Chapter 1: A Kingly Beginning


Since the genesis of Remnant, humanity has waged an unremitting war on the Creatures of Grimm. Born of darkness and despair, they are the manifestation of the negative forces that define half of the balance which shapes all forms of life on this planet. Wherever there is chaos and destruction, there are the Grimm, watching, waiting, working their way into the fear that fuels their way of being.

But humanity will be damned if it resigned itself to such mindless violence, and so a select few, tired of running, decide to bare their fangs and take up arms against their eldritch nemeses, wielding weapons as iron as their will to turn the tides against their vicious attackers. They became known as the Huntsmen and Huntresses, and it is their mission to protect the fragments of humanity as they gather up all the hope that remains, and created civilizations that still stand tall today. In that sense, humanity has prevailed over the terrors that lurk in the shadows, but the Huntsmen and Huntresses haven't retired their arms just yet, for the Grimm of today are no less persistent and still dutifully prowl the edges of the cities that have faithfully engendered generation after generation of warriors to combat these fearsome threats.

If it isn't clear by this point, the people of Remnant simply adore Huntsmen and Huntresses, for they dispatch Grimm not just with clinical precision and unabated ruthlessness, but also-

"Yo?! Eir?! You there?!"

Those who are well-acquainted with Eir Levinstein will tell you that if you ever catch her with her nose plunged into a book, almost nothing could break her out of the fugue state that absorbed every bit of information squeezed into each page. One of the few things that could was the voice of her leader, Marth Altheos, whose karaoke skills rivaled the bellows of a Goliath or the screeches of a Ravager. Like an arrow to a deer, his words cut through her fathomless reverie, and she flipped her head up, the hazel glare of her eyes a striking contrast to the snow white twintails she buried under the yawning hood of a black jacket traced with gold.

Almost nothing could annoy her either. One of the few things could would be, again, her leader and his silly antics. Last week, he had managed to rope in some of the second years at Beacon Academy into a ridiculous game of fishermen where they used makeshift hooks made from some spare rope and broke half the cafeteria trays. The one good thing that came out of it was that resident bully Cardin Winchester lost his pants yet again to a misfire courtesy of Marth, and the indignation that gripped the mess hall was abruptly drowned in a shower of laughter as the burly teen sulked off, his craven teammates trying to salvage what pinpricks of dignity remained among them. Expected of a school environment, but incongrous to the illustrious face of Beacon as a hall for Huntsmen in the making

So why was Eir, being the dignified bookworm she is, throwing her lot in with someone as...stark staring mad as Marth?

The short answer was: she didn't have much of a choice. Since their fateful and eventful encounter in the Emerald Forest, he was her team leader. If he was to tell her to jump off a building, she would have no choice but to comply.

The long answer was: he wasn't as stupid as he makes himself out to be. Under all that recklessness and penchant for causing mayhem, Marth exuded an energy of valor that dictated most of his actions at Beacon; his antagonism of Cardin Winchester actually stems from the latter's upfront mistreatment of Faunus, an anthropoid race characterized by animal traits that have earned them much unneeded grief from humans, and while poking a fellow student with a sword isn't the most graceful way to deal with a bully, it earned him the trust and respect (if one could call it that) of his peers, Eir herself proud (oddly enough) to be among them.

"Cut it out Marth. We all know you're nervous, but so are we. This is just her way of showing it." Said the girl beside her, her platinum locks a fragrant waterfall. For as long as Eir could remember, Korinna had been with her every step of her life. Even Beacon's initiation ceremony could not break them apart. Nothing could, not even their opposite personalities. Korinna was a girl who could strike up a meaningful conversation with anybody from any walk of life, and she loved every chance she could speak with someone about her ideas and feelings. A small part of Eir envied that about her and aspired to be as cordially poised as she was, and another was eternally grateful that she had someone else to attend to the social minutiae of life.

"I'm not nervous." Denied the blue haired boy to his audience of eight. "Why would I be?"

"For one thing, you could screw up months of preparation in about five seconds." Ike Artorias spoke up, his voice the deep husk of a commander. The tallest of Team KEIM, Marth's adoptive brother was silent and aloof unless he felt a need to be otherwise. He had a gruff air about him, and if you hailed from Mistral, chances are you've probably heard of his name. Ike was the son of Gawain Artorias, the head of the Greil Mercenaries, yet despite the dubious implications of such a background, he spoke of his grizzled homestead as being warm as the fires that kept them alive through the harshness of the seasons; a roughly-hewn circle of friends and loved ones who would watch your back for no cost rather than cutthroats and low lives who would stab you full of holes for a few sheets of lien. With what she has learned of the Greils, it was no romanticized notion of the sellsword trade.

