"Give it a look! Maybe we're on the news!"
Finally moved by Ashen's pushing, Reza let out a sigh and burrowed her hand in her backpack. She was flanked by her two comrades from both sides as they, alongside at least two dozen students, were walking down the paths surrounding the Lantern Ranger Academy, making their way towards the next lecture on campus. Several tall spires, looming above, cast ominous shadows onto the open parks and thick forests that surrounded them and could be seen well past the edge of the cliffs outside of campus. A few rivulets ran through the academy grounds, requiring the students to cross ornate and white-framed bridges – the sound of their water crashing into the sea past the cliff formed a faint and soothing background noise for everyone in the Academy.
Vale's Rangers, the defence forces of the quaint emerald kingdom, were a different breed from the disciplined professional army of Mantle or the slave soldier caste controlled by the emperors of Mistral. They served as more than just soldiers on the front lines, for one – they were expected to be guardians of Vale and its colonies from the Grimm, keepers of law and order, and defenders of the spirit and ideas upon which the Kingdom was founded, heroism, individualism, liberty, and so on. As a result, aspiring Rangers were expected to spend their years in the Academy learning not merely how to wield weapons and fight, but also the Kingdom's history, laws, and norms, and they had to be at least a little familiar with the current political situation as well as recent technological advancements.
Mantle had specialists, who could wield Semblances and top-notch weapons just as well as elite rangers, but the average Mantlean soldier was just a warm body who could operate turrets and fire rifles. Each Ranger, on the other hand, was expected to be a force on the battlefield all by themselves, substituting technological supremacy with the strength of bravery and willpower. Whether this was actually more effective than Mistral's or Mantle's militaries was... a political debate, but it was what Vale had relied upon for generations.
Reza pulled out her Parchment – a large, flat steel device with a screen at the front and numerous knobs at the side. Turning them got the screen to flicker and change, although all the three Lantern students could see was a meaningless mesh of lights.
"Try to tune it a little with the upper slider, then it should- Oh, here we go," Yche commented, before the image on the Parchment screen cleared, though still with some cracks and scratches here and there. It was a black and white video of a woman, with very light-coloured hair, most of which ran onto her back except for a single lock at the side of her forehead. She wore a dress with a straight, curveless cut that, going against the grain of fashion, had a high collar that covered the sides of her neck almost entirely.
At least, that's the features one could make out from the blurry image.
"The Ranger Corps on the eastern coast of Sanus confirmed today that five hundred settlers from the Empire of Mistral have moved into the town of Sumire, which currently swears allegiance to Vale. This marks the third violation of the Second Settlement Treaties by Mistral and Mantle this month..."
"Eh, Sumire?" Yche pushed herself closer to hear the filtered voice from the transmission. "That's not far from where I live."
"Really?" Ashen asked.
"Yeah, it's a few dozen leagues away from Altar – well, I don't live there now, I'm here, obviously, but-"
"Shhh..." Reza hushed. "I can't hear what she's saying over you two."
"...in response to these accusations, Mistral's representative in Vale once again reminded the Council of Vale's ongoing refusal to trade with Mistralian ports, which, according to the representative, is causing food shortages in Mistralian colonies in Sanus." The reporter flashed a smile and then turned to someone to the side, outside of the video, handing over the script she held in her hands.
"Well damn, stuff's heating up out in the frontier," Yche was the first to comment, her tone slightly worried, which got Ashen to ask:
"Think a war might break out?"
The question briefly left all three of the women silent, with nothing more than the sound of steps marching along the path surrounding them. Eventually, Yche forced out an answer:
"...I hope not."
"It seems unlikely that either side will actually wage war, everyone has too much to lose. A third agreement on settlement borders is more likely," Reza added, in a calm and collected tone. Ever since Mistral and Mantle began establishing settlements on their continent, just as Vale began expanding into the rich eastern territories, new Settlement Treaties were being drawn up and subsequently violated because neither side was satisfied with their share of the land. Ashen sighed.
