He had drawn a fair bit of attention when he just walked right in.
When he had shoved open the doors, the campus police had immediately saw him on their security footage. They sent a team to intercept him, while he roamed the halls.
"He looks injured," a guard noted.
"How can you tell?"
"See that limp? And no one just covers themselves in blood for the sake of it. Maybe he needs medical attention?"
It was a valid concern. The intruder had a very tattered and very bloody appearance. The semester had not yet started, so it was an easy thing to simply block off the exits without alarming anyone. The headmaster had already told them to bring the intruder to his office.
"Send a message to the team leader; tell him that we are not to threaten this individual. Not unless he fires first."
. . . . .
And so that was why he paused in the middle of the hallway, holding Rakuyo and in general being very dangerous looking. His hand itches toward his holsters, but which to seize? The blunderbuss, as they were many? Evelyn, as they were in a narrow hallway?
"Stop, and lay down your weapons. We need to question you."
A ponderous blink. He kneels, setting Rakuyo down gently and unhooking the harnesses of his weapons. They were hunters, he could see it in their eyes and demeanor. And there was no point in antagonizing a fellow human and potential ally.
He watches as the hunters unsteadily step forward and pick up his weapons. He frowns a bit, and steps forward to immediately be greeted by the sight of five pistols rising. He freezes and is very still. A robbery? Had he been duped?
"Sir, come with us. We'll get you medical attention and if we determine you aren't a threat, we'll let you go."
His voice, hoarse with disuse, rasps from cracked lips. "Treat those weapons gently."
They nod in acknowledgement, clutching his weapons tighter. It doesn't matter if they want to wield it, he supposes. Rakuyo requires a certain amount of skill to even hold, and before he became the First Hunter not even he could wield it efficiently. Now he simply channeled the knowledge of Lady Maria when he clutched the swords in his hand. It echoed in her blood, using him like a puppet to wield the weapons the way she did.
The Burial Blade was a masterwork that defined the entire arsenal of weapons but there was a reason it was never duplicated or distributed for common use. It simply required skill beyond what most Hunters were patient enough to learn, but his efforts and long hours of training with Gehrman were rewarded, in the end.
He casts his gaze around. The building is very reminiscent of the Lecture Hall. "Where am I?"
"You are in Beacon Academy, not in dress code and here when the semester is not in."
A place of learning. There were very few hunter academies in Yharnam. There was Gehrman's workshop, but that did not really count as an academy. Ludwig's Healing Church, however, was very much a proper institution. In its prime, it was typically filled with nobles or members of the clergy or what have you.
"What do you teach?"
"It's an academy of hunting. Do you have memory issues, by any chance?"
He ponders the question. It is a valid concern, and he thanks them mentally for worrying over him. But ultimately not relevant. Whatever memories he did not remember were of times long past, something that should not concern these fresh-faced strangers. "No."
"Then the headmaster will answer your questions."
They stop before a door, the hunters holding his weapons and watching him uneasily. He realizes he perhaps made for a sorry sight. Most of the blood staining his coat was his, after all.
"Come in," a crisp, clear voice rings out from behind the door.
The door opens, opening on well-oiled hinges. He appreciates the noiselessness.
"Headmaster Ozpin, we have successfully detained the intruder and confiscated his weaponry," a guard salutes.
"Leave it here, I want to talk to him in private."
When they set down his weapons and leave, he makes to pick them up. He is halted, once again, by the sight of a cane. That was not good. He had made the mistake of willingly disarming himself, but seeing a potential ally had caused him to sheath his weapons. There was no point in teaching, after all, if he reflexively carved out the throat of anyone who crossed him.
Even though his tainted blood roiled when he saw them.
This hunter, Ozpin, leans forward on his desk, examining him. He has good eyes. Scrutinizing eyes, befitting a Hunter of Hunters. He wonders, idly, if the Hunter before him was ever once in the Dream. Those eyes are not commonly seen.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"I am a watcher of hunters. There are many titles given to me," Inheritor to the title of the Holy Blade when he had slain Ludwig. First Hunter of the Second Hunt. Hunter of Hunters. Slayer of Great Ones. Vileblood. Executioner of the Church, albeit falsely and to comfort a dying Ludwig.
The good hunter. Keeper of the Dream.
"But perhaps none of them mean anything to you. Tell me, does the name 'Yharnam' mean anything to you?" he asks in a quiet voice. Ozpin has to strain to hear it.
