The forest was beginning to thin out as the ragtag bunch of refugees walked further northeast. Jaune kept a wary eye on the trees. There had been no sign of Grimm today, but there rarely was until glowing red eyes shone from the undergrowth.
Living in the wilderness between kingdoms was far from easy. Some small settlements survived, and there were even nomadic groups which travelled the continents. Jaune had encountered many of them, battered by the lack of barriers between Grimm and mankind. Some survived. Some did not.
His companions came from one of the villages which hadn't. Nobody spoke of the attack. It had happened in the night. The Grimm had disappeared by the time Jaune arrived with the dawn, and survivors were just beginning to climb out of the ruins, milling around aimlessly. Jaune recognised the look of hopelessness in their eyes. It was the look of defeat. People without homes or purpose. He had been like that once.
The wilderness was not a place to dwell on loss. It was a lesson he'd learned quickly.
Pulling the survivors together had been easy, despite his youth. The sword at his hip and the bearing with which he carried it marked Jaune as a Hunter. A Hunter of Grimm. He'd rallied together the pitiful few who were left, and taken command of their small group. Some supplies had survived the raid. Grimm had no interest in food, only killing. With a little prompting, they'd gathered together what they had left, and followed in his trail.
Before the Grimm came back to finish them off.
Most people think of Grimm as mindless, but Jaune had learned better. The hard way. Show that you are undefended, and they will always attack. Anybody who had remained in that village would have died before they could rebuild. Moving forward was their only chance of survival. It was how he had survived for seven long years; by always moving forward.
Sienna dropped to one knee, inspecting the ground.
"Hey, Jaune!" she called.
He glanced over to the red-haired Faunus girl. Her eyes were sharper than a human's, a gift of her heritage, just like her fur-like hair and black, pointed nose. It had singled her out as a freak to some in the village, but everyone appreciated her sharper instincts now that they were exposed to the wilds.
"You found something?" asked Jaune, not looking back. He scanned the horizon in front of them, but couldn't see any signs of danger.
"Come here. You'll want to see this. It means you were right."
Jaune grinned.
"You know how much I love it when I'm right," he said. "Be right there. Moorland, take over for me."
A stout farmer detached himself from the middle of the group, and replaced Jaune at the head of the loose column. He wasn't a fighter, not like Jaune, but he hadn't let go of his pitchfork since losing his wife in the attack, and had two daughters in the group. Jaune trusted a man like that to keep watch more than he would any soldier.
"Anything?" grunted Moorland.
"Nah," said Jaune. "But you know how it is."
"Should we stop while you go see what the fox is yipping about?" asked the farmer. Jaune frowned. Moorland held no bad blood against the Faunus, but still spoke with the thoughtless contempt that too many humans shared.
"We should press on further. I can catch up even if you decide to make everybody march double-time," joked Jaune.
"In that case let me say we should stop. Even if the path's clear, we've been walking all day. We're not all as young as you, lad. And some are younger," said Moorland sourly. By the look on his face, Jaune guessed he was thinking of his daughters. They were only six and twelve, but had to walk with the adults. The few salvaged wagons were filled with essential supplies."
"A stationary target draws attention," warned Jaune.
Moorland snorted.
"So does twenty people and three wagons rattling through the forest. We need rest if we're going to make it to Vale."
Jaune sighed, and patted Moorland on the shoulder agreeably.
"Alright, old-timer. You know your own people better than I do. Pull up camp for lunch. No fire."
Moorland grumbled, but didn't argue. Jaune headed back down the column to Sienna, amused by Moorland's gruff barks as he attempted to sound like a figure of authority, and the relieved sighs of the refugees dropping to the ground or pulling food from the wagons.
"Thanks, Jaune," whispered Coral as he passed. "I'm really tired."
Jaune gave her a reassuring smile and ruffled her hair. She was his age, but had lost her family in the attack. Those extra seven years of peace made her look five years younger to his eyes. He would have been jealous if not for how fresh the pain in her eyes was.
"Thank Moorland, not me. I wanted to march you until you learned how to sleepwalk in a straight line," he quipped. She giggled nervously. "Remember to let me know if you need a break, okay Coral? We have to keep moving, but the old blighter is right. We shouldn't push ourselves too hard when we don't have to. Today's been nice and quiet, hasn't it?"
"Yeah," she replied. "And yesterday. I think you frightened them all off."
Jaune's face fell.
"There's always more," he said quietly. "But I'll look after you until we're all safe. I promise. And an Arc's word is his bond!"