"I'd rather us not concede to those emotionless slavers again, though..."
The reporter slightly bowed with her head and finished. "We plead to the King and to his government to stand strong and not give in to this foreign pressure. These are today's news with Jurata Glaesa. Now, we will play the "Flight of the Wyvern Grimm" for-"
The video feed shut down, as Reza turned the knob on the Parchment to the side. "Okay, that's enough."
"But I like that musical..." Ashen mumbled, disappointed.
The group of students stopped in their tracks with the loud stomp of the professor's boot, which got the chatting to cease and two dozen sets of eyes, as well as a few sets of wolf, cat and rabbit ears, to perk up. They were now on the very outskirts of the academy grounds, near the edge of the cliff dropping down to the bay below - numerous mannequins and targets were dotted throughout a largely dusty and barren field, its grass grinded down and decaying after decades of sparring and practicing. A small warehouse to the side served as a silo for students and teachers, and a few boxes of crystal Dust were already placed next to the door.
"All right, young'uns!" Colonel Perun announced with a booming voice, turning to the students with his arms folded behind his back. A tall, wide veteran with a marvellous grey beard, and wearing a standard green uniform with epaulettes that carried at least fifteen medals on his breast, he was difficult to miss in any group or gathering - and the loud baritone certainly helped in that. "First of all, I have bad news for you folks. I had been expectin' to be running lessons for you for at least three more months, but it seems that today will be our last chance, hah!"
One of the students, a short boy with dark brown hair, raised his hand. "Um... excuse me, but don't we still have a few months until the end of semester...?"
"Well, you did - but the big guys upstairs have suddenly decided to fast-track all of you. So, next week, you'll be having your final exams!"
The entire class was immediately sent to a panic, yelling and mumbling to one another, while the Colonel laughed heartily - at first, at least, though he soon calmed down and cracked a somber frown. For a second, he looked at his side, where another man was standing next to him - Prince Firre, who was already familiar to the class from the past handful of lectures. His attire was markedly different from the mission in the Vale residential district last night - he swapped the civilian clothes for a navy-blue reefer jacket, with a shoulder board on his right connected to the chest with a yellow aiguillette, while the left side of his body was mostly hidden with a dark green cloak. His eyes briefly met the professor's, and he then glanced away with a disappointed frown.
"How are we supposed to be ready for the exam when we haven't even started studying?!" Ashen yelled while holding onto Reza, who was the only one of the students who remained calm after the announcement.
"Speak for yourself..."
What she was more concerned about was the reasons, if any, for the sudden decision to fast-track their class. She hadn't heard of such instances from the older students when she squeezed information about the curriculum from them - and this happening at the same time as news from the Frontier was not reassuring.
"Now, calm down, calm down, folks," the Colonel began trying to settle down the mood. "There's no need to panic. You all are going to find that you are just a bit more prepared for the testing than you imagine. Besides, do you think that when you get to the army, you won't have orders changing at the last minute and catching you completely unprepared? We're just getting you accustomed to Ranger life, hahaha!"
Nobody joined Perun's hearty laugh, however, so, after calming down, he planted his hand on Firre's shoulder and continued:
"We're going to have another practice lecture today. You've all seen Prince Firre before. The Royal Family has lended him to us as a sparring partner - since I'm not really used to holding back, this will be better for all sides. Your Highness, take it away."
Firre had raised his hand, with a faint smile, upon being introduced, but once Colonel Perun gave him the go ahead, he stepped away and swished his cloak to the side, revealing a sword with a complex, mechanical design attached to his belt.
"Thank you. I hope that the Colonel's horrible news won't distract you, and perhaps I can even help take your mind off the terror of exams," he began. "If you're frustrated, you'll be allowed to hit me to calm down - as long as you're not being sloppy, of course."