"'Yharnam'… it is one of the oldest cities of humanity. It doesn't exist anymore, the name itself has long since passed into legend. Are you from Yharnam?" Ozpin asks. He personally thinks this man is delusional. The stories of Yharnam and the legendary Hunters of old were things all children tended to hear. Since they didn't have Dust to help them, their deeds were generally seen as greater than most modern hunters.
"I went there, once. A long time ago."
"You aren't that old," Ozpin scoffs slightly. This man was barely older than he was. Now he's claiming he went to a mythical city? The very idea is absurd. Perhaps he needs a thorough psychological examination.
"You'd be surprised."
"What's your name?" Ozpin asks, bringing up a search of all residents of Vale.
"I don't remember. I haven't been called by name in a very long time," he says after a brief moment of contemplation. His face becomes bemused at the thought. No one had referred to him by name, always calling him "paleblood" or "hunter".
"That's not very helpful. Are you not from Vale? Which kingdom are you really from?"
He gets a blank look in response. "Vale? Kingdom?"
"I'm trying to help you here, and playing dumb won't help. Really, where are you from?" Ozpin asks seriously.
A blink. "The place I was born was destroyed by the Plague."
Ozpin frowns. "The Plague hasn't been active since humanity discovered Dust."
It is the stranger's turn to frown. "Dust?"
Then Ozpin realizes. The stranger's incredibly dated garb. It is reminiscent of the hunters of old. More specifically, it resembles a famed teacher and guide to humanity in its younger years, when Grimm had not looked at humanity.
"Are you a keeper of the Dream?" he asks. It feels a bit silly, asking about a child's fairy tale, but from the way he jerks in surprise, he's on to something, as absurd as it seems.
"Are you one of my hunters? I do not recognize you, I am sorry."
The stranger before him is a First Hunter, and there's only been two recorded. Gehrman, the champion of humanity who defined what it meant to be a hunter and made his objects into weapons, taught humanity how to fight and even how to use their Aura, albeit in a very primitive state. The second is simply recorded as "The Hunter" and was remarked to boast incredible skill with weaponry. It was his under his tenure as Master of the Hunt that gave humanity the time necessary to discover Dust, and refined the Art of Quickening into the modern Aura.
"Gehrman?" Ozpin tries.
"My teacher," the self-proclaimed watcher corrects.
Ozpin leans back in his seat, astonished. Here, sitting before him, against all odds and reason, was a legendary Old Hunter, back when humanity had cobbled together weapons using common materials instead of the high-tech weapons used today. Even now as he casts a gaze towards the weapon, he dismissed them as shoddy, homemade when he saw them. But now, upon closer examination each one possesses a history so old he can see it, much like how one can tell when a pot is old.
"From your expression you know of the Hunt, the Longest Nights, and the Dream. Are you, perhaps, a descendant of one of my hunters?" the Hunter himself asks him.
"No, but I've heard the stories from the ones who woke up." A thoughtful hum. Ozpin continues, attempting to press the Hunter. "Are you injured? Do you require any medical assistance?" he offered. He felt a little guilty, having instructed the team to bring the intruder to him, so for all he knew he could be losing blood right now.
The Hunter pats himself down slowly, a gloved hand pausing over his heart as if feeling for a wound. "It seems that would not be necessary."
"Then, might I ask what you intend to do now that you are here?"
The Hunter thoughtfully taps his chair's armrest. "I do not know. I was hoping I might travel a bit, enjoy the waking world after such a long night," he said wistfully. He had never actually considered what he would actually DO if someone managed to best him; the very thought seemed unthinkable, so he had consigned himself to an endless night, honoring the wishes of his predecessor. However, after seeing just how bright and vivid the world was, and how people are here, he wanted to see what worth he could find.
"Perhaps you might consider teaching here? We are a little understaffed, and it will be a win-win situation. We get the knowledge and experience you have to offer, and you get to," Ozpin pauses for a bit, wondering just what it could offer to him. "Well, it will give you a chance to meet the new generation."
"And what would I teach here?" He didn't refuse immediately. A good sign.
"We don't have many advanced combat instructors, and some rare students use rather exotic weaponry, like scythes. Perhaps you could show them a thing or two?" Ozpin suggested.
The Hunter chuckles a bit. Just like he never left the Dream. Well, it may be, perhaps, the only thing he's good for. "Very well, but know that theoretical knowledge will only go so far. I will teach them practically."
Ozpin opened his arms wide. "You are free to be as unconventional as you like. Unconventional weapons require unconventional means to teach, no doubt."
