It didn't take very long into the battle for Jaune to feel the first edge of pure steel biting into his flesh. The enormous force behind Michael's every swing put a meteor to shame as they tore through his aura like a knife through paper mache'. The young man's footwork was incredible, blurring slightly, shaping his entire form and poising it for each strike. Multiple styles of swordplay coagulated perfectly with his art, making prediction of his moves nigh impossible. The first three strikes had been only glancing shots as they did not breach his skin due to his aura. The fourth sliced clean through his cheek, leaving a decent sized gash. The fifth on his shoulder. Sixth near his temple. Jaune lost track after that.

Exhaustion and fatigue choked Jaune. Hot bodied, skin moist with sweat, he couldn't remember how long they had been fighting. It felt like an eternity was passing him faster than a lightning bolt. Jaune didn't have time to correct his footwork as Michael lashed out constantly with the fury of a Grimm. A stinging pain filled sections of his body. Blood leaked freely from each wound, though Jaune didn't pay them much attention. Hiding behind his shield, his main concern was staying alive.

Bashing was the name of the game. Jaune knew that his strength lied in his uniquely skilled shield-play, and he used it to the best of his ability, warding off any potential lethal shots that Michael aimed at him. Occasionally, he would push in, forcing his body weight into the hit, and slamming into Michael's katana, putting a temporary halt to his aggression. Jaune would take a jab with Crocea Mors only to be stopped with a lightning fast parry, and would be put right back on the defense again.

Michael surged forward once again, this time completely forgoing Jaune's defense, slamming the butt of his sword directly into the middle of his forehead. Stunned, Jaune stumbled back, though found himself in the air, shoulder flaring with pain from a particularly brutal upward cut. He landed painfully on his back, dazed.

"Alright, warm-ups over, get up." Michael said, nonchalantly brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Jaune groaned, unable to move. Michael clicked his tongue. "Oh c'mon! Are you serious? Were not even past the second hour, and you're damn near dead!"

Jaune gave a raspy groan in response. As his body took a break, he could already feel his aura flow rapidly through his body, closing the majority of his wounds. In reply, his enhanced strength left him. The reinforcement aura left his muscles, weakening them, and making them tingle. Burning hot, and stinging, he sucked up the ball of spit at his chin, grunting and moaning as his body throbbed and ached.

It had only been an hour since his training began, and Jaune was already half dead. Michael's skill, grace and experience trumped those he deemed titans before. As much as it hurt to say it, Pyrrha in all of her strength didn't stand a chance of taking this man down. Hell, none of them did. Not even if they grouped up on him, attacking at all angles. The young man seemed to be doing that all by himself anyway. Knowing that he would be his training instructor was mind-numbing.

"Jaune, get up. Seriously, get the lead out." Michael said impatiently, prodding Jaune's shoulder with his foot.

"I can't." Jaune conceded.

Michael stared, gaze half-cocked, before grumbling curses under his breath. "Seriously? That's all you have?" Jaune couldn't look him in the eye. He already knew it was. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling louder. "I can't believe how much of my damn time I'm wasting on you. All this bluster and promises for that shit performance? Oum above, I cannot believe this."

Michael's words didn't hurt him. Words, insults and speeches of his own weakness was something that he was long used to, even before he illegally joined Beacon. However, what did hurt was the anger, and frustration in the once upbeat man's voice. Jaune didn't need to be an expert to figure out that the young mercenary was at his wits end. Patience must not have been one of his strong suits, and what was already thinned out had already stretched into a string. With a shake of his head, he whipped his hand up in a forgetful manner, and then sheathed his sword.

"I don't even know where to begin with you." He said in a low voice.

"Maybe by actually teaching me something instead of beating the crap out of me!" Jaune fired back, already feeling his own temper flaring.

Michael raised a brow. "Aren't I already teaching you?"

"What the he- no! You've been doing nothing but beating the ever loving crap out of me for the last hour! I would be dead right now if not for my aura!" Jaune sputtered angrily, clenching his teeth.

"Huh… I thought that was teaching, y'know?" Michael said, tapping his chin.

Finally at his wits end, Jaune stumbled to his feat, glaring at the young man. "Do you even know what you're doing?" He demanded.

