Hello all and a Happy New year! Tonight, tomorrow, whenever. I'm back from my break feeling kind of bemused. Sort of that feeling you have when you've been doing a routine for ages, stop it for a week or two and then think "Shit, how did I do this again?"

Honestly, I despair more at the fact work – i.e. 9-5 work – begins on the 2nd of January. That feels way too soon into the year. Ugh.


Beta: College Fool

Cover Art: Dishwasher1910

Book 7: Chapter 12


Through the shock and the pain, it was instinct that saved my life. I rolled to the side in time to dodge the blow that would have killed me and surged to my feet. Lacking Crocea Mors, I snatched one of the iron bars that made up my cage. Having at least something in hand kept me from panicking.

It was not a sword, though. Swordmaster would be worthless without it, and while I might be able to fashion it into one given some space, the Barbarian was less than willing to give it.

He swung forward aggressively, but always measured. Unlike the Soldiers from Mistral I'd bested at Ansel, he was neither cocky nor underestimating me. His swings, while large and powerful, weren't wild. Each one was delivered with a plan to follow up if it missed, and they did miss, though not because I was able to dodge or deflect them with a flimsy iron bar. They missed because I gave ground rapidly, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Up above and all around, the audience hollered and cheered. Blood sport. That was what this was; blood sport mixed with some crazed method for producing stronger fighters for the Greycloaks. Take a large number of weak people and make them fight to the death. If fifty people was culled down to five, then those five would be a high level. If those five slaughtered one another, the one remaining would be even higher. The Exp gains would be cumulative in a way. It wasn't fifty people at level twenty, but fifty at twenty becoming twenty-five at level twenty-two, and then ten at level twenty-four or five.

Like a Miller refined grain, the Greycloaks refined their prisoners, feeding off them.

The monster before me was one of them.

"You're going to run out of room eventually," he jeered, forcing me back. When I tried to dodge to the left, he cut me off, attacking again to drive me back towards the arena's walls. "Ah, ah, ah. We're not playing run around the arena all day."

"Tch." I grit my teeth. He'd seen through that plan. There went the Barbarian stereotype. "Not much of a fair fight if I don't have a weapon," I tried. "Throw me a pity knife?"

"Who said this was to be a fair fight?"

The sword whistled above my head as I ducked. Lacking any other options, I charged forwards to try and close the distance. Though a sword was melee, it was still in a sense a ranged weapon. Crashing into the Barbarian, I grappled with his arms and shoulders, making it so he couldn't use the two-handed monstrosity properly.

The man laughed as he fought back. "Fool! You'd challenge a Barbarian to a test of Strength? I'll crush you like a grape." The man squared his feet and used his impressive height to bear down on me with both hands.

My feet didn't move.

Sweat beaded on the Barbarian's brow as he pushed harder, muscles bulging as he dug his feet into the sand and let out a mighty roar. Hands that had no doubt crushed people's heads clamped down with the Strength of a Hero.

The sand shifted as I took a step forward.

"What?" the Barbarian hissed. "But I'm a Barbarian. My Strength is A-Ranked. You're a measly NPC!"

"Funny thing about being a measly NPC. It's that no one cares to figure out your parameters." I took another step forward, twisting my hands. The much larger, much bigger, man fell to one knee. "Everyone knows what a Barbarian does. It makes you predictable."

My eyes flashed, and heat surged through my hands.

The Barbarian's eyes widened.

"And no one bothers to learn what I can do."

The man screamed.

I could have pushed on but doubted I could keep hold of him if he tried to pull away. Instead, I surged up and kneed him in the face, toppling the brute. He fell with a mighty crash and I leapt over his body, rushing for the ruined cage I'd been dropped into the pit with.

More material, more iron. Iron made for a relatively weak weapon, but I didn't need it to be of the highest quality. I just needed it to technically be a sword. Falling to one knee, I grabbed another iron bar and slammed it into the first, which had already begun to turn orange and white in places.

Come on, come on, hurry up.

Engraving to sheer away the excess material and give an edge. No hilt. I didn't have the material or time. I stretched the tang out instead and rounded it. It would hurt like a bitch when swung and probably jar my bones, but it was all I had.

The Barbarian was on his feet and charging towards me. "I'll kill you!"