It was his father who first offered him and the teaching staff of Lantern Academy the idea of helping train Valean Rangers as a sparring partner - and though he was fine with the proposal, the Ranger commanders were a lot more concerned. Firre had never gone through the Academy curriculum - King Ozymandias chose to train him personally, and though „the Warrior King" was always known as a terror on the battlefield, who's to say that his son has inherited any of his talent and strength?
Firre didn't mind such suspicion - it meant that Colonel Perun, General Serapion and others were going to judge him by his own merits, rather than any inheritance. And, by now, it seems as if he's convinced them somewhat.
„All, right, fighting Firre!" Yche called out with a confident grin, starting to hop on her feet like a boxer in anticipation. Yet, Firre's next words deflated her instantly:
„I'd like to invite forward someone whose weapon can only be used in melee."
„Oh, what the hell..."
„Yes, not me!" Ashen jumped in joy.
After a few seconds of silence among the crowd, one weak voice in the crowd finally answered:
„I... I can volunteer."
The students stepped to the side, allowing a fairly tall, blonde haired man with blue eyes to march forward. Much like the rest of the class, he had modified his bland green uniform somewhat to express his individuality - in his case, attaching shoulder pads and thigh pads to give himself a bit more of a medieval look. A simple sword, placed into a white and golden sheath, was attached to his waist.
„My name is Martel, sir."
„...Don't call me „sir", please, I'm no older than you."
„Well, sorry... I just used it because you're a lot more important than I am..."
Martel's voice was weak, and his posture betrayed that he didn't feel comfortable being on the spot - if he could have, and he hadn't just volunteered for a sparring match, he would have probably dipped back into the crowd by now. In response to the statement, Firre let out a sigh.
„You're not correct there, either," He gestured to the student with his hand, and they both stepped away from the crowd, taking different positions in the court. „Anyway, Colonel Perun wanted me to help you all in regards to modern technology, and how to counter it in a one on one duel situation."
Suddenly, Firre stopped, kicking up a little bit of dust by his foot's dig into the ground, and pulled out his sword. One side of the blade had a fairly standard edge, but the other was covered up by machinery, as if the entire upper half of the weapon had been disassembled and replaced with a gun. Three tubes were running across the side of the blade - two of them were filled with red Dust, while the third was empty.
„Now that craftsmen in all four kingdoms have figured out reliable methods to miniaturize Dust guns and attach them to melee weapons in a way that allows them to endure massive force and still work, you are going to see a lot more of these as time goes on," he began to explain, raising his weapon and displaying it. „Weapons which can be used in melee, yet also can shoot at range, which means that they can keep you at bay while also not being entirely defenseless if you manage to slip through their range. Your task in this spar will be to use your wits to get past such a weapon and deal a strong blow against my Aura, which we will treat as an immediate Aura break."
„R-right!" Martel answered. In response to Firre's display of his weapon, he drew his own - a one-handed sword, with a blue handle and golden cross-guard. The sheath, meanwhile, transformed into a white heater shield, displaying a golden crescent at the front, which he attached to his left.
„At least it has some defensive utility..." Reza muttered to herself, tapping her chin and watching the confrontation intently. The other students were, if anything, anticipating an interesting fight, although Yche was still a little grumpy.
„We are going to say that, in this hypothetical confrontation, you start with an advantage," Firre continued. Then, he pulled a small lever on the side of his gunblade and popped it open - from a pocket inside of his coat, he pulled out a small paper cartridge. „Namely that, before you found me on the battlefield, the Reconnaissance Corps collected information about my weapon. They told you that it is a more modern design and has three tubes, each one storing powdered Dust, that the user can switch between using a bolt action. This means that the weapon can fire three shots before needing to reload."
He bit the end of the paper cartridge to open it, then poured red powdered Dust into the empty third tube, filling it up to the brim. With a simple hand jolt, the opened gunblade snapped back into place and he pulled the lever to lock it, readying it for action.
