Hey all. Kegi Springfield did a nice fanart of the moment Jaune draws his sword out of the Knight, so you can check that on his DA. Meanwhile, my puppy is a little sick today, so this is being written while I'm running a back and forth to keep an eye on her. Fun times.

This is a day off for me, too. Just my luck!


Beta: College Fool

Cover Art: Dishwasher1910

Book 6: Chapter 13


I pointed the sword towards the commander.

He stared back. As did his men.

"Snrk."

"Mff…"

"Ttt-"

The commander's head rolled back. "Ahaha!" he bent over, hands on his stomach as he roared with laughter. "The Blacksmith thinks he can threaten us," he gasped, pointing at me with one hand while looking back at his soldiers. "Good Lord. I – hah – I can hardly believe it!" He wiped a tear from his eye. "Boy, you may have caught a rookie off-guard with a lucky Skill, but do you even know how to swing that sword? Without killing yourself, I mean."

They didn't believe me. Despite what they'd just seen, they weren't afraid of me in the slightest. I was still just an NPC to them, my actions relegated to luck or a mistake by my opponent. The fact that laughed at my efforts should have pissed me off. It would have before. But for some reason, it brought an amused curl to my lips.

"Why not come and find out?"

"Hilarious." The commander nodded to the other beside him, a woman with the Class of Blade Dancer. She wore mostly leather, with two swords, one on each hip. "Kill the fool. Make a show of it. We wouldn't want the villagers getting ideas."

The woman chuckled, "My pleasure."

I narrowed my eyes and watched her approach. There was no response from the walls behind me – at least not a physical one. People gasped and whispered, but for the most part they were content to let this happen. Or maybe resigned. Any time where I was fighting someone one on one was time with them not assaulting the walls. No one expected me to actually win, especially not her.

Her Class – at least on first glance – suggested someone based around speed and skill rather than strength; someone who was used to doing damage and not taking it. Like Blake, except – I hoped – a whole lot less capable. Being a Soldier, she would only face combat either when a village was attacked, or if a war happened. We were in one such, but she was young. I had to assume this was her first, which meant that barring some unusual circumstances, she had to be lower level than I.

I didn't realise exactly how much until she moved. The girl was fast, I'd give her that. Faster than me. Compared to someone like Blake or Ruby, however, she was incredibly slow. Compared to Pyrrha, her attack was incredibly telegraphed. I'd put her somewhere around Level Twenty at a guess. Give or take five or six levels. Enough with the Stat Distribution to take on any member of the Labour Caste her own level. Enough that with her companions, she'd have no difficulty destroying a small village like ours.

But not enough to take on a Hero. Or someone who fought like one.

Rather than parry her twin strikes, I stepped into them, letting them hit my shoulders early, before they had the proper swing or strength behind them. The woman gasped and leapt back, but it was already too late.

She screamed as Crocea Mors carved through her left thigh, cutting the limb off entirely. The woman slumped to the floor, blades flying away. "N-No," she cried. "I-Impossible. This isn't possible." She turned, dragging herself with both hands back towards her commander, who was no longer laughing. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. "H-Help me!"

There was no helping her. She'd already taken a fatal blow and would only continue to bleed out. I gave her the only mercy I could, a swift stab through the back of the neck and a twist. The Blade Dancer slumped, dead.

The soldiers opposite me took a step back.

"I might have got lucky again," I said, casually. "Why don't you send another against me and we'll try it a third time?"

No one took me up on my offer. The laughter was gone now, replaced with silence and sudden fear. Not only had I moved faster than someone of my Class should, but the Strength I'd displayed in a single swing, not to mention the durability in taking two blows without so much as a wince, made it clear something was wrong.

"Enough!" the Commander shouted. "There are forty of us and one of him – not to mention a handful of Soldier Class to man the walls. He can't hope to hold us all off. Attack!" Whether they were bolstered by his words, fear, or just rage, the small army charged forward.

