The evening settled into a serene calmness, the fractured moon casting its ethereal glow upon the deserted streets. Once bustling with activity, now they lay silent, as if holding their breath in the embrace of night.
Not a whisper stirred the air, not even the faintest scurry of a mouse.
"Damn it, I'm late!"
The discontented voice shattered the silence, emanating from none other than Jaune Arc. Clad in his signature hoodie and chest plate, his new sword strapped to his side. Jaune stood before the Bullheads station, only to find it shuttered and deserted in the late hours of the night.
"God, Pyrrha and the others are going to be so mad at me," Jaune muttered, his heart heavy with the weight of his impending explanation. What had started as a simple favor for Nora had spiraled into a whirlwind of unexpected events, culminating in a day-long battle against a Grimm and the acquisition of a powerful new sword.
"Well, there's no use dwelling on it," Jaune reasoned with himself. "Wait, my Scroll! I can at least let them know I'm okay."
Fishing into his pocket, Jaune retrieved his Scroll, only to be met with disappointment. The device lay crushed and twisted in an odd manner, likely damaged during his airborne escapades, there goes a good chunk of his allowance, and his ability to let his team know where he was.
"Guess I'll have to find a hotel or something to stay at," Jaune sighed resignedly.
With a heavy heart and weary footsteps, our intrepid knight departed from the closed Bullheads station, venturing into the heart of Vale in search of temporary lodging. All he could think of was reaching out to his team, to assure them of his safety amidst the chaos of the night.
As Jaune wandered past the shuttered storefronts in his quest for accommodation, his thoughts inevitably turned to his "new" weapon—the upgraded iteration of his trusty sword, Crocea Mors.
The transformation of his weapon was anything but subtle. The disparity between the original Crocea Mors and its revamped counterpart was starkly apparent. Where the former had been a simple, utilitarian blade and shield combination, with its only distinguishing feature being the family symbol emblazoned on the shield, the latter exuded an air of regality and grandeur.
Unlike its predecessor, the new Crocea Mors boasted intricate detailing and a generous infusion of gold, elevating its aesthetic to new heights. Even the cross hilt proudly bore his family emblem, serving as a testament to its lineage. And to Jaune's surprise, even the sheath had undergone a remarkable transformation, matching the lavish design of the sword it housed.
Though the changes were undeniable, it felt like something that belonged on the hands of royalty, not his
'As Jaune pondered the mysterious events that had unfolded, questions swirled in his mind like a tempest, chief among them being the origin of the enigmatic voice and the sudden transformation into the unfamiliar suit of armor.
"That rusty sword..." Jaune mused aloud, his thoughts drifting to the neglected weapon that had remained untouched by the Grimm's assault. "Could it have triggered the change somehow? It was there, alongside Crocea Mors, embedded in the same rock."
Drawing the sword from its sheath, Jaune examined it under the moonlight's gentle glow. Its pristine blade shimmered, reflecting his own puzzled expression. His gaze wandered to the thirteen golden diamonds adorning the blade, each one a symbol of unknown significance.
Recalling the moment when one of those diamonds had emitted a radiant purple light, allowing him to summon Galahad's protection, Jaune couldn't help but wonder. Did each of these golden marks represent a person, their experiences, their weapons, waiting to be called upon in times of need? And if so, who were they? What stories did they hold?
With furrowed brows, Jaune stared intently at the sword, as if willing it to reveal its secrets, tapping one of the diamonds, as if trying to get it to do something. "Why me?" he murmured softly, the question lingering in the night air, unanswered.
The weapon felt like an extension of Jaune's very being, fitting into his grip with an uncanny sense of belonging. It surpassed the familiarity he had with the original Crocea Mors, imbuing him with a newfound sense of confidence and power. But as he marveled at the weapon's perfection, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. What had he done to deserve such a remarkable weapon?
Suddenly, the sharp sound of breaking glass shattered his reverie, snapping him back to reality. Though he knew he should resist the urge to investigate, Jaune couldn't ignore the call for help, not after what happened last time when he let fear paralyze him.
Racing towards the source of the commotion, Jaune turned a corner to find himself facing a dust shop. While he rarely used dust himself, witnessing Weiss and the others wield its power had instilled in him a sense of awe.
Surveying the shop's intact front windows, Jaune's confusion mounted. Where had the sound come from?
