-(=RWBY=)-

Chapter 4

-(=RWBY=)-

The high-society soiree was every bit as opulent and extravagant as Jaune had anticipated it would be. Rich crimson carpets layered the floor and cushioned his every step; tables with caviar and other criminally expensive food lined the sides of the reception hall; and high above, a chandelier of glass and dust shimmered and sparkled like the stars at dusk.

Jaune downed his sixth glass of port, and wished – not for the first time that evening – that he was anywhere but here, standing in a stuffy suit and giving smiles as artificial and fake as the powdered makeup upon every face.

The port, at least, is good.

The stuff was rich and sweet and heady, and though he was neither connoisseur nor expert sommelier, he could well appreciate the taste of the fortified wine as he swallowed it.

He gave the port in his glass a swirl, and watched as the dark red liquid flowed in and upon itself in a mesmerizing spiral.

Jaune was drunk, and knew it – but didn't care a whit. As far as he saw it, the alcohol helped make the evening far more bearable. With him in a pleasantly drunken stupor, every banal word said was interesting, and every ingratiating socialite was charming.

The headmaster, no doubt, would have disapproved of his inebriation – but since it was on Ozpin's account that Jaune was not in Beacon but here, choking on the stifling insincerity of high-society... well, the man could save his censure.

"Mr Arc, Miss Schnee, I have a task for the two of you."

It had been a month and a half since the start of term, and Jaune and Weiss were meeting the headmaster in his office once more.

Weiss still hated his guts, of course, after Jaune had said that which could not be taken back. And though her pride and perfectionism pushed her to hold her hate and anger in check long enough to work with him in class and combat, their dorm life was utterly brutal – just one long wintry silence interspersed with hateful looks and barbed comments.

It was not undeserved, but that didn't make any of it easier to bear.

The headmaster, of course, was in the dark about just how badly his prized students were getting along with each other. Oblivious, he continued to say,

"Upon my request, a friend and ally – Councilman Viren – will be hosting a formal reception this Saturday evening for the sons and daughters of some of Vale's most prominent politicians and lobbyists and businessmen.

"I wish for you two to be there. Your task will be to persuade these young individuals, not so different from yourselves, of the merits of becoming huntsmen and huntresses. They are all aged between thirteen and sixteen, and it is not too late for them to learn the basic skills of a huntsman, and to eventually test into an academy. And even if they never become more than mediocre as huntsmen – and indeed, even if they do not remain in the business after graduation – they will at least have adopted a huntsman's mindset. They will view the world as we do – see the threats we see. They will place great importance on the work we perform, against the monsters the ordinary city-dweller is too fortunate to ever have to face.

"This will matter, in the years to come, when these young individuals follow in the footsteps of their parents and become powerful politicians, or influential lobbyists, or wealthy businessmen, in their own right. With them sympathetic to our cause, the huntsman corps will be advantaged; we will perhaps obtain greater operational independence, or secure more substantial information sharing with the ever-hostile Vale Police Department, or procure increased funding and a more generous budget."

From his seat across the table, the headmaster looked at them soberly.

"This is a golden opportunity. Do not squander it."

It was the awareness that he was doing good here – contributing, to the huntsman cause – that made Jaune grin and bear the artificiality of this high-society meet-and-greet, and do his duty no matter how distasteful he found it.

A dark-haired girl in an alarmingly-short black dress smiled alluringly at Jaune, and said,

"So, Jaune, do tell us more about the heroics you do at Beacon."

Jaune smiled in return, and made the effort to engage the muscles at the sides of his eyes too – so his smile would seem real and heartfelt, rather than artificial and fake.

"Well –"

Audrey, his mind provided.

"– Audrey, right now we're still focusing on training, but towards the end of term we'll be going on a proper mission – perhaps hunting down some rogue bandit tribe in near-eastern Sanus, if we're lucky.

Audrey smiled back, in turn; and unlike Pyrrha, she was a real pro at this. Had he not known better, Jaune would have taken her happiness and enthusiasm to be sincere, rather than expertly faked. However, before Audrey could speak, another girl interjected –

"That sounds dangerous, Arc. How do you know you won't come back in a coffin?"