"Shit. Not enough time." The forging process cut off prematurely. What I had was some short sword-shaped creation that was still burning hot. I brought it up before me but hesitated at the last second. It would take a single hit and snap in two, if it didn't bend under the Barbarian's sword entirely. It wasn't even cooled, let alone tempered.

Reaching down, I picked up a new bar instead and super-heated it. When the Barbarian was all but upon me, I grinned and tossed it towards him in a lazy, under-hand swing.

He didn't fall for the trick and try to catch it, but he swung his sword to bat it away – sending a shower of red-hot sparks in every direction.

"Quench," I hissed.

The makeshift sword let out an angry hiss of steam as its temperature rapidly dropped.

"NO!"

"Temper!"

The Barbarian roared and brought his sword down towards my head. I brought my new sword up. A mighty crash split the arena, kicking up a wall of smoke and dust as two high-Strength Stats clashed and displaced the sand around us.

When it cleared, our swords were locked. His two-hander biting into the weak form of my new `sword`, which I gripped with both hands, one on the tang and the other on the back of the blade, stopping his.

His eyes widened. "Shit."

"Too late," I whispered, eyes flashing blue. The words above my head changed. New knowledge and information slammed into my head like a hammer on an anvil. My eyes flickered again. "Heaven's Cutter!"

The movement was sudden. Twisting his sword to the side and down, leaving mine up in the air, I brought it down with incredible force – not onto the Barbarian, but onto his over-extended sword instead.

Both swords shattered. His was sheared in two by my unusual Swordmaster Skills which seemed to affect armour and weaponry more than people. Mine shattered by virtue of being a rushed and fragile thing not given the care it deserved. I still had the lower half of the blade, however, leading to a jagged point.

It was enough to pin to his throat as he fell, my foot on his chest. The Barbarian went still.

The crowd went silent.

"It's over." I roared. My eyes sought those in charge of this madness. "He's beaten. Call him off, Raven."

The Knight looked back with a curious smile. Though she spoke quietly, her voice carried over the silence. "It's not over yet. This was always a battle to the death."

"I'm not playing your games!"

"Oh?" Raven's sword lazily flicked out, piercing through the bars of Lisa's cage to pin her against the bars, the point tickling her throat. "Are you sure? I've no need for her. None at all. She's so weak she won't even be worth putting through the trials. Even the weakest of my cloaks would struggle to gain anything from her." Raven pushed a little harder, drawing blood from Lisa's neck. "Kill him or I will kill her. In the end, someone dies. The choice of who… is yours to make."

The monster. I couldn't believe the crowd were silent, content to watch while one of their own was sacrificed in so callous a manner. Or maybe they weren't happy but had no choice but to obey. Raven's level was probably far beyond each and every one of them.

"What do you want, Raven?" I asked tiredly. "Why me? Why here? Why all of this?"

Raven smirked. "Time is ticking. Tick – tock."

"You damn- ARGHH!" A scream burst out my throat as something sharp dug into my left shin. It buckled immediately, toppling me onto the Barbarian who had wrested a knife from his belt while I'd been distracted.

"Got you!" he laughed.

"Bastard." I backhanded him hard, reached down and clutching my wounded leg. "I'm trying to save your life. Your own leader wants me to kill you." I kicked his face, knocking a tooth free. "And this is the thanks I get?"

The knife came around again but this time I caught the Barbarian's wrist and tried to wrestle it out his hands. The crowd were cheering once more, eager to see their comrade take me down and kill me.

Like last time, however, I was able to overpower him, turning the knife around so that it pointed down towards his face. His eyes were wild and afraid.

"Give up," I whispered. "I won't kill you. Just… give up."

"Fuck you."

One of his hands slipped down and I had the barest chance to catch a flash of naked steel – one of the shards of his broken weapon – before it stabbed into my side, just above the hip. The man grinned cruelly and twisted it, earning a scream as pain roared through my body.

My hands pushed down reflexively, more as an instinct to stop the pain than anything else.

The knife pierced through the man's eye, directly into his brain.

I stared down at the man, aghast. "You… You fucking idiot…"

The swell of his Exp washed into me. A paltry amount. Not even a full level, but then I'd been on the verge of levelling up anyway, so it was enough to push me over the edge. My eyes flashed as my Stats grew, though no new Skill came. I grit my teeth and rode it out, eyes clenched shut.

