Here we go. For some reason, the first three lines of this made me think of Mad Max: Fury Road. A rare movie that I love despite having little story-telling or dialogue. It's probably my favourite movie in terms of "Show, don't tell" even if I'm not really a fan of the Mad Max story. I just love the way it's detail lets you figure stuff out the more you look at it, but it never tells you. Also...

"Witness meee!"


Beta: College Fool

Cover Art: Dishwasher1910

Book 9: Chapter 6


"Salem!"

"Salem, take me!"

"Glory to you, Salem!"

The fanatics dangled themselves over the walls in black robes reminiscent of those worn by the Goddess in question, howling their devotion and calling for the gates to be opened and Salem allowed into the city. Heroes on the walls watched with frustration but no longer tried to hold them back, not since they'd become violent and taken their preaching down onto the streets, fuelling further unrest and swelling their numbers.

With the refugees now inside the walls, I'd half expected the difficulties within the city to cease. How wrong I'd been. Suddenly, it was the turn of the residents of Vale to be the assholes. They yelled abuse at, spat on and cussed out the refugees who had taken up abode in numerous small camps scattered around the city – white-tented villages of twenty or thirty families around central firepits and food stocks. There was so little sympathy among Vale's populace for people who had been told to come to Vale. They weren't homeless; they'd simply been forced to leave their homes behind.

As many as could be rehoused had been, with several lodges, taverns and inns filled to the brim and other houses opening their doors to share what room they had. Warehouses and silos had also been turned into temporary accommodation and the city did what it could. The generous were few and far between, however, and I was sure there were people living in houses with more than enough room to house a refugee or two, but whom had refused.

I found myself wondering why the guards didn't just enforce it.

Probably unrest. They can't afford to face Salem on the front and angry homeowners from behind.

That wasn't to say the refugees had suddenly become blameless, either. A spate of thievery and criminal damage had surged the moment they were allowed in the walls. I'd wager my sword it was food that was stolen and not valuables – unless those valuables were being used to buy food – but that didn't stop the fact houses and shops were being broken into.

Others had taken to begging, which was less of a problem but still unnecessary given that they were being provided with enough food to get by on; the same amount as any other resident of Vale. And then there were yet more who had taken to the cults. Because when it felt like the city was punishing you and tearing you away from your home, and you looked out and saw a Grimm army not attacking and killing people, the only obvious thing to do was worship them, right? Right!?

I didn't think so, but apparently I was a heretic.

"They should open the gates and let them go out," Yang said. "If they want to meet their Goddess so badly, let them."

I spared the Brawler a long look. She was beside me and carrying two full barrels of spears, myself doing the same. Even if our Strength could have enabled us to carry more, the width of the barrels didn't, and we could only fit one in each arm.

Where before the Guild had been outside the walls, not with Salem there, Beacon refused to let them leave the city. Even with her word that they'd have a month, the first day after her appearance had been spent in silence, waiting for an attack. It took three days before anyone dared taking her at her word and leaving the gates, and I couldn't blame them.

Salem hadn't attacked yet, but the King ordered a full lockdown on anyone leaving the city. Only Heroes and Soldiers were allowed – and by Heroes, he didn't mean Heroes-in-training like us. It was the adults who went out there, some to form a protective line against Salem while others continued the building and fortification Yang and the others had begun.

"If we let them out, they'd be massacred," I said.

"Yeah. Problem solved."

I knew she didn't mean it. Or that even if she did mean it, she didn't really want it to happen. I found myself curious as to whether Ozpin or the King had considered it, though. The cultists were annoying everyone and there was a very real chance they'd try and sabotage us. On the other hand, seeing Salem annihilate them would show the people once and for all that she couldn't be trusted.

At the expense of hundreds of lives. When did I become so cold hearted?

We came up to a stone barracks attached to the wall, the back of the barracks being a part of the structure of the wall itself. There, a man in armour awaited us, looking up as we approached and raising a hand in a tired but friendly greeting. "More weapons? That's good news. We're nearing capacity again. Put them inside and to the left. I'll have someone move them later."

Yang and I did as asked, grunting happily and stretching our muscles once the barrels were down. The spears rattled inside, coming to a stop leaning against the wall. Inside the barracks, the soldiers looked to be catching a brief rest, though I could see an open door leading out into a training yard, within which a large group of people were training with the spears I'd provided. They weren't good at it and the soldiers were trying to teach them a simple phalanx to hold.