The red-haired, green-eyed Kiara was Jaune's favourite partner at banter for the evening – she pulled no punches, and her bluntness was refreshing. Of course, that itself was a deliberate conversational choice meant to lure him in; but nevertheless, Jaune gave a more genuine quirk of the lips, and replied,

"I'm pretty strong. I've seen titan-class combat in my time, and lived to tell the tale."

That prompted a gasp from the other girl by Jaune's side – Lily, with her white dress and pale-blond hair, was the innocence, and Jaune favoured her with a reassuring smile, even as she said,

"What happened? Did you get hurt?"

Jaune shook his head.

"Oh no, don't worry. Glynda Goodwitch turned up, and –"

Cling. Cling. Cling.

The soft clinking of metal against glass caught Jaune's attention – as well as the attention of everyone present.

Upon the raised stage at the front of the reception hall, Councilman Viren was smiling and tapping a spoon against his wine glass, to draw all eyes upon him.

"Friends, ladies, gentlemen. I hope you are having a wonderful evening. Allow me to say a few short words, before you get back to ogling our esteemed guests for this evening."

Shameless titters and appreciative chuckles broke out amongst the crowd, and the lean, goateed councilman smiled at the warm reception his joke received. He then moved on to say,

"I was speaking to my good friend, Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon, just the other day – and he raised a question I found fascinating. 'Old friend', he asked me, 'do you think only heroes choose to become huntsmen and huntresses?'"

The councilman paused, and allowed everyone present to mull over that question, before continuing.

"I am, myself, a retired huntsman; I quit the corps after being injured in the course of duty almost two decades ago. And while I would love to flatter myself with an affirmative answer, and claim that it is my heroic nature, and desire to protect all humanity –"

The councilman clenched his fist in an exaggerated, mock-heroic manner.

"– that led me to become a huntsmen, that could not be any further from the truth. I made a cool, calculated decision on the basis of rational self-interest.

"I knew that being a huntsman would show me to be a person of resolve; of strength; of character – and that this would benefit me in the future, when I began pursuing my political career. But even if politics had not been my chosen calling; even if I had decided to become a lawyer or a businessman, being a huntsman would have benefited me. Serving as a huntsman impresses others, and that is not an advantage to be sneezed at.

"Of course, the huntsman's life is not free from danger. But, in truth, the risk is overstated – a trained huntsman will never fall in battle against ordinary Grimm, unless overwhelmed by insurmountable numbers. Even a student from Signal can cut down Beowolves by the dozens, and this after only perhaps a year's training.

"And, at the end of the day, I understood that I had everything to gain and nothing to lose from attending a Huntsman Academy. Were I to miss out on the opportunity, it would be forever lost – for once you're past a certain age, you can no longer realistically be trained as a huntsman. On the other hand, if you find the huntsman life not to your liking – well, it's a free society, and you can always leave."

The councilman gave an amused smile that crinkled the side of his eyes.

"Naturally, such calculating, cynical motivations fell away once I actually started my huntsman training, and began seeing first-hand the importance of what a huntsman does – fighting the Grimm. But that does not change the fact that someone not interested in the heroism business will nonetheless have very good reasons, based on enlightened self-interest, to enlist in the huntsman corps. Just some food for thought, for all of you even now deciding on what to do with your lives."

Viren raised his glass of port, and declared,

"A toast! To the bright future that awaits each and every one of you!"

The councilman's speech, and his call for a toast, was met by approval from the crowd.

"Hear, hear!"

"Well said!"

"To the future!"

Jaune deftly deposited his empty wine glass on a passing waiter's tray and snagged a new, filled one – just in time to raise it along with everyone else and salute the brilliant future promised to them. Quietly, he said,

"To a future better than the past."

The gods know, that won't be hard.

Jaune downed his seventh glass of port for that evening in a single go – and justified it to himself on the basis that it would be impolite not to do so.

And if it helped him get past this next part – all the better.