Raven began to clap. Even unable to see, I knew it was her. No one else would dare.

"Well, well, we have our victor. A true survivor. Let this be a lesson to all of you," she addressed to the audience of Greycloaks. "Strength is not determined by Class or Caste. It is levels and grit. Nothing more. The strong live, the weak die." She regarded the fallen Barbarian with a sneer. "Someone throw this trash into the ocean. The fish may as well get a meal from it."

Two people leapt down and moved to take the corpse away, even if so many more from the earlier slaughter remained. They glared at me, eyes filled with hatred. Friends of the dead man, no doubt. I stared back. I'd tried to spare him, but he hadn't let me.

Bleeding from both my leg and my side, I looked up to Raven. "Now what?"

She turned away from me, towards Vernal. "Give him some bandages and put him back in a cage. Feed them both." Her crimson eyes flicked back towards me and she smiled cruelly. "We'll try this again tomorrow and see if anything changes."

I didn't have the strength left to fight Vernal off as she leapt down. I needed the bandages and the rest if I wanted a chance of getting out of this alive. So, as much as it galled me, as much as her smirk enraged me, I let her take the knife from me and lash my hands together.

"Good dog." she said.

I seethed in silence.

/-/

The night was cold and fevered. We'd been left in our cages again, with two guards watching us. They were thankfully close enough that Lisa could help wrap the bandages we'd been given around the wounds in my side, though even then it was a makeshift treatment without thread and needle to stitch it. When she asked Vernal for some, the Rogue simply laughed and said, "She won't let him die from this."

With little more than that and some more seafood and bread, we were left to curl up in the warm straw and try to sleep.

The next morning, I was awoken by a knife banging between two bars of my cage.

"Rise and shine," Vernal said, grinning down on me. "Hope you got some rest, Blacksmith. You're for the arena again."

Already?

"He can't," Lisa said. "He's still injured."

"More his problem than mine. Maybe it'll give someone the edge they need." She turned away with a laugh. "You four get the cages. Toss some bread inside. Might as well have something to snack on before the big fight."

Stale bread was thrown into my cage but rolled out the back before I could think to catch it. No one bothered to pick it up and pass it back, and I was soon being carted through the halls once more. Much of it was a blur, my eyesight hazy from fatigue and what felt like an infection. I was covered in sweat and struggling to draw breath.

"He's sick!"

"Shut her up, will you?" Vernal said to someone.

A sharp crack and a pained cry echoed in my ears.

"Don't," I hissed.

"Hm?"

"Don't… hurt her…"

"Ha!" Vernal laughed. "That's the spirit. Co-operate and maybe we won't. Then again, once you die in the ring, Raven won't care to keep her around. Best make for a good show, eh?"

The ring was as I'd last seen it, but bloodier. More innocent souls had been fed to the grinder. Raven sat at the top of it all, chin resting on one hand. She smirked upon seeing them, but this time motioned for only Lisa to be brought up to her. I was led to the ring's edge and the cage door was pulled open. With a tip, they toppled me out, leaving me to crash down into the bloody sand.

"Give him something to work with," Raven called.

A thump echoed a second later, a solid iron ingot landing close to my face. Not even a bar this time.

Again. They wanted me to do it again. Forge a sword, fight someone, kill them. Why? My fevered mind tried to find a reason but all I could think was how my wound had split open once more in the fall, and that I could feel the blood wetting my side.

Raven was speaking. I didn't hear the words. Something about Garret, the foolish man I'd slain. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to stand, making it only to one knee. Weakened and sick, I wasn't going to pose a threat for my next opponent.

That frightened me.

In a dull, muted way.

I didn't want to die here, not with everything still in the air back home. Blake, Ruby, the Guild. We were so close to being back together again, being something, that I didn't want to die here and not resolve that. Tears prickled in my eyes. I didn't want to die on some gods-forsaken island run by the Greycloaks.

With Raven still talking, I reached out and took the ingot in hand, drawing it under my body.

Stoke the Forge

Another Greycloak was chosen. I didn't care how. The man, a Ranger, hopped over the side with a grin, landing in the sand. He wore a bow on his back but drew a curved sword instead. Presumably, there'd be no glory in shooting a man laid flat on his stomach already bleeding out. I wasn't sure what glory could be found in stabbing one either, but that didn't seem to matter.