"Nope." Michael replied plainly. Once again, it wasn't the word, but the inflection that bothered Jaune. It was so carefree and nonchalant that he had to question the young man's actual professionalism. The simple shrug didn't help either.

Jaune heaved an aggressive sigh, closing his eyes and cupping his hands over them. This was far from what he was expecting to deal with today. The harsh violence was one thing, but the ineptitude of his teacher. "Jeez, you're killing me man." He groaned. Michael shrugged again, and began wiping the small traces of blood off of his sword. After a short silence, Jaune finally spoke. "So what should we do now?"

"I have no clue."

"If I may suggest something."

Michael gestured loosely to Jaune. "Sure. Shoot."

"How about we go through a few drills? You could teach me your fighting style, and maybe I can build off that."

"No can do."

"Why?" Jaune asked impatiently.

Michael rubbed the back of his head, dull-eyed and bored. "Ozpin told me a few things about you. I was told that, and I quote from that old, smart bastard here, 'highly expressional and prone to emulation', and some shit like that."

Jaune raised a brow to his teacher's profanity. "Is that really necessary? And what would he mean by that?"

"Of course it is. I'm an adult, I talk however I damn well please." Michael said with what seemed like a savage pride. "In answer to question two, it means that you're a copycat. Not really much else to it."

"What? I'm not a copycat!" Jaune fired back.

"Sure you aren't." Michael replied sarcastically. "Listen, you may not notice, but you do this a lot. I can tell just from how you're fighting." Michael strolled around Jaune, gazing him up and down. "You have wide arc slashing and close range brutality of someone I might've seen on TV. That certain someone may have also been your partner." Jaune bit his lip. "Some of her maneuvers and strategies are prevalent in your style, though it's so broken. You're trying so hard to be her, but you're not. The same goes for maneuvers from others. Another being scythe movements of all things. Why the hell would you associate swords with scythes?" Jaune's gaze downcasted. "Jeez, were you really that jealous?"

"How can I not be?" Jaune said quietly. Michael opened his mouth to say something, though gave up. "What else can you suggest?"

"Well, I do have an idea." He said smirking. Jaune didn't like it already. "I did learn something from you from our little bouts. Your analytical skill is actually pretty damn good. I mean, prediction, anticipation, adaption, there all good with you. You learn pretty damn fast too. We can use that to our advantage. How about this, I will fight everyday with a different weapon and a different style. That way, it won't stick long enough for you to copy it, and you may learn a thing or two. You'll make your own style, and may actually do well for once."

Jaune nodded slowly. It did make sense. It was much better than just being another copycat. "Sure. I don't really know what else we can do." Weary breathed, he forced his sword up, and held his shield at the ready. To his surprise, Michael sheathed his katana, grinning sardonically.

"Turn your shield back to sheath form. You'll need that more." Reluctantly, Jaune obeyed, and held his sheath in hand. "Sheath your sword." Jaune raised a questioning brow. "Do it." Once again, Jaune obeyed. "Good. This is a swords style known formally as Iaido. I like to call it my favorite style." He drew into a quickdraw stance, his smirk growing wider. "Get ready. Set. Go!" The moment the sword flew from its sheath, Jaune anticipated a difficult three hours that he would have to deal with.

Lying on his back, Jaune counted the purple stars that danced around his vision. Skin burning hot, and muscles cramping everywhere, and gasping for air, Jaune knew that he wouldn't be active anytime soon. Exhaustion couldn't even compare with what he was feeling right now. He felt dead. Legitimately dead. Crawling into his bed and sleeping the rest of the day away seemed like a pretty good idea right now. Michael stepped near him casually, sheathing his sword, and taking the liberty of kindly sheathing Crocea Mors as well. He squatted to Jaune's side, that smug smirk still plastered onto his face.

"So, how was your first section of training?" He asked.

Jaune would have fired back sarcastically if he could get a breath out. Right now, he would have been surprised to speak by tomorrow. Though, crippling exhaustion aside, he was thoroughly shocked about the amount of combat he had learned just from fighting. The method was simply finding out what defensive route to take, than plan a counter. The style, and focus seemed to grow from there. So simple, yet so effective. His aura had gotten quite the workout as well. From what he could tell, no one could really teach you how to use aura. You have to find out uses for it yourself, and see how things go from there.