"You thus know that you have to endure three shots before I run out of ammo. Are you ready?"
Martel dug his feet into the ground, partially raising his shield, and called out with a surprisingly confident "Yes!".
Firre's eyes briefly turned to Colonel Perun. He raised his hand, getting both fighters to briefly tense up, and then dropped it down.
It was time.
The prince immediately aimed his gunblade and fired. Martel barely had the time to raise his shield before a colourful explosion consumed him entirely, briefly covering much of the battlefield in ash and smoke. It wasn't enough to get through his defences, and the sword-wielding warrior soon ran out of the cloud, keeping his shield in front while twirling his weapon in anticipation. Right before he made contact, Martel leapt into the air and swung down onto Firre after a spin, his sword clashing against the gunblade. Yet, it was him who got forced back by the knockback.
Taking advantage of his momentum, the prince sent a swing of his own that his opponent barely managed to guard against. The unexpected force behind it almost sent the shield flying and forced Martel to make a step back.
S-strong... The raw force behind that strike was well beyond his own.
Firre, however, did not follow up on his attack, stepping back himself and making a quick spin with his sword. It wasn't just for show - in the middle of the spin, one of his fingers pulled onto the gun's bolt and switched the tube, with an accompanying satisfying "click" sound. Martel went for an attack again. One sword swing came, then another, both deflected by the prince's weapon.
Let's see how he reacts to this.
After a third swing, an overhead, Firre blitzed to the side, moving faster than Martel's eyes could track, and stopped behind his opponent. Martel barely noticed the shift in time, and, again, raised his shield just in time to block a second Dust blast.
Good. His reactions are fast enough.
With a faint, satisfied smile, Firre watched the receding cloud of dust in anticipation, spinning his sword and switching it to the third tube. A faint crack sound reached his ears from the ground, and Martel subsequently lunged at him again. This time, however, when Firre tried to brace for impact, he almost lost his balance - his knee-high boots felt as if they were glued to the floor, and wouldn't budge no matter how much he tried moving them. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was Martel's Semblance.
"Very good!" the prince yelled, blocking a spirited overhead blow and pushing Martel back, then looked him down with a smile. His trainee wasn't as confident as he might have liked - the posture, cowering behind his shield, revealed that he didn't trust his Semblance to do all the work - but it was encouraging to see nonetheless. "Between this and your shield, you're quite well equipped to deal with ranged enemies."
"I don't get it, what did he do? Why isn't Firre moving?" Yche broke the silence among the crowd, to which Reza responded:
"Martel can nail objects down to the surface they're on - I'm assuming he just used it on Firre's boots."
The student sent another swing, a horizontal one - to which his sparring partner responded by bending back and pulling his legs out of his nailed boots. As soon as Martel's sword completed its arc, two feet slammed straight into his chin and pushed him back, drawing out "ooh"s and "hah"s from the audience. Firre followed with a backflip to gain some distance and, expecting his opponent to continue the offensive, raised his sword before Martel could recover and fired a third time.
Yet another deflection. He was, if anything, good at reactions, even when distracted. Firre lowered his sword, with a satisfied smile.
Martel did not attack at first. Here's my chance, I just... need to find a good direction to attack him from... Still holding up his shield at the front, he carefully strafed around Firre, watching the prince's movements. After all, the last few times he attacked, it didn't end too well. And it didn't seem like his trainer was attacking, so he had time to figure out a decisive strike...
Firre was not enthused by this. Suddenly, he declared:
"You are taking too long."
"Huh?-"
Moving faster than Martel could track, much less move his shield in the right position to block an attack, he lunged forward, thrusting his sword straight at the student's chest. His body bounced back, surrounded by fragments of shattered white Aura, and crashed to the ground, while the sword in his hand fell to the side.