"Hey, watch it. You might be my brother, but I am your leader, and you will address me with the proper respect." Shot Marth, his watery blue eyes agleam with authority.

"Äs you wish, your Majes-" And just like that, the men of team KEIM were suddenly flopping about like seals on a rock as Korinna shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she inwardly debated on whether to break them up or let them get all this steam out of their systems, and Eir stared daggers at her company. Even though he was the voice of reason among the two, Ike, like all males his age, was prone to thinking with his fists.

"We'll be off to Amity now. I humbly apologize for our leader's shameless display." She says with a strained politeness to the concerned, sunset-splashed faces of Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, and Lie Ren as they tried to look anywhere but the wrestling Marth and Ike.


Truth be told, Ike's words stung like a fresh prod of hot iron to a knee scrape, and even though he was supposed to be the dauntless leader of Team KEIM, sixteen year-old Marth found his swagger buckling under a stack of doubts that he felt were taller than a tower of Eir's strategy drafts. And the pile was just adding up the less inches there were between them and Amity Colosseum, where a myriad of talented youths fought before them in the hours before.

He always took pride in the fact that not a lot of things could shake him up. Grimm hordes, irate adults, winding staircases, and even death threats meant nothing to him. But ever since he'd allowed himself to grow up and stop quashing his more mature impulses, Marth found himself thinking of less healthy scenarios transpiring beneath the intense watch of over a million people that encircled them, moments where Falchion, the sword that has yet to fail its master, misses its mark and leaves him open to a fatal blow from the opponent that drops his Aura from a hundred to zero in the fraction of a second.

No! Can't dwell on that! He chided himself, turning away from the hypnotic tranquility of the dimming purple sky. Everything I've done at Beacon has led up to this moment. I'm not going to chicken out just because my feet are getting a bit cold from the anticipation. As he looked to the faces of his teammates: stoic Ike, smiling Korrina, and set-jawed Eir, he found in each of their expressions a small gleam of comfort. Why am I so damn worried about how our debut is gonna play out? I've got them to back me up don't I? Damn it Altheos, get a grip on yourself!

They've been together since the team's inception, so he was aware that they could tell that he had troubles. "Hey, you don't have to act like nothing's wrong." Korinna soothed, her manicured fingers resting on his shoulder, her nurturing demeanor turning her gaze into twin rubies of a motherly cut. "We haven't been feeling so hyped ourselves for the past few minutes."

"We've all done our parts." Continued Eir as she closed her eyes in a short state of perusal. "But all manner of research, no matter how assiduous, is still liable to miscalculations. The four that await us within the arena's crux, the two that follow, and the final one. They are our true tests; the only trials that will validate the countless days we spent acquainting ourselves with the four Hunstmen Academies of Remnant and the nights that we expended ourselves in our pursuit for strategies of efficacious caliber."

"And let's not forget," Ike paused to consider the dirt on his clothes, "the fights we've survived." Marth could tell he wanted to say more, but his reserved side won over for this exchange, and this time, he didn't press him to spill out his sentiments.

As they, four antsy teenagers about to be inundated in a bristling sea of excited spectators, neared the colosseum's mammoth, levitating silhouette, Marth swallowed his tension like a bowl of cold slop in the middle of winter. This was what he trained for. All the scars and bruises he'd gotten from the easy days back with the Greils to the harsher, homework-choked sessions at Beacon was all for this. To show Remnant that the future is something to look forward to.

And he was going to make it happen, with or without his anxieties, because that was who he is.