Weiss was ascending the stage. Her hair was done up in the style so favoured by the Atlesian elite – all of cascading curls, and regal ringlets, falling from a crown of braids. Her face, scar and all, was untouched by makeup; perfect, without the cosmetics lesser mortals needed to cover flaws up. But what dazzled above all else was the dress she wore – white as a winter storm, and shimmering with the light of the thousand tiny diamonds woven into its fabric, her dress was beautiful as sin and twice as expensive.

Weiss's mere presence drew everyone's focus upon her, and she had not the need to do anything as plebeian as tap a glass with a spoon to get attention.

For the first time, Jaune could understand – could see – how this girl who hated him was the closest thing Atlas had to royalty.

Weiss commanded the room to silence with a glance; all the chattering ceased, and then she spoke.

"I look around, and what do I see?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortably; which was just as well, for the next words out Weiss's mouth were –

"People who have lived a life of immense wealth and comfort, but without meaning or purpose.

Her voice was quiet, almost unassuming – but her words cut to the bone.

"I have been there myself. I was you, not so very long ago. I walked through life wanting nothing, and yet also having nothing worth wanting. Life was like... rubbing the genie lamp of legend –"

Her eyes lit up, as if the analogy just came to mind, though Jaune knew better, knew how she had practised this routine a dozen times before the mirror.

"– which gave me everything I wanted and yet nothing I needed – which was meaning, and purpose. And so I began to forge my own path, away from my family. I set out to challenge myself, and earn something with my own two hands, rather than have it handed to me on a silver platter. I trained to become a huntress – to protect others, and pursue a good greater than myself. And now here I am – my own person, living a life with purpose beyond the name I was born with or the family legacy I am to inherit."

The hall was dead quiet. And Weiss, with an almost gentle voice, said,

"That can be you as well – if you have the courage to take the first step; to move beyond your comfort zones and train to become a huntsman or huntress of renown."

Weiss fell silent, signalling the end of her short speech.

From the silence came one person's enthusiastic claps; then two people's; then three's – and all of a sudden, the whole hall was applauding, and a roar of approval unlike any other swept across the place.

Weiss's experience had really spoken to them, her words plucking a chord within their souls – even if it left Jaune himself unmoved and cold. His own life was too different from the ones lived by these wealthy, privileged scions for him to empathize with them – to see as they saw, and feel as they felt.

The very location of the reception – the top of floor of the Sky Garden, one of Vale's most exclusive hotels – only helped drive home the disconnect. A wondrous spire of glass and greenery, the hotel was the epitome of luxury, and charged outrageous prices accordingly. Jaune would literally have had to sell his kidney to afford a night in one of the hotel's high-end suites; in contrast, the scions that surrounded him would have thought nothing of spending tens of thousands of lien living for weeks and months on end in a place such as this.

They came from different worlds – them from privilege and ease, him from service and hardship.

In any case, Weiss had done her part to persuade these scions; and now it was time for him to do his.

The headmaster had given them some broad suggestions on what they could do to sway their audience for tonight, but it was ultimately Weiss and himself who had decided upon and refined their own specific approaches.

Jaune had begun to realize that he wasn't as silver-tongued as he always thought – he learnt that, if nothing else, from that catastrophic conversation with Weiss upon the rooftop. For tonight, therefore, he had decided to keep it simple – using not words, but action; not logic, just emotion.

He signalled the suited attendant standing at the back of the hall with a snap of his fingers. The man bowed, and spoke into his scroll.

The panels at the back of the reception hall began sliding open –

– and panic gripped the place, as the children of the Valean elite turned around to see Grimm but meters away, in the room just adjacent to the reception hall they were in.

Trapped within an invisible cage sustained by lines of dust-infused glyphs carved into the floor, three Beowolves prowled and snarled and bared their fangs at the mass of humans before them. A sound-suppression glyph had earlier kept any noise made by the Grimm from reaching the people in the hall; but with that glyph now dismissed by Weiss, the frightful sounds from the monsters now reached the ears of the young men and women in attendance – making them flinch, and cringe, and back away.

It had been a pain to capture these Beowolves – despite his prodigious skill, and Pyrrha's powerful semblance, they had inadvertently slain dozens of Grimm in the Emerald Forest before finally managing to take these three captive without killing them. And even then, it was only with Ren's help that they could be kept passive and quiescent during their transport into the city, and up the hotel building onto this floor. Weiss course, had contributed by building the containment and sound-suppression field with her semblance – even if grudgingly, and only to avoid failing the task set them by the headmaster.