"Stand or die," Raven called out. "If you do, she dies also."

Slowly, painfully, I stood. In doing so, I revealed my creation, a thin, crooked hook-like implement that was more farming tool than weapon. I had, however, given it a rudimentary cross guard and blade.

It was still a sword.

The Ranger cursed and reached for his bow, suddenly recalling the last fight. He was still twenty or so feet away, a vast distance by the standards of a man who was struggling to stand, let alone sprint. I fixed my bleary eyes on the Ranger and concentrated.

My Class shifted. My mind cried out in agony.

"P-Piercing Thrust."

My body lunged, even if my legs didn't have the strength for it. They still went through the motions, but more because the body had lunged, and they wanted to keep up. My muscles burned and the wound on my leg tore open, spilling more blood onto the sand.

The hooked sword impacted the Ranger's leather armour and cut through it. In the same motion, the sword broke – too flimsy to hold up to even a single solid blow. The Ranger laughed and punched my in the face, splitting my lip.

My Class shifted back to Blacksmith with a hammer-blow to my brain.

My free hand snatched out, latching directly over the Ranger's face. The sword had never been the end here, only a means to close the distance while my body failed me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as the man's face, skull and brain melted.

His body fell to the floor with a limp flop.

More Exp. Not enough to level, only about half a level. He'd been weaker than me, lower-levelled, seeking the payoff that came from slaying a Hero a higher level than himself. I hated that I could judge that by the Exp gained. It meant I was too familiar with the concept.

"Another," Raven yelled. "And toss him another ingot. Do we have a volunteer? Look at him, he can barely stand. Who is strong enough to take him?"

"I am," a familiar voice called.

"Not you, Vernal. You're Level sixty-four. It wouldn't be a contest."

"What's the big deal? He's torn through two of our men now. Just let me kill him and be done with it."

"His level is too low. You would not gain anything."

"I'd gain the satisfaction," Vernal grumbled.

"The strong do not kill for pleasure. They kill for a purpose. No. He's already exhausted. Let's make this fair. Thirty-five. That is the limit I'll allow."

Why impose a limit at all? Why give me a chance? I staggered a little and caught myself on the arena wall, panting for breath. In the end, the limit didn't matter. The reasons behind it probably didn't, either. Raven was doing this for entertainment. It was all a game for her. What did it matter if I cut through two, three or ten of her lesser Greycloaks? The one to eventually kill me would have the benefit of all that Experience gained by me.

The ultimate survivor would be of a higher quality for it. Survival of the fittest, even amongst her own organisation. Someone was chosen. I could barely see their face, let alone the name and Class. A bar of metal was thrown at my feet.

This one didn't give me a chance to forge a weapon. They charged in with spear aimed for my heart.

I blocked the point on the ingot, letting it drive me back. It pushed past eventually, sliding to the edge and around and biting into the flesh of my stomach. I groaned and clamped a hand down on the shaft, burning through it in one motion. With my other hand, I slammed the ingot up and into the person's jaw, breaking it.

Something snapped within me.

Not anger, not rage, not some mad bloodthirst, but a primal wish to live. A desire to survive. I fell on the stunned person, ripping and tearing with my bare hands, beating them with the iron bar with reckless abandon. Blood flew, bone gave way and I couldn't make out any of it. All I knew was that this person wanted me dead, for no other reason than the Exp I was worth.

And I…

I didn't want to die…

The rush of Exp told me my foe was dead. My body felt a little lighter as I gained a level. My first of the day, the second in two days. I dry-heaved and fell off the dead person, dropping the bloodstained ingot to the sand and retching.

"Me," someone yelled. "Pick me. I'll fight him."

A third? So soon?

I tried to kneel.

"No." Raven decided, and the crowd became still. "Vernal. Take him away. Food, water and bandages. Nothing more."

The relief was so much I almost cried.

"He fights again this afternoon."

No…

/-/

I slept.

Vernal woke me.

I pushed what little food I was given into my mouth.

I fought.

I killed.

I slept.

The pattern was all I knew, the routine broken only by the weak attempts of Lisa to talk to me, to try and help me. Sometimes I would feel her hands through the bars working bandages around me. Other times, she would push little pieces of bread to my lips or try to make me drink more water. I would mumble deliriously and accept it.

