Excerpt #3: Training Montage: The Sound of Tearing Sinew

"Martial artists must be incredibly flexible." I thought, nursing a sprain from a kick that I overextended on. The tendon lining the back of my knee had been pulled, and I would have to ease off training for a bit. Thankfully, Xin understood that I couldn't train while injured (he wasn't that forgetful and remembered that injury = not good for training), so I could rest for a couple of days.

Said move I was trying to master was changing directions in midair. One thing that ended the lives of many when martial arts were something of interest in china were not being able to maneuver after executing, say a flying kick, missing, and then getting impaled by some poisoned projectile.

Therefore, the former owner of the diary had proposed a kick in midair, and being able to shift your own body weight would be very necessary in case a flying finisher failed.

It was a good concept, but pulling it off was very difficult.

Hence, the practice was necessary. Novels and other articles really cut down on the time people needed to train to become actually good at martial arts. There were no times for frivolity, and other than the brief session of scribbling blueprints to keep my engineering skills warm (One simply should not forget how to make a motor), I spent the days training and the nights meditating to practice Chi control after the daily beat down Xin gave me for training.

After getting injured, however, I've just been stretching and working on light exercises, and contemplating why I was here all the while relaxing in the spotted shade that a bamboo forest can give you. The wind rattled through the woody stalks of the tall forms of the bamboo, rattling the leaves and making soft rustling sounds. All the while, the dots of sunlight flickered over my eyes. The soil, pleasantly cool and damp with a bit of moss as a softener, felt very comfortable.

I lay spread eagled in that picture perfect scene of nature, my leg pulsing with a dull ache from the sprain.

"I hope this is what my grave is like back on earth."

…

…

I took a deep breath, research paper (actually published on a small forum!) clutched in my hands.

I was in front of General Ironwood's "office". Everybody else was on missions and I, being the only solo team, was not deemed fit for grimm killing. After all, it was too difficult to go on extermination missions unless you were a verified veteran huntsman, which was actually a rank in the huntsman mission that you were given after 100 successful missions.

I held my breath, contemplating my chances. I was confident that my research would work. But would it be deemed significant enough?

After all, what was probably the richest government on this planet wouldn't care about dust expenses.

Still, this was the only thing I had to offer. The only new thing that I could come up with.

I raised my fist, grit my teeth, and knocked.

...

The presentation was rather scuffed, with my lack of an appropriate medium, a lack of a model, and Remnant didn't have that profound of an understanding of electricity as I believed they had before I began to research.

All they really knew was that electricity emanated from lightning dust, and certain materials conducted it and certain parts of it didn't.

Thus, even if they had holographic, collapsible devices that were the equivalent of phones, that was only because of the replacement of a charging port and battery with a more intense power source (crystallized energy) capable of rendering a screen obsolete.

So, I had to put my presentation of an AC generator on with a person that didn't know what electrons were. After all, the people of remnant didn't really concern themselves with the likes of quantum physics, instead focusing on the very real threat of the grimm.

In the end, I was unsuccessful.

"Your research does hold promise, but Atlas is currently more concerned with another project. Our state funding is also sufficient enough to acquire all of the lightning dust we need due to a long standing trade deal with the SDC. Thank you for your time and effort. If you create a working model demonstrating your concept to convert fire dust into electricity, we would be more willing to endorse your technology, but for now, the priorities of Atlas lie elsewhere."

It sounded like something out of a recorded message.

I sat in front of my desk, scroll-computer open and frozen on my paper.

I was stuck in this career until I could build a prototype of the ac generator, but even then, I might not even get hired.

I didn't blame General Ironwood. Why would you invest in another costly project if they're already researching something, and since they already had electricity, alternate methods weren't as important as I thought it was.

Still, the bitter taste of failure and hopelessness made me want to shout. To do… something.

My eyes glazed over and I flopped onto my bed.

Come to think of it, I could shout, right? This section beacon dorms were completely empty, since every first year team was out on a mission.

I obliged my frustration.

…

The city alarms rang. A call to arms for Beacon students was broadcasted through the hallways.

I dragged myself out of bed, rustling the ripped packages of instant noodles that was my sustenance for the last three days. I almost knocked over the long package that my boss had sent me, but I didn't really have the energy to open it after two months of my work resulted in nothing,

I got my sword, which was leaning on the side of my bedpost precariously, dusted off the pommel with my school uniform sleeve, and took off the black outer coat of the uniform and blearily dragged on my black robes, my "combat outfit".

I pushed open the doors, and saw the second and third years flocking to the bullhead yards through the courtyard.

"Well, I guess I don't want to be late." I broke into a halfhearted jog down the stairs and clambered up the bullhead among some second years.

I must have looked particularly depressing, because most of the second years in the crowded plane gave me as wide a berth as they could give.

The flight was rather smooth, and we landed at the bullhead docks, unveiling a sight of chaos.