Jaune felt a not-so-gentle boot nudge his shoulder. "Alright Hero, get up. We've got some studying to do. Well, you do. I'm going out for a few drinks." Jaune gave a muffled grunt. Michael cringed, knowing just what those muffled cries meant. "Oh c'mon! I don't wanna carry you again. Once was enough. When I imagine drool going down my neck, I tend to think of girls, not girls pretending to be boys."

"Screw… off…" Jaune rasped.

Michael groaned, rubbing his scalp. "Dammit, this is asinine."

"Speak for yourself."

Michael clicked his tongue. "Fine then. If there really is no way to get us back faster, then I guess we don't have much of a choice." With an annoyed huff, he hoisted the blonde onto his back, picked up their weapons, and began his trek back to the bar. "If you droll on me again, I will tear your testicles out through your throat." He growled.

Jaune grunted back weakly. It didn't take long for Michael to find a proper trail. Another few minutes would go by before they arrived back into the underground city district where the bar laid. While on the way, Jaune couldn't help but question something that had been nagging him since the beginning of their training session.

"So about that first hour of training-"

"That epic flop on both our behalf's y'mean?"

"Uh, yeah. Exactly where did you get that crazy idea to teach me how to fight that way?"

Jaune felt Michael's small shrug from over his shoulders. "Saw it on TV once or twice. Seemed to work enough there. Rough'em up a little, and the knowledge just sorta… gets there."

If Jaune could have faceplamed, he would have. "You're telling me that whole 'getting the living crap beat outta me' was part of an experimental thing you saw on TV?"

"Exactamundo." Michael replied carelessly.

"And you don't see what the hell's wrong with that?" Jaune demanded.

Once again, a small shrug. "What do you expect? This is kind of a new thing for me too. Honestly, you're the closest thing I have to a partner who's lived this long." Jaune gulped, suddenly not liking his chances. "I'm a mercenary first, and a teacher… never."

"Oh, about that too-"

"Ugh, another-"

"Yes, another question. You mentioned you were part of a group right? Of rogues? Known as the forgotten?"

Michael gazed up dully, as if in remembrance. "Oh yeah, I did say something like that, didn't I?"

"Well, where are the other members?" Without a word, Michael stopped, going eerily quiet. An uncomfortable silence filled the forest. Even the air had slowed to a halt, fearing something horrible would happen if it were to break the silence. He turned around stiffly, then walked down just past the trail, carrying on for a few minutes before ending up a several oddly shaped stone piles.

Michael stood in a still silence, observing the stones. Jaune did as well, his curiosity of whatever they may be peaked. As his gaze pasted by the stones, he saw a pile of rusty, broken swords and armor, laid about in an oddly neat and formatted manner that he would not have expected from the rude and abrasive mercenary. The entire area felt dead. It took just another minute to finally get what he was supposed to see and he was instantly filled with dread.

"When?" Jaune whispered.

"Three days ago" He said plainly. His words seemed glide out of his inexpressive face. From the side, Jaune could barely get a good gaze at the young man's face, though he could tell from the side just how dead it looked. There was no remorse, or sadness, no pain or sorrow in his eyes. Only emptiness and apathy in those deep azure eyes of his.

"How?" Jaune asked carefully.

Michael didn't answer immediately. His eyes were plastered to the stone right in the middle of the seven, with an odd looking engraving on it. It took Jaune another minute to realize that there were seven headstones, each uniquely well embroidered and engraved professionally except for one in the middle, with seemed to have the finesse of a child. A name was roughly etched in the stone with what seemed like a sword.

Irene Kyle. Requiescat in pace.

"Who's that?" Jaune asked.

"She's… someone that I tried to forget." One hand left Jaune's back, and began fiddling with the snow white scarf wrapped around his neck. "But that doesn't matter now. It's over and done. I can't mourn too long. I have to move on and keep fighting. After all, that's just now this job works. I'm the last of the forgotten. And they… they are forgotten forever." Jaune bit his lip, unable to come up with the right words to say. An ounce of fear weighed him down. "That's another reason I don't want you around after I'm done training you. I don't want you dying too soon. Sooner than you have to anyway."