Vernal was less gentle. The more I killed, the more I survived, the more she seemed to hate me. Food was thrown at me, bowls would crack on my skull. Her feet would kick at mine if they poked out of the cage, and she took a savage pleasure in waking me as sharply as she could.

"I don't see what Raven sees in you," she hissed. "You're nothing but a weakling. I could snap you in two without a moment's notice, but she pits you against the weaker members. Gives you a chance you don't deserve."

I breathed weakly, staring back at her through hazy eyes.

"You're not strong!" she yelled, taking my empty stare as some kind of challenge. "You think killing people below your level makes you strong? It doesn't! You're weak. That's all you'll ever be. Keep living if you want. Sooner or later she'll lose interest in you. When she does…" Vernal sneered. "I'll be waiting."

She gave the cage one final kick and turned to those with her.

"Pick him up. Arena again."

Raven watched me with a curious grin as I was brought forth to that familiar, hated pit. I didn't even try to resist as I was tossed back in. There was no point in doing so.

I landed. I sought metal. I forged.

I killed.

I levelled again.

Between the bouts of pain and agony, the brief rush of pleasure felt upon levelling was like a drug. When my body grew that little stronger, it meant the injuries from before hurt a little less. It was incremental and temporary, since I'd just bleed again, but the rush of it, the immediate feeling, was the only good thing I had in Raven's care.

I treasured it. Revelled in it.

Wanted it.

Gods, how I wanted it.

It was the sweetest wine, the most tender meat, the feeling of hot water after a hard day or the soft caress of Blake's body against mine. In a way, I started to transmute those feelings onto it. I'd grown three or four levels in what had to be only a few days. I had little way of keeping track of time, since I slept between every set of bouts, and was never granted the kiss of sunlight or fresh air.

It could have been days, it could have been weeks.

I was only allowed to live for the moment.

"It's a rush, isn't it?" Raven asked. I realised blearily that she was down in the ring with me, kneeling in front of me. "That sensation, the strength, it's unlike anything in this world. Drink, food and sex is transient. Love grows old or familiar. But this? It never grows old. The body always has more strength in it, and the feeling of it, it's heady. Delicious. You feel it, don't you?"

"Monster," I whispered. "You… monster…"

She laughed. "If I'm a monster, I'm one no different to you. I can see the desire in your eyes. You want to grow stronger. You want to kill and grow. Would you even be welcome among your Guild anymore? Would you even trust yourself with them? Or maybe," she whispered, "just maybe, you want to go back. Why would you not? Seven people of a level close to your own." Her lips brushed against my ear. "Think of all the Exp within them."

No.

Revulsion roared through me. I gripped the short sword I'd used to kill her last combatant and lunged for Raven's throat. She was so close that she couldn't possibly dodge except that, somehow, she did, pulling back and dancing away with a wide smile.

I followed, desperate to cut that smile from her face.

"You want me?" she teased. "Do you think you're strong enough? I'm Level one hundred and twelve. You're what, forty-eight now? Nearly fifty? I'm more than double your level. I'm twice as strong as you. Twice as fast. But…"

She caught my wrist and drew me close, close enough to whisper the words to me.

"Think of how many levels you'd gain by killing me."

My eyes widened. My breath caught. Raven let go of me, giving me a chance to slash back for her. She dodged between each strike, laughing the whole time.

"Imagine it, Jaune. That feeling you've come to love, the sensation of gaining a single level. Imagine that with how much you could win from me. How much experience would someone over level one hundred give you? Ten levels? Twenty? Twenty-five? Can you imagine it, Jaune? Can you imagine how twenty-five levels at once might feel?"

I couldn't. I couldn't imagine it.

But I wanted to feel it.

I wanted it.

I wanted her Exp so badly.

With a roar, I dove at her. "Give it to me!"

The world exploded in pain and white light as her fist buried in my stomach. I'd not seen her move, let alone prepared for the blow. I folded over her fist, the sword slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers.

"I don't give anything. If you're not strong enough to take it, you don't deserve it."

Gasping, I slumped to the floor, darkness creeping in from every direction. The last thing I saw was Raven stepping over my body, and I heard her call out to Vernal.

"Bandage, food and water. Let him rest tonight, but no fight tomorrow. Now that he has the lust for it, let's see how he handles going without it."

