The trek along the well-trodden path was at least idyllic and uneventful. Trees and woodland gave way to open fields and clearings, where he could see serfs toil in fields and hear the sounds of them working in loud manufactories. Smoke belched from chimneys and wagons were filled with armour and weapons brought out from the factory by sweaty, tired labourers.
"It would appear the rumours of war have some semblance of truth if the lords of these lands believe them to be true enough to mass produce weaponry." Crocea Mors said. "If that is true then perhaps you truly could find some work and food here?"
"Food will be rationed if there is a war." Jaune replied neutrally. "It will likely be strict too. I can't imagine those storms were very good for people's harvests and the like. I would need a lot more luck than I've had recently if I'm to have a good meal tonight."
"There is no need for such pessimism Jaune." The sword said in tone that seemed slightly patronising. "In war soldiers are always in high demand."
"Of course." Jaune snorted darkly. "Because I should be so happy I'll be able to kill people with a sword that will take a piece of my soul every time I use it."
"I cannot and will not take your soul willingly Jaune." Crocea Mors protested. "It is only when you use the magic latent within me that such a heavy toll will have to be paid, hence why I informed you. You should use my magic sparingly and only when absolutely necessary to your survival."
"I won't be surviving much if you keep killing me." Jaune retorted. "Or is it really killing someone if you just take parts of their soul and drive them to insanity? Technically my body will still be moving about and living, it just won't be me anymore."
"You are angry." Crocea Mors noted hesitantly.
"Of course I am!" Jaune seethed, gripping the hilt of the sword as tightly as he could and hoping it caused the damn thing some measure of discomfort. "I have to save the world from an ancient, immortal and nigh omnipotent witch that is trying to become a goddess and the only thing that can actually do some damage to her will kill me in every other way meaningful except for actually killing me!"
"We all have our destinies Jaune. This is yours."
"Then fuck it!" Jaune howled. "Fuck you! Fuck destiny and fuck the world!"
He stomped through the muddy path and continued onwards despite his words. Destiny, fate, did he even really have a choice? Was he truly forced to kill himself for the sake of a world that had been nothing but cruel to him? A world that had pushed him far past his breaking point and now expected him to not only continue onwards to yet even more pain but save it as well?
No. That was outrageous. It was unfair. Would he even be remembered as a hero? Or would he just be remembered for the madman he would inevitably become if he continued down his 'heroic' path?
"It doesn't have to be like this Jaune." Purred something dark, seductive and appealing. "You don't need to sacrifice yourself fruitlessly for a lost cause. You saw Her power, you saw what she could do. She took the full blow from a godly enhanced sword and didn't even have a scratch for it. It is clear who will win the coming war, so join the winning side."
Salem. The witch who tormented his dreams and made him dream of every failure, every betrayal and every reason why they all hurt. Thinking about his lack of sleep reminded him of just how tired he truly was, of the way his arms felt boneless and his footsteps more of a stumble than a calm, confident stride. He was practically falling apart at the seams already, not that the sword or anyone else cared.
"Your family cares." The voice cooed softly. "Salem could protect them. Spare them from the coming bloodshed."
The words ran around his mind like a loose thought, bouncing off of the dark corners of his mind until they flitted back into his consciousness. It taunted him, scared him, confused him how alluring the prospect sounded. All he knew of Salem was what he had been told by her enemies who sought her destruction. Would it not be so bad to hear her out the next time he saw her?
No. The next time he saw her would be in his mind, after her tormenting his dreams again. Or was she? The sword could enter his mind. Was it trying to turn him further away Salem so he would not heed her words? Was it trying to make him hate her so he would be firmly on its own side?
He didn't know. He didn't know if he could bring himself to care either.
As he continued his trek he drew a crowd of curios bystanders. He stared at them balefully, face concealed by his helmet, eying them up with the same curiosity they viewd him with. They made sure to keep their distance, but they followed him like camp followers trailing after a mighty army, dirty-faced children amongst them darting forward every now and then.
"They must not get visitors often." Crocea Mors mused, a hint of amusement in its tone as it spoke in his mind.
