Arc - Day 5: I never figured myself to be the trekking type, I guess there's no time like the present to discover something new about yourself. The outposts on Cascadia's edges keep growing fewer and farther between, and so do the Militia patrols. Guess I'll be running into Grimm sooner than I thought. One of the militiamen I met at the last outpost I was at said the outpost was only 78 miles from Cascadia, which means I'm not crossing nearly enough distance per day. It doesn't help he mentioned the road would only be getting worse from here on out till the next village. Here's hoping I can finally find some ammunition for the big damn gun I've got strapped to my back.
Jaune slid the small journal back into his bag, pushing himself up from the tree he'd been resting on. Sliding Crocea Mors from its sheath and gliding flat of the blade in his hand, he let the weight of the sword fall to his hip and brought the point towards the ground before managing a flourish of the antique on his right side. It was clumsy and limp wristed, nonetheless, the blond broke out into a grin as he twisted the length of the blade to his front, his memory trying to emulate the basic swordplay videos from the CCTnet.
Jaune positioned himself into a fighting stance and cleaved through the early morning air from his shoulder to his hip, only to push the advance against his imaginary opponent with a heavy-handed stab that tripped up his footwork. A silent curse left his lips as he reset; expanding his shield and swinging low to high from his left, following through and lunging out with Crocea, chambering the unseen attacker before launching his shield forward for a blunt-edged finisher.
More satisfied with the second bout, Jaune let himself relax; blue eyes turning once again towards the path ahead. Pulling his pack and rifle from the ground he eased into the familiar gait, the dirt path forgiving enough to be somewhat level. Slinging the automatic rifle from his shoulder as he strode the blond brought the stock to his shoulder, his left planted firmly on the wooden forearm as his right adjusted the rear leaf sights. Brothers if the damn thing wasn't heavy, his Great Great Grandpa must have truly loved this thing considering he hauled the bastard through the entirety of the Great War.
Drawing his face away from the sights he smiled with an odd satisfaction it was heavy and longer than his damn sword, and yet it felt right. Legacy was par the course for the Arc name so bearing the same weapons wielded by his ancestors felt like second nature. Jaune slid the antique back over his shoulder and picked up his speed down the road, instead focusing on channeling his aura to his legs, feeling his calves burn in protest to the newer pace. Left with but his thoughts Jaune tilted his head back to gaze up through the leaves to the Remnant skies, it was surprisingly calming. He could picture the City of Vale, the tower of Beacon standing triumphantly over the skyline; the faces of people of all walks of life from every Kingdom. The place Remnant went to make something of themselves. Initiation was somewhere close to a month or so away so he'd have time to iron out the faults in his combat technique, not to mention a partner to help him along the way.
Who knows, maybe he'd end up paired with a nice Mistrali or Atleasian girl and settle down after graduation.
Jaune couldn't help but laugh at the concept, following in his dad's footsteps to the dot.
The younger Arc barely even registered the impact, one second he was walking forward, the next moment it was as if the tree line had been swung skyward. A ripping feeling of agony shot through his right arm as he was flung to his left whirling towards as he felt himself impact a tree,
Pain.
Worse than the hammer, considerably worse. His heart slammed in his chest as he tore himself to his feet, vision focusing on the mass of black and white hurtling towards him on all fours with a nauseating howl. Jaune's mind went blank, his feet planted in the dirt, frozen in fear.
Survive.
He had to move, he had to fight. Willing himself to act, Jaune's hand went to his sheath, the shield extending seconds short as its maw clamped down. Crocea now firmly lodged into the mouth of the Grimm gave Jaune a precious few seconds to steady himself. Empty red eyes met him as the Grimm struggled to bite into the blond's arm. "Gotcha you big ugly sonnuva bi-" His insult was cut short as the Beowolf's paw slammed down into his chestplate and sliced its claws through the Arc's Aura.
A sharp searing pain stabbed up from his chest as he felt the plate metal warp into the strike, the claws of the Beowolf skewering through the fabric of his hoodie. Its claws slashed at his torso, the pain forcing a scream from the younger man as the beast tried desperately to disembowel him, Jaune swung his arm recklessly hacking Crocea Mors into its shoulder only for the blade to imbed itself halfway through.
The Grimm howled and battered him back out onto the road, tearing his grip on Crocea's shield before impacting the ground and tumbling several yards. Jaune's lungs filled up with dirt, his vision still rolling as he crumpled into the dirt before desperately scrambling to his feet. Beowolf hobbled toward the blond, hawking his family shield from its maw into the brush behind it, the Grimm lunging forward and snapping at the backpedaling Arc.