Hate. I hated her. Hated her more than Vernal, more than Salem, more than anything.

I wanted to kill her.

/-/

"Are you okay?" Lisa asked, trying to feed me. "No, what am I saying. Of course you're not okay." There were tear tracks down her face, but the tears had long since dried up. As horrible as my ordeal had been, I was all too aware what it must be like for her, helpless to even influence her own fate. I could fight. Here, all she could do was hope Raven didn't kill her.

"I'm fine…"

"That's a lie, Jaune, and you know it. You're falling to pieces. There's so much blood that I don't know how you haven't bled out already. It's been days."

"Two?" I guessed.

"Two? Try four. We've been here for four days. At least… judging by the meals." She sniffled but managed a weak smile, prodding some more bread to my cracked lips. I took it and swallowed, trying to ignore how blood from my split lip seasoned it. "Are we ever going to get out of here?" she asked. "I'm not sure I should even bother to hope anymore. One day you'll be too hurt to defend yourself and you'll die. What happens to me, then? I'll probably be thrown in the pit and killed like an animal."

There was nothing I could say to that. It was all true. I wanted to say that someone would find us, rescue us, but that was a hopeless dream at this point. We were trapped on some island, sent here via portal. There were no tracks to follow and Ozpin hadn't known where the Greycloaks were, so he would have no idea where we were right now.

We really were beholden to Raven's whims. Whether she wished us to live or die.

"I'm sorry," Lisa said.

Confused, my brows drew down. "Why?"

"This… It feels like my fault. If I hadn't gotten you wrapped up in New Dawn, this wouldn't have happened. You'd be safe in the Palace. It was because of those people sent to kill me that you were captured."

"I don't think Raven came for you. If she really wanted me, she'd have found me no matter what."

"I guess." Lisa drew her knees up to her chin. "But why does she want you? Just to fight and die? She could have taken literally anyone for that. Why you?"

Because I'd survived Salem. Because the Greycloaks wanted to emulate that. Still, Lisa had a point. If they wanted to understand how I'd made a wish and lived, then killing me in some arena wasn't conductive to that. What was the point of all of this?

I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough, if I survived Raven's tender mercies.

"Get some sleep," I advised, suiting actions to words and rolling over. "If we're going to find a way out, if there is a way out, it'll only come when we're both at full strength."

"When you are," Lisa said sadly. "I'm a Farmer. No matter what, I'll never be anything more than a burden."

I tried to think of a response, but words failed me. There really was nothing to say to that, not in a situation like this.

Lisa smiled. "Goodnight, Jaune."

"Goodnight…"

/-/

"He's not in the city," Yang said, sitting down next to Pyrrha. Across from her, Weiss and Blake sat, the latter fidgeting with her dagger. "Qrow took one of the Whisper Stones and flew across the whole city. Tested it everywhere. He's not in Vale."

"We already knew that," Blake snapped. "You said she took a portal. That wouldn't be to nearby."

"It could have been," Weiss argued, "Crafting a portal on your own is difficult. Considering that she's not even a Mage, it should be impossible. Do you know how she does it, Yang? She's your moth-"

"Don't say that word." Yang's eyes were clenched shut, her breathing even. "That thing is not my mother. She gave birth to me, but that doesn't mean anything. Summer was my mom. She was the only mom I ever had."

Weiss nodded, apologising silently. "Very well. But your father and Qrow were students with her, correct? Do either of them know how?"

"It was always something to do with her Passive. That's all I know. Dad never really talks about her. Qrow does even less. They used to be close, but… things changed."

"When she abandoned you?"

"That was the start, but it was only that." She shook her head. "Either way, Qrow has been trying to get in touch with old contacts, see if they've seen her. It's taking time. Things in the city aren't making it any easier."

"Is the New Dawn still rampaging?" Pyrrha asked.

"Rampaging is a strong term. They're angry, accusing the King of orchestrating the death of their leader. There's no full-scale violence yet, but there have been a few scuffles. Some New Dawn members have been arrested."

"I bet that's calming the rest down."

"Yeah. It's making things worse. If the Greyclaoks' plan was to steal the leader away and let the city fall to pieces, they've done a good job of it. All it's gonna take is one aggressive city guard and the whole place is going to erupt."

"I couldn't care less about the city," Blake hissed. "We need to find Jaune."