"Here's another crate of fire dust this time, and—"
"Yeah, yeah, be careful. I know that!"
"Can you animals be quiet? I don't want to get caught because you argue like an old married couple."
Voices drifted down from the rooftop, drawing Jaune's attention. Peering upwards, he observed two figures with Faunus traits—a tail and horns—engaged in conversation. But it was the sight of the third individual that sent a chill down Jaune's spine.
There, amidst the shadows, stood Roman Torchwick, the notorious gentleman criminal, his presence signaling trouble of the highest order. And to Jaune's dismay, the Faunus wore Grimm masks, identifying them as members of the White Fang—a dangerous alliance that spelled trouble for Vale and all who called it home.
Jaune pressed himself against the cool surface of the store's wall, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on him. Encountering Torchwick and his cohorts on his way home felt like déjà vu, reminiscent of the harrowing encounter with the Petra Gigas. Except this time, the threat was more insidious—a dangerous criminal and his band of terrorists.
"Okay, calm down, Jaune," he muttered to himself, attempting to devise a plan. "I could call the cops, but my Scroll's broken. Maybe I could go to the station, but they'd be gone by the time I got back. Damn, what should I do!?"
As if in response to his distress, Crocea Mors emitted a soft, reassuring glow, enveloping Jaune in a warm embrace of light. With a newfound sense of resolve, Jaune gripped the sword tightly, drawing strength from its comforting presence.
For a brief moment, Jaune felt a connection to something greater than himself, a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, he was not alone. And with that realization, he knew he had to act, to confront the danger before him, no matter the cost.
"God, I sound like Ruby," he chuckled softly, finding solace in the familiar humor amidst the chaos. With a determined nod, Jaune steeled himself for what lay ahead, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him with courage and resolve.
With this final reassurance, Jaune steeled himself, channeling his aura to coat his legs as he leaped to the rooftop.
In mid-air, Jaune surveyed the scene below, taking note of the criminals involved in the heist. Alongside Torchwick stood the White Fang members from earlier plus 3 more, as well as a girl adorned in attire reminiscent of Neopolitan ice cream.
As he landed among the group of criminals, Jaune unsheathed Crocea Mors, its glow illuminating the night. With determination coursing through his veins, he pointed the weapon at the group, ready to confront them.
"Tor—Torchwick, put the dust back where you found it, or else!" Jaune's voice wavered slightly, betraying his inner turmoil, but he squared his shoulders, determined to stand his ground. Torchwick's narrowed gaze bore into him, sizing up the dork knight before him.
"You're part of Red's group, aren't you?" queried the older man, undoubtedly referring to Ruby.
"You mean Ruby? Yeah, I'm her friend," Jaune confirmed, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.
The older man sighed heavily, shaking his head in exasperation as he muttered under his breath. "Out past your bedtime, but here you are, trying to stop me, I assume. God, you brats are a pain in my side."
Roman twirled his cane with practiced ease, his demeanor shifting from annoyance to a dangerous calm as he addressed Jaune. "Well, I'm sorry, mister 'hero,' but I'm not in the mood to play right now. However," he continued his tone drenched in sarcasm, snapping his fingers and gesturing towards Jaune, "these animals are more than willing to deal with you. Take care of our little wannabe hero," he commanded, as the White Fang members brandished their weapons with lethal intent.
"Be quick, I still need you idiots to move the rest of the crates"
As the five Faunus closed in around him, Jaune allowed Crocea Mors to guide his movements, seamlessly evading or deflecting their attacks with practiced precision. With each strike, he capitalized on openings in their defenses or exploited their lack of coordination, methodically dismantling their assault.
Compared to the Grimm he had faced earlier, this confrontation felt almost routine, despite being outnumbered five to one. Crocea Mors seemed to be imparting its wisdom to Jaune in real-time, teaching him the nuances of swordplay—proper footing, optimal grip, and the delicate balance between offense and defense—all of which came to him instinctively, it was strange but he merely let the blade guide his swings.
With a final decisive slash, the last of the White Fang assailants fell, defeated by Jaune's skill and determination. As he stood amidst the aftermath of the skirmish, a sense of triumph threatened to swell within him, only to be interrupted by the familiar sound of Roman Torchwick's exasperated sigh.
"This is what I get for sending an animal to do a man's job," Torchwick remarked, his annoyance evident as he relinquished the crate of dust to the ice cream girl, Neo.