"This is a training spar, so I was lenient and gave you time, but it's too precious of a resource to waste when fighting a Grimm or an enemy soldier," Firre began to explain, looming over the defeated Martel with his sword still pointed forward - then, he lowered the weapon, resting its tip on the ground. "You need to be more active, as a reminder for the future. You did well for most of the fight, though. Even managed to surprise me once with your Semblance. If I was a Grimm, you might have taken me down right there."
He offered his hand to Martel, who was groaning from the painful impact, but accepted the help nonetheless.
"You can rest. Anyone else want to go?"
"Okayy... do you still want to fight Fee-Fee?" Ashen asked Yche, to which the taller woman immediately scoffed and answered:
"Are you kidding? It's just another wall to climb!"
The bright red trees of Forever Fall, surrounding the palace of the Kings of Vale from all sides, gave it an ominous appearance, as if it was rising from a sea of leaves and looming over the kingdom down the river. The palace was rectangular and most of it was relatively low, only a few floors tall, yet a handful of towers peered over the roofs, reaching to the sky – standing atop the highest, it is said, one could see the entirety of Vale all the way to the sea, and the palace sometimes opened the towers to visitors to test that rumour. Bulky outer walls, built out of marble, reminded observers of the kingdom's more violent past. A long time ago, when civilisation hadn't progressed this far and even isolated valleys such as Vale's were vulnerable to Grimm invasions or banditry, hiding behind the walls of such a castle was often the only way to survive.
Those days have, hopefully, passed. Now, the Palace was a seat of government and a refuge for diplomats who managed to cross Remnant's treacherous waters. Dozens of servants and courtiers always hurried within its corridors – there were always politicians to attend to, conferences or tea talks to hold, dances to drop into, or simply elite of Vale to mingle with.
Prince Firre entered the palace lobby and immediately headed for the stairs at the front. It was late in the evening, so the corridors were busier than the usual, but he did not even turn to the numerous civilians he was passing by – even though a few suited officials tried to stop him for a chat.
I'm guessing there's no point in me trying to find him by myself. With so many people at home today, he could be anywhere.
So, he headed to the left. There, the crowds turned sparser, before he passed them by entirely. This section of the palace held the bedrooms – so, only the Royal Family and a select handful of servants for their personal care were allowed here without having permission first. Firre stopped by one of the doors, knocked, and then gently opened it.
It was an ornate room with a green motif, standard of the nobility of Vale. A double bed with carved bed frames stood in the centre, with curtains that were spread apart. Paintings and hanged artefacts from ages past adorned the walls, and a table stood on the other side of the room from the bed. Besides the table was a chair, and on it sat a middle-aged blonde woman covered with several cloths. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and she was slumped in the chair - in spite of her sickly visage, she held a pen and paper in her hand, scribbling something down. A cup of tea sat on the table, near her hand.
"Are you doing better today?" Firre asked and immediately approached, although he retained a little bit of distance. The woman was about to answer, but a violent cough left her throat instead of speech, which got the prince to step forward in concern.
"...A little better than tomorrow, thank you, Firre..." she muttered. Her hand, shaking, reached towards the table, trying to put her pen and paper down.
"Come on, don't exert yourself too much, mother," Firre hopped forward and picked them up from her hands, then handed the cup to them instead. It was still warm - it must have been brought here by the Queen-Consort's maid.
"It is just a little bit of writing... putting some thoughts down on paper."
"That can still be taxing, you know. Thinking of the right words takes a lot of energy, and you need all of it to recover."
"I know, I know..." his mother answered and took a gulp from her cup. "It just... doesn't feel fair. You, Oz... you're working so hard, and I don't want to be left out. If I can't... go out there and slay Grimm myself, I'll at least... write down what I know about the art..."
It wasn't that long ago that Nehrung, Queen-Consort of the Kingdom of Vale, was known as one of the most fearsome Grimm hunters in the Kingdom. Yet, ever since she returned from what was supposed to be an ordinary hunt... she's had to stay indoors, her life sapped every day, since.