Jaune remained silent. Was this truly what the man was hiding? What this man had to deal with? Dealing with a job so dangerous that close connections were nothing but a liability? His lamentations only seemed to increase when he thought of his friends and family. If he kept up this life for too long, would they suffer for it? Would he see their gravestones strewn about, forgotten while he continued on, dead inside?

"All I really can do is know the truth." Michael said in a low voice.

"Which is?"

"In the end, when I finally pass, I'm going to end up right here, in these piles of ashes and stones, forgotten from time." Unable to look, Jaune shifted his gaze, eyes stinging. "Thanks for reminding me about them. I forgot to pay my respects today." Gratitude wasn't what he would describe in Michael's dullest tone, though Jaune took it as it was. "Hopefully, you won't end up here too…" With that, he pivoted on his heel and got back onto the trail, leaving Jaune with barely enough time to memorize the names. He could only get three off the bat. Irene Kyle, Gerald Oak, and Niles Cassias. Those names would be etched in his head just like those gravestones.

It didn't take long from there to reach the bar. They were both silent throughout the trip back. Once they had arrived, Michael opened Jaune's door, and all but tossed him in, making the blonde land painfully on the floor.

"Was that really necessary?" Jaune whined. Michael just shrugged, and tossed a bunch of textbooks his way.

"Get studying. I'll see you in two hours where we'll meditate. It'll heal your body and improve your aura control. Trust me, at least I know full damn well that works." Michael said. Jaune didn't have to argue back. One of his own team members, Ren, proved that to him well enough.

"I don't' want you goofing off on that photo viewer again either. You need to actually learn something."

"Okay mom." Jaune muttered.

Michael rolled his eyes at the young man's sass. "A lot of nice pictures you've got there though."

Jaune's blood ran cold. "You saw some of them?"

"Hell yeah I did." He guffawed. "Some of them were cute, others were just downright hilarious! I can you why you want to go back. That kind of life must be heaven."

Jaune gave a faraway smile. "Yeah, it was."

"I saw some of the cute girls on your viewer too. Some of them are pretty hot, I gotta say. Especially the blonde! She's got quite the nice rack on her." Michael said deviously.

Jaune rolled his eyes. "Don't bother."

"Aw, she's taken?"

"Nope, her father won't allow it."

"Ah , it wouldn't be the first time I've dealt with that problem." Michael said, waving a nonchalant hand.

"I…. wait, you did what now?"

Michael snorted. "Are you sure you want any more details that that?" Jaune furiously shook his head. "Good boy. Now are there any other reasons?"

"Well, she's not interested… and she's underage. Hell, all of us are."

"Aw, dammit. Figures." Michael with a hefty sigh.

"By the way, I've never asked this-"

"Trust me, I'm sure you have once before. I just chose not to answer." Michael said impatiently.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two." Michael said.

Jaune cocked a brow. "Really? That young?"

"What, were you expecting a geezer?"

"No, I just… though you were a little older."

This was the perfect example of the eyes being the windows to a soul hardened and not easily broken. A soul with maturity, grace, and the will to live. Those eyes were of someone that was much older, and much more heartless. The body did fit the age though. His tall, muscular, young body, and tousled, messy black hair, and five-o-clock shadow gave the impression of a young, popular college student just getting to his next class.

"Ozpin did tell me that you were particularly close to one of them. The Blackette with the streaked hair, right?" Michael said.

Jaune's eyes widened. "How'd you know?"

"The way you're looking at her picture right now. I can just see it all over your face. Also the pictures don't lie either. Don't worry 'bout it though, I won't bully you much over it." Michael went to the door, and exited. "By the way, when you think about her, I left a box of tissues behind your bed. Maybe you'll find a better use for them than I have. Just make sure to clean up after yourself." He winked.

"What the- ew Michael!" Jaune whined, cringing.

Michael cackled as he slammed the door behind him, and walked off to snag a drink. Jaune was finally left alone with his thoughts. Books forgotten, he pushed himself up to his bed, photo viewer in hand. He lay, smiling blissfully at the pictures, a tear crawling to his eye as he remembered the forgotten.

What he would be when all was said and done.

And that ladies and gentlemen is what Jaune's gonna be dealing with for the next month. Please leave your condolences for our forlorn knight. Alright, I hope you all liked this chapter. Please review! It really means a lot to me. Thanks!