"Sorry, Neo, but it seems we'll be delayed a bit longer, thanks to our 'hero' here," Torchwick added with a heavy sigh, acknowledging Jaune's unexpected intervention.
As Jaune processed the encounter, a stray thought crossed his mind: 'Her actual name is Neo, now that's...'
Before Jaune could entertain the humorous—or perhaps cunning—choice of naming a girl Neo, his attention was abruptly diverted as he found himself staring down the barrel of Torchwick's cane. It was yet another reminder of the frustration that sometimes accompanied being a huntsman—everyone seemed to wield some form of gun as their weapon of choice.
Reacting swiftly, Jaune raised his sword just in time to intercept a shot from Torchwick's gun-cane, the impact reverberating through his arms. The criminal followed up with a swift swing of his weapon aimed at Jaune's side, but with Crocea Mors' assistance, Jaune managed to deflect the attack, albeit narrowly.
A smirk played across Torchwick's lips. "Oh, you want to dance, hero? Let's dance."
With renewed vigor, Torchwick increased the pace of his assault, his strikes coming fast and furious, leaving Jaune struggling to keep up. Each blow was met with the resolute defense of Jaune's sword, but it was clear that Torchwick was slowly but surely wearing down his opponent.
As Torchwick's cane bore down upon him once more, Jaune attempted to block, but the criminal's swift maneuver sent him sprawling to the ground. Shaking off the impact, Jaune rolled away just in time to avoid another potentially devastating blow.
Gasping for breath, Jaune rose to his feet, only to find Torchwick relentless in his onslaught. The criminal's calculated strikes gradually wore down Jaune's defenses, leaving him panting and weary.
As Torchwick aimed his cane directly at Jaune, the young huntsman instinctively raised his sword to block, anticipating another shot. However, instead of firing, Torchwick seized the opportunity to deliver a brutal knee to Jaune's gut, causing him to double over in pain. The criminal wasn't done, just for good measure he swung his cane up, the end of it striking Jaunes chin and sending the young man crashing into a few crates of dust.
Staggering to his feet, Jaune realized he was on the brink of defeat, his body battered and his aura getting low. But as he backed away from Torchwick, a sudden surge of determination coursed through him. How had he transformed before? Desperation mingled with resolve as Jaune racked his brain for an answer.
Then, as if in response to his unspoken plea, Crocea Mors glowed with renewed intensity, a name echoing in Jaune's mind. It was a long shot, but it was his only hope. Placing the sword in front of him, Jaune watched as the glow around the blade intensified, clinging to the slim possibility that it might just be enough to turn the tide of battle in his favor.
With a resolute voice, Jaune called out, "Knight Install: Pendragon!" In response, Crocea Mors blazed with blinding light, enveloping Jaune in its radiant glow. Torchwick and Neo shielded their eyes, momentarily blinded by the intense brilliance.
"KNIGHT INSTALL: The Once and Future King: Pendragon!" The familiar voice that had accompanied his transformation into Galahad echoed once more, imbuing Jaune with a surge of power.
The words echoed through the air as Crocea Mors radiated with a dazzling brilliance, engulfing Jaune in a radiant aura. Torchwick and Neo shielded their eyes from the blinding light, taken aback by the sudden transformation unfolding before them.
A pristine white chest plate materialized on his torso, intricately adorned with golden lines that emitted a radiant glow. The golden embellishments danced and shimmered, tracing mesmerizing patterns across Jaune's body. His pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves followed suit, merging seamlessly with his form, each pulsing with newfound energy.
Beneath the armor, a metal skirt flowed gracefully, its black cloth with a distinguished yellow border rippling with power as it enveloped him. Atop his helm, locked in a majestic lion's visage, crafted in ivory-white, roared to life before closing shit. Its eyes, concealed behind a sleek black visor, gleamed with courage and determination.
As the transformation neared completion, a billowing black cape materialized, fluttering in the cool evening wind, illuminated by the moonlight. Torchwick stared in disbelief, his mouth agape, while Neo's eyes sparkled with unexpected fascination.
"I am the hero chosen by the holy sword," Jaune declared, his voice resonating with newfound confidence. "I am the one whose blade will cleave through evil!"
Though a hint of embarrassment tinged his cheeks beneath the helmet, Jaune stood firm, fully embracing the role he had taken on as he conjured up a speech based on those old mistral cartoons he watched when he was younger.