Firre turned his face to the side, to hide his sheepish smile - but Nehrung noticed it nonetheless, and flashed a faint smile herself.
"So, what brings you here? Going to tell me about how you got your life in danger again to worry little old me?"
"I... no... well..." Firre stammered a little. "I just wanted to ask you where Father was. Since the palace is so busy today, I figured I might as well ask you, since you probably know."
"Of course. He headed out to the third assembly hall on the right wing of the complex. I am not sure if you should interrupt him, he has a meeting with his advisors, but perhaps you can wait outside?"
Ah, makes sense.
"Yeah, I won't bother them. I just have something to talk to him about."
Not bothering didn't mean not taking a chance to listen in - Firre couldn't miss an opportunity to learn a little more about what new the conflict out of the east has brought. He was about to take his leave, before his mother spoke up while picking up the papers from the table:
"Be safe."
Hearing her request, the prince stopped and turned towards her, and answered with a small smile:
"Don't worry about me. You're the one who needs to be safe."
A creak of the door and a step back, and he was already gone. Nehrung let out a sigh. I need to talk to Oz about him someday. Making a mental note of that, she returned back to her papers. Now, where was she?
"Winter..."
"Then, General Serapion, what is the situation in the East?"
A wide table was placed in the centre of the hall, and a map of the eastern half of the continent of Sanus was overlaid on top of it – scribbles, dashes and sharp arrows had made it messy after years of use. Ozymandias, the King of Vale, stood in front of the map, his hands resting on his cane. A tall and somewhat bulky man in armour with pure white hair which reached to his shoulders, he had his eyes focused on the small dots representing settlements on the eastern coast. General Serapion, who had been called to speak, stood on the other side from the table – he was slightly shorter than his monarch, but his full, medal-ridden Ranger uniform gave him just as much of an intimidating look.
The other persons attending the meeting were civilians. Councilwoman Iolanta stood to the King's left, her hands were holding onto the edge of the table and her eyes were closed – she was there as a representative of the elected authorities. To his right was Secretary Odette, the most pompous of everyone attending – an ornate white dress which accentuated the feathers on her head and wrists. Compared to Ambassador Buluqiya, who wore a simple nomad tunic even when meeting the King of Vale himself, it was a difference of night and day.
General Serapion raised his sword, using it as a pointing stick, and began:
"Mantle has deployed three divisions, with airship and artillery support, to Sanus thus far, according to the Reconnaissance Corps. It's not enough to lay siege to Vale itself, but it is much stronger than the Ranger units we currently have deployed past the mountains. If they are planning an act of aggression, it would probably be an attempt to seize out colonies on the coast and present a fait accompli in the aftermath."
"Understood. And what about Mistral?"
The door behind them slowly opened and closed, but nobody raised attention and focused on the information displayed. Serapion aimed his sword towards a larger dot on the easternmost side of the continent, situated around a long fjord jutting into the landmass. "We haven't noticed- Ah, I'm sorry, miss Iolanta, are you able to follow?"
The councilwoman merely gestured with her hand. "I can picture the map in my mind, please, continue."
"Well then... Mistral's deployment on our continent is still a mystery. We haven't noticed any units of Invulnerables deployed, but we also are missing vital information about their troop numbers. Their authorities in Suchan dealt a blow to our reconnaissance recently – and knowing the city's size, missing information about deployments there is a major loss."
That's not good. While Ozymandias collected his thoughts, the general finished:
"If war breaks out, we won't be able to cover our colonies with our current troop numbers past the mountains. Lantern Academy is hastening Ranger training, and though I'd hate to send the youth to a war, it might be necessary to show Mantle and Mistral that we aren't taking their incursions lightly."
"Thank you, General," the king nodded and turned his attention to his right. "How is the economy handling the trade restrictions, Secretary Odette?"