They were right about one thing. I couldn't face them all. Not even if they were all Level Twenty. I dashed back to the gates, but they were already closed, and to open them would be to invite the enemy inside. I turned to face the enemy in front of them, drawing their forces apart. Some, those with higher Agility, had pulled ahead. One – a Rogue – appeared in front of me swinging twin daggers. I caught one, ignored the other as it bounced off my chest, and snapped the man's wrist. A backhand turned him around completely before Crocea Mors burst from his chest in a spray of blood.

"Support him!" one of the Soldiers above shouted. There was a thud as one of Ansel's few Soldiers landed beside me, sword and shield at the ready. Another landed on my right, the three of us holding the gate against what felt like a tide of attackers.

I nodded to them both. "I'll trust you to watch my flank."

"Not sure what you're playing, Jaune, but you know how to use that thing."

"I know a few tricks, sure." In emphasis, I reached out and touched their weapons with a hand each. A flash and a scrawl brought a Rune to each, and the Soldiers gasped as they felt their Stats shift before their eyes.

The first wave of attackers was on us a moment later. I twisted into them, spinning and cutting in wide arcs, trusting my superior Strength to do the work it had to – ignoring my Dexterity entirely. Those that could dodged, but the press of bodies was too much and held them back. Whenever I swung, someone was at the end of my blade. The blood flowed.

It was madness. Bloodthirsty madness. I'd never been in a proper war. Not fighting in it. The Treaty kept us out, kept us safe from the brutality, and the small skirmishes I'd faced otherwise were just that. Me against one or two people, or the entire Guild against a far stronger foe. This was the opposite, and for the first time I was the stronger foe.

It should have felt exhilarating. It didn't. It felt methodical, miserable and cruel. Faces twisted in terror as I fell upon them. Screams were cut off before they could sound, and that was the mercy for those who were able to get it out revealed pitches of bloodcurdling fear I'd never experienced before, nor wanted to again.

And yet I did. Again and again. Because it had to be done.

The Soldier on my left fell, transfixed with a spear. He roared and took his killer with him, before he was swallowed and trampled to the ground, stabbed until he stopped breathing. Angry and terrified cries from Ansel's walls sounded his death.

I cleaved the head from a Mistral Soldier who dared to celebrate. He died with his face transfixed in victory, tumbling through the air.

Blood ran from me, too. I had no armour and the myriad cuts that dotted my body oozed blood lazily. They burned at the same time, like a thousand angry wasp stings. If I'd had a shield, I might have been able to mitigate some of those, but my free hand served a different purpose. One it never had before. Because I'd always fought as a Knight before, holding back lest my true Class be revealed.

That… was no longer a concern.

My hand caught a sword and gripped the blade, dripping my blood down it. The blood fizzled and popped as the blade turned cherry red, folding in on itself, but also causing the man to drop it with a screech, their hands steaming and burned.

Quench. Quench. Quench.

The sword shattered violently, flinging shards of sharpened, super-hot metal everywhere. Soldiers gasped and fell, pierced by the shrapnel and screaming. The bits that hit me did the same damage, but only the metal itself. The impact. The heat counted as forging, and thus had no effect on me. The small explosion cleared my left flank entirely, and those nearby dared not approach, looking down on their badly wounded kin dotted with sharpened steel. Some cried on the floor, their faces and exposed pieces of skin burning.

It was not a kind way to die, nor was it honourable. But then, they'd come here to do dishonourable things – to kill everyone and set the village alight for what purpose I still didn't know. It wasn't a necessary act. Or didn't feel it. There was something more here. My eyes met the commander's through a space in the melee and hardened. I'd need him alive.

He seemed to have a different opinion for what my gaze said. The confidence was gone now, replaced with terror. "Mage!" he screamed. "Kill him! Kill him!"

A cloaked figure hasted to obey, stepping forward and raising his staff high in the air. Wind swirled about it, the clouds above shifting. Shit. I hadn't realised they had a spell-caster among them. I was bound down in the melee and surrounded on all sides. To move was to die, and if the commander's words were any indication, he didn't care if some of his men died to bring me down.