"Oi, Jaune! Stop flirting and get over here!" shouted Sienna. Jaune rolled his eyes, although a tinge of heat did rise to his cheeks. He noticed a matching flush of colour in Coral's face, but dismissed the thought. He wouldn't know how to flirt if his life depended on it, and his previous attempts had been humiliating enough that he'd sworn off hitting on girls. Thankfully none of his current company had witnessed any of those dreadful failures.
"Okay, okay. Keep your tail on, foxy lady," he shouted back at her.
She swatted him on the back of the head as soon as he was in reach.
"I don't have a tail, idiot. Although I'm plenty foxy."
"Well, duh," said Jaune, thinking of her Faunus features.
"But didn't I say stop flirting? Yeah. That's what I just said," Sienna reminded him. Jaune gave her a puzzled expression.
"What?" he said, nonplussed. "I just said that you're a foxy… lady. Oh."
"Hmph. And here I thought you were complimenting me to make up for taking half an hour to get here," grumbled Sienna.
"Nope, just reminding you that you look like a fox."
"Ahem," said Sienna.
"Damn it," muttered Jaune. "Is everything innuendo?"
"If it has to do with a fox, pretty much," she answered. "Anyway, now that we've established that you're not a flirt, just an idiot, have a look at this."
"A change of topic! Just what I wanted!" exclaimed Jaune. "What am I looking at? Rocks and weeds?"
Sienna sighed, and pulled some of the weeds out. Jaune's eyes widened, and he bent down to help. Soon they'd cleared a sizeable patch from the undergrowth. Once the plant matter was gone, Jaune kicked away some of the small surface rocks, and what lay beneath was revealed. The forgotten remains of a road.
"You said that this line of thinner foliage probably marked an old path, right?" asked Sienna.
"Yeah," replied Jaune. "That's why we followed it. Easier to walk through, and there could even be a village at the end."
"This isn't just a country lane, Jaune," she said. Jaune caught the note of excitement in her voice and smiled. "This is an actual road. Industrial-built. We've found it."
"Mountain Glen," murmured Jaune. "Good work."
Sienna sniffed.
"You led us here, not me," she said.
"But you found the road. Now we know that we're going the right way. It can't be far. And then we can find one of the abandoned routes to Vale."
Jaune jumped as Sienna wrapped her arms around him suddenly. She sniffled back a sob, and he patted her back awkwardly.
"Hey now, city life isn't so bad. I've heard, anyway."
"Don't be stupid," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You saved us."
"You saved yourselves," said Jaune. "I didn't walk this far by myself. We're all in this together."
They joined the rest of the travellers by the wagons, where the refugees were eating rations of cold food. Jaune gratefully accepted an apple and a loaf of bread that was beginning to go hard, but not yet stale.
"You found the road," he said to Sienna. "You tell them."
Everybody in the group was sitting close enough to hear, and every face rose up at his words. Not everybody stopped chewing, but they all stared at him and Sienna in rapt attention.
"We're almost at Mountain Glen," she said with glee. "We're one stop away from Vale."
Moorland snorted, and spat into the dirt.
"Even if we get to Vale, those city gates don't open easily. Got a boat to sail us into the harbour, boy? Or does that sheath of yours turn into an airship as well," he snapped bitterly.
"Dad!" cried his eldest daughter. "Don't be like that. We're nearly there."
Moorland just grunted, and went on eating, but renewed looks of hope spread around the ramshackle campsite, and there was a distinct note of newfound optimism in the rumble of chatter.
Hours after pulling up camp and walking towards Mountain Glen, buildings were beginning to appear over the treeline. Whispers broke out at the sight of them, and even Jaune felt elated at the sight.
Moorland caught up to him, and grabbed him by the arm. Jaune shot him a quizzical look.
"C'mon, lad. Let's walk ahead a bit. Don't want the others hearing," he said.
Jaune immediately felt his elation subside, giving way to the low level caution he'd almost never let go of since that day seven years ago.
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" he asked, sighing.
"Might be nothing. But you're the only real fighter among us, and even though you're just a kid, you've led us this far. I thought you ought to know. What do you know about Mountain Glen?" asked Moorland.
"About the same as everyone else here. I didn't know it existed until you brought it up back when we were plotting a route to Vale. An abandoned expansion of the city, long empty of people, but built before airships were common, so there are overland roads left for us to follow," said Jaune."
"Aye, and underground tunnels all sealed off, too. Full of Grimm. There's only one reason a city gets abandoned when it's this big."
"I know," said Jaune grimmly. "Everybody's dead."
"The Grimm should have wandered off looking for fresh prey, but you know those demons better than I do. They're never completely gone."
"It's been a long time. We'll be quick. We'll be quiet. And hopefully we'll be lucky."
"The last piece of luck we had was when you stumbled into the ruins of our village," muttered Moorland.
"So it's about time we had another lucky break, isn't it?" asked Jaune, giving Moorland a winning smile. The farmer just sighed and stared ahead in silence.
"If this place is a death trap, I'm the one who suggested we come here. Whatever happens from here on out is my fault."
Jaune spun around and grabbed Moorland by his upper arms, glaring at him fiercely.
"Don't ever think like that. If somebody is killed by a Grimm, the Grimm is the only one to blame. Don't waste your life on fear when you can take that pitchfork you've carried all this way and drive it into a Beowulf's skull. Whatever happens here, I'm going to survive. And all of you agreed to follow my rules if you were going to follow my lead. What's rule number one?" Jaune demanded.
"Survive," muttered Moorland.
"Rule two," demanded Jaune, again.
"Survive," said Moorland, a defiant look entering his eyes.
"Rule three," continued Jaune.
"Alright, alright, survive. I get your point," Moorland exclaimed, but the edge of a smile was forming on his weathered features.
"That's the spirit," said Jaune, clapping him on the back.
"It's really still one rule, though," added Moorland.
"Nope," said Jaune. "Rules one through ten are all 'Survive'."
"What's rule eleven?" asked Moorland.
Jaune gave him a wry grin.
"Find a reason to survive."
"Done that yet?"
"Getting you lot to Vale is reason enough for now," answered Jaune.
"And then?" insisted Moorland.
"Then I'm back to rule one," said Jaune with a shrug.
"That's no way to live," muttered the farmer.
The two men walked in silence for a time. Jaune mulled over Moorland's words, troubled by them more than he'd ever admit to anyone else. He'd been adrift and wandering since his family had been butchered. In all honesty, meeting these refugees had been a blessing to him as much as to them. When he had something to do, somebody to help, he felt like he had a reason to survive. Out in the wilderness alone, only habit and an ancient promise kept him moving from one day to the next. Having a sense of purpose was a wonderful change. It made him feel like he was living, not just alive.
Jaune's maudlin train of thought was cut by a sudden shriek.
"Grimm!" shouted somebody from the refugees behind him.
Jaune spotted them immediately, sprinting around the corner of a building at breakneck speed. He tensed, lowering himself into a fighting pose, and thought of the refugees spread out behind him, exposed to a half-dozen alleyways and street openings.
"Sienna!" he shouted. "Watch our flanks!"
"Clear!" she replied. "Everybody, circle by the wagons. Now!"
Her Faunus eyes weren't enough to assuage Jaune's worry, but it was all he had. A dark voice in the back of his mind told him that the screams would warn him if more Grimm came from a different direction.
"Moorland, get back to the wagons!" he hissed, running forwards to meet the Grimm.
Jaune pulled his sword from its sheath in a single smooth motion, tossing his shield before him, into the air above the leading Beowulf. It shimmered with white-gold light, and transformed into the shape of his power. A Beowulf.
With a black mask and golden body, Jaune's summoned Beowulf was almost a reflection of the ones attacking. Luckily, the Beowulf was the lowest ranked species of Grimm, and the three attacking him were young, and their size reflected that.
Jaune's golden Beowulf appeared in mid-air above the leader, crushing it in place as it landed. The enemy Grimm struggled for a moment, but the surprise attack caught it off guard, and Jaune's monster snapped its neck in a pair of fierce jaws.
Now there were two fighters on each side. Jaune dove for the one on the left, trusting his Beowulf to attack without his direction. It required orders in more complex situations, but it could beat down a single smaller beast through brute force, and Jaune needed to focus on his own opponent.
The third enemy Grimm launched itself at him, fangs and claws outstretched. Jaune sprinted at it full-tilt, then slid beneath it at the last minute, driving his sword into the soft spot where its arm met its torso. The Grimm's own momentum buried the sword deeper than Jaune's strength could alone, and it howled in agony.
Lying flat on his back under the Grimm, Jaune placed his foot on the beast's shoulder for leverage, pushed hard against it, and twisted his sword, before yanking it downwards with all his strength. The limb came apart with a gush of foul black fluids. Jaune rolled out of the way, and the Beowulf fell onto the spot he'd been lying in. It pushed itself up with three limbs, but the loss of its foreleg had left it unco-ordinated, and Jaune was quicker. He kicked with his heavy boots deep into the wound, and pushed himself up onto the Beowulf's back, careful to avoid its bony spines.
In one quick movement he had his sword placed against the base of its neck, and leant on it with his full weight. For a moment he thought that it wasn't enough, but then the resounding crack of its spine splitting filled the air, and his sword shot downwards through the dying Grimm's throat.
Jaune leapt off the beast, backing away in case it caught him as it lashed out in its death throes.
His golden Beowulf, having finished off its opponent, pounced upon the dying Grimm and hastened its end by driving long claws deep into its belly.
Jaune stood there, panting in exertion, and exchanged a look with his Grimm. It let out a low growl, and padded over to him. He placed a hand on the mask which served as its face, and it faded back into the shape of his sheath.
A stylised Beowulf mask marked the top of his sheath. Except for that sign, there was nothing to suggest that Jaune's weapons held the spirit of a Grimm he had slain and bound to his will as his own personal guardian. He looked at the Beowulf sigil with a blank expression, remembering the name of his weapon. Crocea Mors. The Yellow Death.
Jaune's Semblance was protective. He could shield himself from harm, and he could bind Grimm to act as guardians. But only Grimm he had slain. The Yellow Death was a fitting name for the sword of a necromancer. Even after all this time, he had hardly begun to explore it. He found it unnerving to say the least.
"That thing creeps me out more than the normal Grimm. At least they just want to kill you," murmured Sienna. Jaune leapt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed her approaching.
"Is everyone safe?" he asked.
She nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief. Noncombatants on the battlefield were his worst nightmare. He couldn't protect everyone, but he couldn't stop himself from needing to so much that it made his blood burn.
Suddenly, the sounds of strangers shouting made his hand drop to his sword.
"Get back," he ordered Sienna.
"Those aren't Grimm," she argued, ignoring his demand.
"Sienna!" he protested, before a group of five masked men holding guns came around the corner.
"The Grimm went this way!" Their leader shouted. "Find them!"
"Uh, boss?" muttered one of the grunts behind him, who had tusks protruding from beneath his mask, marking him as a Faunus.
"The White Fang," whispered Sienna, in a tone split between wonder and horror.
"Damn it, intruders, here? We can't have witnesses. Shoot them all!" demanded the leader.
"Wait!" cried Sienna. "I'm one of you."
"You're no Fang, girl. And what's this with you, a travelling circus?" he sneered.
Jaune struggled to keep his hand from his weapon. He knew that attacking now would only make things worse, though it hurt to take the risk of the White Fang soldiers shooting first and killing the people under his protection because of his own inaction.
"She's a Faunus, Liver," said the grunt with the tusks. "We don't kill our own."
"Plenty of humans here too. I only spot three of us. Must be twenty in that group. Torchwick said to kill any spies on sight."
"We're no spies," interjected Jaune. Suddenly five guns were levelled at him.
"Was I talking to you, human?" sneered Liver, aiming down the barrel of his gun.
"We're just refugees, trying to get to Vale. Grimm destroyed these people's village. They just want a chance to survive. To be free. Same as you," he tried, desperately.
"Even if it means joining the White Fang!" burst out Sienna. Jaune gave her a shocked look, but remained silent, choosing to wait and see where she was going with this.
Liver paused as well.
"Hmph. I won't kill a recruit, but do you know what we do with spies? We cut off their hands and lock them in the vault with a hungry Grimm. You sure you're not a spy, girl?" he asked, nastily.
"I promise. I'm just trying to find a life," said Sienne. Jaune touched her arm, looking at her questioningly. She shook her head, and pulled her arm away from him. "I'll do what it takes, but we're not spies. Let us go, please," she begged.
"What about you?" asked Tusks, gesturing at Jaune. "You said their village. What are you doing with them?"
"Travelling to Vale. Safety in numbers," said Jaune quietly.
Liver appeared to mull it over, then came to a decision.
"Alright. We're taking you to Torchwick. He'll decide what to do with you humans. Any Faunus willing to fight for our cause will have their chance, as well."
"I don't want to join the White Fang!" cried out a young boy with a small wiry tail. His father shushed him, but it was too late. He'd spoken too loudly and everyone had heard.
"Joining is optional," said Liver. "We only want real believers, not slaves. But if you're not with us, you're with the humans. Might be Torchwick just wants you all gunned down so word doesn't get out that we're camped out here. Your choice."
"Take us to Torchwick, then," said Jaune firmly.
"Well, well, well, what have we here? A baby Hunter, a handful of Faunus, a crotchety farmer with his trusty ol' pitchfork, and a rabble of hungry homeless people with sore feet," drawled a man immaculately dressed in a tailored white suit. He tipped his hat in greetings to the crowd, completely nonchalant and sprawled against a packing crate despite the dozens of armed White Fang militia surrounding him, a human.
"So I'm guessing you're Torchwick," said Jaune.
"And I'm guessing you're a witless trespasser, not a spy. The Hunters wouldn't send a trainee on a mission this deep into the wilderness, and I can't spot another fighter amongst the lot of you."
"That'll be a yes, then," murmured Jaune to himself.
"Indeed," said Torchwick. "Roman Torchwick, at your service. A gentleman of leisure and occasional outlaw. And who might you be?"
"Not a trainee hunter," said Jaune. "Just a traveller."
"Yes, yes, I've heard the story. Refugees bound for Vale, was it? You certainly look the part. But I just can't have you running off and blabbing about my little operation here," he said, giving Jaune a rakish smile.
"The fox girl wants to join up with the White Fang," interrupted Liver.
Torchwick struck him with his cane, knocking him nearly to the ground. The smile never left his face.
"And so she shall, if so she wishes. But the rest of you present a problem. And I prefer to solve problems quickly, lest my problems become my employer's problems. Because, you see, her problems are invariably my problems, and I do so hate cleaning up a mess that could have been fixed by doing things properly the first time."
Torchwick sighed, and for the first time, the smile left his face, and he stood up straight.
"Look, kid, you seem like a decent sort. Pulled these people together, killed more than a few Grimm from what they've been whispering - yes, you at the back, I can hear you. Can you hear them, traveller?"
"My name is Jaune."
"Well then let me fill you in. They're whispering that you could probably take out enough of my guards for your troublesome band to escape and make for Vale. They certainly seem impressed by you, and yet you say you're not a Hunter?"
Jaune saw the loaded question, and answered it accordingly.
"I've fought Grimm all my life, but I've never been to combat school. Never qualified. Just stuck a sword in some monsters when they looked at me and thought 'lunch'."
Torchwick grinned.
"You know, I'm not so fond of twenty strays wandering into my secret base, but I like you, kid. How about we make a deal?"
Jaune frowned, knowing that this was not the type of man to make a deal with lightly. But then he looked around at all the armed White Fang members, tense and eager to kill some humans.
"You seem like a shrewd businessman," said Jaune. "This deal isn't going to be fair, is it?"
"Aha! I like you even more! You're exactly right. Mind you, normally this deal would be unfair for you. This time it's unfair for me. You get the better end of the bargain - so long as you can follow through."
"Big risk, big reward?" quipped Jaune. "What if I say no?"
"I'm tempted to let you continue onto Vale. There's a whole lot of Grimm this close to the city. They can sense their prey inside. Those civilians at your back won't make it without you. And Vale probably wouldn't let a bunch of strays in, anyway."
"I'm hearing a but," said Jaune dryly.
"There always is one," replied Torchwick. "Alright. I like you, but I can't compromise what I'm doing here. I'm sure you haven't a clue what it is, but you can guess it's something big."
Jaune glanced around, seeing crates of dust, weapons, and hundreds of armed White Fang soldiers doing the bidding of a human.
"Above average, at least," he said. "But I'm no expert on large-scale crime."
"So I'll give you a choice. Either you do this favour for me, and if you succeed, I'll fly you all into Vale. Or your friends can walk to Vale and hope they survive."
"Just my friends?" asked Jaune, raising an eyebrow.
"They stand a chance with you, I'm afraid. So if you said no, I'll have to kill you."
Jaune froze. He'd promised to survive, but these twenty lives were surely more valuable than his single one. If they could live by his sacrifice, that would be worth it. Even if it meant breaking a promise. But the road was dangerous. He knew Torchwick was right. They'd likely die within a week without him.
"You're actually considering it!" marvelled Torchwick. "Noble, but misguided."
"Jaune, you can't just die," snapped Moorland. "Rule one, blondie. Rule one."
"I get the feeling I'll probably die if I try doing you that favour, too," said Jaune, narrowing his eyebrows. "What happens if I try it and fail?"
"Your friends all die," said Torchwick nonchalantly.
Jaune put his hand on his sword.
Torchwick rolled his eyes theatrically.
"They die on the road, kid. Not here. I'll let them feed the Grimm instead of wasting bullets."
"This is a terrible compromise," snarled Jaune.
"Wonderful! So you've decided to do it!" exclaimed Torchwick, twirling his cane in excitement. "I was hoping you would make the smart decision. Believe it or not, I'd rather like to see you survive."
"Of course," said Jaune. "Because that means I'll have completed whatever this horrible favour is. You'll have got everything you wanted."
"I have a habit of getting what I want, Jaune, and I don't intend to break it here. But remember that I want you to survive as well, so don't go dying of your wounds after you kill it."
Jaune sighed.
"I knew it."
"Of course you did. I wouldn't put my faith in a stupid boy, now, would I?"
Sienna pushed her way forward, pressing her face almost into Torchwick's, and growling. Jaune imagined that it was only the fact that she was a Faunus that had prevented the White Fang guards from opening fire.
"What the hell do you want him to do?"
Torchwick leaned forward and kissed her pertly on the lips. Sienna reeled back in shock, blushing crimson with embarrassment and anger. Torchwick winked at Jaune.
"Now, now, gorgeous, Jaune already knows the important part."
"Just tell me one thing," asked Jaune in a strained voice. "You want me to kill something for you. Is it a Grimm or a Hunter?"
Torchwick laughed aloud, clapping his hands in pure mirth.
"Oh, and you'd do it, too, wouldn't you? Not to worry, my young friend. It's just an unholy behemoth nesting in one of the tunnels we need to excavate. An Ursa Major. One of the biggest I've seen."
Jaune let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He'd had to kill people before. Bandits on the road, mostly. Soldiers from the cities raiding villages - some on-duty, some off-duty, depending on the uniform. But he'd always found it as unnatural as killing Grimm was natural.
"No time like the present," he said.
"Excellent!" said Torchwick. "You there," he proclaimed, gesturing to a group of White Fangs moving a weapons crate across the room. "Once that's away, see our guests get some food, and keep an eye on them. Shoot anyone who tries to make a run for it, and shoot any of ours who tries to make trouble with them." He caught Jaune staring at him in shock, and winked again. "I try to play fair. You're with us for now. That means you're not to be touched."
Only Sienna followed Jaune to the tunnel entrance. Jaune had spent the whole trip through the labyrinthine tunnel system wishing she'd gone with the rest, but at least he wouldn't have to protect her alone. Torchwick had come along to supervise, along with a squad of twenty White Fangs.
"This is just a loan, mind you. Don't get too used to having minions, although I do confess, they're a load of fun," confided Torchwick. "They'll provide cover fire for you, though I'd be wary of their aim as much as the Ursa."
"Do I get a gun?" asked Sienna sourly.
"Guns cost money, sweetheart. Got any Lien hidden away?"
"Do you charge all White Fang recruits for their equipment?" she demanded. "Can't imagine that being an easy way to sign people up."
"Hah, you're a spitfire, and no mistake, aren't you?" said Torchwick, laughing. "Alright. Liver, give her yours."
"What?" exclaimed the Faunus. "I'm the highest ranking Fang here!"
"And the worst shot," whispered Torchwick to Jaune. "I always saw you as more of a melee combatant," he continued in a louder voice.
"No way am I getting within reach of that thing," growled Liver.
"Well then, you're clearly not committed to the fight," scolded Torchwick. "I'm disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed. Hand over your gun and go shout at some recruits for wearing their masks upside down or something. Go on, shoo," he added, when Liver made no motion to leave.
Liver snarled, and thrust the weapon at Sienna, storming off back to the main compound.
"Have you ever used a gun before?" Jaune asked her.
"If he can do it, I can figure it out. Where's the safety?" she asked.
"Liver leaves his off in case anybody tries stealing his gun," added one of the other soldiers. "Paranoid bastard hates it when anyone else touches his precious baby."
Torchwick grinned.
"He hates it oh so much," he added, giving Sienna a conspiratorial grin. She rolled her eyes, and refused to look at him.
"This is it," said the soldier who'd spoken up before.
Jaune immediately snapped into full alert, scanning the tunnel entrance. Rubble was scattered everywhere, and there were deep claw gouges in the rock.
"Command is yours, Mr. Not a Hunter," said Torchwick. "Even I will join in the fun, but you're the one who's getting intimate with the devil in there. Nobody else is to enter melee range."
"Right," said Jaune.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
This was it. He reached deep inside himself, and activated his Aura. The soldiers yelped at the sudden flash of white light, but Torchwick merely raised an eyebrow.