After a faint cough, Odette fixed her bulky glasses and answered:
"We're shifting away from Mantlean raw materials thanks to Mountain Glenn, but a full war would be painful for everyone involved. The House of Trade has lodged us yet another complaint for this "escalation of hostilities", they..."
"The House always complains. There's no reason to treat their protests over cutting trade with Mantle any differently," Serapion interjected. Odette was about to answer, but Iolanta joined the conversation instead:
"You can say that, but Velinn and the others have a lot of the city in their pockets. If they've got issue with our policies, they must at least be listened to."
"Alright, alright," the king gestured with his hand to settle the conversation down, then turned his eyes to Buluqiya, the ambassador. "Do you have any information on how Vacuo feels about all of this?"
The diplomat, dark-skinned and withdrawn from the conversation, only responded after a second of pause. "The Queen is in the middle of a campaign against unruly tribes and cannot pay attention to foreign concerns, but I am sure she would endorse you once Vacuo is back in one piece."
"That is understandable, thank you..."
It was a little odd to think that just a decade ago, the idea of dealing with "Vacuo" as a diplomatic actor in its own right was considered unheard of. Tribes and clans squabbling amongst themselves are not on the same level as entire kingdoms. A region unified by an unexpected young conqueror was something else.
Finally, Ozymandias turned his attention to the left, to the aged red-haired politician.
"And the elected representatives, Councilwoman Iolanta? How do your constituents feel about this?"
"What I've heard recently is that opinion is turning against Mantle and Mistral. For the average citizen of Vale, these two kingdoms are breaking every last treaty we've made with them and constantly pushing further. There's less and less appetite for concessions, your Majesty, and now that Mistral has begun settling Sumire and violated the borders defined by the Second Settlement Treaties, while Mantle seems to be openly supporting slave catching in our borders, our constituents expect some firm action."
It was rare to hear of the people of Vale becoming thirsty for conflict, and it got the King to glance back to the map with a somber expression. "Understood, thank you." Thoughts and worries were swirling in Ozymandias' head, yet no obvious solution presented itself. The last thing he wanted was to lead his nation to war. Not just for his sake, or the sake of the soldiers he'd inevitably have to sacrifice - but for the sake of all of mankind as well. Could there be an easier way to divide mankind for generations than an enormous war and the bitter aftermath, no matter which side wins?
The discussion table went dead silent for a few seconds, before Iolanta spoke again:
"There is also... something else I need to mention to you, Your Majesty. The Council has received several complaints about the conduct of the Crown Prince lately."
"Hm?"
"From business owners, even the House of Trade. They say that he wanders the streets and-"
"I am enforcing the law. I don't tolerate places which discriminate Faunus and aid slave catchers."
Firre had, in fact, been standing next to the door ever since General Serapion's report, watching from a distance and listening to the information. The entire meeting, save for Iolanta, turned to his direction, and he approached.
"Do you have the authority to be enforcing law in Vale?" Odette asked, to which the prince answered:
"I have a moral one."
The secretary immediately struck a glare at him, General Serapion was hardly any more pleased. Sensing the tension, King Ozymandias tapped the floor with his staff to draw attention back to him and said:
"I will handle this question personally. I believe we've addressed every topic I wanted to be informed about, so I would like you all to take your leave now. You'll be informed of our next meeting."
"Understood," Serapion answered with a nod, then approached Iolanta. "Come on, miss Iolanta, I'll help you navigate out of here."
"Oh, thank you, sir..."
Odette, meanwhile, turned to the Vacuan ambassador as they both departed from the room. "Mister Buluqiya, before you leave the palace, a few things to ask regarding our exports..."
Soon, the only people left in the room were the King and his son. Ozymandias stepped away from the map and stopped in front of Firre, his hands resting on his cane and eyes looking down at the shorter young royal. He had rarely, if ever, resorted to threats, but Firre couldn't deny that he could appear intimidating.