Going for his sword or shield directly would only result in him losing an arm or worse, Jaune pulled the rifle from his back, He knew it was empty, it didn't matter. Arc wouldn't stop himself from trying. Securing the stock into the crook of his shoulder and charging the bolt back, Arc purposelessly squeezed the trigger. An expected empty click replied.
He looked in desperation through the ejection port for non-existent ammunition. His eyes flashed from the rifle to the Grimm wolf, languishing over the weight of the useless rifle in his hands. Weight... An idea spurred into Jaune's mind, the blond knowing that somewhere a gun enthusiast would be filled with an immense fascination with kicking his head in.
Jaune brought a firm grip down onto the length of the gun's barrel and forearm, lifting the heavy rifle stock skyward before driving himself forward and bringing it down onto the bone mask. The impact slammed the Beowolf's skull into the dirt, the blond delivering a second, third, and fourth blow into the bone plating causing it to splinter down to the wolf's maw. The Grimm desperately tried to regain its equilibrium only to receive a fifth and sixth pummeling from the blond. The Grimm relented, dropping to the ground unable to bring itself to its feet.
Ripping Crocea from the half-severed shoulder of the Beowolf, Jaune yanked the arming sword towards the earth and rammed it through the nearly shattered bone mask of the Grimm; burying the ancestral blade into its skull and out its maw, the creature finally slumping down dead before him.
Jaune groaned in pain, Crocea Mors dropped to the dirt as his hand shot to his gut, a wave of pain washing over the blond. Arc lifted his hand to his eyes, crimson coating his fingers and palm; he could feel the bile rise to his throat as he stared down towards his midsection. His shredded hoodie was more than enough for him to get the whole picture, not to mention the wetness pooling around his right hip. Forcing himself to focus, he sensed the slush of his aura begin to flow towards his right side, the pain in his abdomen excruciatingly shot through him as Jaune forced himself to his feet. Gripping an already torn section from his left hoodie sleeve, Arc ripped the fabric and wadded it to a ball before sliding it under the distorted metal of his chestplate, grimacing as the jolt of pain threatened to force the blonde out for the count.
Shuffling over he grabbed his shield from the tree it had embedded itself into and turned back onto the main road, the smarting grin on his face replaced with a look of exhaustion. He couldn't stop now to rest, no Grimm traveled alone; he'd recalled that much. Wincing as he forced himself to hasten his pace Jaune, at first muted with disbelief at his own mortality, much less his survival, couldn't help but feel a tinge of pride. After all, he'd just killed his first Grimm.
It seemed like an eternity since he'd resumed walking, the once molten-hot pain searing through his abdomen had lessened with his aura working its way through the torn muscle of his obliques and abdominal. With it, however, the adrenaline once pumping through his bloodstream faded; exhaustion racking his body as he drove one foot in front of the other. The seasons had started to shift from Summer to Fall well before he'd left Cascadia, but he'd barely noticed till now; the cool air whipped his face as he moved towards the now growing elevation but with it the faint smell of smoke.
He could only hope it was the village the militiaman had mentioned, and not the smoldering remains of it. Arc brought his attention from the road to the treeline, daylight was fading faster than he'd anticipated. Forcing more rapid footfalls, he could feel the incline of the road grow as the sunlight started to fade from the treeline. If he stayed out here much longer it would be a death sentence, Jaune pushed through the screaming of his calves and quads, the once chill air bit frigidly at him as he forced himself to run.
Breaking into a sprint up the now vertically growing road, Arc forced his own newly bred foreboding to the back of his head. Thinking like that would quite literally get him killed. His gait was getting worse with the fresh bout of fatigue, but the smell of smoke had grown, as had a new dim glow on the trees farthest from him.
Minutes felt like hours, Jaune finally cresting the apex of the hill, his spirit rising at the sight of heavy stone walls, manned towers, and the telltale glow of civilization. The ache in his legs was void, the muted pain in his midsection vanished, and his worry had disappeared. Jaune raced down the hill, the yellowish glow of the dust-powered sentry lights swiveling to send a harsh glare across his vision.
He could hear the ringing of alarm bells from the perimeter as smaller lights flickered to life across the boundary of the barricade. He slowed his pace roughly 30 yards from the wall, a small detachment of town guards poured from the immense metal gate and formed a perimeter around the blond. The guards had a mismatch of arms, five of them were wielding some kind of melee weapon; swords, axes, pikes, and so on.