"That the militia?" Yang asked.

"Aye. Want to see?"

Yang looked to me and shrugged. We had time, so I nodded back, and we followed the soldier out into the sunlight once more. The training ground was a fenced off area surrounding an open ground of worn dirt. Several training dummies were set up toward the back, but it was for the most part empty to better let people spar.

Now, there were eighty or ninety members of the Labour Caste being arranged into a line three deep, Soldiers moving between them to tweak shoulders, arms and spears. In the front, standing unflinchingly before so many sharp points, a much older man was talking.

"The phalanx is a formation we don't much make use of nowadays. Too fragile against Mages, who can blast a line aside with a single spell. That won't be a problem for you, though. The Grimm are mindless and will charge right into your spears, and the narrow streets of Vale mean you can form a phalanx five ranks deep with only fifty men in places. Let me be clear; a phalanx is only as strong as its weakest member. If a single one of you falters, the line breaks and the Grimm are in."

"Here," he said, standing in front of the spear tips and spreading his arms, "You are all safe. But here-" He stepped past the tips and walked up to the front rank, "-every single one of you is dead. That's why it's important to form a tightly packed wall, and to make sure those in the back raise their spears over their heads to thrust over the shoulders of others. Once we have it so you lot can form a phalanx within fifteen seconds, we'll start teaching you how to march in phalanx, and how to give ground while maintaining it."

The militia, formed almost entirely of Labour Caste, nodded. Some were grim, others nervous, but all wielded a spear and wore simple leather armour to protect their chests, shoulders and arms. Their legs were mostly unprotected, but I couldn't help but think that if a Grimm got that close, it was over for them anyway.

"They're mostly volunteers at this point," their liaison explained. "The other barracks are doing the same – maybe two thousand in all. It's not enough, but we're hoping it'll inspire others to volunteer."

"Ozpin was under the impression everyone would have to fight."

"Aye, but not everyone is going to be trained."

"What…?"

"Not out of choice. We just don't have the numbers and we're still manning the walls. Best we can do is make training available to as many as we can, but there are some who refuse to believe the walls will fall. Or that are convinced it doesn't matter if they learn or not. They won't be convinced until the time is upon them, at which point we'll hand them a spear and hope for the best. Not much else we can do. Even if we dragged them out and forced them to train, we can't force them to try and it would only impact the training we can give those willing to."

Those in attendance were trying their best, I could see that. Covered in sweat and struggling with the weight of the spears, it being hard to hold them in one position for so long. I couldn't say how successful they'd be against the worst of the Grimm – they'd surely fall to an Ursa or other Ancient Grimm – but they could probably hold their own against the more common varieties that were the size of a human or smaller.

"Actually, would you mind giving them a few words?"

I recoiled. "Me…?"

"Sure. You're an inspiration to them. A Labour Caste who fights alongside Heroes. Right now, they desperately need to believe that's possible. You up for it?"

Yang elbowed me in the side and nodded meaningfully. Under the twin onslaught I could only nod. The Soldier grinned and went off to tell the drillmaster, leaving me standing there waiting in my blacksmith gear.

"It's a good thing to do," Yang said. "They're probably afraid."

"I'm afraid. Public speaking isn't my thing."

"Pussy." Yang punched my arm good naturedly. "You'll be fine. Remember, they're not expecting King Galan here. Just a regular old guy like them. It'll probably be more real for them if you're not some amazing speaker."

"I guess. But what do I say?"

"Dunno. I've always been a Hero. Ask yourself what advice you could have used back when you started."

It was something at least. When the drillmaster finished listening to the other and waved me over, I stepped forward and felt the eyes upon me. I'd expected the drillmaster to be annoyed at the interruption, but if anything, he looked pleased.

"Listen up, militia. We've a treat for you today. I'm sure I don't have to introduce Jaune Arc, Hero of Beacon and Hero of Vale who slew Cinder Fall and ended the Mistral invasion of Vale. The man who rode out with his majesty King Galan and Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon, to entreat with Salem herself not three days past."

That was a lot of titles. I wasn't sure I deserved all that many of them.

