded to a halt and waited.
"Picture this," Uriel said, slowing his cadence as he built the scenario. "Some entitled brat."
She nodded, listening quietly.
"Bullied me."
The Witch's jaw tightened. That perpetual, gentle curve of her lips was pulled taut, flattening into a hard line.
Uriel caught the micro-expression instantly. We have a pulse. He kept his tone deliberately casual.
"You stepped in to reprimand him. He ignored you."
Her eyes sharpened. A rare flicker of strictness bled into her gaze.
"Then you met his parents." Uriel paused, genuinely bracing for the next part. "They're just as unreasonable. They cussed me out right in front of you."
The shift in her eyes was instantaneous.
Her golden pupils contracted. The warm, afternoon sunlight in her gaze was suddenly smothered by heavy clouds, leaving nothing but cold, lifeless shadows.
She wasn't even trying to look fierce. The pressure rolled off her. Anyone standing in front of it would instinctively want to take a step back.
The hairs on the back of Uriel's neck stood up.
Aggro face activated.
Yes. That is exactly the face I need.
Then he sighed internally.
It worked, but he couldn't celebrate. He knew exactly what was behind those eyes. It wasn't authority. It was just a mother dealing with the very real threat of someone bullying her son and refusing to apologize.
He cleared his throat. "That's it. Lock it in."
The ice in her eyes melted instantly. The softness rushed back in, warm and pliant.
She let out a small, obedient sound, looking exactly like a kindergartner who had just gotten a gold star.
"Remember that feeling. Next time you look at people, just pretend they're those parents."
"Okay."
She agreed smoothly.
Then she dropped a casual follow-up.
"Who is the brat?"
"No one. It's hypothetical."
"Oh."
She accepted that, though it was hard to tell if she actually believed it. She smoothed down her cuffs and didn't press further.
Uriel was done milking this topic. He turned and walked to the edge of the roof. They vaulted over the side and dropped into the side corridor of the teaching building.
Why not take the stairs?
Because taking the stairs isn't cool. Obviously.
The Witch landed beside him. Her military cape fluttered, and her boot heels tapped the floor with barely a whisper.
It was broad daylight, but the corridor was dim. A single shaft of sunlight slanted through a window, stretching their shadows across the floor like jagged phantoms.
Uriel kept his footsteps light, heading toward the Headmaster's office. He rounded a corner and froze. Two men in black were walking down the hall, hoods pulled low over their faces.
His reflexes kicked in. He grabbed the Witch's wrist and yanked her into the shadows of the alcove, pressing their backs against the cold stone.
He leaned out to check their trajectory, then snapped back and raised an eyebrow at her.
The Witch caught the signal. She leaned in and whispered, "Do I eliminate them? Like before?"
"Like before" meant the rooftop sniping. Silent, efficient, clean.
"Switch it up," he whispered back. His inner edgelord was acting up, and he wanted to see what else she could pull off. "Make it flashier."
She nodded, visibly pleased by the new assignment. Then she stepped right out of the shadows.
She walked down the center of the corridor with absolute, unbothered confidence.
Her boot heels clicked against the stone. The echoes bounced down the hall, crisp and clear.
The two cultists spun around. They registered the military coat and realized she wasn't one of them.
"Who the hell—"
Their hands twitched toward their weapons. The motion barely started before the Witch's silhouette blurred and vanished.
She reappeared at the far end of the hallway in a fraction of a second.
It was a single pass. The two men collapsed in perfect unison. They hit the floor silently, their bodies going completely limp before they even registered the impact.
Straight to the respawn screen. Clean.
The corridor fell dead quiet again.
At the far end, the Witch turned back. She cupped a hand over her mouth to project her voice.
"Was that flashy enough?"
Uriel shrank into his collar.
"...Yeah. That works."
He walked forward, stepping over the two bodies. The "flashy" request was probably redundant. Mom's casual moves already had more production value than anything he could script. His input barely mattered.
The Headmaster's office was at the end of the hall. The door was shut. Not a sound leaked through.
Uriel crept up and pressed his ear against the wood, holding his breath like a seasoned spy.
The Witch stood beside him, watching his intense espionage routine. "There's no one inside."
Uriel stayed pressed against the door. His posture went rigid.
"..."
He pushed off the wood, stood in silence for a full second, muttered an acknowledgment, and turned the knob.
The office was spacious. Bookshelves lined two walls, and the desk was stacked with neat piles of documents and scrolls. Everything was rigidly organized, mirroring Oswald's own severe, meticulous personality. A half-dead potted plant sat on the windowsill.
Uriel scanned the desk. There was a mountain of paperwork. It was going to take a while. He grabbed the first stack and started flipping.
He paused and glanced at the Witch.
She was standing by the door, hands clasped, radiating the aura of a formal state visit. Anyone walking in would probably assume they had interrupted a diplomatic summit.
Uriel thought for a second. "Go do a lap."
She turned to look at him.
"Clear out the rest of the cultists in this building," he said, scanning a document title and tossing it aside for the next one. "By the time you finish the sweep and get back, I should be done here."
"Understood."
She turned to leave. As she reached the doorway, Uriel added one last detail without looking up.
"Oh, and make it cinematic."
Her footsteps stopped.
"Cinematic." She repeated the word, testing it. "What does that mean?"
Right. She never needed to try.
"It means..." Uriel struggled for a second, searching for the right analogy. "Give it some production value. Make it memorable. When people talk about the Witch Brigade later, this is the visual they picture."
He kept his eyes on the paperwork, stopping on a specific line on page three. Useless. He flipped to the next.
"Just, you know, use your imagination. Go wild."
"Understood."
The office door clicked shut from the outside.
Uriel stared at the closed door. When he looked back down at the documents, his mind felt strangely restless.
His thoughts kept drifting to the Witch and her combat methods.
Please don't blow up the school or level the courtyard, Mom.
He rubbed his temples. For a split second, he wanted to sprint out and clarify the rules of engagement. Instead, he forced his eyes back to the paperwork.
The rhythmic clicking of boot heels echoed down the corridor, fading as she rounded a distant corner.
Silence settled over the building.
Then, from somewhere deep in the complex, a sharp sound sliced through the air.
It wasn't loud, but it made Uriel flinch. He snapped his head up, half-expecting the floor to cave in.
A few more muffled thuds echoed from the lower floors. He had no idea what was happening down there, but at least the building was still structurally intact.
He exhaled and dragged his focus back to the desk.
He flipped through another stack. Then his hand stopped.
He pulled a single file from the pile.