"Thank God the others aren't here," he thought to himself, grateful that none of his friends would ever see him doing something so embarrassing, or childish as Weiss would call it childish
"I am ARCALIBUR!"
The last proclamation echoed louder than Jaune had intended, ringing out as if amplified by some unseen force. Roman stared in shock, his expression a mix of disbelief and confusion, as he struggled to comprehend the transformation. The criminal took a deep breath, shaking his head as he just decided it was better not to question it, and just get this over with.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Torchwick began, "Your little flashy costume change isn't going to help you, kid, jus-"
Before he could finish his dismissive remark, Jaune bolted towards him with unexpected speed. With a swift and decisive strike, Jaune brought down his sword at Torchwick, with surprising speed, who hastily raised his cane to Jaune's sword clashed with Torchwick's cane, it knocked it aside. The force of the blow caught Torchwick off guard, the criminal's weapon out of the way, leaving him momentarily vulnerable, and forcing him into a defensive position.
Jaune pressed his advantage, launching a relentless assault on Torchwick, who found himself on the defensive against the Huntsman in training. Despite Torchwick's attempts to fend off the attacks, Jaune's speed and ferocity pushed him back, inch by inch.
"He's faster, much faster," Torchwick thought, struggling to keep up with Jaune's relentless assault. Despite his best efforts, Torchwick found himself being pushed back by the relentless onslaught.
"What the hell is that armor? The kid's actually exhausting me. I can barely keep up anymore," Torchwick realized, his confidence wavering as Jaune pressed his advantage. Suddenly, a look of realization crossed Torchwick's face as he saw Jaune's next move.
"Oh, shit!"
Jaune's blade swung towards Torchwick's right side with unyielding force, aiming to knock the cane out of his hand. With determination burning in his eyes, Jaune pressed on relentlessly, his resolve unwavering as he sought to disarm the criminal and bring an end to the conflict.
Torchwick raised his cane in defense, anticipating the blow. However, Jaune's strike was far more potent than expected. Instead of merely knocking the cane away, the blade of Crocea Mors sank into Torchwick's weapon, cleaving it in two with a resounding clash.
With the obstacle removed, Jaune's sword continued its path unabated, slamming into Torchwick's side with tremendous force. The impact sent the criminal tumbling to the floor, several feet away from Jaune.
Though his aura had prevented the armored blonde's sword from slicing deeply into him, the blow had taken a significant toll. Torchwick winced in pain as he sat up, clutching his side where the strike had landed. It was clear that his aura hadn't been enough to fully cushion the force of Jaune's attack, leaving him vulnerable and reeling from the powerful blow.
"This is why I hate Little Red and her friends," Torchwick cursed inwardly, frustration simmering beneath his composed facade. "Always interrupting me, and leaving me bruised and battered, barely able to get away."
As Torchwick begrudgingly acknowledged his current predicament, his gaze shifted to his assailant—a member of Ruby's group, a mere brat and the weakest link in the chain.
"And now he's got me on the ropes," Torchwick continued his silent lament, "mister 'hero' is slapping me around by himself. After I get away, I have to deal with Cinder if this kid doesn't turn me in. Great, tonight is not my night."
As Torchwick reflected on his misfortune, he looked at his current adversary: one of reds friends, essentially a novice and the weakest link in the group, who had cut his precious Melodic Cudgel in two, or he was going to make the brat pay.
While Torchwick stewed in his own frustrations, Jaune reveled in his unexpected victory. He was taking down Roman Torchwick single-handedly—how cool was that? Shaking off his excitement, Jaune refocused on the task at hand: apprehending Torchwick and the White Fang.
Sheathing his sword, Jaune walked over to the defeated criminal. "It's over, Torchwick. Your weapon is broken. Give up and come with me."
Internally, Jaune cheered. He didn't stutter; he must sound super cool now. However, his satisfaction was short-lived as he heard laughter emanating from the defeated fugitive.
"You know, kid, I'm flattered you're so focused on me, but you're forgetting someone else," Torchwick remarked with a smirk.
Confusion clouded Jaune's mind. He had taken down Torchwick and the White Fang— who could he be forgetting? Suddenly, he felt something was off and barely dodged a blade wielded by a pouting, murderous ice cream-colored criminal.