"Someone who, despite all those accomplishments, shares a Caste with the lot of you – and a Class with some. I've seen a Blacksmith or two among us today. He's going to be giving you lot a few words of wisdom, so I'd listen closely if I were you. This is someone who has made what you're trying work. Arc," the man nodded. "The floor is yours."

"Thank you." I realised I didn't know his name and left it there. Advice. Advice. In my head, I remembered all those fantastic speeches from Glynda, from Weiss and even Ozpin. Then, I discarded them all and thought back to scared little me entering Beacon. "Every single one of you is at a disadvantage in a fight compared to a normal Soldier or Hero. Some of you will be physically weak, some of you slow. Your Stats are skewed for what you do, and that isn't fighting. It means that even if you share a level with a Hero, they're going to have an advantage at fighting compared to you – and that's before their Skills and Passive is brought into account."

"And that's fine," I said quickly, noting some of them looking less than inspired and in fact rather more nervous than they had on first seeing me. "I won't lie and tell you it's not an advantage for them, but an advantage is all it is. It makes fights easier for them and harder for us, but `harder` isn't impossible. You all have Strength. You all have Dexterity. You can hit stuff and you can make those hits count. Some of you will hit harder, some of you will hit more often, but the thing to remember is that as long as you're hitting your foe, you're killing them."

In an attempt to bring some more inspiring presence back to proceedings, I drew Crocea Mors and stabbed her down into the dirt. Freshly forged and glimmering in the noonday sun, she looked far more dangerous than I did.

"I am proof that we Labour Caste can fight. I am proof that nothing is impossible. I am proof that the only thing which holds us back from being just as strong as Heroes, is the expectation that we can't be. The path here was hard and I spent a lot of it being scared out of my wits, so don't feel bad if you're afraid. There were times when I wanted to curl up into a ball and weep. Other times when I felt so outclassed I wanted to give up and go home. Yet here I am today, still standing."

The advice I'd needed, that would have helped me most, was surprisingly simple. No cheats, no tricks and no training regimes.

"It's possible." I looked over them and felt a proud smile spread across my face. Not only at what I'd achieved, but at what they were now here doing. In a way, following the same Path I had. "I know it's hard, but you should all remember that what you're doing today is possible. You can and will be as strong as Heroes if you keep at it. Don't doubt it, even for a second."

Reassurance. Certainty. The one thing that would have helped me so much back then was proof that my naïve dreams were more than just that; that if I kept at it, if I tried my hardest, I'd become a Hero despite being a Blacksmith.

That wasn't to say I didn't have a few tips and tricks, though.

"The only other thing to remember is to leverage what Skills you have. I'm a Blacksmith, so I made good arms and armour for myself. If you're a Tailor, make armour. Or nets. If you're a Carpenter, try and make traps and barricades. If you're an Herbalist, see if you can make medicine or even poison for the Grimm. Soldiers and Heroes can make stuff blow up and cut through enemies in one blow, but it's pretty rare they can create stuff. Try and think how you can use your Skills to your advantage." I bowed and stepped back. "That's all I have."

The Labour Caste clapped and cheered for me. I wasn't sure how much of it was polite more than inspired, but if I'd managed to lessen the doubts of even a few, I thought it would be worthwhile. And really, I found it hard to understand why they'd look up to me anyway. I knew I was proof of concept, but I certainly didn't cut a heroic figure, or feel any different from Yang, Ruby or Weiss.

As I walked back to her, Yang gave me a thumbs up that made me feel a little better. At least I'd done a good enough job to earn that.

"You're all going to die!" a voice yelled. A man was leaning on the fence, face feverish and spittle flying from his mouth as he continued, "None can stop her ascension! By the new moon, she comes. Our only salvation is to throw down our arms and give ourselves to her mercy."

"You're killing us by fighting," a hysterical woman screamed. "We can surrender and be saved. Why are you fighting? Why don't you care about our lives and souls!?"

The drillmaster growled to an aide, "Remove them."

Two Soldiers rushed over to usher the people away. They screamed and spat and lashed out to no avail. The woman was dragged away with an arm around her stomach, the guard looking on ahead steadfastly as she kicked and slapped at him. "We won't be silenced!" she howled. "The end times are upon us and you'll kill us all! Repent! Repent and beg Her forgiveness!"

Looking back, the trainees were as nervous as they had been before my speech.

