"Mistral's in a bad way."
Mordred took a seat behind his desk. His office was decorated with trinkets and curios from all over Remnant. An ornamental tea set from Mistral, a sandstone sculpture from Vacuo, an antique clock from Vale; all a testament to his former career as an Atlesian Intelligence officer. Most faunus would have a tough time coming up in Atlesian society, and Mordred was no different, but he rose through the ranks regardless. His saving grace: being very good at his job. His calm demeanor and firm posture spoke to his professionalism, while his false left eye and matching ripped lynx ear marked his valor.
The aged lynx faunus spent most of his time in an office, gathering information for a private security firm. The firm, Grunwald Security, was based in Atlas, with branches in Vacuo and Mistral. News from the Mistral branch was rapidly becoming distressing.
Across from Mordred sat Gawain, a fresh recruit to Grunwald Security. Mordred had personally scouted him for their Special Tasks Group. Gawain's academic record at Beacon Academy was impeccable, and since being recruited he had already flawlessly completed two missions for the company. Mordred prided himself on having a keen eye for talent, and knew Gawain had the makings of a promising covert agent. Strong, competent, and most importantly, devoid of personal attachments.
The poor young man lost his friends and comrades when Beacon Academy fell. The only family he had left was the company. Gawain was a Grunwald, and he was the son of the same Grunwald that owned Grunwald Security.
"In a bad way how?"
He sat in his dress uniform, a freshly minted First Lieutenant in Grunwald Security's Armed Forces. When standing, he was as tall as a door and almost as wide at the shoulders. His jet black hair was combed back, keeping his bangs out of his eyes and conveniently obscuring his own second set of ears, those of a wolf. The young man was not without his own marks of valor, either. A scar came down his right eye, leaving the eye itself intact but cutting through his eyebrow. Another scar came from under the left side of his jaw, almost reaching his cheek. Both were earned in the defense of Beacon Academy. Gawain's green eyes were bright with an intense focus. The boy was ready for a mission.
"The White Fang again?"
"Not necessarily. The White Fang is definitely moving, but those cells near Windpath you took out helped to blunt their advances. No, this is different. Ever since Beacon fell, Grimm attacks have been on the rise."
Mordred threw a stack of papers onto the desk. Gawain glanced them and made them out as incident and casualty reports.
"This was always within the realm of possibility. A Huntsman Academy was lost, and the CCT Network was disabled. I'm sure the entire world was awash in anxiety. And anxiety draws Grimm like flies to a carcass."
Gawain's face remained unchanged. All of this he had already surmised. It's common knowledge that the creatures of Grimm are attracted to negative emotions. A wide reaching catastrophe like the Fall of Beacon was bound to cause them to stir. Mordred resumed.
"But while a worldwide spike in Grimm activity was expected, what wasn't expected was the length and intensity of the spike, especially in only one region. Our reports say that Mistral's borders have been ravaged by Grimm for the past several months, and not just common beowolves and ursi either. Grimm that have been dormant for decades are coming out of the woodwork. Grimm that can wipe out entire villages single-handedly. Patrol and Search and Destroy missions that normally could've been completed in a week are taking over a month, if they're being completed at all. A large number of huntsmen are missing, presumed dead. We're not immune to this either."
Mordred gestured to the stack of papers.
"Last month, the entire Third Cohort of our Mistral Branch was wiped out. Utterly. No survivors."
At Grunwald Security, a cohort was a battalion of 500 troops. And not just regular soldiers either, there were usually 10-20 huntsmen attached to a single cohort at any given time. Gawain stood up out of his chair.
"T-that's not possible! An entire cohort!? How!?"
Mordred raised a steady hand.
"Calm down, son."
Gawain sat
"Your father had the exact same reaction. Those were good men we lost, and there's a lot of families that we need to notify, but before we write those letters we need to be able to tell those families exactly what happened. We sent scouts to try determine the cause. The second and third cohorts had been contracted by the Mistral government to help secure their borders at the wilderness. The Second Cohort had been broken up into its respective Spears to go on patrols, while the Third was to remain stationed as a standing army, to deploy as a reaction force. Aside from the occasional pack of Grimm, the Second reported nothing unusual, but as far as we could tell, a massive hoard of Grimm swept over the Third Cohort's camp in the dead of night. They weren't the typical Mistral natives either. The markings and wounds left behind didn't seem to indicate any known type of Grimm. And the execution... I can't imagine any army that could survive such a perfect attack."
"You make it sound like the Grimm had planned this. Are you suggesting that the Grimm are capable of tactics now?"
"I'm suggesting that a huge Grimm horde evaded the Second Cohort's patrols and struck us where it would hurt the most. This was not something a roaming pack of beasts would do. Changes in Grimm behavior have been startling over the past year. Until this recent development, I thought the Grimm attacking Beacon Academy were opportunists, capitalizing on the White Fang's attack... But there are rumors circulating that the White Fang's next target might be Haven Academy. The same time the Grimm in the region are becoming more dangerous than ever."
"So now you think there's some kind of collusion between the Grimm and the White Fang?"
"No. Not active collusion at any rate. But there appears to be an odd symbiosis at work. It's hard to tell if the White Fang are organizing themselves around the Grimm's presence, or if it's the other way around."
"With all due respect, sir, that sounds crazy. It makes sense if the White Fang launches an attack, that would bring in Grimm. I can't imagine that the Grimm are somehow aware of the White Fang's intentions and are coordinating around them."
"Unfortunately, it's my job to consider every possibility. I need to know for sure what kind of connection these Grimm and the White Fang have, if any, which is why I called you in here. I have a new mission for you."
Mordred dropped a folder with the words "OPERATION: STENOLEMUS" in large print across the top.
"I'm sending you to Mistral. Officially, you'll be operating under the name 'Tristan Evergreen'. You'll be given command of the first spear of the Second Cohort's Timber Company."
"Command? A Spear is anywhere from 40-50 troopers, with a few huntsmen thrown in for good measure."
"You once led a team at Beacon, correct? So this won't be uncharted territory for you. On the record, you'll be under Captain Corcra. Follow his orders, conduct your patrols, lead your spear, do your job as his lieutenant."
"Why the alias?"
"You're the CEO's son. That can draw unnecessary attention, and people tend to be less honest around the boss's kid. But Tristan Evergreen is just a normal lieutenant, trying to make his way and do his job. Plus, I figured it would be a nice way to test your acting skills."
"So it's training, too?"
"In a way. You're in intelligence now. Wet-work like what you did in Windpath is one thing, but that's only one half of covert ops. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might be unusual about the Grimm in the area, and report it directly to me, understand? The details are in that folder. Consider yourself briefed. Dismissed."
Gawain grabbed the folder from the desk and began reading through the files within.
"Understood, Commander Dusk." Gawain closed the folder and made his way to the door.
"Oh and Gawain,"
Gawain was prompted to turn back.
"If you manage to determine who, if anyone, is managing to coordinate the Grimm for another attack, do not engage. Report to me first and wait for orders."
Gawain nodded, "Understood, Commander Dusk."
…
The flight to Southern Mistral was a roundabout one. Roving packs of Lancers, giant wasp-like Grimm, had forced a number of course corrections, adding almost half a day to Gawain's overall travel time. Eventually he had managed to touch down near Ikebana as the sun was setting. Ikebana was a middle-sized town about 40 kilometers southwest of Kuchinashi, the nearest major city. Being closer to the boundary that marked where the Kingdom ended and the outer settlements began, the residents were understandably nervous about the increased presence of soldiers and huntsmen. Particularly when most of the soldiers were mercenaries.
Fortunately, Ikebana was still under the Kingdom's protection, and the Kingdom had hired Grunwald Security to make sure it stayed protected. Gawain was careful to take notice of how the locals reacted to him as he exited his airship. He was no longer in his dress uniform, but in his combat attire: A black and green shirt covered by a dark green long coat, with dark grey armor adorning his thighs and lower legs and armored gloves that covered all the way to his elbow. A dark gunmetal helmet, fashioned in a style after the medieval knights of Mantle covered his head and obscured his face. On his shoulders were ornamental wolf-head spaulders that were sown onto the coat. The rest of his belongings he carried in a pack he held under one arm. The Grunwald Security logo: a green silhouette of a dog's head in profile, was emblazoned on the back of the coat. It was the same symbol that served as the Grunwald's family crest.