A nod of satisfaction. Excellent. "Now, you need a name if you are to teach here. Hm…"
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms and gazing at the legendary Hunter. Taking the name of a legendary Hunter wouldn't be acceptable. Children grew up on the stories of Lady Maria, of Ludwig the Holy Blade, of Gehrman the First Hunter, and the Hunter among Hunters, the very person sitting before him.
He gazes at the tattered black mantle that shrouds his back, the gray cape the circles his shoulders. Then he decides. "Nero," Ozpin finally states.
"Nero… It is a good name," he approves.
"Then, from henceforth you will be Professor Nero of Beacon Academy, instructor of Advanced Weaponry. Is this agreeable to you?" he extends his hand across his desk.
Calloused fingers wrap around his slowly. "It is. I accept your terms, Ozpin."
"Then, let me get you up to speed on how modern day hunters fight. We've three weeks before the semester starts, but with a person of your reputation, you should pick it up in no time at all."
. . . . .
He had been absolutely fascinated by Dust in general.
He shook a vial a bit, watching as the air froze into snowflakes and sparked here and there. "If this was a tool in the Workshop, things would've been much easier."
Although, he was a bit confused at how Dust crystals work.
He had taken one glance at it and immediately tried to break it. "What are you doing?" Ozpin said, heart pounding. That was a refined and cut Burn crystal.
Nero stared at him matter of factly. "I am breaking it into gems to slot into my weapons."
"Terrible, terrible idea. These are elemental crystals."
"Well, all the more reason to break them apart then. Elements are invaluable to a Hunter." Gehrman knew how many bolt and fire papers he went through. Having a permanent means to inflame his weapon? Why had no one brought such knowledge to the workshop?
"You use them like traps. Here, let me show you."
It was stronger than a Molotov cocktail, he would admit that. But since it didn't break on impact and required the use of a quicksilver bullet to break, he doubted it would see much use for him.
He had awoken his Aura fairly quickly, given that it was simply the refined form of his Art of Quickening. His Semblance followed suit, and Ozpin quickly requested he not use it indoors.
He had set up a Workshop in the Emerald Forest, and spent most of his time carefully replicating the Dream and recreating the Arsenal. There were, unfortunately, some things he could not recreate. The Holy Moonlight Sword was one such weapon. But, for everything else, he could recreate it. Some, like the Saw Cleaver and Beast Cutter, were simple and easily done. Others like the Reiterpallasch took a bit more finesse and caution to make.
Yet his Arsenal was remade, the weapons lining the wall over his desk. The familiar Saw Cleaver was pristine and untouched, unlike the one he had used, worn, rusted, and covered in cloth. None of these weapons had the blood-soaked past of their predecessors, being made from scratch, but undoubtedly he would find use for them.
Ozpin and he had come to a minor disagreement when it came to his own, personal weapons, however.
"Nero, there are better, more advanced materials and weapons that are utilized today. The trick weapons were rendered obsolete by the end of the technology boom." Ozpin is looking over his shoulder, peering at the cluttered desk of weapons.
"I don't care. This is how I learned, and it is how I will fight." As he finished the firing mechanism on the Reiterpallasch, he fired a test shot, the round cracking the quiet air and solidly nailing a tree outside. He grunted in approval, it would work. One weapon done. He set it aside and began constructing the rifle spear. Considering the blueprints were very similar to the Cainhurst weapon, it was simple to remake.
"At least allow us to upgrade the materials. These are, well, rather poor quality-" Ozpin reached out to pick up an open Hunter's pistol. The weapon was already loaded with a quicksilver bullet, and he had prepared about three hundred in advance. It was not the efficiency of the weapon Ozpin was concerned about. The weapons Nero had arrived with were heavily damaged; there was a reason, after all, he had thought they were homemade, an admirable effort at replicating a huntsman's weapons at best and downright shoddy at the worst.
His wrist had been seized, and he was pulled roughly down to his newest professor's level in his wheelchair, having gained it on his request. Nero himself had partly risen to his feet, leaning on the cane he had made. He closed in to Ozpin's personal space. "My weapons. Will be left well alone."
Ozpin backed away slowly, the hand that seized his arm in a grip of iron loosening.
"Alright, we'll not touch this topic anymore." The offer was always open, of course; he made sure Nero knew that and he had apologized for his explosive temper and thanked him for the consideration.