"Don't kill my Beowulf," he said. "Fire into the cave to draw the Ursa out, then fall back into a ring around the edge of this room. Concentrate on its head. You won't do much damage, but the gunfire will keep it blind. We'll do the rest," said Jaune.
"Your Beowulf?" asked Torchwick.
Jaune answered by summoning his golden Grimm companion. The soldiers hissed in a single group breath of shock, but Torchwick raised a hand.
"The lad said don't kill his Beowulf," he said, his voice thick with curiosity. "Now I'm even more eager for you to survive. If you die, I'm going to actually be upset."
"Enough talk," said Jaune flatly. "Shoot the shadows until you see red eyes glowing. That's your cue to fall back. That's your target."
"Yes, sir!" barked the White Fang soldiers as one, filling Jaune with an odd sense of bravado he'd never felt before. He'd never led a team into battle, save for his Beowulf. His adrenaline spiked. It was time.
He grinned.
"Fire!" he bellowed.
Sienna was the first to shoot, he noticed with pleasure.
The noise of gunfire and Dust bullets ricocheting off the tunnel walls was deafening, but not so loud as to mask the roar of an enraged Ursa Major. Jaune clenched the hilt of Crocea Mors tightly. Red eyes gleamed with malice.
For a moment there were only eyes, hanging in the darkness, and then the darkness took on form; an immense bear-like bulk covered in spikes of white bone. The Ursa's mask was almost invisible under the sparks of bullets hammering against its head. Perfect.
Jaune raced into action, his Beowulf mirroring his every motion.
"Hamstring!" he yelled to it. It roared in confirmation, and fell to all fours, sprinting faster than Jaune could run.
It ran past the Ursa, slipping between its legs, and sweeping its right arm in a long hook across the back of its leg. The Ursa cried out, and swiped at the Beowulf, but, blinded by the storm of bullets exploding in its eyes, missed Jaune's guardian beast entirely. Attempting to catch the Beowulf, the Ursa turned, swiping low towards the ground. It missed Jaune's Beowulf by inches, but by this time, Jaune had crossed the distance to his foe.
By turning to attack the Beowulf, the Ursa had exposed the back of its leg to Jaune. Mimicking the swipe his Beowulf had just made, Jaune sliced open the muscles at the back of the Ursa's leg. It swiped at him this time, and he wasn't fast enough.
The blow struck him in the stomach, sending him reeling into the tunnel wall. Jaune groaned in agony, but managed to retain his grip on his sword by sheer willpower. His beowulf climbed up the back of the Ursa's weakened leg, using its claws to dig into the larger beast's flesh. Once it was within reach, it swiped outwards with both arms, driving deep gouges into the inside of the Ursa's upper thighs. The Beowulf leapt backwards as the Ursa fell to the ground.
Jaune was back on his feet, blocking out the pain, and sprinting towards the Ursa.
"Hold your fire!" he screamed, hoping that they could hear him over the sound of twenty assault weapons firing at once. Somehow, they did - or just saw him running into the path of the bullets and stopped in case they hit him.
Jaune's Beowulf pounced forwards, landing on the back of the massive Ursa's head, and holding it to the ground. Jaune moved his sword into a two-handed grip, pressed the hilt against his shoulder, and charged directly into the monster's bullet-scarred mask.
His sword sank up to the hilt in the Ursa's mask, and his Beowulf howled in triumph.
The Ursa's mask cracked, splintered, and shattered. Jaune took a deep breath, and pushed his Aura through his sword, into the dying Ursa. The beast shimmered with white and gold light as Jaune's power invaded its body, and its skin slowly began changing colour from black to gold.
Jaune's Beowulf vanished.
A minute passed. The Ursa was completely still. Everyone watching was completely silent. The Ursa's body eventually was fully transformed into the same golden colour as his Beowulf. A new, black mask appeared with the sound of a bell tolling, and the Ursa vanished.
On the ground lay Jaune's sheath. Slowly he walked over to where it lay, still lightly glowing, and picked it up. A stylised Ursa mask had appeared on the sheath, below the symbol for his Beowulf.
Jaune touched it, lost for words. Now he had two.
The silence was almost as if the entire cavern was caught in a deep reverie.
After some time had passed, the sound of Torchwick clapping broke the stillness in the air.
"Bravo, Jaune. Bravo. You've slain the monster and saved your friends. More importantly, you've impressed me. The last person to do that was, well, me. I'll get you all into Vale. I'm a man of my word."
"Glad to hear it," muttered Jaune, exhausted now that the adrenaline of battle was leaving him.
"Come now, you could use a drink. This lot will show your foxy friend back to your companions, but you and I have some terms to discuss."
Jaune looked at Torchwick with a sinking feeling in his chest. That sounded like there was no way it could end well, but he didn't have the energy to argue.
"Oh, don't look at me that way. You're my favourite person today. You'll like what I have to offer, and I give you my word, our earlier bargain will stand in good faith.
It was a long, silent trek up to Torchwick's private apartments. Jaune could tell he was dying to speak by the constant furtive glances, but the man remained silent. Out of respect for Jaune's clear need to be quiet right now? In an attempt to earn Jaune's good will.
Probably both, Jaune figured. Torchwick wanted something from him. He was playing a game with every word, every action. But that didn't mean he was up to something bad. Just that he was up to something.
At last, Torchwick unlocked the door and pointed to a sofa, which Jaune collapsed into gratefully. Torchwick pulled several glasses from a drinks cabinet on the far wall, and handed Jaune a glass of clear liquid.
"Water?" asked Jaune, upon tasting it.
"Hydration is very important after a fight like that," replied Torchwick. "Almost as important as what's in these glasses," he added, holding up two tumblers full of amber liquid with a teasing grin.
"Thank you," said Jaune, surprised, downing the glass of water and accepting the second drink immediately afterwards.
"As I said before, I keep my bargains. You and your friends will all be flown to Vale. But you put on quite the show down there, and that deserves a reward. I was going to dump you by the docks with the food you brought in your wagons and a threat to keep quiet, but that seems a touch impolite now. Suitable for refugees and civilians, but you're a higher class of person than that. Trained or not, you're a Hunter. And a damn good one."
"I grew up outside the kingdoms. Alone. I'm still alive. Go figure," muttered Jaune.
"Indeed, indeed," said Torchwick. "No formal training, just a will to survive - and a very unusual ability. Golden Grimm, my word. There aren't even stories about those. You've found yourself in a realm beyond both myth and science."
"I promised my parents I'd survive when the Grimm killed them. I wasn't strong enough on my own, so I learned how to - not be alone. Until I was strong enough," said Jaune.
"You have the look of an orphan about you. A survivor. I imagine it's what drew those people to follow you, even though you're just a kid."
"I've not been a kid since I was ten years old, Torchwick," muttered Jaune.
"You've been fighting Grimm alone all that time?" marvelled Torchwick. "Call me Roman, by the way. You must be, what, eighteen?"
"Seventeen," replied Jaune.
"Well now," said Torchwick. "That's convenient. I was going to change your age to seventeen if you were any older. You see, I'm not just getting your people into Vale. You've earned them all citizenships. Legal standing. Nobody can throw them out the gates. All forged, of course, but the best forgeries around. Farmers, cooks, shopkeepers - all their old lives back, but in Vale."
"But I didn't have a job to forge papers for," said Jaune wryly. "Least of all one that takes seventeen year olds."
"Have you ever heard of Beacon?"
"Of course I have. What's your point?"
"The first years start at seventeen. I'm thinking you'd fit in better at a Hunter academy than a textile factory. You've got no training, but you've got enough skill to beat most first years. I'd wager you'd be a top-notch Hunter by the time you get trained up properly and graduate."
Jaune frowned, and took a sip of his drink. It was delicious. He took another sip.
"I still don't understand why you'd want to do that for me. That sounds difficult. Expensive. And not part of our deal."
"There it is again! You get how business works. You know the game, even if you don't know how to play it yet!" crowed Torchwick. "See, I want to find out just how far you can go. You've piqued my interest. Call it a favour from a friend."
Jaune gave Torchwick a dubious look.
"The type of favour that gets paid back?"
"What sort of friend doesn't return a favour?" said Torchwick whimsically, raising his palms in the air.
"Debt is hardly friendship," shot back Jaune.
Torchwick grinned.
"That's the thing. I'm not offering you a debt to be paid off. I'm offering you my friendship. I'll do you favours, you'll do me favours. No threats or obligation, just mutual gain. I could use a guy like you in my corner."
"I don't even know what your corner is," said Jaune.
"Neither do I, half the time," said Torchwick with a laugh. "But this is between you and me, not my employer and you. So this corner, the White Fang - it's business, not friendship. You and me, that's something between us. Sending you to Beacon will make you better able to help me out. We both win."
"So you want somebody on your side, not your employer's side?"
"That's the gist," agreed Torchwick. "And I'm dying to know more about those Grimm of yours. What are they, some kind of kinetic Aura projection?"
"Necromancy," said Jaune flatly.
"Ah."