Before the Great War, the symbol was regarded as a wolf's head, but afterwards was rebranded to appear less "aggressive". He was advertising himself as a Grunwald soldier. You can tell a lot about how good of an occupying force of soldiers are doing by how the residents being occupied respond to more showing up. There didn't appear to be any anger or disgust; a promising sign. But neither was there any relief or excitement in any of the citizens' faces. If anything, there was a sense of melancholy in the way they looked at Gawain, almost as if they pitied him.
Gawain was reminded of when he used to visit Mistral when he was younger. His uncle Erin ran the Mistral branch of Grunwald Security, so he spent quite a few summers in Kuchinashi. The city was beautiful to the passerby, but Erin had been sure to point out to Gawain its dangerous side. A turn down the wrong alley in the wrong neighborhood could be just as deadly as any Grimm. Kuchinashi was, afterall, a large hub city. It was a place that attracted all kinds of people from all over the kingdom, both for better and for worse.
As a faunus, Gawain was always wary of how people looked at him. As often as he tried to keep his ears covered or obscured in his youth, he needed to remain guarded just in case his facade failed. He would look for people's reactions to him, just as he was now. Gawain could handle anger and disgust, he had his whole life, but pity was different. He was unaccustomed to dealing with pity.
Ikebana was a rustic town. Most of the inhabitants worked trades and owned their own shops. Farmers from north of the town brought in crops to sell in the market. Children ran about in the street, playing games and attempting to evade their exasperated caretakers. It was the kind of town where everyone knew each other, and news was likely to spread fast. It was a warm town. A town Gawain was now tasked to protect.
Gawain made his way through the town to a small outpost just outside Ikebana's border. The outpost constituted of a single guard tower encircled with a hastily constructed wooden palisade. A flag with the green Grunwald Security sigil hung from one of the walls. Within the palisade were dozens of tents, neatly arranged in a predetermined grid. G-Sec had long since standardized its encampment layout amongst all its branches, to ensure that any G-Sec soldier walking into any G-Sec camp would know exactly where everything was without needing to ask. Thanks to this, Gawain knew exactly were the commander's tent would be.
Outside the commander's tent was a young private at attention. Her standard issue Dust rifle was slung over her shoulder. She seemed to Gawain to be a typical Grunwald soldier, though he noted that her eyes seemed slightly sunken, likely due to a lack of sleep. She stopped him at the tent's entrance.
Gawain removed his helmet and introduced himself as Tristan Evergreen, and showed the private his scroll for verification. After looking it over, the private announced Gawain's presence to the Captain and ushered him inside.
Captain Fabian Corcra's tent was surprisingly unkempt, considering how spic and span the rest of the camp had appeared. His cot wasn't made, his desk was covered in half-eaten meals and disheveled stacks of paper, and there was all manner of trash on the floor. The man himself didn't fare much better. Corcra appeared a slightly overweight man of about 40. His black hair was starting to give way to silver at the sides, his round face was dotted with a patchy beard, and his dress uniform was covered in all manner of stains. The Captain looked like he had just finished a week long bender, but his eyes lit up upon seeing Gawain.
"There you are, lieutenant!"his voice was uncannily warm for his appearance. Gawain reflexively snapped to attention.
"Lieutenant Tristan Evergreen, reporting for duty, sir."
Corcra laughed, "At ease, lieutenant, at ease!"
He pulled up a small fold-out chair and propped it in front of Gawain.
"Have a seat. I must say, I'm mighty glad you're here." Corcra grabbed a mug and a pot of what smelled to be cold coffee and began to pour.
"Want any?" He gestured the mug to Gawain.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Suit yourself. It's this new Mistrali stuff. The locals swear it tastes better cold. Not sure if they're right, but it definitely puts a pep in your step!"
The captain's hands shook slightly as he took a sip.
"So, about your assignment. I understand you're here to replace lieutenant Corbin, correct?"
"Replace? I wasn't aware I was relieving command from anyone."
"Oh you're not. Corbin was killed about a week ago by a Beringal. Shame, he was a good lad. But he was no huntsman. Mond was about a half mile away when it happened."
"Mond, he's one of Timber company's huntsmen, correct?"
"Indeed. Him, Aster, and Kiran. They're quite a dynamic trio."