The remaining two stayed back, each leveling a firearm towards his center mass. One man stepped forward from behind the guards, a deer Faunus probably half a foot shorter than him and maybe half his muscle weight. "Brothers, you look like shit mate. What Grimm pool did you haul yourself out of?" The Faunus' accent was thick with Northwestern Valean, not to mention the overlying condescending tone.
Jaune let out a half-hearted laugh, letting himself relax at the return to normalcy. "Killed a Beowolf probably 20 miles back, been hauling myself to civilization since; no clue how old it was but it tore up my stomach." His voice was hoarse and his lungs burned from exhaustion, Jaune was surprised he could even stand at this point.
"First notch on the 'ol belt yeah? One way or another we all remember our first, ain't that right lads?" The deer questioned the group with a response of grunts and smirks. "Normally, I'd grill you for traveling information, make sure you aren't some lowlife bandit trying to pull a fast one on us, but judging by that smarting wound of yours and the amount of your own blood in your jeans I'd say you'd rather jump to formalities."
The Faunus put his hand out, "William."
Jaune took it as firm as he could, shaking and giving his best smile, "Jaune, Jaune Arc."
William looked him in the eyes as if searching for a tell that he'd been lying. When none was found the deer grinned wildly, "Well I'll be a Belladonna's Uncle, looks like some old blood from Cascadia has made its way west. Welcome to Harlaw" He clapped Arc on the back, "Pack it in boys and get back to your posts. I'm gonna get this chap set up with a hot and cot."
Following the apparent leader of the guard through the stone walls, Jaune watched as the thick doors were slowly pulled back shut behind him. In an instant, his fatigue seemed to double; a heavy yawn solidifying the fact. William nodded in understanding, pointing Jaune towards a well-lit inn. "Get yourself some rest there, I can tell your aura is fixing up that gut but get the doc to give you a once over in the morning. You've got lien on you right?"
Jaune nodded and turned to the door, waving to the faunus before entering. Within minutes, Jaune had himself a room and bed, the blond setting his sword and sheath on the nightstand; unclasping his armor and letting it fall to the wooden floor. Jaune looked at the clean, crisp white bedsheets and sighed to himself. Instantly, the blonde plunked wearily on top of the bed and let sleep take him.
The doctor's visit was brisk. The cane-wielding scruffy physician had tugged some gauze and dressing around the blond's wound, thrown a bottle of painkillers at him then pushed him out the door; though not before calling him an idiot. The doctor explained in between the popping of his own pain pills that Aura forces itself to focus on healing once a threshold of damage to the body has been sustained. Luckily for him, Jaune's reserves of aura had allowed his body to expedite the healing process immensely, but the cost would be a considerable amount of time letting the damn thing recharge. Knowing he was in good health was one thing but the shower after was like a gift from a goddess. Free of the layer of grime and reek, Jaune stepped out to a clouded bathroom and took a towel to his hair and face, pulling it away to stare back at the wrappings around his torso. Even with a full night's sleep, his aura had been in overdrive for what had felt like a day and a half, he locked eyes with himself in the mirror. The good mood melted away as he finally processed the last thirty-some hours, the pronounced sense of fear flushing through him.
His facade of hope threatened to collapse. Here he was, no training or skills worth a damn; trying to chase a fleeting dream.
The only reason he was still standing was luck, luck that he'd been attacked by a Lone Grimm, luck that his torso had only been slashed so deep. Jaune exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and grabbed his clothes. Putting on his half shredded Pumpkin Pete hoodie and bloodstained jeans his blue eyes locked onto the dried pool. The pit in his gut was replaced by one of half-hearted determination, the blond's hand dropped to his bandages as his gaze turned to a soft glare.
He'd survived, he'll do it again. Like Dad had. Like Mom had. Pale yellow flared around him for a moment before crackling, his soul's bodily safeguard coming back online. It was like an old friend coming back from a long trip, a feeling Jaune welcomed wholeheartedly.
Picking up his warped chestplate and slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Jaune made his way from room to road, gaze falling to a weapons shop a few blocks down the road. Entering the shop, Jaune let a grin fill his face, the back wall was adorned with a manner of flags: Valean, Atleasian, Vacuan, Mistrali, and one flag with a white-on-red cross pattern; in front of them were a heavy drill press and metalworking table. To his left rose a wall of rifles, shotguns, bolt-actions, subguns, and a few artisan-crafted break actions; and to his right were a dozen or so racks of armor and a closed-off fire dust metal forge. A small music system atop the drill press played post-great war songs softly.