"Remind me again why we can't throw those fuckers outside the walls?" Yang asked. "I keep forgetting the reason."

"Yeah. Me too…"

/-/

Blake and Weiss were at my forge when I returned. My initial worry as to why didn't exactly fade when Blake drew a long knife and held it out toward me. When she twirled it so that she was holding the blade and the handle was proffered, I calmed down a little, but it still didn't explain anything.

"Thank you?"

"It's not a gift." Blake's lips curled up. "Idiot."

"It's a knife, then." I inspected it. "It's a nice knife. I'm missing something, aren't I?"

"If the two of you could stop flirting for even a second," Weiss grumbled. "You offered me an Ironwood sword, remember? And I told you I'd be testing Blake's weapons to see what length counts as a sword for the purpose of my Passive."

"Oh." I hadn't forgotten per se; more that holding a knife to me didn't really explain it. "So this one is good enough? Your magic works through this?"

"Yes. It's a rather long knife."

"I use it for hacking large limbs," Blake said.

Grimm, she meant. The blade of the knife was a good fourteen inches, which made it about half the length of an arming sword. That was a lot longer than the knives the Assassin usually used, which ranged from four to eight inches in most cases. I could see why this might count as a sword. It was heavy and oddly weighted toward the end, perfect for big hacking slashes to tear out chunks of flesh. If anything, the balance reminded me of an axe.

"I can make something like this. Do you want a similar style, or should I try and make it a rapier?"

"A rapier if you could," Weiss replied with a polite bow of her head. "I'm not sure I want something this hefty bouncing around on my hip. It's only to cast spells through."

"An athame?" Blake offered.

"I suppose so, but those are daggers last I checked." Weiss shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose I want the sword version of an athame."

"I can do that." I placed the weapon from Blake down on the side. I only needed it for an idea of length – everything else I would be making from scratch. "But I need a favour from the two of you. And no matter how I phrase it, it's going to sound weird."

Blake and Weiss looked to one another and then back to me. Weiss' eyes narrowed.

"My clothes remain on."

"W-What!? What do you think I'm about to ask!?"

"I have no idea. I'm simply setting a boundary."

Blake covered her mouth and laughed.

"I'm not…" I groaned, not even sure if Weiss was teasing me or not. "It's nothing to do with getting undressed. It's actually… Look, I'm just going to come out and say it and hope you don't think I've gone insane."

Weiss raised an eyebrow.

"I need you to watch me forge this and make sure a sentient hunk of metal doesn't try to eat, molest or otherwise strangle me to death."

Weiss stared.

Blake stared.

"What?" Weiss asked.

I sighed. "I told you it would sound weird…"

"Eat you?" Blake asked. "Molest you…?" Her eyes roamed over the forge and I had to wonder if she was asking herself what weird things I got up to when she wasn't around. At least she didn't look excited. That would have been the end of me.

"I think we need a little more context," Weiss said.

Yeah, that was fair. I took them to the forge and showed them the bench with the Ironwood on it. It hadn't grown much in the last three days but yet again it had leaned toward where I was forging from, its branches aiming themselves in that direction as though ready to ensnare. I'd moved them far away from me while I worked, though. A good twenty metres away.

Now, I'd be working with it in my hands, and I couldn't help but feel that was going to go wrong.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Weiss said. "I mean, I'm technically fine with Myrtenaster…"

"No, I want to work with Ironwood." It was `want` in the same way someone `wanted` to lose exercise and lose weight. I wanted the results but was afraid of the work involved. "Ironwood, the Archmage I mean, seems to think it could be good for the defence of the city if I can use it. I agree, especially if it's as strong as people say. I just need someone to keep an eye on me and intervene if things go bad."

"And bad is potentially incredibly dangerous?"

"Maybe. I don't know." The Ironwood hadn't actually tried to kill me; it had just wound around me. For all I knew, it was lonely and wanted a hug. The problem was that it could still hurt me accidentally, or just lock me in place.

"What do we do?" Blake asked.

"Watch from close by and stop me if it looks dangerous. I should be fine since it's in my hands, but if I space out or get too focused then I might miss something. I guess Weiss could hurl ice at the forge if it gets bad. Worst comes to worst; I'll need you to help pry metal branches off me. Even if the material is strong, if it's thin then it will bend easily."

"I can count the ways I don't like this," Weiss mumbled, "But fine. If it's for more than just a weapon for me, I'll accept. And I suppose I'm best for the job with my spells."

"Thanks."

I offered them some stools to sit on and collected the piece of Ironwood that had remained the most inert. It was a sliver of bark about two feet by one foot, enough for a rapier for sure. Blake and Weiss pulled their stools up so they were on my left and right, ready to intervene if they needed to. Blake looked curiously excited and I realised she'd never really watched me forge before. I hoped it wouldn't be too boring and that immediately had me feeling self-conscious.

"I'll start the heating process now."

"You don't have to narrate what you're doing," Weiss said.

"Right. Sorry."

I touched my hand to the coals and set them alight. The heat from them wasn't entirely necessary for the process since I could provide it with my hands, but there were times when I liked to keep an even temperature and had to put the billet down to pick up another tool. Without the coals, I'd be letting it cool prematurely and that was bad for its stability.

Here goes nothing, I thought, eyes flashing blue as I held the ironwood in both hands and Stoked the Forge.

The metal rippled.

That was the best way to describe it. As though the surface had turned to liquid for a brief moment, except that it remained solid between my hands. The surface rippled and wriggled as though it were alive, as though it were excited.

I held it a little further out, expecting branches to explode forth.

They didn't. The Ironwood was for once well-behaved.

Rather than the explosion of emotions and sensations from it, I received only one thing – satisfaction. Or maybe relief. A calm born of being content and wanting nothing more. As the porous nature of the metal brought my heat through every bit of it, the Ironwood burned hot and turned orange-red in my hands, yet never once tried to reach out for me.

"Is that it?" Weiss asked. "After all that warning, I expected something more…"

Me too. Why is it acting like this? It's not doing anything. Is it a defective piece?

I didn't think so. I could still feel the humming within it, and the heat from my hands was being drawn through it so easily – like water running down the most perfect canal without splashing on the banks. I felt like I could use less heat to achieve the results I wanted because none of it was wasted in any way. It felt so efficient, so easy.

Eager. It felt eager, like the Ironwood was helping me.

"Uh-oh." Blake said.

My shoulders tensed. I looked down but the Ironwood in my hands was still on its best behaviour. A chair beside me scraped back and Weiss suddenly cursed, pushing to her feet. "What is it?" I asked, not wanting to take my eyes off my work.

"Someone's jealous," Blake said, amusement tinged with disbelief.

Unable to help myself, I turned to look. The other piece of Ironwood still on the bench was trying to reach me again. I could see the branches growing in real time. Not fast by any means but creeping along the floor like a metallic snake.

"That's insane," Weiss whispered. "I've never seen anything like it." She dodged out the way of the tendril and relaxed when it made no move for her, instead continuing toward its target. "Blake, help me grab the table. I don't feel it's safe to touch the Ironwood in this state."

"On it."

Blake and Weiss moved around to grip the table legs on the other side of it and pull. The heavy wooden surface scraped along the gravel and sand floor, taking the Ironwood with it. I had the strangest sense of its sorrow as it was moved away, and once it was outside the forge, the branch stopped growing entirely. It no longer moved and had become an empty piece of metal once more.

"I see what you mean about molestation," Blake said as she came back. "That was a little creepy."

"Creepy? It was magical!" Weiss said.

"Creepy magical."

"Okay, I'll allow that, but it was still incredible. It was moving on its own, moving toward a target. The only one who can make it do anything is the Archmage; to see Jaune moving it is… I won't say it's impossible because there it is. But it's unheard of. It's improbable. Only Mages can interact with it, or so I've heard."

"Maybe Jaune is a Mage."

"I'm not," I said. "I'm a Blacksmith. And a Swordmaster."

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you literally have a Skill that causes intense heat to come to your hands at will?" Blake nodded down at them, holding the peaceful piece of Ironwood still. "And you have another that lets you – without using tools – magically engrave symbols and shapes into metal. Not to mention your Runes, which have to be magic in origin."

My mouth opened, ready to protest.

The arguments died on my tongue.

Was what I did magic? I wanted to say no, and some parts of it definitely weren't. Hitting a chunk of metal with a hammer wasn't magic, but then neither was picking up a burning torch and throwing it at someone. Summoning and throwing fire was magic, however, and I could set fire to things just by touching them.

"I have magic…?"

"Maybe…" Weiss was looking at me strangely. "Honestly, I'm not sure why I never considered it. Arrogance? Class bias? Your `Stoke the Forge` skill is essentially a touch-based fire magic spell. Your `Engraving` Skill is something else. Metal-based magic? Metallurgycraft?"

"Ferromancy?" Blake teased.

"It may actually be. Although by that definition, there could be hundreds of Labour Classes with skills based in magic. Imagine if Velvet could control her threads for instance and make them ensnare people. Wouldn't that be magic? If a Chef could make water boil with their mind, isn't that magic? Anything that removes an integral part of physics is, in theory, magic." Weiss looked shocked by her revelation. "I can't believe no one has ever considered this."

"Maybe they have," I said, surprised myself but not all too impressed. "Maybe it just wasn't important. It's not like you can have the Atlas Academy packed full of Blacksmiths, Chefs and Farmers, is it? Even if their Skills border on magic."

"And no Hero Caste members want to admit the Labour Caste might be close to them," Blake added. "It could be the information was quashed so as to not give ideas. Boil water with your mind or not; it's still not going to make you all that useful in a fight. You can only scald so many Grimm before they turn you into a red mist."

"Perhaps," Weiss allowed.

"Does it change anything?" I asked.

"Yes! It means you may well be able to use Ironwood in some way. I mean, that seems obvious now, but you could become as proficient with it as the Archmage himself."

"But my Swordmaster Class is a melee Class."

"Is it?" Blake asked. "Last I checked, your Skills didn't work like Adam's, even if you share the same names for them. His cut through people and Grimm. Yours cut through weapons and armour." She clicked her fingers. "Ferromancy. You're a Mage, Jaune. A very specific and targeted Mage who can disarm an army with a wave of a sword."

That… Was that accurate? Could a Class be split in two directions at once? Path was the obvious answer and explained how some Warriors could be pure tanks, while others were damage dealers. The same applied to Mages, who could specialise in all sorts of different things. In theory, your Path dictated what you became, and you chose your Path through the actions you took in life.

Adam's Path as a Swordmaster saw him becoming a warrior versatile against Grimm and people. My Path had led be to become, if Blake was right, a Mage of some kind? A Mage who specialised in swords and armour? It would explain why my Skills were so stupid. They weren't the problem; I'd just been using them wrong. Instead of trying to cut people down, I should have been disarming them.

I wasn't a Swordmaster in terms of being a master of the sword. I was a Swordmaster in terms of being a `master` of swords. Someone who could make and break them at will; who could craft, enhance and manipulate them with spells poorly disguised as melee attacks. In a way, it was so obvious. I'd gained my Swordmaster Class against Cinder when I forged the sword stuck through my chest, gaining levels in the process.

My Path couldn't have dictated that as something combat related. It was crafting, pure and simple. I was a Blacksmith before I was a Swordmaster, and even as a Swordmaster my Blacksmithing was the Path I'd chosen. Every Skill I had would have been factored around that path. If I didn't have any Skills as Blacksmith to help me in melee, I wouldn't have any as a Swordmaster.

"It doesn't help," I realised. Even as my heart soared, it fell. "If this was against Mistral, I'd be the most useful person ever, but we're against the Grimm. They don't use weapons or armour. I'm the Archmage of Uselessness."

Blake and Weiss couldn't deny it. Not everyone could be uniquely suited to the task ahead, I knew, but it felt like a blow to realise the final understanding of what my second Class was, would be so empty. Finally, I knew what it meant for me to be a Swordmaster. And it didn't help.

"Learn to use Ironwood and it won't be useless," Weiss said. "And look – that's a good start."

I followed her pointing finger and gasped. Blake did as well, placing a hand on my shoulder and leaning over for a closer look. The Ironwood in my hands had formed the shape of a rapier, the length and build almost perfect despite my lack of attention or even my hands moulding it. Had it grown into that shape? How? It didn't look natural. Instead of the branches I'd seen on the other, this was a sword with no branchlike or leaf growths on it. The tang was a little longer than necessary, but I could fit a hilt around it. It had even grown a handguard, and that was the only branchlike thing there was, a filigree guard fit for a fencer.

"How?" I asked out loud. "I didn't mould it. I wasn't even paying attention."

"Magic."

"That doesn't help in any way, Blake!"

"Intent-based magic," Weiss said, explaining it better, "You may have pushed your intent and shape into the Ironwood. That probably wouldn't work on any other metal, but because Ironwood is somewhat alive and sensitive to magic, it may have been able to feel that. This is just a theory of course, but we have proof Ironwood can move on its own when it comes to you." She jerked a thumb toward the table outside. "So why is it such a surprise that it could fold and forge itself if you asked it to?"

I wasn't sure. Because it was new? Because it invalidated me? Because I was clinging to the idea that I wasn't a Mage? I still wasn't one, or rather I hadn't changed. We'd just changed the definition of a Mage-type Class. Or Mage-type Skills.

"Can I hold it?" Weiss asked.

I wasn't sure. The Ironwood was rapidly cooling, cooling as fast as it heated up under my Skill. Warming it a little, I reached inside and felt for the same torrential downpour of thoughts and emotions I'd felt when I touched the Ironwood within Penny. I was prepared for an onslaught.

All I received was a single concept.

Purpose.

The Ironwood had purpose. And that was enough. It longed for nothing more.

"It's safe," I said, handing it over. "I think it has a Rune of Intelligence. I think that Rune is inside it, printed onto the pores cut through the whole thing. It's hard to explain."

"I can tell." Weiss flourished it. The blade whistled through the air beautifully, almost as though those same pores let wind through and played a sweet melody. "It's light," she said. "Incredibly light. I feel as though it would break if I stabbed a Grimm, yet something tells me it wouldn't. This is an amazing weapon." Her grip faltered around the rough tang. "Or it will be with a hilt."

"I'll attach one. Try to cast a spell through it."

Weiss nodded and stepped outside the forge. Blake and I followed and waited a respectable distance away. Bringing the rapier up before her, still a little awkward due to her poor grip, Weiss whispered something and stabbed it forward.

A veritable gale of ice and wind poured forth from the tip of the blade, swirling over grass and freezing it solid, chilling the air to the point that even I shivered. The ice continued to pour from her sword until, with a look of absolute amazement, Weiss cut it to the side, breaking the spell. The ice in the air faded and tinkled down to the grass, coating it in a layer of permafrost.

"It's perfect," she breathed, cradling it to her chest. "I've never felt the magic flow so freely. I've never felt so powerful. Iron, steel, everything else feels like I'm forcing the magic through. There's a reason Mages use staves and wands made of living material. It's so much easier."

The words reminded me uncomfortably of my own thoughts using Stoke the Forge on the Ironwood. It had been easier. So much so.

"I'd be interested in seeing if something similar happens with a knife," Blake said.

"Yes!" Weiss rounded on us with eyes wide open. "We must test it! Blake's shadow abilities, Ruby's waves of energy, Yang's fire punches and even Pyrrha's techniques. All of those could be enhanced."

"And all of those could break if the Archmage dies," I reminded her.

Weiss' excitement was doused. "Y-Yes, that's the fear, isn't it? But we should at least test it. We can keep spare weapons on our person. Only Ruby has a weapon heavy enough to struggle when wielding two, and she's fast enough to escape any combat if her first breaks."

"As long as people are okay with carrying two," I said. It would be a condition to me making them weapons from Ironwood. I couldn't stand the idea of it breaking and getting them killed if a single man fell. "Fine. I'll do it."

Blake touched my arm. "Do you feel any stronger? You told me you can gain Exp the more exotic the material you forge with. How much did you gain?"

How much? I hadn't thought to check. Too much shock over the weapon literally forging itself in my hands; too much euphoria over seeing Weiss praise it so. I'd been distracted enough to completely miss the gain. Closing my eyes, I looked into myself.

My eyes snapped open and a gasp escaped me.

"I've gained two levels!"


Just in case people are fearing, no, this isn't a "third Class" or "Class change" for Jaune. He is the same he's always been with the same Stats and Skills. They're just starting to figure out the nuances of his Skills and the `Path` he has chosen.

And really, I think people realised Jaune's `Stoke the Forge` skill was basically a fire spell from the first moment it was introduced. That was why Jaune faced Adam, same Class, and had the same Skills but different effects from them.

Adam is a Swordmaster, aka master of using swords.

Jaune is a Swordmaster, aka master of making swords.


Next Chapter: 29th July

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