"Or perhaps they don't get half-dead visitors often." Jaune mumbled quietly, almost smiling when the crowd jumped at his muttered words. "Yes, I speak."
"I thought you were a zombie." One of the child pouted, and Jaune snorted, feeling small feeling of happiness at the sight. He'd always gotten along well with children, their innocence and sweetness reminding him of the younger siblings he had been forced to leave behind.
"I'm not one yet." Jaune said, and the child perked up again in curiosity, though his words seemed to spook the adults watching. "Boo!"
Parts of the crowd lurched back, earning laughter from those who had stood their ground at their expense. The crowd shrunk as interest faded upon the realisation he wasn't some undead warrior, though technically he was. Bla-That bitch had killed him after all.
"What's your name?" Asked the same child from earlier. Jaune stood still as he tried to think, his mind foggy and slow from lack of food, lack of sleep, his own dire state and the fact he didn't know what else he'd lost when part of his soul had been sent off to the afterlife.
"Jaune." He answered eventually, turning to face the child. "What is yours little one?"
"Raven." The boy replied, puffing out his chest proudly. "And I ain't little! Mama says I'm a big boy."
"That you are." Jaune nodded, falling to one knee before the boy so they were eye level. "Show me those muscles Raven."
Raven grinned and curled up his tiny arms, showing off the tiny bumps of his biceps. Jaune hummed thoughtfully before nodding at the boy and standing onto his feet again.
"You'll be a proper hero Raven." Jaune intoned wisely. "I can tell from those mighty muscles of yours, perfectly fine for slaying monsters as well as saving princesses and damsels in distress."
"Why would I do that?" Raven said, scrunching his face up distastefully. "Girls are yucky."
Jaune chuckled and shook his head in amusements, reaching forward instinctively and ruffling the boys dark hair. Raven scowled and swatted his hands away though he made no effort to fix his unkempt hair.
"I would if you'll think that when you're older kiddo." Jaune said, reaching for his belt for a pouch filled with valuables he'd long since lost. He scowled underneath his helmet, having hoped he could have given the boy something useful to buy himself a meal or something nice at the local markets. "I'd best be off Raven. It was an honour meeting you."
"See you Sir Jaune!" Raven waved, before turning around and scampering off to his friends, who quickly surrounded him and barraging him with questions. Jaune smiled at the adorable sight before turning around and continuing towards Bessemer, the fortifications defending the city growing in the distant horizon.
There was a spring to his step now. He stood more taller and underneath his helmet he found himself smiling, his heart filled with a comforting warmth he hadn't felt since before he'd entered that Gods-forsaken temple and the misery that was his life had reached a crescendo.
He drew gazes again, though it was not because he looked like a walking corpse, rather he looked like a weary knight returning from a legendary quest, his back straight and his strides confident and measured.
Bessemer grew in the distance like a black dot on the horizon. Jaune couldn't bring himself to care, still to happy from his pleasant meeting with Raven, a future hero who thought girls were yucky.
Crocea Mors thrummed happily in its sheath. Something dark growled in frustration at the back of his mind.
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Trenches were being dug a few leagues outside the city walls. Labourers toiled to dig out the frozen ground and used the mud and snow and ice to form ramparts designed to break up the formation of an attacking enemy, disrupting said enemies forces and making it easier to whittle them down one-by-one rather than all at once in a wave of steel and flesh.
Carts carried weapons and wood inside the city, and when they came out again they were laden with women and children hoping to avoid a coming conflict.
Jaune's smile had long since faded and a frown settled on his face instead. The shepherd had seemed confident in the fact that the Mistrali had been beaten back and the main problem plaguing the region was bandits. But if the whoever ruled Bessemer in Lord Ironwood's stead thought otherwise and was still preparing for a siege then perhaps the Mistrali were still around?
"Perhaps it is just a precaution for a future invasion?" Crocea Mors mused inside Jaune's mind. "If the Mistrali have already invaded once it would not be outrageous to assume they may do so once again in the coming months once they have gathered their strength once again."
"That seems unlikely." Jaune pondered quietly in response. "The Mistrali have always preferred using the element of surprise to gain the initiative in a war. It's what they did in the Great War and what they did after, striking quickly to send their enemies into a state of disarray and taking advantage of the chaos to make gains they otherwise wouldn't have been able to. Atlas is nigh impossible to conquer due to the weather alone, and the Atlesians have always been a proud people. The Mistrali will probably start suing for peace if they haven't already, not if Atlas and Vale are mobilising to repel another attack and possible invade Mistral itself.
"That could be plausible." Crocea Mors replied. "But what if the Mistrali attacked out of some dire need for a resource? Food for example, though obviously not from Atlas. Perhaps the aim of their attack was to weaken Atlas so it would be unable to aid Vale in an attack to seize its more fertile lands."
"That's possible." Jaune conceded, clenching his teeth together at the thought of Ansel being attacked by the Mistrali whilst he trudged around Atlas' gods-forsaken barrenness. "Though it's pointless to guess like this. We need to contact whoever rules over Bessemer."
"The shepherd mentioned a regent or something along those lines." Crocea Mors pointed out, though it seemed more like a question than a statement.
"Yes, I can't remember who though." Jaune replied, thinking back through the hazy fog in his mind for answers. "Lord Ironwood replaced my father as Governor of Vale after King Schnee got suspicious of my father's constant refusal to abide by his more extreme laws, particularly in regards to the treatment of Faunus, though after that bitch cut my throat I'm starting to think King Schnee had the right idea."
"What?" Crocea Mors asked, surprise filling its tone. Jaune shook his head as the wave of anger burned away as quickly as it rose.
"Nothing. Lord Ironwood replaced my father and went to Vale to serve as its Governor, and he had to appoint a regent to govern his lands, where we are, whilst he was away." Jaune said, thinking quietly. "But you already knew that didn't you? The God of Darkness said he read my mind to get up to date information on the state of Remnant."
"Yes I did know." Crocea Mors admitted slowly, as if afraid to provoke Jaune. He felt a wave of confusion and guilt at the nervous way the sword carried itself, clearly burned too many times by Jaune's anger, something that had come to the fore far too often recently. "You said you struggled to remember things, so I hoped asking you questions that would make you think and remember certain things may jog your memory. Did it work?"
"I...I don't know." Jaune replied, letting his grip on Crocea Mors' hilt lessen. "It...It feels a little less foggy but things still aren't clear."
"That means it works to an extent." Crocea Mors said hopefully. "We should try to do more once you have eaten and are well rested."
"Thank you." Jaune said quietly, feeling a rush of complicated emotions. "I'm sorry for being so short with you...a lot has happened recently."
"It has, and none of it has been good." Crocea Mors replied, and Jaune felt that if the sword had a face it would have been smiling in that moment. "You do not need to apologise Jaune. I understand."
Before Jaune could protest the easy acceptance he realised two guards bearing the colours of Ironwood's house sigil were approaching. They were tired and looked worn, with suspicion clear on their faces as the sun was in the sky on a clear day.
"State your name and business traveller." One of the guards said, and Jaune let go of the hilt of Crocea Mors to hold up his hands in a sign of peace.
"My name is Jaune Arc, heir to Ansel." Jaune replied. "I have come to Bessemer seeking food and work."
"You have come to the right place for work alright." The guard snorted mirthlessly, nodding towards the toiling labourers digging ramparts and trenches next to the road leading into Bessemer. "Do you have any proof of your identity?"
"I carry the signet ring of the Arc house as proof of my heritage." Jaune said, and the guards looked at one another before the one who had not spoken shrugged.
"We'll bring you to the Iron Court." The guard on the right said, a faint hint of careful respect in his tone. "The Lord Regent can confirm your claims better than either of us can, but you should know that if he finds your words untrue you can be executed for impersonating a noble of the blood. This is your last chance to come clean without repercussion if you are lying traveller."
"My words are true." Jaune replied, inclining his head at the guards. "Thank you for escorting me to the Iron Court. Can you tell me who Lord Ironwood named Lord Regent? It has been a while since I heard the news."
"Aye, a lot has happened since the lord left for Vale." The guard sighed, leading the way forward. Jaune followed, doing his best to stay calm as the silent guard who hadn't spoken stepped behind him. He was trapped now, and he felt like a prisoner as they led him towards the large grey walls, the gates open and filled with wagons going in and out of the city. "The Lord Regent is one Lord Piers Port, brother of the late Lord Peter Port. Lord Ironwood made Lord Peter his Lord Regent whilst he was away in Vale, but Lord Peter was slain by a dragon whilst he returned to his own lands to aid his people following the storms that devastated the land. Lord Peter's son refused to take up the mantle of Lord Regent and instead set out to avenge his father, so Lord Peter's brother, Lord Piers, became Lord Regent in his stead. If you can keep something to yourself then I can give an honest assessment of our new Lord Regent."
"Lord Piers won't find out from me whatever it is you wish to say." Jaune promised, turning to look at the silent guard behind him, who just stared back at him balefully.
"Ah! Don't worry about old grumpy back there. He doesn't speak to anyone. Think he might be muted." The chatty guard scratched his beard. "Where was I? Oh right, how much of an utter cunt Lord Piers is. Lord Peter was a rotund fella, but he was at least honourable. Lord Piers seems to think its his right to eat Lord Ironwood out of house and home, and it wouldn't surprise me if our winter stores all disappear inside that fat fuck's belly. It's not the only thing he has an appetite for, whorehouses in Bessemer are having a minor economic miracle thanks to that man alone."
"Sounds like a character alright." Jaune winced, already dreading to having to meet a man who sounded like his beyond polar opposite.
"Aye that's one way to put it." The guard chuckled. "Poor bastard's been off his head ever since his wife to be ran off with his nephew."
"What?" Jaune gasped, tripping over a loose cobblestone as he stumbled over his own feet.
"Oh aye!" The guard laughed, a rumbling sound caused by both Jaune and Lord Piers' misfortune. "Lord Piers would have you believe his nephew kidnapped the lass, but everyone else knows the poor lass chose to run away with someone who wouldn't crush her in the marriage bed. Doesn't help Lord Piers is the same age as her father."
"By the Otherworld." Jaune swore. "Isn't there enough already going on without all this drama as well?"
"I find it funny me." The guard shrugged. "It's all bullshit no-one cares about compared to the storms and the war, but at the least its funnier."
"Fair enough." Jaune said, shaking his head as he digested what he learned. "You said Lord Piers has been 'off his head' since his betrothed absconded with her Romeo. Should I be concerned?"
"Good one." The guard snorted, before scratching his beard and shrugging heavily. "I wouldn't think so. Us poor louts have to trek through the wilderness trying to find his wannabe Juliet, but if you're a lord he'll probably just give you guest right and let you be. Unless you ain't of course, in which cause you'll be hung, drawn and quartered for impersonating the real Lord Arc."
"But I am Jaune Arc, so I needn't worry." Jaune retorted, and the guard laughed again.
"You seem too alright to be a noble cunt." The guard admitted, making Jaune snort and smile slightly underneath his helmet. "Ah shit. Here we are. Still sure you don't want to back out lad?"
"I have nothing to fear." Jaune said, cocking his head. "What's your name?"
"Thorik." The guard replied. "What's yours?"
"Jaune." Jaune smiled, stepping past the guard named Thorik and entering the Iron Court, ignoring Thorik's demands to know his 'real' name as he did so.
"Name?" A page asked at the entrance of the court, the sounds of drinking and laughter wafting out from the foreboding doors.
"Lord Jaune Arc, heir to Ansel." Jaune replied. "I've come to show proof of my heritage to the Lord Regent so I can seek guest right."
"Should've come when Lord Peter was alive." The page mumbled. "As it is Lord Piers will be too drunk to do anything other than complain about his lost bride."
"I'd heard about that." Jaune said, but the page ignored him and opened the doors to the Iron Court with a grunt.
"Presenting Lord Jaune Arc, heir to Ansel." The page declared, and the noise in the Iron Court died down as if someone had just been murmured. "He seeks to prove his heritage to the Lord Regent and claim guest right."
"Come in boy!" Barked a booming voice. "And take that bloody helmet off. Damn well can't confirm your identity if I can't see your face can I?"
There was a round of laughter at the Lord Regent's words, though Jaune noticed some of it seemed forced, and many had looks of disdain as they glanced at their Lord Regent from their cups. Jaune obeyed the command and held his helmet under one arm, taking his signet ring from the the leather cord around his neck to show to the Lord Regent.
Some muttered as he strode past, but the crackling of burning wood and the jangling of his armour echoed through the silent hall. It unnerved Jaune, made him feel trapped again, and he felt his hand brush against Crocea Mors' hilt.
"I'll be with you." Crocea Mors said inside his mind. "You are not alone in the lion's den."
The words comforted Jaune and so he strode confidently, doing his best to seem friendly as he neared the grossly oversized man who stank of mead and whose eyes were rheumy. His hair was whiter than the snow blotting Atlas and his face swollen and red, the veins in his nose clear and ruptured. No wonder his wife had ran from the marriage bed.
"Those are Arc looks alright." Lord Piers intoned as Jaune slowed to a stop and bowed respectfully. "And you know your manners as well at the least. Show us your signet lad."
Jaune held the leather cord forward and the old man hummed as he held it closer to his hazy eyes, flipping the Arc signet ring in his greasy palms before smiling in a way that made Jaune itch to draw his sword.
"The ring looks real enough, but I suppose the only way to truly prove you are an Arc is to test your word." Lord Piers said jovially, though his smile was slimy. "My bride has been stolen from me by my bastard nephew. I'm willing to take her for a wife despite the despoil age the bastard has likely put her through, but to do that I need her back. Promise you'll return my bride to me and do so. In return, I'll give you anything you want. By the Otherworld lad I'd make you Lord Regent if you wanted."
"I only want food and shelter." Jaune replied calmly, before remembering his quest to save the world and sighing internally. "I would also like passage to Vale if possible. It has been far too long since I saw your family. In return I swear on my name and honour as an Arc to return your stolen betrothed to you."
"We have an accord lad." Lord Piers smiled. "A wife for a ship!"
"A wife for a ship!" Cried out the more drunker members of the Iron Court. The majority murmured it, looking at Jaune with pity and sympathy and hatred. He wondered how many others had been forced to make an oath to the vile slug before him out of honour and expediency.
His deal with the devil made, Jaune was giving a seat at the high table at the Iron Court, and he struggled to compare the gluttony and festivities that continued with the cold, efficient running of state that had earned the Iron Court its name by Lord Ironwood and his predecessors. He accepted his situation once a plate stacked with food was placed before him, and Lord Piers chuckled as Jaune tore into his meal. He drunk more mead than he ever had before, and eventually he was led to some chambers by two serving girls who he couldn't see properly as his mind swam with drink, his arms heavy as if they were made of metal as they dragged him along to some room he was supposed to stay in.
"Do you reckon we could get a baby off him? Arc's are supposed to be honourable, even to their bastards."
"Fertile too from what I heard. Do you really think he could give us money if we had a bastard off him."
"I think we could get an estate off him to live off. Nobles often give money remember? Arc's are honourable, they'll give us more than enough to live off of with our families too."
Jaune shook his head as he felt his body get lighter as they tore of his armour, the room strange and dark and swirling with colour. They pawed at him and bile rose in his throat as he was pushed onto something soft, his arms too heavy and tired and sluggish to move as pale, unrecognisable hands pawed at his belt.
"Enough!" Something roared, and suddenly screams echoed in Jaune's ears. "Begone you vile, cretinous beings!"
The screams faded and the roaring wind died down. Jaune whimpered and tried keeping his eyes open, even as his own exhaustion and drunkenness caught up with him.
"Don't worry Jaune." The powerful voice said quietly, the words echoing in his ears as he drifted off. "I'll protect you. I always will."