Grimm were actually at the bullhead docks, and the second years took care of the ones that noticed us with some shots from their long ranged weapons.

A forest of nods were echoed throughout the bullhead. I went along with the flow, and as one, we charged out of the vehicle into the chaos.

I was more or less swept along by the crowd of running students, but I still had to fulfill my duty as a huntsman trainee, right?

An ursa rounded the corner and growled at me, wrecking a lamppost in the process.

I shrugged. Might as well blow off some steam. I dropped my sword, rolled my shoulders and neck, and felt the familiar warmth of Chi creep through my veins as I began the breath technique.

The ursa didn't waste any time pouncing, claws extended viciously.

I scoffed. Beasts had no sense of tactics. With a heavy inhale, I stomped on the ground, shaking the earth and destabilizing the ground. My footing was solid, but the bear's wasn't.

The next step to completing this immensely satisfying combination was exposing his chest area (specifically, the bear's equivalent of a sternum), and I grabbed onto the bear's arms and gave them a push as they flailed in the air. The creature roared in rage as his footing finally stabled, turning to face me, only to receive a palm to the sternum.

The heart crushing palm. A legendary move performed by either the most skilled of martial artists or against complete amateurs that didn't know how to defend themselves. Either way, it didn't actually crush the heart of the recipient of such a blow. Instead, it shattered the ribcage and impaled the heart with the bone fragments that the shattered rib produced.

It was immensely satisfying to hear that crunch after such a long week of failures and irritations.

The ursa staggered backwards, red eyes still dully blearing with red hatred, and then slowly disintegrated.

I picked up my sword and looked for the next target.

Still, maybe being a huntsman wasn't that bad. I lied to myself, smiling and somehow grimacing at the same time.

I mean, I had a job. There had to people out there without jobs in this world. That was one thing good about being a huntsman.

Even if we were trading years on our lifespan for the cash, at least it was kind of fun to punch bears in the gut occasionally.

Down the street, somebody screamed. It was on a small bridge across a small stream. A boy leaned against the railings of the bridge, beowulves slowly approaching him.

I almost felt like laughing.

I drew my sword, flipped it in the air, and as it was descending, pinched the sword by the tip, and then threw it at the wolves. Of course, to a bystander, what maniac would use swords as projectiles?

(Well, I had no other options. And what was I supposed to do, throw my wooden scabbard at literal monsters?)

I failed miserably. My silver blade streaked through the sky and clattered on the concrete bridge two feet away from the wolves.

Still, it served as a distraction. Taking a deep breath, I pulled on the energy that Chi always gave me, rapidly sent it through my bloodstream and to my legs, before leaping at the wolves. The monsters saw me as a free meal and swiped a claw midair, aiming to bisect me with gigantic keratin talons.

I twisted in midair and kicked forward, generating a wind current and a force strong enough to send me over the swipe. The Beowulf stared at me dumbfounded as I kicked backwards, bringing my torso down on the wolf's head. I then pulled back a fist, and with the aid of gravity, Chi, and my momentum from the jump, crushing the skull of the monster.

Landing on the ground right in front of the hapless kid, I swept the floor with my leg, tripping the wolves, before sending a palm strike into the skull masks that adorned the black visages of the monsters surrounding us, throwing them onto the bridge. They struggled to get up, and so I picked up my sword, held it in a reverse grip, and stabbed them through the necks.

"What kind of huntsman are you?" The boy shouted hysterically, his grey pants sporting a rather darker shade now.

"One that's in training. Get somewhere safe." I said curtly, before kicking a beowulf that was crawling at us slowly in the head, finally reducing it to dust, and then rushing off again.

…

As quickly as the breach began, it stopped. Even if the grimm were coming in through a tunnel, it was through… a tunnel.

A tunnel with doors. Apparently the terrorists had driven a train (?) filled with bombs (?) to blow up the tunnels from Vale to Mt. Glenn, a failed settlement teeming with the demons.

But why didn't we just… collapse the tunnel?

Also, since it was a failed settlement, why were the trains operational in the first place? Modern trains got their electricity from the tracks, so if the tracks were shut down, then wouldn't it have been impossible to pull this maneuver off?

Maybe it was other world stuff that I didn't understand. Still, as I rejoined the group outside the bullhead docks to fly back, I saw –surprise upon surprises- team RWBY in another terrorist plot.

How do they keep on getting into those situations? Were they just that unlucky or developing vigilantes?

Whatever. I thought, scratching my wrist. The frayed edges of my robe sleeves were getting kind of itchy.

…

"Now do you think that my fleet is unnecessary?" Ironwood half-shouted, pacing around in Ozpin's office.

Ozpin sipped his coffee. Hot chocolate wasn't enough to stave off the headache that the over exuberant Atlesian general.

Pinching his nose and adjusting his scarf (how the other Valean council members considered it "formal wear" he never knew, but he got away with it), Ozpin formulated a response.