The Mage brought their staff down. "Thunder-bla-crkk-crkk…"

He didn't finish. The Mage's eyes glanced down, growing wide at the sight of a feathery shaft lodged in his throat. The force of it had penetrated through, straight out the back of his neck. He toppled with a muttered gasp.

As everyone froze, I glanced up to the walls of Ansel. There was a woman there dressed in leather and a cloth tunic, auburn hair tied in a braid. Her green eyes were wide, afraid and shocked, even as she stood with her bow in hand. I doubted she'd ever taken a life, nor imagined she would.

After all, she was just a Hunter.

Just an NPC.

Like me.

A fire lit in her eyes. "We can kill them," she screamed, drawing another arrow. "Fight them! KILL THEM!"

The gates of Ansel opened.

They were a ragtag group at best. None of them were Soldiers. None of them were Heroes. But they were desperate, angry, determined. They fought with a savagery of their own, armed with pitchforks, knives, clubs and hammers. They dragged their opponents down with force of numbers and beat them into unconsciousness or death. I saw Dad at the front, wielding a Blacksmith's hammer. Easily on a Level par with the Soldiers themselves, he caved in one's skull while they were distracted.

The people of Ansel were fighting.

No. They were finally realising that they could fight. Even those on the walls, those too young or not suited, picked up rocks, stones or planks of wood and hurled them down. Pots and pans followed, clanging off soldiers and skulls and, if not bringing any Soldiers down, distracting them so that I, the final Soldier with me, or the other villagers could.

In terms of Level, the villagers were on par with the Soldiers. At least the older villagers. It was a fallacy to think otherwise, I'd come to realise. Soldiers and Heroes faced different lives, and so gained Exp for combat where my Caste did not, and over time – a lifetime – that might make a difference. These Soldiers were somewhere between level twenty and twenty-five a piece, and at the age of twenty to thirty, that was more than any normal Labour Caste could manage.

But many of those in Ansel were older. They were forty or fifty, or older still like Anders. As such, even though they'd taken a whole lifetime to reach it compared to the soldier's ten or fifteen years, they were technically on an even footing right now.

The Stats and Skills weren't there, of course. We had non-combat skills and Resilience and Charisma holding us back when it came to a raw fight, but we also had numbers – easily five times those of Mistral's little raiding party. Just as we had become mired in our own perceptions of what we could and couldn't accomplish, so too had the soldiers in theirs. Forty men to raze a village of three hundred Labour Caste members was good odds for them. It was good odds because the Labour Caste never fought back. Not until now.

Dad and I met in the swirl of melee. Our backs touched. His eyes met mine. There was a moment of silent communication – a proud look in his eye – and then he was gone once more, saving one of his neighbours who was grappling with a Warrior by leaping on the armoured man from behind.

"For Ansel!" I roared, sword held high.

"FOR ANSEL!" the screaming mass echoed. "FOR ANSEL! TO JAUNE!"

Mistral saw the tide turning. How could they not? The lone Blacksmith that had already killed eight or more of theirs. The arrows from above. The charging masses galvanised to fight and showing that they could. Those who were still able turned and fled.

The Commander took a panicked step back, too. Snapping the neck of my last opponent, I moved towards him.

"Back!" he howled. "I'll kill you."

I spread my arms wide. "Try."

With a furious howl, he dashed in, drawing and stabbing his sword towards my stomach. He was good, I'd admit. Despite my best efforts, he got past my guard and the sword stabbed into my side, drawing blood.

But when my hand settled on his wrist, preventing him from drawing it out, he realised his mistake. Crocea Mors sheared down, enacting a lesson I'd learned early on. My piss-poor Dexterity didn't matter much if I held my opponent in place.

"Arghhh!" he screamed, falling back, his hand taken off between elbow and wrist.