Jaune took a few steps forward before a distinctly Atleasian voice called out to him, "Customer or simply admiring?" Arc's focus jumped to the towering man behind the left counter in surprise.
"Customer, I need some repairs and ammunition, .30 caliber, and extra magazines if you have them." The shorter blond had made his way over to the counter, shaking the hand of the taller blond. "Jaune, Jaune Arc."
The taller blond laughed, "I'd recognize the Arc surname anywhere, Farfar talked about how he as a young boy watched the Valean land in my family's province of Mantle, lead by none other than General Julius Arc, Danskhjem was the invasion point for the Valean Expeditionary Forces." The older man sighed fondly, "Mikkel" The towering man extended his hand out, to which Jaune shook.
Arc unslung the heavy rifle from his back and moved to set it on the counter "I'm looking for ammunition for this rifle, not sure what the exact caliber is but-"
Jaune was cut off as Mikkel's eyes shot open as he carefully took the rifle from the younger blond, "Brownfield Automatic Rifle, .30-06 caliber, not as customizable or as high capacity of the newer FN Heinstal machine guns... but this is their grandfather. Condition is outstanding for its age, stock is wobbling as if the bolt was knocked out of place." Mikkel grinned and thumped his chest, a smile forming under the man's mustache "This is the rifle that liberated my people from the grip of the King of Mantle. Appropriate than an Arc be the one to wield it."
Jaune mirrored the Atleasian with newfound pride from his comment. The older blond dipped behind his counter before producing several containers of .30-06 ammunition, pointing to each as he spoke. "M72 Match, M2 Ball, M14A1 APFD, and M2 AP." Jaune's interest peaked as he looked at the black-tipped M2 AP rounds, the Atleasian nodding with approval "165.7 grain, flies at 2,715 feet per second, Armor Piercing. Will drop everything from Boarbatusk to Deathstalkers in 2-4 rounds depending on shot placement and number of hits on target." Mikkel slid a second container forward, lifting a simple brass round from the wooden case, "Ball. For soft targets and sparsely armored targets like Beowolf, Nevermore, and Bandits. 150 grain, shoots around 2,740 feet per second. Lead core is better for frangibility. Depending on Grimm, 3-6 shots to kill. Depending on the human aura, could be upwards of 8-10."
Jaune nodded with some perplexity at the new vocabulary, "Why the ball ammunition over the armor piercing for bandits?" Mikkel could only sigh at the Arc's inexperience, "You want to kill them outright? Black-tip will do so. Ball gives them a chance to surrender, albeit a slim one." The towering man paused, looking at the younger man "Stick to black tips. Worrying about casualties should not be on the mind of a man traveling alone in the wilds. Hesitate and the bandits will leave you dead on the road"
Arc held his breath for a moment, thinking over the options before acquiescing to Mikkel's wisdom. Setting aside the 500-round box of M2 AP, the older blond disappeared behind his counter for a second time before returning with a pair of light brown fighting gloves, tossing them into the younger man's hands. Jaune slipped on the gloves, flexing his fist and admiring the leather hard knuckle protection. Looking back up, Jaune realized the Atleasian had moved over to the right side of the shop scrutinizing a darker brown chest rig before pulling it from the stand and throwing it to the shorter Valean. "Pattern 83. Put it on, you'll need it."
After what had felt like several hours, Jaune looked himself over in the mirror of the shop. The nutria brown chest rig laid flat in contrast to the now repaired and reinforced bone white armor, its pouches shined with a light bronze from the freshly pressed metal magazines filled to the brim with black tip rounds. He smiled fondly at his own image, gloved hands firmly gripped the Brownfield rifle. "What's the total come out to?" Jaune looked back to the older man, bracing himself for likely hefty expenditure.
"For anyone else two thousand lien-" Mikkel paused as he looked firmly at the Arc successor's face grow gaunt, "But for you, as debt to my Farfar; I will charge you only for the chest rig and ammunition. The total is thirteen hundred." The Valean nodded to the Atleasian, retrieving the wallet from his pack. With a wince Jaune turned around, flashing slightly over half of what was due.
"I've got eight thousand on me, once I reach Beacon Academy I can get an airship delivery with the remaining. Swear on my name as an Arc"
The words elicited a heavy groan from Mikkel as the man pinched the bridge of his nose, "I give you a nearly forty percent discount on the price and you return my offer with little over half of what you owe me? I think I'll just send the services rendered charge to Cascadia." Mikkel shook his head in moderate disbelief, a small smile on his face "Swear on your name? Better be, my family holds grudges like we do debts."
The past two days had seemed to blend together as Jaune's aura patched his abdomen back together, all the blond had done since a spending spree at Mikkel's shop was trained with the guardsmen of Harlaw; wake up, train, shower, train, eat, train, shower, and crash into his bed. Two days of getting his skull rocked by guardsmen. His form hadn't improved much, but his understanding of the fights had.
'Quite the tactical mind' William had said, if nothing else Jaune was able to anticipate his opponents better. The blond knew what maneuvers to pull, the swings to make, and the footwork needed to keep it all together.
The execution of that plan was a different story.
Lifting his now half-sleeved hoodie, Jaune carefully tugged the bandages from around his midsection, easing away the gauze to see tender but healed scar tissue. Four long cuts ran horizontally from the base of his right rib towards his stomach, stopping abruptly at where his chestplate had taken the brunt of the Grimm's force. It felt alien, unreal that the damage he was looking at was permanent. Sliding it back down, Jaune donned his armor and chest rig before heaving the heavy hiking pack onto his frame and slinging the rifle atop his right shoulder.
He'd spoken with a guardsman from Vale proper about an outpost some 30 miles out, it had a connective transit line that glid under the otherwise impassable Valean mountains; if he could get a ride on that line, he'd make it to Vale with at least a week's worth of time saved. Time Jaune knew he desperately needed to train.
The Arc was checking out of the Inn when he noticed something was off. It was as if he'd gained an instinct from his fight in the wilds. Too many were coming. The receptionist: a young brunette looked at him oddly, her words falling on deaf ears as Jaune looked in disbelief from the pane glass window. A surge of black mass appeared at the crest of the same hill he'd climbed, the guardsmen embedded in the sentry positions raising the alarm almost immediately.
Jaune's face whipped back to the young woman, "You got a basement?" A quick nod conveyed all he needed. "Grab as many people as you can in the next two minutes then fortify that damn thing." The alarm wails rose in a crescendo, "No later than two, any more and everyone in there is dead. GO!" Jaune yelled as the woman took off to the street. Tucking his Brownfield into the meat of his shoulder Jaune tightened his grip on the rifle before running out the door.
And with that comes close to Chapter 2 of Arm and Sword. Now to start working on the Grimm horde V Harlaw. The writing process is one hard to get into but easy to get lost in, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. Working a new government job where I type reports for 8 hours straight definitely kills the drive. I feel I was heavy-handed with a fair bit of it in places like Jaune's fight, but I hope it sets a good tone I can continue to improve off of. Aura and the Grimm were a pivoting point for me, Grimm are gonna be much tougher to kill. But with this toughness, Aura is now more powerful; but harder to control directly. Balancing act so human / Grimm existence stays in its weird limbo without one massacring the other. Finally big thanks to my Beta Reader Flasno.
Guests 1 & 2, and ER-47: Thanks for the encouragement, I wasn't sure how the initial reception would go, but I'm glad yall enjoyed it. Thank you for reviewing!
Nanshi: Glad I could deliver on the first chapter, I'm still planning out how I want canon RWBY to mesh with my story, but I'm definitely going to be playing close to home on this one, so expect some similarities. Ships, now that's a can of worms, the Weapon Dorks will definitely get some bonding moments, but I'm not sure yet if I want to lock in a conclusive choice yet. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Gonsmoss: Agreed, retrospectively I could have definitely done a better job with writing Nicholas and Juliet. But Jaune is a different tier: his reasoning, lack of training, and inability to work towards his goals originally are what will continue to bite him in the ass all the way to Beacon, this is intended. Right now, all he has is dumb luck and the reputation of the family name, but reputation will get you only so far. His reasoning will change with experience and time in the wilds. I definitely took your caliber comment to heart, if you want to kill Grimm, you're gonna need at least a 45. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Paradoxreader: Jaune will definitely have more experience by the time he reaches Beacon than his Canon counterpart, but likely nowhere near that of RWBY or NPR. But when you can't fight head-on, you learn to fight mean, and there's nowhere better to learn than in the wilds. Thank you for reading and reviewing!