That was dangerous. Lady Maria had surfaced there very briefly. His Vileblood was resonating with Lady Maria's Echoes, making it much easier for the Astral Clocktower's mistress to take control of him. They were, after all, indirect relatives and blood called for similar blood.
He had been given a Scroll, and while it was absolutely nothing like the scrolls he was familiar with, he had adjusted well enough to use it.
Three weeks were nothing to one who had experienced several lifetimes in the Dream. Before he knew it, his would be colleagues arrived, and in two days' time, so would the students.
He sat in his wheelchair, watching the shattered moon shine down on him. What did that mean? Was it an indisputable sign the Hunt was over? Did something happen to the nameless moon presence after he fell?
Regardless, there were no beasts to hunt, Ozpin confirmed and showed him the treatment humanity had devised without the use of blood thanks to this Dust. He laughed a hollow laugh. The Plague was gone, a relic of the past, as was he. He was the only danger to this world, thanks to the countless infusions, the untold amount of Echoes.
He closed his eyes. He no longer dreamed, but he saw the same dancing lights Ludwig had seen a long time ago that emptied his fears. His true mentor, his guiding moonlight, he called his sword. He was fearless to the end.
Fear was what separated man from the beasts.
"Fear the blood," Gehrman had always said to him.
As long as he retained that fear, that innate caution, he would never succumb to his bloodlust.
A/N: The reception and statistics were good enough for me to accept this as a project to write in tandem with FoS. Consider this chapter a confirmation I'll continue to write this.
I will not guarantee an update schedule as real life happens; updates will happen when the inspiration strikes me. Considering, however, RWBY is more interesting than Familiar of Zero, you can consider updates to happen fairly frequently. Before that, however, I will be watching literally everything concerning RWBY so I don't make any mistakes.
I'll not waste time rehashing events you guys already know in RWBY, so next chapter will cut straight to the Examination, considering Nero lives in the forest.
I chose the name Nero for the primary reason that it means "black" in Italian. The Hunter was always going to have a name evocative of night and Nero was simply the first name that came to mind.
I'll be basing Beacon Academy off of a real college campus, meaning there are brief periods of when students are not in for holidays or intersessions.
I'm making a daring decision in making the Bloodborne verse the same as RWBY's, only in the distant past.
This won't come up because Nero doesn't know what happened, but his student consumed the Umbilical Cord and killed the moon presence, temporarily ending the Hunt while he matures to take its place. The moon is symbolically shattered and will reform when the Hunt begins. Night, after all, always comes.
The events of Bloodborne became regarded as myth and legend, back when humanity did not have Dust and was losing against the Grimm. The Hunters who learned from Nero awoke and began to fight back. Dust was a stroke of luck and was successful in turning the tide, and humanity became dependent on it. Dust did not exist in the Dream, hence rendering future hunters incapable of recreating the Old Hunters' and Nero's deeds.
The Art of Quickening is simply Aura before humanity really learned how to use it en masse and subsequently pool their knowledge to refine it. Hence instead of the refined, glowing radiance, Gehrman and Maria had a flickering, flame-like aura. Nero also has access to this state. Quickening can only be used for offense, but never deteriorates in strength due to using the strength of blood.
Nero's preferred weapon is the Rakuyo, drawing the Burial Blade to bid his Hunters farewell. He wields it along with the blunderbuss in homage of his teacher, and the Rakuyo because he has a special resonance with it due to Nero correctly deducing that Maria is a Vileblood. Since they both share, however faintly and however distantly, the same blood through Annalise, Nero can temporarily channel Maria instead of simply copying her like the other Old Hunters.
EDIT: I fumbled when writing Ozpin, I'm getting the feeling. This is what happens you you try to write a character when having not seen all of the show (has only seen up to Jaunedice part 2).
This chapter will undergo a rewrite once I finish watching RWBY and I will rewrite Ozpin's character to better fit what is depicted. I had tried to show that he was understandably cautious when dealing with an armed, bloodied stranger with no records showing up out of nowhere on his doorstep and his attitude towards Nero is meant out of concern; Bloodborne's weapons are practically falling apart and I would certainly hope Ozpin isn't going to let someone fight using an inadequate weapon. But, I got your feedback and will rewrite Ozpin's character once I finish marathoning the show. I will also be reevaluating Nero's position as "Advanced Weaponry" is a bit ambiguous; this was meant for dangerous weaponry (Ozpin's remark on Crescent Rose being one of the most dangerous weapons ever made) but I think guest reviewer Sightsear made a far more interesting proposition.