My fist slammed into his face a second later, lifting him from his feet. He landed hard, me kneeling on top of him. Crocea Mors was stabbed down into the dirt nearby. My hands settled on his shoulder plates, dragging his armoured upper body up to face me.

"What is Mistral planning?"

"F-Fuck you."

"Wrong answer." I slapped him, hard. His skull rattled. "Let's try again. Why are you burning villages on the way to Vale?"

"O-Orders."

"From who?"

"H-His Divine Majesty."

The King? Fuck. I'd hoped deep inside that the answers would be Greycloaks – that this would be a move by them to try and sabotage the peace process and perpetuate the war. If that were true, I could bring evidence of this and there would still be peace. But if the King was involved, if this were his idea?

Then the Peace Treaty would already not work.

"Why?"

"To prevent news reaching the city," the Commander whispered. "No messengers to tell of… our army. No witnesses." He laughed. "Vale will fall. No matter what you accomplish here."

"You've already broken the Grand Treaty," I pointed out. "What makes you think Beacon won't move on this? Army or not, you can't hope to take a city whose walls are manned with Heroes. It would be suicide."

"N-Not if all your Heroes are dead already."

My eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"You'll change nothing, Blacksmith."

I hit him again. "Tell me what's going to happen!"

"Nothing more… than an NPC… scum."

The man in my hands fell back, dead. I released him, letting him crash to the ground. As I stood, I drew Crocea Mors and turned back towards the gates of Ansel. People were rushing out now, women and children tending to the wounded while the elderly brought pails of water. I saw the Soldiers, the few we had, take up a perimeter, covered in blood and exhausted as they were. Captain Anders looked like he was on the verge of death, but he still made his way toward me.

"Anders," I greeted.

"Jaune Arc…" He shook his head. "Never in my years. To see this… An old man doesn't know whether he should feel proud or despair."

"The people needed to fight."

"But they are Labour Caste…"

"The Caste System was designed to protect us, Anders. It wouldn't have done that here."

The old Soldier looked out over the dead bodies, more of them Mistral than Vale. "No, I suppose it would not have. I must sound ungrateful. It's the blood loss. If I could, I would bow to you right now."

"He spoke of an army, Anders. One on its way to Vale."

"The Festival of Peace. We are betrayed."

"Not yet we're not. I need to go to Vale. I need to warn them."

"Someone does," Anders agreed. "I've seen your steed. She's faster than any we might have." The old man pushed back from me. "Give me but a few minutes. I'll have a missive made with my seal. No one will believe you, my boy. Forgive me for saying it, but it's true."

No argument from me. I knew the place of someone like me. The Soldiers in Vale would treat me with the same derision these here had, right up until I started to kill them. The actions of someone from my Caste didn't matter, nor did their words. We existed only to provide things they wanted or needed, and to be protected because we were of use.

Anders, at least, seemed to realise I was beyond that. The way he looked at me. I hadn't realised it at first, but it was how the Soldiers in the war looked at me when they thought I was a Hero. How they looked at the other members of the Guild.

He saw he as a Hero.

"Get it done, Anders. You have five minutes."

"Yes, my lord."

Lord? What was that all about? No. It didn't matter. As he staggered away, I strode towards my father, who was currently being swarmed by my sisters and mother. They fussed over him and the small nicks and cuts he had. I'd have felt irritated I didn't warrant the same concern, but the truth was that I didn't need it. They more than any other knew that. Dad might have been older than me, but he was the one at risk here.

"Jaune," Sapphire said when she saw me regardless. She lunged at and caught me in a hug, arms around my neck. "I was so frightened. You damn fool. Standing out there against them all. What were you thinking?"

"That someone had to fight," Dad said before I could. "That unless someone did, we'd all die. Isn't that right, son?"

I nodded. "I'm used to it, Dad. I've been fighting for the last two years."

"In battles like this? Such danger…?"

I looked back over the bodies. Considered for a moment Merlot, Tyrian, Magnis and then Watts. "Not like this. It's usually worse."