"Yes, yes. Your Knights were useful in stopping the grimm invasion. But my huntsman students had it handled."

Ironwood's metal half made a dull thump on Ozpin's carpet, shaking his pen holders and the hefty stack of paperwork that was on his desk. On the corner of the room at the top of the tower, a device chimed over and over, signaling even more work to cover up the PA side of the grimm incursion.

"We know that the enemy was here! And now, they've even established connections with the local underworld! We need more security."

"Sending more warships in will only increase the militarism and tension that the citizens are already feeling! The Vytal festival is meant to promote peace and unity-"

"And it would be a real conflict if you went against the word of the other councilors."

"You didn't." Ozpin said, almost standing up in shock before centuries of experience in acting mysterious and taciturn stopped him. Instead, he merely shot a venomous glare at the General.

"Sorry, old friend." Ironwood's steely blue colored eyes softened a bit. "But it had to be done. I know you have a rather …optimistic look on the situation, but since they're making a move, we have to prepare for it."

Ozpin sighed. There was nothing else to be done.

"Okay, okay. But no more warships."

Ironwood nodded in agreement.

"By the way, how's your current project going?" Ozpin asked, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

"Decently. Unit PENNY is acquiescing well to the environment that Beacon academy has. Speaking of other projects, one of your students…"

…

"So missions are done?" I said, walking back to the dorms.

"They were kind of cut short." Jaune said, shrugging. "Still, I actually killed a few grimm out there!"

I nodded. Still, as the defacto mentor figure for Jaune (despite Pyrrha's offers to teach him), he still stuck to the routine that I had introduced him to. Practicing flexibility, precise sword swings, and aura training.

Of course, I had no idea how aura worked (even after having it unlocked for slightly more than four months), but Chi and aura should be similar enough concepts that it might work.

It was impossible to channel aura into other people's bodies, but when I showed how to heal other people instead of harm them with Chi (via a gentle, slow stream instead of the sudden, wavelike attacks of offensive Chi), he honestly thought that it could be done, and occasionally practiced with organic things like bushes. Still, he couldn't make his aura flare past his skin.

Aura was still a mystery.

"-and then I sliced its knee tendon like you said I should when I wanted to incapacitate them, then- are you listening?" He said, looking at me while miming stabbing the air.

"Of course." I said, nodding. "Still, even if I wasn't there to witness your prowess, the mere fact that you are boasting indicates that you are still overenthusiastic. Next time, think before you strike and gauge a situation before entering the battlefield."

Jaune looked astonished, before reaching for a notepad and scribbling something on it.

"Why are you taking notes?"

"I can actually understand what you're saying, and Professor Goodwitch's combat advice tips are all just "practice more". "

"You need practice." I nodded. "Even I need practice. Everybody needs practice. Speaking of which, I have to practice with a new weapon."

"What weapon?"

"I'll show you." I said, opening my door. And winced at the sight it unveiled.

The empty wrappers and smell of mold met Jaune's face.

"What… happened?" Jaune asked, looking at me with surprise.

"My research project was rejected." I said, sighing.

"You have a research project?" Jaune exclaimed, taking a step back.

"Yeah. Something about reducing the cost of electricity by using fire dust and a specific generator. You wouldn't understand. Anyways, here it is."

I picked up the package. It had a dented corner in its cardboard container, and when I opened it, packing peanuts spilled out onto the already messy floor.

I sighed at the unsightly heap of the white plastic beads and the crinkled orange wrappers. "I'll just clean it up."

What came out, instead of a gauntlet, was armor for my entire arm. It was laced intermittently with blue gems, which should be ice dust, and it was exceedingly simple compared to the jumble of engineering that were other mechashift weapons.

I took off my robe and drew back my sleeve, and inserted my arm into the device. It fit loosely, but after I pulled at a strap, the construct tightened significantly. After it was snugly fit, I tied the leather strap that was the tool to tighten the armor around my arm.

Moving my arm around, the invention was rather heavy once actually wearing it on one arm, throwing me slightly off balance.

I staggered around the room for a while, getting used to the weight, before sighing.

"Yeah, I believe that more training is in order for me."

At least training distracted me from the disappointments in life and the confusing parts of this world.

…

AN: This chapter is very late. I admit.

I might not even have time to write more chapters in the next month due to circumstances. Sorry. Still, this is here!

Thank you for reading, and please follow, favorite, and review!

Discord: disc ord. gg/9t9MK3jHmV (Also on profile if this link dies)

...

FGO salt:

Managed to max Sakamoto Ryouma, but Lostbelt 2 is suffering if all you have to fight (Spoiler alert for LB2) Sigurd is a band of AOE Archers and Robin Hood.

(Wants to summon Izo: Gets Emiya instead. What are the odds when I don't get a rate up 3 star, but instead get a rate up 4 star? The gacha is unforgiving.)