"Wait, there's only three huntsmen for the whole company? Isn't each spear supposed to have at least two?"
A company was made of two to three spears. This means that each spear of fifty or so men only had one huntsman to cover them if any unusually powerful Grimm showed up. Mistral was indeed in a bad way.
"Under ideal circumstances, yes." The Captain answered, taking another sip.
"But these are far from ideal circumstances. These days it seems the company's resources are spread a bit thin, huntsmen included. And, of course, I'm sure you know about what happened to the Third Cohort."
"Unfortunately I do.
"Then you know we've been pulling double duty. Conducting patrols and acting as a rapid-response force in the region. And these damn Grimm don't seem to be letting up either. I thought that since it's been a few months since that whole Beacon Academy affair that things would finally start to quiet down, but then the Third gets slaughtered and now the locals are starting to panic again, which is only inviting more trouble…
Gawain was beginning to understand why Corcra's tent was in such disarray.
"But I'm sure you're tired from travel. I've prepared a mission brief for you to go over so you can get up to speed, and I'll have private Bora outside show you to your tent. Tomorrow I'll introduce you to your Spear. You'll be leading the First Spear, and you'll be working with Sergeant Dearg."
"I'm looking forward to it. Thank you, Captain."
The young private outside showed Gawain to his tent. Having only just been set up, it was relatively tidy compared to the rest of the camp. A simple cot and bedroll, along with a table and dust powered lantern. Gawain was thankful that the tent was tall enough so that he didn't have to hunch over. He set his bag down and began to unpack when he heard someone enter his tent from behind.
Gawain immediately tensed, and wheeled around to face an aged Grunwald soldier. Gawain could tell by the patch on his sleeve that he was a sergeant, and the tag on his chest identified him as Dearg.
"Sergeant Dearg, I presume?"
"Yes sir." The sergeant saluted.
"At ease. What can I do for you, Sergeant?"
"Nothing, sir. Just wanted to get a look at you before all the formal introductions tomorrow. I figured we could have a more honest introduction without all the pomp and circumstance."
The Sergeant was tired, much like the private and captain, but there was an edge to it. It was as if his fatigue had made him more alert, not less. He had short cut, dark red hair, and an angular jaw that gave him an almost hungry look. As he looked over Gawain, his eyes gave off an air of being weary, but suspicious, like he was looking for something.
"Well, I look forward to working with you and your spear, Sergeant," Gawain extended his hand. Sergeant Dearg grasped it, firmly. A little too firmly. His eyes narrowed on Gawain. Gawain decided he didn't like it and crushed his hand.
"Ow!" The sergeant withdrew his hand and gave it a quick shake. "That's a…quite a handshake you got, sir."
"A firm handshake is a sign of respect. An overly firm handshake, however, is the opposite. Is there something on your mind, Sergeant?"
"That depends. Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Speak your mind, Sergeant. I appreciate an honest opinion."
Dearg glanced outside the tent to make sure no one was too close to the entrance. He then leaned a little closer to Gawain and whispered "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Excuse me, Sergeant?"
"Cut the crap. I've been working at this company for ten years. I'd have to be blind to not recognize Gareth Grunwald's baby boy."
Gawain's eyes widened reflexively. He was simultaneously anxious and a little impressed with the Sergeant's deduction. He wasn't expecting his cover to be blown this soon.
"Though I have to say, the fake ears are a bit much. I know you're trying to hide your identity, but that's a bit racist if you ask me."
This time it was Gawain's turn to get the drop on the Sergeant. He perked his wolf ears up towards Dearg.
"Not fake, Sergeant."
The color drained from Dearg's face, if only for a moment, .
"Oh, um, apologies" he stammered. "I never realized...have you been…this whole time? Well, I, uh, you did an excellent job of hiding it…"
In spite of how amusing it was to the see the older combat veteran flustered, Gawain decided to rescue the Sergeant.
"It's okay, Sergeant, very few outside of my family ever knew. My mother died when I was young, and my father did everything in his power to pass me off as human. I was hoping having the ears out in the open would make me harder to recognize, but alas…"
"Ahem, which brings me back to my original question: what are you doing here? I can only think of two reasons. The first: your daddy sending you far away, either to protect you or to get rid of you. Considering where he sent you, I'd say it's the latter, but then why the fake name? Which leaves the second: he didn't send you, that snake Mordred did. And if you're one of Mordred's boys, that means you're here to spy."