"Look, I-"
"So, Firre, what exactly did you... do?"
First interrupted, and then put on the spotlight, the prince glanced to the side, towards the floor, and briefly remained in silence.
"In the past few months, I've started to notice that people who have done no harm except dream of a safe and free life are being hunted and put back into torture that they've escaped from. I've noticed that our own people don't recognize this threat to what our kingdom stands for, and even stomp on our values themselves. I've gathered a team of people who are horrified by this just like me, and we've taken the fight to them."
By the end of his explanation, Firre once again stood firm, and stared his father right in the eyes. Ozymandias did not appear moved at all, he remained in the same posture. Yet... after a second of pause, the king nodded, smiled and answered:
"Following after your heart in the most irresponsible manner possible. That sounds just like you, Firre."
"Oh, please..."
"Hm, keep your manners, young man. I understand you, don't get me wrong. But what Secretary Odette asked you is understandable, too. You are a civilian - and a prominent one at that, whose every move is being watched by the whole kingdom, just like mine. If they see the heir to the throne run around the streets with a pack of friends dispensing vigilante justice, what would they think?"
Firre's eyes shifted to the ground again. "...If they have a problem with me doing a good thing, then that's their problem..."
"There is a time and a place for everything, and we have the Rangers to enforce the law - not vigilantes. You might be doing the right thing, but not everyone who walks around the city with their sword drawn is, and I'd rather you at least talk to me before going out at night, or inspiring someone worse. I can figure out the legal channels for you to help the Rangers, in some form, if you are so vehement about this. Do you understand?"
Instead of a simple "Yes", Ozymandias merely received silence and a withdrawn look. Patiently, he waited, yet Firre didn't seem to want to spit it out. So, eventually, the king continued:
"What did you want to talk to me about?"
This finally got Firre to speak again. "...About those legal channels. I'll... need help with that."
Well. See, that wasn't so hard. "Hm?"
"I'm... Well, you see, I'm getting more and more convinced that all these slave catchers who keep slipping into Vale's territory, they're more than isolated cases. Someone powerful must be helping them."
"How so? What makes you say that?"
"Not that much beyond just gut feeling, but... just how often I've noticed slave catcher raids all throughout Vale has gotten me suspicious. The trade embargo on Mantle is also a restriction on migration, right? There's no way that so many armed individuals could be slipping through without anyone being stopped, so somebody must be helping them cross our borders - and they have to have a degree of influence to be able to overcome migration controls like that..."
If that Faunus girl, Silva, hadn't ran away from him, perhaps he would know a bit more about the whole dynamic between fugitive slaves and their hunters - but, sadly, he was forced to deal with incomplete information. Hopefully, she didn't get caught in another slave raid... Ozymandias struck a stern frown and clenched onto his cane a bit more tightly.
"That does make sense. I've written to the King of Mantle about this once, but I received no response."
"Right, and I came here because I wanted to ask for access to Ranger information. Many of the slave hunters me and my team took down were subsequently taken in by the Rangers - and they probably have access to the seized weapons, uniforms, and everything else. That'll be the key to figure out who's helping them, and I want to get to the bottom of this, myself."
"And... you are sure you don't want to leave this to the Rangers themselves?"
"No."
The sudden, firm response briefly got the king to pause and mutter a brief "Uh", then a sigh. What else was he to do? Ozymandias smiled, snickered and said:
"Such a problem child..."
It was Firre's turn to be baffled. "I-uh, what?" The uncharacteristic surprise brightened up the king's expression even further.
"I'll talk to General Serapion. Just make sure to report everything you figure out to me and the Rangers - and don't get too aggressive. One of these days, you're going to make someone in the House of Trade pop a blood vessel."
All right! The first two chapters are very introductory, since they need to both present the setting, introduce the main characters, also also segue into the plot - so they are longer than what I expect to be the usual.
I hope that this isn't a turn-off and that you're excited to jump in!