Korinna's apprehensions were less about her skills with her weapon and her contributions to the team and more on fact that she would be swinging her sword at familiar faces given that she'd been the one out of team KEIM to build bridges between their seniors and peers at Beacon and the students of the other three academies. How those three seem so comfortable fighting friends was beyond Korinna's comprehension. I know that we just wanted to figure out how these people manage themselves in a fight, but do you honestly expect me to believe that you're not the least bit concerned about who it is you're going to be poking full of holes? She found it much simpler to battle the Grimm because you couldn't form attachments to them; find a few, and there was only one course you could take. Opponents with personalities and feelings on the other hand, she had much more difficulty with. Her mother had told her on too numerous an occasion that, 'Not every danger of Remnant is as straightforward as a Beowolf'. Huntsman and Huntresses are wont to face perils in their likenesses, an inevitable aspect of their profession, and they are obliged to dispatch those perils as they would the garden variety Ursa or Nevermore. It was a gentle reminder, but the weight of the warning was plain to see even for an eleven year old obsessed with wearing headbands before settling on a simple strip of ebony ribbon adorned with the snowiest white of roses.

It did little to stop the guilt welling up inside her whenever she sparred in Professor Glynda Goodwitch's combat training period, trading blows with her peers. Of all of Beacon's staff, it was Professor Port that she was the most comfortable with. In one of his more recent lectures, he had concluded the lesson by challenging the class to fight against a humanoid shark Grimm called a Nanaue. Unfazed by how its many rows of serrated teeth towered over her, Korinna felled the creature with only six slashes of Yato, dancing just out of reach of its long claws.

Her self-consciousness rose up a notch when she remembered that Professor Port and Professor Oobleck were not just going to be two more pairs of eyes in the audience, but the commentators of her performance as well. The image of them watching over her with shadows of judgment swimming in their faces rallied Korinna's determination, pushing her jitters out her skin in a surge of goosebumps.

Oh well, it's not like we're going to kill them. We just have to hit them so hard their Aura drops to zero. With that thought, she flashes a glance at Marth's back, draped in a blue cape, Falchion's blade winking from his hip, and smiled, emboldened by his presence. As long as we have him, this win is in the bag for Team KEIM!


This is going to be a massacre. Thought Ike as he drank in the intimidating quartet staring them down amidst the changing terrain, his brain soberly reviewing Eir's diffuse yet terse directives.

Team MPRR (emperor) of Haven was a testament to the refined and disciplinarian traditions of Mistral. They were led by Ryoma Shirasagi, a youth dressed in armor that brought to mind the majestic dragons of loric legends. Ike had the honor of speaking to him on more civilian terms, but had been familiarized with him beforehand from those born of the same soil as he was: Yatsuhashi Daichi and Lie Ren referred to him as the Kirin in parallel tones of somber reverence. With a little digging from Eir, Team KEIM understood the Kirin as the sobriquet of Ryoma's Semblance and speculated a deep affiliation between it and his weapon, the katana Raijinto.

He then studied a woman dressed in the dusky habiliments of a fortune teller, her figure lopsided in an unnerving yet enticing manner. Rhajat was a woman who radiated an unsettling tenor about her; her first impression did not sit well with with Ike and Eir, as they did not converse with her as liberally as Marth and Korinna did, the former oblivious to the obsessive signals she was broadcasting his way, the latter out of her impartial kindness and all-encompassing empathy. Her Semblance, Obsession, wrought more than small accidents upon those foolish enough to stand in its path but protected her allies from those same accidents; an ominous shield that would no doubt pose a punishing obstacle. Unless Marth can get in close and strike her with Falchion's tip.

His eyes then settled on the smallest of the four: a blonde boy dressed like a comic book superhero. Percy looks up to Ryoma and never questioned his leadership. He is an outspoken advocate of justice and is quick to look up to those whose success was determined solely by the sweat on their brows and the scars on their hands. According to Eir, his Semblance is a rare one, as it seems to operate on probability to grant him extremely good luck, even in a pinch. Based on the records she had found, the only other significant occurrences of similar Semblances are Qrow Branwen, the uncle of half-siblings Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long and Clover Ebi, an ace operative on Atlas, and the leader of General James Ironwood's personal guard.

Last of the group was Minerva Macedon. Matching her leader's armor red for gold she was was Ryoma's second-in-command. With her, Ike's interest was an elementary rivalry as right-hands of parallel competence. His gaze met hers, and an unspoken ultimate was decided as the teams charged down the midpoint of a battlefield composed of treacherous mountain peaks and dry, yellowing grass, all of which had sprouted up from the pit of the arena. Minerva's axe, Hauteclare, was taller and had the longer range, but even as she had the advantage of getting the initial strike in, Ike's Semblance had flared up seconds prior, and that executioner's swing was parried by the two-handed blade's aureate length. Beorc Ragnell was a sword unlike other swords, for it could only be wielded by a junction of three factors: prodigious physical strength, a profuse supply of Aura, and a Semblance that could amplify the previous two. Ike's natural fortitude, cultivated at the tender age of seven, was augmented by his Semblance, Great Aether, making him the perfect candidate to handle Beorc Ragnell, and while he was the slowest of Team KEIM's swordfighters, there wasn't much that could stand in the way of his strikes which had the desired virtue of being simultaneously razor-sharp and inhumanly adamantine.