"Worse…" Mom laughed bitterly. "You neglected to mention that to us in your stories."

Of course I had. I'd told them the truth, but it was always delivered with the knowledge I'd come out safe and alive, because otherwise how could I be there telling them the story? Nothing they'd listened to had really felt real to them. Not in the way that I might have died.

"I suppose I don't have room to tell you not to do whatever it is you're thinking of. You're a man now. People are relying on you…" Mom wiped a tear from her eye and stepped away from Dad, towards me. She didn't throw her arms around me like Sapphire did, but instead walked into me, pressing her face into the crook of my neck. "Just remember that we're relying on you, too. Please come back safe."

"I will, Mom. I promise." My eyes met my father's over her head. He was blooded now, and it showed. The fingers that gripped his hammer were white-knuckled. I had a feeling he'd spend all night smithing weapons – and that the townsfolk would have a full armament come morning. "Look after them," I told him. "Mistral's army will be beyond Ansel now, but there's a chance Grimm might spawn, or that those who escaped might try and loop back."

"If they do, they'll find us waiting," Nicholas Arc said. He held out a hand and looked down on it. "I can see why you've gained so many levels. It's taken my forty years to get this far, and yet I've gained a full level and a half from the last twenty minutes." His eyes flickered once. "We'll be fine," he said. "Trust me. Apparently, there's a part of a Blacksmith that's supposed to fight with a hammer. My newest Skill wouldn't make much sense otherwise." He hefted his and looked to me. "Sure you don't want one?"

"I'm more of a sword and board kind of guy," I quipped. "I'll be fine."

I saw Anders coming back with something in his hands, so I gently pulled myself away from my mother and sisters, touching their cheeks, heads and shoulders as I did, tactilely telling them this wouldn't be the last time we saw one another. Not if I had any say about it. I brought my fingers up to my lips and whistled twice. Faith trotted out of the village gates with an angry whinny. I had the feeling she was more upset I'd gotten into a fight without her than that I'd interrupted her grazing.

"I'll be okay," I said, swinging myself up into the saddle. I reached down to take the missive from Anders. "Hold Ansel for me. Don't trust anyone from Mistral. And remember, a Hero is just a person. No different from any Solider or Labour Caste here. They all die if you run them through."

Nods. Judging from the hardened expressions of all those around, they'd be fine. The next time Mistral came around and demanded their surrender, they would find themselves faced with more than six Soldiers and a Blacksmith.

Reaching down, I slapped Faith's flank with one hand. "Go. Yah!"

We tore away from the village's gates, out onto the dirt path and toward the major road back to Vale. With the sun rising through the sky and the festival almost certainly beginning, I didn't have much time. Better to travel light and fast, which was why I didn't even stop to loot any armour from the fallen. There just wasn't the time for it.

Faith picked her way among the bodies without concern. The moment she was free of them, she fell into a gallop.

It was an hour of travel before I caught sight of the army's passing. It came in a plume of black smoke on the horizon as a village burned. My hands tightened on the reins, knowing that could have just as easily been Ansel. My family among the wreckage, their bodies smouldering away. I wanted nothing more than to wheel towards them and see if I could save anyone, but to do so would be to abandon Vale.

I moved on.

But that did not mean I went unnoticed.

It was the hoofbeats that tipped me off first, and then the dust behind me as several figures hooded in black came out onto the road. Not Greycloaks, but pure black cloaks that covered their faces from view but did little to hide the caparisons on their mounts. Mistralian cavalry. A small squad of five. They must have seen a lone horseman cutting a path toward the city and come to the conclusion I was a refugee who'd escaped. They couldn't let me raise the alarm, and so I had to be killed.

That they'd only sent five screamed an insult – but then I remembered what they must have seen. Just a Blacksmith, if they'd seen my Class at all. The fact I was in a tunic made it clear I was neither soldier nor Hero. Five Soldiers was more than enough. It was overkill. A sign of how serious this was.