Neo! How did he forget someone literally dressed in the flashiest colors here? She looked like a walking ice cream scoop for God's sake! Jaune could deal with the embarrassment of forgetting Neo later; right now, she was trying to stab him. The armored blonde dodged most of her attacks, with only a few nicks hitting his armor.
Seizing an opportunity, Jaune grabbed Crocea Mors and countered one of Neo's swings, creating an opening for himself. He swung the sword at her, but before the attack could connect, she shattered like glass, disappearing from his sight.
Jaune's head swiveled, searching for any trace of Neo, but she had vanished without a trace. Instead, he found himself facing an empty rooftop, Torchwick's absence confirming his escape. Nevertheless, Jaune felt a sense of accomplishment knowing he had managed to save most of the dust and apprehend the White Fang members.
With determination, Jaune set about securing the remaining dust crates and binding the unconscious White Fang members, preparing them to be handed over to the authorities. As he worked, he noticed the first rays of dawn breaking through the horizon, signaling the start of a new day.
Realizing that the bullhead station would now be open, Jaune tightened the restraints on the White Fang members, ready to deliver them to the authorities as soon as they arrived. As he did, the armor surrounding him dispersed into motes of light, leaving him dressed in his usual attire of a simple chest plate and his hoodie adorned with Pumpkin Pete's cheerful visage on the front.
With a sense of satisfaction, Jaune beelined for the Bullheads, confident that they would be open now. Finally, he could return to Beacon and to his team not smushed by a petra gigas or beaten to a pulp by Torchwick and the white fang. As he made his way down the street, his mind focused on his next steps, completely unaware of the cameras that had captured the entire fight.
When Jaune returned to Beacon, his first stop was back to his dorm where his team awaited. As expected, Pyrrha and Ren chastised him for being out so late, though Ren's unusually strong reaction surprised him. Nora, on the other hand, bombarded him with apologies, even offering him some of her legendary pancakes—a gesture usually reserved for Ren alone. Jaune declined, assuring her that everything was okay.
Soon, they were on their way to breakfast, and Jaune felt content being with his team. However, his moment of peace was short-lived.
"Arc, what is this?!" Weiss exclaimed, holding up her scroll. The screen displayed a video from the Vale News Network, causing Jaune's eyes to widen in shock.
"Last night, a mystery man in armor confronted the notorious criminal Roman Torchwick, who has recently become more prominent, stealing dust from a local dust shop. Luckily, the confrontation ended with the mysterious hero emerging victorious," the reporter, Lisa Lavender, narrated.
As Jaune listened to the recounting of the events, his face flushed with embarrassment. The video footage captured his fight with the White Fang and Torchwick in high quality. His heart sank as he watched himself in action, clad in the armor, declaring, "I am the king who was chosen by the holy sword, I am the one whose blade will cleave out evil. I am ARCALIBUR." The only saving grace was that his face was mostly obscured, but if anyone who knew him saw, they would easily recognize his hoodie, hair color, and the singular piece of armor he wore: his chest plate.
"This day could not get any worse," Jaune muttered under his breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"Really, Vomit boy? Arcalibur?" Yang's teasing voice chimed in, adding to Jaune's mortification. It seemed the day was determined to test his patience to its limits.
A/N
Sup Azure here and a revised chapter 2, god this was bad, I'm so happy I'm going through and changing things, also I changed it up so that his identity isn't; really known but obviously, his friends recognize him, and I made this transformation a bit more in-depth I guess, since I felt like why not, just Roman looking on in confusion as he just decides not to question it. Besides that, it's mostly the same, hope you enjoy this revised chapter, 3 and 4 should be next, then back to just normal updates, ciao.
Thirteen Locks (1/13) :
Arthur (Dormant): The once and future king, Arthur wields the legendary Excalibur, its true power unlocked through the unity of the Knights of the Round Table. Initially, it bestows upon Jaune enhanced strength, speed, and resistance to magic. Only by unlocking the potential of all the knights will Excalibur reveal its full might. (1/13)
Galahad: The Shield of Camelot, Galahad's unbreakable shield is imbued with the sacred light of the Holy Grail. It grants Jaune heightened defense, its divine radiance shining brighter in the presence of Grimm, rendering them vulnerable to its holy essence. Even the toughest of Grimm find their armor no match for this blessed shield, capable of cleaving through darkness-tainted foes.