Minerva was surprised at how quickly the mercenary was gaining the upper ground in spite of her winning the neutral game with her superior reach, but it would take more than overwhelming power to fluster her. The fight was still in her favor so long as Ike was in range of Hauteclare's head and the spear tipping it-the perfect spot for her to let him have a taste of her Semblance, but Ike was alert and aware of what she was planning to do. And so he willed his feet to burn with the conflagration of his Aura, Ragnell's hilt aligning with his left shoulder.

Hauteclare and boy were rapidly engulfed in the blinding burst of Flash Dust as Minerva used the recoil to launch herself further from the speeding Ike's reach, her Semblance sprouting from her pauldrons in sashes of neon rose that enveloped her in a coat of gravity. Whitewings bestowed upon her the power of flight, which was extremely useful against airborne foes, but it was mostly utilized to disorient opponents with the use of Hauteclare's spear tip, the residue from the initial flash a means to throw her targets off-balance, and as she accumulated the lingering Flash Dust into the axe's blades, she poised herself over Ike like a hawk after a rabbit, and dove with terrifying speed.

That was a mistake. And mistakes must be punished!

And that was when Ike knew that it was time to really let his Semblance loose. In her rush to land a critical hit, she'd left herself no room to turn, and that was when Ike knew he had her in his trap. Muscle memory kicking in, he swung Ragnell in an upward arc, driving it into Minerva's abdomen and flinging it into the air. A second later, he unleashed a battery of heavy blows on the incapacitated Huntress-in-training, each impact ornamented by ruptures of eerie yet dynamic blue, coming to a crescendo with a last, leisurely strike that sent Minerva plummeting into the ground, the brutal momentum creating a crater six feet deep.

Game set.

The audience went ballistic as Team MPRR was down a member. His Aura trembling from the tremendous effort, Ike planted Ragnell into the earth, arms folded as he concentrated on the image of his parents. His father, vociferous and cheerful. His mother, beautiful and patient. Both made of steel sturdier and fiercer than the alloy that embodied Ragnell.

And then he was ready to fight once more.


How fortuitous. Eir cogitated as her scowling opponent sent pulse after pulse of dark purple energy her way. Being the intellect that she is, she humbly sidesteps her way out of the trajectory. Potent, but the area of effect is paltry at best.

Rhajat was a loner out of preference, especially since she loathed her horrible temper and inclination to use her Semblance at anyone that so much as causes a vein to bulge on her temples. Throughout her entire life, she met nothing but looks of revulsion and whispers behind her back. Then Percy came along and encouraged her to stay on her feet regardless of the snide remarks on her habits, which he found more unconventional than malevolent. The later additions of Ryoma and Minerva saw her achieving a sense of belonging, throwing a wrench on a bleak resignation that she would be labeled an outcast to her grave, but these two valiant souls would rush to her defense with the same alacrity that steered Percy. Rhajat learned to treasure those of this ilk, as the effects of their spells, unlike those of her curses, were everlasting and brought her much joy.

Her dismay was on the verge of splitting her face when it was announced that she would be fighting her first friends outside of Mistral. Beacon Academy's Team KEIM, particularly its thick-headed leader and the gregarious girl with luscious platinum locks, showed no scruples when in parley with MPRR. Even this impudent bamboo shaft of a strategist exercised a fluid courtesy whenever she would address Rhajat, and there was no aversion to her tongue whenever she would use it, only a pinprick of diffidence that would suggest she was more averse to instigating unwanted annoyances.

So Rhajat, consumed by an unsightly amalgamation of displeasure and guilt, shifted from Obsession to that of her weapon. An axe that uses the shocking essence of Lightning Dust to smite targets with inordinate watts of electricity, and if merged with the properties of her Semblance, releases branches of what can only be defined as cursed lighting, crippling opponents in all manner of suffering.