Leaning forward, I urged Faith on, pushing myself as flat as I could. The mare bucked her head but knew we were being pursued. Her feet stamped down quicker, her own head dipping along with mine. She was already covered in sweat, but even then she knew what she had to do.

"Halt!" one of the soldiers called.

"We bring aid," another said. There was laughter in his voice. "Stop and let us help you."

Their mounts were fresher than mine. Faith was a powerful horse, but she had her limits and had been running enough already. With a sigh, I tugged gently on her reins, careful not to try and stop her too quickly.

Behind me, the sound of a sabre being drawn echoed in the air.

They weren't even going to pretend at this point, it seemed. I turned Faith side on, just enough that I could see the man hurtling toward me, leaning out with his curved blade drawn back to take off my head. If the Soldier was surprised when I drew a sword, he didn't show it. Anyone could travel with a weapon. It didn't mean anything.

But there was definitely surprise when Crocea Mors swept through the man's sword, arm and neck in one fell sweep. The Soldier's horse veered in surprise, dodging Faith by a few inches as the headless horseman swept by, the body slowly tumbling to the side and falling to the dusty floor. The others hesitated.

I nudged Faith's side with my feet. "Charge!"

Faith obliged with a snort.

I'd not fought on horseback before. Not against people anyway. Before, I'd used Faith as a means into and out of combat, jumping off her if I had to, but since these were mounted I couldn't afford to do that. They could disengage and harry me from range if they had to, and that was something I didn't have an answer to.

Fighting on horseback was both easier and harder than I'd expected. Harder because my footwork was replaced with Faith's movements, which meant I could only reach out and swing. Everything was upper body strength – which would have made this harder for anyone else, and probably did for these people. For me, though? It was too easy. The fact they couldn't use their own Agility to dodge back only sealed the deal. I might not have been faster than them, but I was faster than their mounts.

The second died as Crocea Mors plunged into his chest, lifting him up and off his horse, who bolted in panic, clipping the side of another and causing the soldier to topple off with a startled cry. Faith moved before I could, rearing down with both hooves. There was a sickening crunch as she crushed his head. The final two came in, one from either side, the woman screaming as she thrust a short spear toward my heart. The man swept an axe for my neck.

The spear I caught by the shaft, holding it away despite her best efforts. The axeman, I outranged, poking him away so that he hesitated, and then sweeping my sword up at his wrist, cutting it off at the chink where his armour met his gloves. He gasped, and then choked as my sword pierced his neck.

By this point the woman had realised their error. She dropped her spear and kicked both heels against her mount's side, urging it to flee past me. As she did, I swept my sword back blindly, not aiming but knowing my arm would bring it at least in the way of her flight. There was a feeling of resistance. A grunt. And then the sound of something being dragged across the floor as the horse continued to flee, dragging its dead rider behind it, one foot trapped in the stirrup.

No Heroes yet. Only Soldiers. I knew because I'd have had at least some trouble against a Hero, especially if they were higher level than me. Did this mean Mistral's Heroes weren't involved? Was it possible Cinder didn't know about this?

I grit my teeth.

The only way to find out was to keep moving.

/-/

Vale was still standing when I reached it. That alone felt like a miracle. The southern gate was open, and it was that I passed through, people giving me strange looks as I did. There was cheering in the distance. The Festival was still on. I made my way towards it, Faith rushing down the streets as I ignored people shouting for me to stop.

Ozpin had to be warned before anyone else. If I wasted even a second to tell the soldiers here, their panic might tip Mistral off, and the invasion would begin in earnest. The Treaty was broken, which meant we needed the Heroes to be in on this.

Faith brought me to the outside of a large, ringed amphitheatre. I slipped off, patting her neck as she panted for breath. She could rest now, having worked herself to exhaustion just to get me here. I rushed into the building before the soldiers chasing me could catch up. It was an arena of sorts, and I'd entered the spectator area, leading me into a long tunnel with numerous branching paths, light shining at the end of each. I chose one at random and sprinted down it, Crocea Mors at my side.