It was a whole lot of effort, by a whole lot of people, all leading up to this one moment – and Jaune was going to make it count.

In a single, smooth, liquid motion, Jaune unsheathed Crocea Mors.

"People! Lend me your ears."

His words drew the attention of his audience; but it was the naked steel that kept all eyes fixed on him, as he went on to say,

"These are Grimm – monsters drawn to negativity, and whose sole purpose is bringing death and destruction to humanity. They hold dominion over all Remnant, save for the few bits of land we cower in. They have been here long before we were alive, and they will be here long after we are dead."

Jaune gave the crowd before him a hard stare.

"Humanity is on the precipice, and yet you all stand here drinking wine and gossiping. Why? Because you think you're safe? That the high mountains will keep the monsters at bay? That the huntsmen of Vale will prevent harm coming your way? Please – that's the worst sort of naivety."

Letting his eyes narrow with undisguised contempt, Jaune swept the crowd with his gaze.

"Grimm are still occasionally set loose in cities and towns and villages, by terrorists and bandits and cultists. Grimm attack our trains and ships and aircraft. Grimm have breached the walls of Vale before, to spread death and terror through the streets. There's a decent chance you will one day come face to face with monsters such as these –"

Jaune brought his left hand up to jerk a thumb at the Grimm behind him.

"– and when that happens, you will end up killed; torn apart; turned, from a living breathing human, into a mass of blood and meat."

His words, and the visceral picture they painted, had a real effect on the crowd – a girl started crying, and a boy with a weaker stomach threw up. Jaune spared them a momentary, disdainful glance, before going on to say –

"You will die – brutally, uselessly, inevitably. Unless, of course..."

Jaune tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully.

"... you train to become a huntsman or huntress, and learn to defend yourself."

Jaune had been keeping his aura active throughout the duration of his speech, thus accelerating his healing and letting the alcohol be purged from his system. He needed his mind clear, for the next bit.

With his aura-infused blade, Jaune cut through one of Weiss's glyphs on the floor – dissipating the containment field and allowing the Grimm just a few strides away to pounce at him.

Crocea Mors swung once, twice, thrice.

The Beowolves dissolved into dark mist around him, to the relief and awe of all the young men and women present.

And Jaune delivered the three lines he had spent this whole time building towards –

"In this world full of Grimm, there are only two kinds of people – heroes, and victims. I know I would rather be the former. How about you, I wonder?"

He left the scions of Vale to think that over.

Sheathing his sword, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the side of the hall, where he could look out onto Vale's central business district. The sight of skyscrapers and night lights was a soothing one, and impressive in its own right, even if it did pale in comparison to the view from atop Beacon Tower.

Danger!

Jaune managed to get his aura up, and his sword out, right when the window shattered into a million pieces, and a girl with pink and brown hair and equally mismatched eyes tried to stab him in the face with a parasol.

On instinct, Jaune twisted to the avoid the attack, even as his right hand brought Crocea Mors arcing across –

– but Jaune was too disoriented by the falling glass, and his assailant too fast; his swing, which ought to have decapitated the girl, missed, and she skipped back to create some distance between them. She was wary now, and –

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

A red-haired man in a bowler hat and fashionable white suit strode out upon the floor of the reception hall, holding a cane in one hand and a detonator-like object in the other.

Even if Jaune hadn't been a regular reader of the news, he would never have failed to recognize the notorious criminal whose face had been splashed all across the VNN for months on end, and whose string of daring heists had left Valean dust prices through the roof.

"Roman Torchwick."

The man grinned.

"How gratifying, to be recognized. It makes things so much easier, too."

He raised his left hand, displaying the object he held in it for all to see.

"This, dear children, is a detonator as well as a dead man's switch. My thumb, as you can see, is already firmly pressed down upon the trigger – so before anyone gets the bright idea to attack me, know that that will only cause my fingers to slip. And that will trigger the dust bombs under the table, and blow us all to kingdom come."