But Rhajat was not the most methodical mind on her team, so she'd neglected to gloss over her plan's failings. Firstly, Bolt Axes are a recurrent weapon of choice among Huntsmen, and not even the stylistic flourishes of a Semblance can obscure their primary, predictable feature. Second, Eir's own arms was the natural counter to the Bolt Axe. All Levin Swords were outfitted with special lightning rods that can soak up enough electricity to cleave through Mistral's largest summits. Third,

"Never underestimate a Thunder Tactician." Eir declared in conduct befitting a mage as her Levin Sword spat out a bout of flame that engulfed her opponent. In the blink of an eye, the Yato shot out from her right shoulder, pushing the trapped Rhajat a good five feet away and into the line of fire before returning to its wielder's grasp. Before the shadowy girl could react, Eir's sword crackled a blazing purple and a deafening clap of thunder shook the colosseum. Satisfied with her victory, she illustrated a new set of lines in her field of vision.


Flashes of Eir's bout with Rhajat blurred past the preoccupied Korinna, but she had a pretty clear idea of the events that had ensued. Eir's Grandmaster Gambit was a Semblance that didn't have much of a direct influence in a fight. Rather, its value was in its subtlety. With Aura as an ethereal ink, the user can conjure up schematics of a battle via their sense of sight. It could not have been in more qualified hands than that of her foster sister, who employed it in consummate symmetry with her veritable intelligence and stark ingenuity.

"WHAT A PERFORMANCE FROM MISS LEVINSTEIN! IF THAT WASN'T A FLAWLESS VICTORY THEN CALL ME A BERINGEL'S UNCLE!" Roared Professor Bartholomew Oobleck with ecstatic pride from the commentator's stand, his glasses askew in his rabid enthusiasm.

"Er yes Bartholomew, but remember, it isn't over until the last man, or woman, falls and Team MMPR still has two of its members in commission." Reasoned Professor Port, a hint of concern fluctuating in his voice. Korinna was certain he was referring to her as she played defense to Percy's hail of spear thrusts, his aim true by the guidance of his Semblance, Heroic Acer.

"This must be my lucky day" He quipped, stumbling past a drill-shaped protrusion sticking out in place of a human arm. Korinna's respective Semblance, Dragon Fang, allows her to mold her body in angles that are as engrossing as they are gross. The machination behind such drastic alteration of her physical constitution originates from the basic premise of her Semblance, which is that it converts her state of matter from solid to liquid, producing an Aura of mercurial complexion that had frightened her to sobs when she had unlocked it. With assistance and constructive input from Eir, Korinna discovered that her Semblance harbors untold potential, but the avenues she had to experiment on that theory were scarce, at least until Team KEIM.

"Your teammates may have had the radiance of fortune shining on them when they defeated my compatriots, but your story shall end in loss, fair maiden!" Percy proclaimed with unbridled bravado, not even registering his opponent's newfound determination rippling in her eyes. "Prepare to taste defeat." The next second soared by as he did, cast into the air by a trident of geysers that danced into a single pillar of liquid that lunged toward him like a hungry animal. Swallowed by limpid torrents, he found himself and his lucky streak drowning in a sea of regret and Aura. There was a glare of turquoise, and soon, he felt the tip of a blade, then a pop of wind, and suddenly Percy could breathe again, but at the expense of an aching backside.

The relief was short-lived however, as the last thing he saw was Korinna bearing down on him, her katana bathed in a flaxen halo. "Not as cool as Raijinto though". He managed to say as the remainder of his Aura was knocked out of him in a crash of Lightning Dust.

This time, it was Professor Port who lost it in his elation as he spieled boomingly into the fine points of Korinna's sword. While it had the standard Dust compatibility of all Huntsmen weaponry, the Yato's trademark was that it refashions itself commensurate with the Dust being implemented. As of present, the Yato can assume five modes, and once this rollercoaster of a match is over, Korinna decided that she would consult privately with Eir about the prospect of working in a sixth.


"Looks like it's just you and me Altheos." Ryoma said, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable. "And from what I've heard, you're quite the swordsman."

"I'm more than that." Marth answers, his own blade replying with a swift jab that was seamlessly parried by Raijinto. "Are you?"