Gawain crossed his arms and stared at the Sergeant, perplexed. Now he was definitely impressed.
"Let's say you're right, Sergeant." Gawain said. "Let's say I am Gareth Grunwald's son, and that I'm here on Mordred's orders to gather information." He pulled out the chair from under the table and sat down. "What exactly is the problem with that?"
The Sergeant sighed, "The problem is the two letters in front of your name. LT. You're gonna be leading my spear. My men."
"And?"
"And those men and women deserve an actual lieutenant. An actual leader. Not some rich boy turned spook pretending to be one."
And there it was. The real reason for the Sergeant's animosity. Gawain had spent most of his life being told what he could or couldn't be. He can't be an heir, he can't be a huntsman, and now, he can't be a lieutenant. He had grown accustomed to shutting up and not caring about what others thought. He would let his actions and deeds prove them wrong. And for most of his life, that had worked.
And then Beacon Academy fell. Gawain's home burned. His friends died. Gawain was done being quiet.
Gawain stood, rising to his full height. He dwarfed the Sergeant by nearly a foot.
"Sergeant Dearg" Gawain growled through clenched teeth, his voice low and deep. "I understand your trepidation, but I am not pretending to be anything." Gawain brought his aura to bare, filling the air in the tent with his presence. "My name may be a falsehood, but my rank, my ability, and my strength are most certainly not."
The tent almost seemed to darken, and Gawain's voice carried a sinister chill.
"I could crush your skull in half the time it would take you to draw your weapon or call for help. And if that's what it takes to get my job done, I will do so gladly. I will lead this Spear, with or without you."
Gawain stared the Sergeant down, his eyes filled with the killing intent of a hungry predator.
To his surprise, the Sergeant met his gaze. The Sergeant was no huntsman, but he had some degree of talent with aura. Gawain's aura was substantial to the point of being suffocating, and the Sergeant could sense it. He was visibly sweating, and appeared to have some difficulty breathing, and yet he stood firm, being fully aware of the truth behind Gawain's words.
"I understand, sir." Dearg's voice was unwavering
"But you need to be aware that the men and women of the first Spear are my responsibility. Their lives matter to me, yours does not. And I don't care who your daddy is."
They held each other's gaze for quite some time. Seconds felt like hours. Neither Gawain nor Dearg so much as blinked.
After what seemed like an eternity, Gawain relented. For the second time, he had been impressed. He relaxed his aura, and the Sergeant let out a sigh of relief.
"Not bad, Sergeant, not bad at all." Gawain softened his expression.
"You seem like my kind of soldier. Brave, caring, and smart. I wasn't expecting anyone to deduce my identity on the first day. But I think I can stand someone like you being in on the secret. So here's what we're going to do: I am going to lead this Spear to the best of my ability, and you're going to help me do that. You'll keep my identity a secret, for now, and I will make my duties as lieutenant my top priority. You'll have nothing to worry about from me."
Gawain extended his hand again. Dearg hesitated.
"I'm not going to crush you, Sergeant. Not this time at least. I could really use a man like you on my side."
Sergeant Dearg took his hand and shook. A firm, yet not overly firm, handshake.
"I'm glad we, uh, came to an understanding, Lieutenant Evergreen."
"Likewise, Sergeant. I'll see you and your Spear tomorrow.
Dearg exited the tent, and this time Gawain let out the sigh of relief. He wasn't even in Mistral for a day and he had been made. If Mordred knew, he'd probably be laughing. At the very least, Dearg didn't seem like the kind of man to use the information maliciously. His priority was the men and women of his spear, not blackmailing Gawain. In any case, Gawain never had the intention of phoning in his job as the first spear's lieutenant. As of right now, he was a soldier first, spy second.
Gawain looked outside of his tent, the sun had just passed beneath the treeline and night was encroaching from the East. Gawain yawned, the long journey had indeed tired him. He went over the mission brief a few times until his eyelids felt heavy. Then he set up his bed, brushed his teeth, and climbed into the cot just as the last ray of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Going to sleep had always been the easy part. It was everything afterwards that was difficult.