That certainly explained how Torchwick could have so confidently – so brazenly – waltzed into their midst, despite the presence of huntsmen capable of fighting him.

Speaking of huntsmen –

Weiss was stuck in a standoff with a tattooed, muscular man with an ugly face and an even uglier chainsaw, while Councilman Viren was lying unconscious on the floor with blood trickling down his face. It seemed he been brutalized by Torchwick in the initial ambush, after failing to get his aura up in time.

The enhanced awareness afforded to him by his own aura told Jaune that Torchwick and both his associates had aura as well – which left Jaune and Weiss outnumbered against three huntsman-level opponents.

Ordinarily, Jaune would not have been worried – his sparring with Pyrrha had greatly improved his aura control, and put his physical capabilities well above that of the ordinary huntsman. Even if it had been one against three, he was confident of winning.

But.

The bombs were a problem, and he could not see a way around them.

"Kiara –"

Jaune directed his words at one of the girls he had just been bantering with not so long ago.

"– could you help flip up the tablecloths, and see whether there really are bombs underneath?"

Jaune disliked having to ask a civilian to do this, but Weiss was occupied, and he didn't dare take his eyes off – let alone put his back to – his opponent, for all that she looked like a cute, harmless schoolgirl.

"O-okay."

Kiara, to her credit, did as she was told without objection or delay.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaune could see her walking to the table. Torchwick looked on, smiling; he seemed content enough to let Jaune verify the credibility of his threat.

A few tense seconds passed, until Kiara said, shakily,

"There are metal cases under the table, with wires sticking out of them. I think they're bombs."

That destroyed any remaining hope that Torchwick was merely bluffing.

"Thank you, Kiara. Please step away."

Jaune could have closed the distance with Torchwick faster than the man could react – but all the speed in the world meant nothing against a dead man's switch. And while Weiss could theoretically have tried to freeze the man's arm, detonator and all, she was being blocked off by the dangerous-looking man with a chainsaw – and in any case, there was no guarantee her ice attack would immobilize Torchwick before his fingers slipped.

Fighting was out of the question – which left talking.

Still keeping the girl with the parasol in his field of vision, Jaune looked to the infamous thief.

"What do you want, Torchwick? You can't possibly think you'll get away with attacking a councilman and the kids of the Valean elite."

The man laughed derisively.

"Oh kiddo, if you only knew. People get away with much, much worse than what I'm about to do."

He gestured to the girl with mismatched eyes.

"Neo. Please disarm the Schnee."

They're here to kidnap Weiss.

Jaune's voice snapped out, cold and clear –

"Move and I kill you, Neo. This is Anra steel I'm wielding and it'll cut through your aura like a knife parts silk."

Neo looked at him warily, but Torchwick only arched one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows.

"Save us the melodramatic threats, Arc. You hurt my cute little assistant, and I release the trigger and kill everyone here. "

Jaune snorted, and was about to respond, before Weiss spoke up.

"An empty threat, Torchwick. You will be caught up in the explosion yourself."

Torchwick swivelled around to look at Weiss, and shrugged expansively as he did so.

"True, princess. But aura gives me a good chance of surviving, and I'll rather take my chances there than fight an Arc with an Anra steel sword."

Jaune couldn't help but grind his teeth – he had never thought his famous blade or his family's reputation as peerless warriors could ever be a hindrance, but here they were.

Neo, who had yet to speak a word, smirked silently at him, and started backing away – towards the stage, where Weiss was still in a standoff with the chainsaw wielder.

Things were slipping out of control, and Jaune moved quickly to say –

"What makes you think we'll let you walk out of here, Torchwick? If we let you kidnap Weiss, and make your escape – then you'll just trigger the dust bombs and blow us up, to cover your tracks. If no one knows you're behind this, you'll still just be a dust thief, and Vale won't sic a Champion on you. Do you think we're stupid?"

Torchwick gave a smug grin.

"Oh, clever, kiddo – was hoping you'll miss that. But how about this concession – I'll let any and all of you send messages to your daddies and mummies, telling them that big bad Roman Torchwick has kidnapped Weiss Schnee. With that, killing all of you annoying brats will only hurt me – no one wants Glynda Goodwitch or Qrow Branwen after their head, yeah?"