Ryoma did not even utter a word at the challenge writhing about beneath that inquiry. He simply tightened his grip on Raijinto and raised it into the air. The eldest of the Shirasagi children, he was all too familiar with the pressures of being a leader, but he would never admit his insecurities to his family or his teammates. Instead, he would use their memories to fuel his determination, and that would summon his Semblance, Kirin, to the scene to bless him with the speed and power of a thunderbolt. To Haven, Ryoma was a thunder deity that inspired chivalry and honor to those who were born of Mistral's reposeful embrace, a demonstration of his people's warrior's spirit. As he charged Marth, an action that would be witnessed by not only those within the walls of Amity Colosseum, but also the entirety of Mistral, he did so with the weight of his homeland spurring him on, and the many communities, be they dignified artisans or decadent criminals, were momentarily united by this gesture of steadfast vigor.

But there were a plenty few in Mistral who were rooting for the opposition with as much adulation. The Greils had suspended all activity around their encampments as one of their own held fast in an audacious display of courage. Elena and Gawain Artorias were already brimming with pride at Ike's phenomenal victory against the daughter of Macedon, but they were just as pleased to watch their adopted son prove himself in serious one-on-one combat, and the baby in Elena's arms was clearly enjoying himself as she gurgled in delight.

"Yes, Mist. That's Marth." She said to her daughter with the widest of grins. Her husband, his attention fixed on the screen, had placed the urn on the table, lost in awe at the high-octane exchange between the children of his close friends.

As the cascading electricity fizzled out from the arena, Marth, virtually unscathed, allowed himself a smirk. "What was that for?" Quick as a thief, Falchion lunges forward, striking Ryoma in the chest and sending out a tempest that sent him bowling eight feet backwards into a boulder. Rushing towards the momentarily incapacitated figure, he scrapes the tip of his blade into the ground, and then swings it upward, a cerulean trail of energy catching Ryoma by his armor. The Haven student didn't even have time to get to his feet as he was then pelted with a strafe of sprightly jabs veneered by that same energy. Hardlight Dust.

Suddenly, Marth leapt backward in model mimicry of his friend, Velvet Scarlatina of the esteemed Team CFVY, and plunged Falchion into the ground yet again. With the discreet press of a button, the blade collapsed in the manner of a molting insect, revealing a sleeker sword, a crimson Dust crystal ensconced in the center of its hilt. Rushing once more into Ryoma, who has managed to bring himself back to a fighting stance, he paused a good distance away from him, rearing back, and thrusts his arm out in a stab, a substantial crack of Aura springloaded into the motion all the way to Falchion's tip and into Ryoma's gut, a precise final strike that took Ryoma's aura from a sufficient seventy percent to a telltale zero as he fell to his knees, the fight literally broken from him.

Shield Breaker was a Semblance that has no equal. Succinctly put, it pierces through the target's Aura, causing the natural shield of life essence to shatter. Thankfully, the effect isn't permanent, and in about fifteen minutes, Ryoma's Aura will be restored and unchanged. This was team KEIM's trump card; a secret that they had guarded fastidiously from their peers with their very lives. As to why they elected to conceal it from the general public...

After the victory had sunk in with earsplitting applause from all corners of the Colosseum, Team KEIM, tired and content, reconvened at the center of the arena. Ike, Korinna, and Eir looked intently at their leader, who was beside himself with his triumph, then with a smug grin typical of him, Marth Altheos gave them their last orders for the evening.

"Get it over with, then you can all go to bed."

Ike, Eir, and Korinna sighed, but they nodded in assent. At the end of the day, they would admit that it was their dogged, flippant leader who was responsible for all this. It was only right that they do him this one favor. He deserved it for all he did to bring their team this far.

Marth, adrenaline still coursing madly in his veins and tendons, sprinted to the edge of the arena and bounced off the force field designed to protect the audience from the worst of the battles. With what little Dust he had left, he manages a final aerial, the translucent ribbon of hardlight coronating him in harmony with the choral declaration of his teammates.

"Long live the Hero King!"


Well, here you go. Just like I promised. Chapter 1 of the real story of Team KEIM featuring Ryoma, Percy, Minerva, and Rhajat as Team MPRR.

I won't say much, just that you read Huntsmen of the Emblem if you want the full context of this story, and that you can comment in the review section which Fire Emblem characters you want to see bunched up together. You can even include your ideas for what their semblances. If I like them, I might just credit you in the author's note of the next chapter. Thanks for reading ladies and gentlemen! Until the next chapter!