I stepped out into a crowd of seated people. Men, women and children. Labourers, Soldiers and Heroes. There had to be thousands of them, both from Vale and from Mistral. I shied away from the latter, quickly taking in the fact that not only were they armed, but that no one seemed to care. I almost screamed out a warning then and there, but to do so would spark a panic and set things off right here and now. I made my way towards Ozpin instead, easily spotting him on platform higher than the regular people, sat with what must have been important Nobles of Vale.

Down in the arena, I saw the King of both Vale and Mistral. They were stood side by side, two figures before them. One was Cinder, carrying the ornamental armour she and her team had found in Vacuo. Their gift to the King of Vale.

The other was a man I didn't recognise in armour of burnished gold. Someone equally important, I supposed. He held a sword before him, side on, with the blade pointing away from the King of Mistral and the weapon balanced on both hands, no threat implied. It was the sword I'd taken from Watts, and the one meant for the King of Mistral to signify our desire for peace.

The Festival of Peace was still going ahead.

Had I been lied to? Had I been misled? Was it the Greycloaks after all?

"Jaune!?"

A familiar voice, a familiar face. Ruby appeared before me in a blur. She must have seen me and used her Agility to sprint over without me noticing.

"Ruby," I gasped.

"J-Jaune, you look terrible. What happened?"

"An attack. Villages have been burned to the ground. They're killing everyone."

"What!?" Ruby recoiled. I spotted the rest of the Guild approaching, keeping their heads low but following Ruby to catch up and find out what I was doing here. I caught Ozpin's eyes, too, in the distance. They were narrowed. He stood, making to step down and approach me. "Who?" Ruby asked. "Who is attacking!?"

"And now," a loud voice orated, "Our two Kingdoms shall exchange gifts and signify our desire for peace and prosperity. To you, Divine King of Mistral, Vale grants this mighty weapon. Let it be a tool to protect you and yours from harm."

The King of Mistral, robed and looking every part the ruler of a Kingdom, took up the sword. "It is a mighty weapon," he said, his voice carrying with ease. "I accept this gift."

"Mistral," I said, back to Ruby, and the others now that they were arriving. "Mistral attacked Ansel, my home village. Claimed they'd burned others to the ground. I saw the smoke from some of the villages. Not to mention I had to fight my way out."

"But the Treaty-" Blake argued.

"Broken. They as good as said it themselves."

"A rogue faction, perhaps?" Ren wondered. "The King of Mistral is here – along with Cinder and many of their Heroes. They're here maintaining the Festival of Peace. Cinder helped put it all together. They can't know of this, surely."

"I've no idea, Ren. I-"

"And to the King of Vale," Cinder called out, voice powerful in the centre of the arena. "As a symbol of peace and to protect you from your enemies, we grant you this enchanted armour. May it defend your lineage always."

The King of Vale took the offering and inspected it. "Marvellous," he said, giving none of his true feelings away. He might have had as many or more pieces in his palace, but for peace, he would make a show. "All of Vale thanks you for this, Mistral. May this mark the beginning of a new relationship between us."

As the King of Vale raised the armour as though to wear it, blocking his vision for but a moment, a sudden flare of light and fire appeared in Cinder's hand. It formed a long, fiery knife.

"I could not have said it better myself, your majesty."

The crowd gasped.

Ozpin froze, eyes wide with horror and grief.

I seized the moment, "Mistral has broken the Grand Treaty," I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Heroes to arms! To arms! Defend yourselves!"

Down in the arena, the King of Vale fell to his knees, Cinder's flaming sword buried in his stomach.


Ugh, my puppy (Kali) is alternating between "must play now" and "oh god, I'm dying" and being sick everywhere. Got a vet visit planned this afternoon and just writing with one hand while stroking her with the other as she sleeps in my lap.

Cutting the chapter here. It got to the point it needed to, but I don't have the time to read through, post-edit and check for every spelling mistake. My apologies there.


Next Chapter: 10th September

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur