Chapter 2:

As the smoke and dust from the last battle cleared, Roland let out a brief sigh as he felt his Aura recharge ever so slowly. The two had given him a harsh fight, with him having to push himself in a way in which he has not had to in a long time. With a wave of his hand, he commanded his spectral soldiers to abandon their siege, leaving the injured and cold villagers puzzled. As the last remnants of the army faded into the forest, Roland released his hold on the summoned creatures, and the vast majority of them faded into the icy wind. As he walked through the icy forest, he began to check up on how much damage he took. Peeling aside his cloak, he could see that a few rings from his mail were broken, and some of the outer plates sported a few gashes inside of them. As he wandered around looking for a good place to rest and stay away from prying eyes, Roland's mind drifted back to how he arrived in this age.

Roland's last thoughts were of light and fire, and darkness and ice. The heat of battle was suffocating, and Roland's heart raced as he struggled to push through the narrow mountain pass. Grimm's forces had caught them off guard, and the Paladins were now on the retreat with their plundered treasures. In the chaos, Roland barked orders to his spectral soldiers, urging them to form defensive ranks. He surveyed his surroundings, assessing the dire situation: they were surrounded by dark enemies and cut off from the rest of their army. Ice cold fear gripped him as he prepared for the impending clash.

One of his fellow Paladins asked, "Sir, what are your instructions? Should we call for backup? Just give me the word and I'll sound the horn."

Roland shook his head. "No, that would only put the entire mission at risk. Despite the overwhelming odds, we must continue forward if we have any hope of reuniting with the main force. On my signal, prepare to charge!" His sword glowed with a blinding light, and with a swift movement of his hand, a burst of energy shot from its tip. The ranks of Grimm were knocked back, and those who didn't move quickly enough were frozen in place by the powerful beam. Roland led the charge with determination, expertly deflecting attacks from bones and dark arms that threatened to harm his troops. His spectral soldiers spread out behind him, guarding their flanks as they charged like an arrow through the enemy lines.

The charge began with a fierce energy, the Grimm taken by surprise and easily driven through like a knife through butter. But as they continued to push forward, the stronger Grimm emerged and broke through the ranks of the main force like a battering ram. The formation, once tight and impenetrable, began to collapse inward on itself like a collapsing house of cards. Roland clenched his jaw in frustration, his magic being pushed to its limits as he fought to keep the formation intact. He knew that if it broke and scattered, their mission would be doomed.

With every swing of his sword, Roland's aura was drained more and more, until he felt it finally shatter under the strain. Yet he refused to give up, pouring every last bit of his energy into each strike, sending waves of brilliant light through the Grimm. But even as he fought on, the ominous chill of exhaustion crept through his body, threatening to consume him entirely.

Roland's heart raced as he shouted over the sound of battle. "Hurry, reach the king and secure the relic!" He swung his sword fiercely, trying to keep the Grimm at bay. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side and was thrown backwards into a nearby river. As the cold water enveloped him, he knew his fate was now in someone else's hands.

The biting wind howled through the narrow mountain pass, whipping snow into a frenzy around the team of archaeologists as they chipped away at the icy lake before them. Their picks struck something solid and a muffled thud rang out. They scraped away more ice to reveal an arm, then a torso, and finally the frozen, perfectly preserved face of a man.

"My god," one archaeologist murmured. "Is that...him?"

They quickly freed the body from the thick ice and loaded it onto a hover-sled. As they flew back to their nearby camp, the archaeologists marveled at their discovery. This was the find of a lifetime - a historical figure long thought lost to time.

Back at the camp, they powered up the defrosting chamber and gently placed the frozen corpse inside. As the ice slowly melted away, details of clothing and equipment confirmed the man's identity. He was dressed for combat, with a weapon close at hand even in apparent death. This was a seasoned fighter.

With a hiss, the chamber door opened. The man's eyelids fluttered and he drew a sudden, gasping breath. He lurched forward, tumbling out of the chamber to sprawl on the floor. The archaeologists rushed to help but he lashed out wildly, still disoriented.

"Give him space!" one archaeologist cautioned.

The man staggered to his feet, eyes darting around the room. He looked ready to fight despite his long imprisonment in the ice. But after a few steps his legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees.

"Get the medics!"

As the archaeologists scrambled, the man lifted his head and growled "Where...am I?"

Roland stumbled away from the camp into the outskirts of Atlas, the grand city now foreign to his eyes. He had no memory of how much time had passed since he was entombed in ice, but it was clearly long enough for the world to change drastically.

Exhausted and disoriented, he found a secluded spot between rusting factories and collapsed down. He needed time to recover his strength and take stock of this new world he found himself in.

Over the next few days, he explored the city outskirts, scavenging for food and supplies. Though still weakened, his combat training meant he could defend himself from the creatures stalking the urban wilds.

One night, while rummaging through debris, he found a discarded scroll. In his time, such technology was completely foreign to him. In his time, communications was mostly limited to pigeon or human messengers, though he had heard of expensive magical artifacts reserved for powerful rulers. As such, he had spent some time in the next few days figuring out the functionalities of the scroll. Such a tool was invaluable for tracking or keeping up to date with news on the kingdoms.

He was shocked to learn how much time had passed while he slumbered. Old comrades and enemies alike were centuries gone. But Remnant still faced grave threats, and humanity was as divided as ever.

The biggest shock he found was that his descendants of the Schnee name seemed to have risen to a place of prominence in Atlas and around the world as Dust merchants. As the second son of a high-ranking nobleman in Atlas, he had generally found merchants to be of a more menial class than the knights who served their lord. However, in this new age, it seemed that such a position afforded their family incredible influence in the government.

However, Roland realized that with all of the changes in the technology and governance, quite a few things stayed the same. Mankind was still at war with the Grimm, and things did not seem to be going much better. Life in the cities and elsewhere was improved by technology, especially with the ease of communications, but otherwise the lack of magic severely hindered their efforts at reclaiming more land.

Looking at all of this, Roland realized he now had a unique opportunity - to use his archaic skills and experience to make a difference in this modern age. A new purpose kindled in his heart, and he vowed to regain his former strength, and perhaps find the immortal king who he once served. His legend would not end here.

Months passed as he honed his skills and continued exploring the city's underbelly. He had taken refuge in a storehouse and would get food and water by venturing outside of the city to hunt and hone his skills. One of those days, he returned to see a large broadcast on the public channels:

White Fang activity detected at the Sector 12 of the city. The attack seems to be targeting the Schnee mansion. All residents are to be evacuated until the military has taken care of the issue.

As sirens wailed, the knight made his way toward the unfolding chaos.

When he arrived, White Fang fighters and stolen Atlesian mechs were battling a mix of security forces and Huntsmen. In the midst of the fighting, he spotted a masked Scorpion faunus in the crowd, effortlessly during several huntsmen at once.

White glyphs flashed around him, and a flock of white birds appeared. Totally caught off guard, the attackers fell into chaos as the summoned birds pecked and clawed at their armor. With the enemy now in disarray, Roland leapt into battle.

With blinding speed, his sword cut through the robotic Knights. He parried a White Fang member's strike and kicked them back, then slashed through two more mechs.

The scorpion faunus hissed as he regained his composure, quickly unsheathing his deadly wrist-blades. He aimed and fired at the new foe, but to no avail as the strange knight charged forward, completely unfazed by the gunfire. In a desperate move, the faunus leapt backwards to avoid being sliced by the knight's long sword. The clash of metal rang out as their weapons collided in mid-air.

Roland did not let up on his assault, however, and pressing the advantage of surprise, he kept a close distance with his foe, always keeping him off balance with swift attacks to the most outstretched limbs.

Such strikes would be useless against most Grimm. Those shadowy creatures feel no pain, and have an incredible level of regeneration unless dealt a mortal wound. However, against a human, it is more than enough. While Aura typically protects all parts of the body, it can also be a disadvantage when facing a skilled opponent, as any strike will drain Aura regardless of where it hits. A hand strike can be just as damaging as a body strike in terms of draining one's Aura.

And Roland was certainly a skilled fighter.

With each swing of his sword, Roland's muscles strained, propelling the sharp blade through the air with precision and force. The metallic clang echoed through the battlefield, as he pressed his advantage whenever he could. His heart raced with adrenaline as he anticipated his next move, always one step ahead of his opponent. A slightly overextended swing was swiftly punished with a calculated cut at the hand, causing a cry of pain from his enemy. With lightning-quick reflexes, Roland dodged a poorly timed lunge and retaliated with a swift thwack on the leg, making his opponent stumble back in agony. Before a minute was done, Roland saw the characteristic dust emit from his foe's form and lunged in for a vicious slash that split their mask in half. However, before he could deliver the final blow to the faunus, he heard a clear call from far behind the enemy lines.

"Tyrian! Pull back. Your Aura is broken, and our Mistress would not have you fall."

Before Roland could take another step, a powerful beam of electricity hit him in the chest. Caught off guard, Roland stumbled back, and in the same moment, Tyrian sprang off into the distance, using the streets as cover.

Not wishing to be questioned by the authorities, Roland quickly dismissed his icy Grimm-soldiers, and drawing his cloak around him, made to slip back into the streets. Behind him, he saw a short, white-haired girl looking at him from inside the mansion window, struggling to hold onto a silver rapier which was far too heavy for her.

As he went back to his hideout, however, he saw a message on his scavenged scroll which chilled him to the bone.

Hello stranger

Do not bother replying to this message. We know where you live, and that you have some connection to the Schnees. You may be able to stop such an assault, but you cannot stop every means of attack, and believe us, we have more than enough resources to make yours and their life hell for as long as it takes.

However, our mistress is gracious. All you have to do is to blind this woman.

Signed - The Queen's Men

Attached under this image was a photo of Summer Rose.