Jaune's eyes narrowed, and he strained to see the trick in Torchwick's offer – but try as he might, no ruse revealed itself. Torchwick was apparently sincere – a conclusion Weiss arrived at right at the same time. From where she stood on the stage, she asked,

"If I go with you peacefully, Torchwick, will you let these people go?"

"Weiss!"

Jaune's exclamation of dismay was ignored, however, and she looked to Roman Torchwick and awaited his reply. The man himself smirked, and said,

"Of course. I'm just a thief, interested in money and the thrill of the heist. I outwit people – I don't kill them. I don't want blood on my hands, and after we've made our escape, I'll disable the dead man's switch. And once we get your daddy to pony up a ransom fit for a king, I'll send you back home, annoyed but safe."

That was not an unreasonable offer – for a kidnapper – yet still Jaune couldn't help but doubt the wisdom of giving in to terroristic demands, no matter how much it would save lives in the immediate future.

If Weiss had such misgivings, however, she didn't show it, for she quickly agreed.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

She handled Myrtenaster over to the approaching Neo, and Jaune felt a sinking feeling. He recalled the unkind things he had said to Weiss at the start of term –

... How many hundreds of people have died to keep you safe? ... How does that make sense, to sacrifice the many for the few? ... Wouldn't it have been infinitely kinder and fairer and better for you to just kill yourself, so the Fang will cease their attacks and no one else need to die for you sake? Or do you lack the courage – ...

With dawning horror, Jaune realized that his poisonous words had almost certainly made Weiss feel she had to prove her own courage and selflessness. It was a motivation he understand himself – all too well – and that made him all the more horrified.

If his goading got Weiss killed, he would never forgive himself.

That finally moved him to shout across the hall at Weiss –

"Weiss, if this is about proving that you're willing to die for the sake of protecting others, stop it! I said some cruel, evil things, and you don't have to take them to heart –"

"Shut up, Arc!"

Weiss all but screamed in reply, and it was just then that a bullhead pulled up outside, hovering meters away from the shattered windows of the reception hall. It was so close that Jaune could see the cockpit, and the pilot inside.

Slowly, carefully, the aircraft turned, so its hull door faced the building.

Weiss threw a parting look of loathing at Jaune, even as she was shepherded towards the shattered windows by Neo.

Jaune could only watch helplessly, as Roman crossed the hall and then leapt across the gap between building and bullhead – heedless of the dizzying drop below – to land safely inside the hull of the aircraft. Weiss, and then Neo, followed, with the tattooed chainsaw wielder bringing up the rear.

The hull closed, and with a roar, the bullhead pulled up and then streaked away.

His culpability and his helplessness left Jaune gripping Crocea Mors so tightly that his hand was beginning to hurt.

He tried to persuade himself that this was for the best – that it kept the civilians safe; that Torchwick had no reason to hurt Weiss; that the life of a huntress was never danger-free, and that risking oneself for others was their duty.

And it wasn't as if Weiss didn't understand the significance of her choice. She had grown up under the shadow of the White Fang, and –

Wait.

Thinking of the faunus terrorists made Jaune finally process what he had seen not half a minute ago, but whose significance he had failed to immediately grasp.

The bullhead pilot was wearing a mask – a Grimm mask.

His mind made the remaining connections swiftly and mercilessly.

Torchwick was working the White Fang – which meant Weiss was now in their grasp – and with the Fang hating the Schnee more than the Grimm hated humanity –

The VNN report from a month and a half ago, detailing how the Fang had tortured and mutilated people at a Schnee mine in Atlas, floated to mind.

Terror unlike any other gripped Jaune.

He had to save her. He had to –

He never got to finish that thought, however, for in the next moment –

! ! !

The world exploded into flame and fire, as all the dust bombs in the hall simultaneously detonated.

Jaune was blown away, out into the night air, and he was falling, falling, falling –

The ground sped up to met him.

The light and glass of the surrounding skyscrapers passed him in a blur.

But in his thoughts, there was only her.

-(=RWBY=)-