"We can't," Yang said. She wished she could say anything else, but there was nothing. When Blake shot her a furious glare, looking for a moment like she might leave Beacon and try to find him on foot, Yang snatched her wrist. "Look, Raven said she'd return in a week and, that if he survived, she'd bring him with. That… it's the best we can hope for."

"You want to trust the leader of the Greycloaks!?"

"Want is a strong word. I'm saying we don't have any other options. Uncle Qrow is going to keep trying to find him, but we've never been able to locate their base, so it's not like we have any leads. Raven wouldn't lie, not like that."

"How can you be sure?" Pyrrha asked.

"Because she doesn't need to lie. Raven believes in strength, and to her, the ability to tell the truth is a part of that. She'll do what she wants, when she wants, and if anyone wants to try and stop her, they'll need to be strong enough to do so."

And Raven probably wanted them to try and stop her. It was all a game to her, a chance to increase her strength and test herself against the strongest people. Yang wouldn't have been surprised if she'd joined the Greycloaks for that very reason.

"The only thing we can do is train. Train for when she returns."

"Three days," Blake snapped. "Three days if she means a week to the day, and you want us to challenge someone who is, by your own words, well over Level one hundred?"

Yang raised an eyebrow. "You going to not challenge her?"

Blake's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say that."

"Thing is, we're going to have to fight her either way. Even if we can only get a single level, it's better than nothing. Uncle Qrow isn't going to be able to find anything, no matter how hard he tries. No amount of wishful thinking is going to fix that."

"Can't the Archmage do something?"

"The time is too limited and the scope too great," Weiss said. "The maps he made for Vacuo only worked because there were two, and he knew the target was in Vacuo. Raven could have taken Jaune anywhere on Remnant. She could even be in near continuous movement."

"All we can do is wait."

The sofa scraped back as Blake stood suddenly, marching out of the room and slamming the door behind her. Weiss made to follow, but Yang waved her down.

"Let her go. She needs to get it out her system."

"Is it safe to let her go off alone?"

"She'll look around Vale or inspect where Raven took him. Maybe fight some Grimm. Work the helplessness off." Yang sighed, wishing she could do the same. "She's a big girl. Stronger than most of us. She'll be okay."

"Hm." Weiss didn't sound convinced. "How is Ruby?" she asked.

"Ugh. About as bad, but somehow blaming herself. You know, the usual. Thinks she should have been there to fight Raven and that everything would have been different if she was."

"It wouldn't have been."

"I know that, you know that. I think Ruby knows it too, but you know how she is."

Wanted to test herself against Raven, beat her. Gods, it was the last thing Yang wanted, especially after what happened to Summer. Her little sister was a Hero, and she knew she couldn't keep her out of danger entirely. Even so, Raven was an enemy she didn't want Ruby to face.

The door to the room opened and Ren stepped through.

"Ren?" Pyrrha asked. "Something wrong?"

"Ozpin wants all students out in the streets to help diminish tensions. We're technically neutral in the issues between the Noble Caste and New Dawn, so he hopes putting us between the two sides instead of the city guards will prevent any unfavourable outcomes."

Yang snorted. "Is that Ozpin's idea or the King's?"

"No telling, but it doesn't make much difference either way."

"And what of those mercenaries we caught? Have they been tried yet?"

"Not yet. Or if they have, no one is talking." Ren's calm expression hardened for a brief moment, before it flowed back into his usual, passive calm. "Or we're not important enough to know one way or another."

"Ozpin would tell us," Pyrrha argued.

"He would, unless he was unable to. He still answers to the King of Vale. I don't think there will be any evidence either way. If the King finds that Nobles were behind the assassins as we all believe, then it will only justify New Dawn's actions. They'll likely wait until after this is over to interrogate them. Or blame it on someone else entirely, likely the Greycloaks."

"Fuck sake," Yang cursed, standing. "This just keeps on getting better and better."


Welp. Raven is torturing Jaune into becoming stronger and New Dawn is imploding without Lisa to temper their aggression. Yes, Jaune has gained some levels, but no, I won't be listing the differences in this chapter. Mainly because there may yet be a few more, and I'd prefer to give the Stat list once he's stopped growing.

Saves me having to do it twice for this chapter and the next.


Next Chapter: 7th January

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur