I groaned, my muscles straining from work. Erstwhile, father sat across me. As he did so, he pushed a glass of cold water towards me.

It was a long day. Interviews, assurances. I placed my best smile and most sincere smile I could as I toured the foundry, speaking to anyone and everyone. It was important to look like everything was normal and that we were confident in some plan to save the company. My social battery was drained and scraped by the barrel but it did to work to induce calm in our ranks. I leaned forward and took the glass water father deposited and drank it all in one go.

"Welcome to my world," Gerard chuckled as he leaned back on the couch.

"I am going to work hard so that I will never have to do this again and retire with a model laying on my lap," I groaned again. My father laughed some more as he lounged.

"I wouldn't recommend a model, my boy. They look pretty but only so few of them have brains to meet the needs of the company," Gerard advised me. His tone indicated experience.

"Sounds like you have experience with that, dad," I pointed out, looking up at him.

"As I said, your grand-father was a womanizer. You best believe that some decisions he made during his time was because some socialite whispered it into his ears," Gerard sighed as he rubbed his forehead. I smiled thinly.

"I shall have to find a good partner who is not only beautiful but wise too, then." I offered. At that, Gerard nodded.

"How was the board?" I asked him.

At that, my father frowned before he answered. "Good news; many have agreed to sell back their stake in the company. This means we have a little bit more control now. Bad news; they've sold. I will have to pull some bullshit in paper-pushing and the stock market to not start a panic. Thankfully, your little speech has netted us some good publicity and our workers will be telling stories on how we still have control."

"The important thing is, we have control back to Royal and Imperial now. I assume some have remained on the board?" I asked, latching on to what my father said earlier. He nodded.

"Oh yes. A couple. They've stayed because they have confidence that we could bounce back. It seems that your speech has reached them, Alexander," father said, failing to hide the pride in his voice.

"I thought they'd disapprove of our cost-cutting measures," I said, failing to hide the fact I was pleased at my father approving of me.

"They suggested downsizing but I presented our belt tightening as a way to retain skilled workers and as a fait accompli. They accepted that. Now, we are convening again tomorrow and they expect a plan for the future."

I hummed. "I have some ideas for that."

"It had been some fifty years since the Great War between the Kingdoms of Vacuo and Vale versus Mantle and Mistral. On paper, Mistral and Mantle lost but in reality, it didn't even feel like we lost a war. No restrictions were ever placed on the Solitan continent, no reparations were ever forced on its people and successor government. No, the people merely shrugged their shoulders and made a dash to enjoy the peace. Now, Atlas is the dominant force on the planet. The biggest fleet, the best equipped army, a flourishing economy and patents were being issued as fast as people could spit them out," I spoke succinctly and clearly, eyes upon me. The board room in the Foundry was expansive and decorated with fineries. It was large and spacious too, the flag of the Royal and Imperial hanging proudly in a adjacent wall. However, it felt smaller, many of its seats empty save a few. As father had said, the rats were abandoning ship. He hated these motherless whores for who they were, interlopers to our family's legacy.

"By why? Why is it that Royal and Imperial failed to profit in a time when the Atlesian Army is seemingly buying anything and everything from duct tape to advanced combat robots? That is because, members of the board, for two reasons I can think of. Atlas needs to trailblaze, look good and because of strategic demands." I then pressed a button and an image of an Atlesian soldier appeared. He was clad in shiny armor, his weapon sleek and futuristic.

"The new Atlesian soldier; futuristic, shiny, and impressive. His armor has bright colors to make him stand out, his weapon cutting-edge and innovative. Compare that to a soldier of old Mantle," I said, shifting the image to that of a Mantlese soldier. He was gritty, with a long rifle, and a huge contrast to the Atlesian one. "Atlas is taking upon itself a leader of the future and everything it has must reflect on it. And thus, it must reflect that. Things of the past have to be set aside, discarded, while new innovations taken. We unfortunately are a product of the past. The name of our company is that because we were the old Empire's source of weapons."

"So you are saying, Mister Wayland, we aren't raking in new contracts because of political reasons?" A board member asked. His hair was gray, lines adorned his face.

I turned to face him and nodded. "Yes, sir. The SDC rifle for example fires concentrated laser blasts from dust crystals. The effect changes depending on what type of dust is used. From what we see however, they commonly use fire dust to shoot superheated lances at enemy targets. And this leads us to the next reason why our weapons haven't sold, the strategy Atlas has committed itself to doing."

A map of the world appeared. Places were marked with white lines and images of soldiers, Atlesian ones. The remaining board members and my father glanced down at their scrolls as numbers began to flood in. "The Atlesian military has shifted itself from being a military made to fight other Kingdoms to that of an expeditionary force. Sent to your scrolls is a compiled list of the military budget. As you can see, the navy and marine forces are getting a huge slice of the pie. It is designed to arrive at any location, at any time. The navy provides heavy cover, the marines secure an area. Usually, these expeditionary forces are usually sent abroad to secure areas of strategic interest namely Dust fields."

And for who I had left unsaid. But everyone in the room knew who I was talking about. My father grit his teeth, no doubt cursing Jacques hijacking Atlas to print money for himself.

"To conclude, Royal and Imperial cannot expect to profit from our previous employer. Current Atlesian military priority is to cede strategic control over vital resources and holding said territory." I concluded to silence from the board.

After a moment's silence, the same board member from earlier spoke up. "...I assume your father and you have a plan, Mister Wayland?"

"We are fortunate that our age of peace has opportunities even for us Relics," I said, inwardly smiling at that bit of knowledge. "I propose that instead of selling to the Army, we make a new line of products, one for the frontier market. And these products will reflect the frontier life and requirements."

I had spent the entire night trying to convince my father of my pitch. Essentially, sell shit to the fearless and frankly suicidal folks ekeing a living out in the boonies. He agreed to support my pitch provided the board members supported it too. And they looked interested enough to listen.

"In your scrolls, I have also sent data regarding the amount of settlements popping up outside the safety of the kingdoms including towns, villages, settlements, and even outposts. Presently, their interest is defending their homes. From this demand, I suggest the creation of weapons that will see to this need. A standard pistol, shotgun, battle rifles, heavy weapons, and perimeter defense utilities. Make them so common that they can be counted as generic tools like say…a hammer and sickle," I proposed.

The board members all nodded. Then, they leaned in as they read more and more from their scrolls.

"By standardizing everything, we cut costs significantly by making sure that each weapon can have similar parts. With that, there's no need to worry about specialization and more. It also makes maintenance easier, so much so that these settlements don't have to constantly worry about relying on the big cities for help. And the best part and the one which I believe will be its selling point is that the weapons will rely on little to no Dust at all. Listed in my data packet are designs for these weapons. I shall have for you a working prototype by the end of the month."

A month, that was all I really needed to come up with prototypes for rifles I envisioned for the frontier market. But I couldn't do it alone.

"In this plan of mine, it will require expansion and innovation. For example, one of the necessary requirements for it is an expansion of our Research and Development division particularly for chemistry. The re-tooling too would require more skilled and talented workers to fit the new designs. Our factory floor too would have to be expanded. The bottom-line is, Members of the Board, is that our company will inject growth with the acquisition of new sources to fit our needs."

"It sounds impressive, Mister Wayland, but the fact remains this will need money. Money that we are in the red in," another board member pointed out.

"I have made a more comprehensive list in the data packet but to summarize, we can still continue the production of certain products the company already makes. People are still buying our bullets and other small products after all. The most obvious way to secure funding however is through loans. I have already listed the required numbers and it comes up to a small loan of a million lien."

As a young man, Land Sknecht had been through it all. From the cold frigid north of Mistral, to the warm and fertile valleys of Vale, and finally, to the sunbaked deserts of Vacuo. He had seen the very worst that Remnant had to offer and also the best. Escorting a young man dressed as a frontiersman was a new experience.

He knew him, of course. Land worked as the head of security for the Foundry and the Wayland Manor. He had trained little Alexander too before he was sent off to the Academy. He respected the Academy for what it stood for as well as Headmaster Ironwood who was doing his best to whip students into shape. Even if the Empire no longer existed, Land was a good Doppelsoldner and anything that prepared the successors of Mistral was good enough to him.

"We are arriving at the coordinates in one minute, Mister Land," the pilot's voice broke through the comms. Land nodded and stood up to poke the sleeping form of Alexander in front of him.

"Oi, boy. Wakey-wakey. We are about to land." he said, his voice as rumble as he shook Alexander awake. Volcano red eyes shot awake, tired at first then alert as he registered what Land had said. He nodded, yawning.

"Sorry, old man. I've not slept good in a while," he apologized. Land frowned; a single eyebrow raised.

"You know, you don't have to test the new kit out yourself," he suggested, glancing down at the two pieces of gear Alexander had on his person. He carried with himself a lengthy rifle with a box magazine. It had a shine to it; the black polymer body reflecting the light of the bullhead. Around his knee, there was a shiny chrome revolver resting in a holster, brass rounds glinting in the chamber. On his belt, a sabre lay in its sheath. It was a rather amusing sight for Land, the modern looking rifles a clash with the classical Wayland uniform.

"Leadership leads the way," Alexander replied quickly. "Testing these out myself means that I know directly what problems need to be sorted out before I hand the final product to the board,"

He could respect that sort of mind-set, if it wasn't for the fact that they were going into the very dangerous wilds. Well, that was where he came in, he supposed.

"The wilds aren't soft, you know," Land reminded him.

"That's why I got you and your wife to cover for me," the Wayland heir smiled wryly, glancing at the massive zweihander resting on the other seat. He then added. "Don't tell me you aren't up for the challenge, old man?"

"Brat," Land snorted. His expression turned serious again. "Again, you look sleep-deprived." He pointed out.

The pale faced heir had visible eyebags, his normally combed hair was slightly frazzled. The cap he wore might have hidden it but a few strands poked out. "I will be fine, I promise," Alexander insisted before a yawned betrayed his true feelings. He looked sheepish as Land raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It's just these weapons, alright?" Alexander admitted, patting the black rifle on his lap. "You know how our semblance works, Land. We literally pour our soul in making these things."

Land knew his history; he had also worked with the company long enough to be privy to its secrets. The Wayland family semblance, Workshop, allowed them to forge and maintain weapons of surpassed quality. Such was their talent that it allowed a Wayland ancestor up the line to be made the personal weaponsmith of Mantle's Emperors. Eventually, such close contact with the Imperial Family eventually granted them nobility and a charter from the Empire to make its weapons hence the name of their corporation, Royal and Imperial.

The downside however was that it tired them to exhaustion. There was little wonder why Waylands such as Alexander's grandfather had extremes in terms of coping with their talent. They worked hard, they played hard.

"You are lucky I am here then," Land grunted. His own semblance, Bad War, filled not just himself but those around him with aura-fuelled adrenaline that allowed them fight to even greater feats. The issue was that added bloodlust. But what was battle but surrendering to their most basic instincts?

"I am," Alexander smiled. Then, their conversation was cut as the bullhead shook.

They had landed.

Alexander took a breath before he undid the seatbelt around him and stood up, his rifle hanging from a sling. He glanced towards the cockpit. "I'll call you when we need extract, Yaeger," he called out.

The pilot leaned back and grinned as he gave a thumbs up. "Roger that, Mister Wayland."

Land grunted as he then went to go and heave a heavy pack around his back as well as his own sweet wife, Matilda. Alexander left first, ammo-pouches and vest weighing almost nothing as he stepped off the bullhead. Land followed, air filtering into his eyes as the bullhead's engines roared to life and soon, the pair were left alone in the frigid, cold, and unforgiving outskirts of Solitas. They weren't too far from Mantle or Atlas, to be frank. He could see the floating city in the distance, Mantle right below it. If they returned on foot however, it was going to be a long hike.

Alexander however was glancing at the rapidly vanishing Bullhead. "I don't know about you but I always considered the bullhead to be an ugly bulbous whale plane." he muttered; gloved hands wrapped around his rifle.

"Back in my day, we didn't even have transports like that," Land snorted.

"Good thing that we are no longer in those days and sweet industrialization has made things easier," the Heir remarked, patting his rifle. "Now, let's go and take a hike, eh?"

Land could live with that. And so, Alexander took the lead, his boots crunching in the snow. Solitas's forests looked cold and lifeless from the outside but it was far from it. Spruce, ash, oak, fir, and maple trees kissed the sky in Solitas. Birds sang their songs and the braying of deer could be heard in the distance. The smaller berry-bearing bushes populated the lower forest floor if you knew what you were doing; strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and more. Nuts too as well as other edible plants. If Land were so inclined, he could go and hunt for deer; elk and reindeer were the most common. Or moose, if he wanted more meat. The south part had bison though the government were placing protections on them as their population had been decimated by the Great War.

"I really should go out more and touch some damn grass," Alexander remarked as they passed by a small rushing stream. He glanced down, eyes glinting at the fish that swam in the rivers.

Land wasn't thinking of fish, however. His lips yearned for the taste of rabbit or the other smaller game in the forest. He did not Alexander's interest of the water. "The fjords in the south are beautiful this time of the year," Land suggested.

"Maybe after the company doesn't have to worry about being in the red, eh?" Alexander remarked, once again patting his rifle. Land looked at it with interest once more. Alexander hadn't said much about his new weapons in the ride, the boy having passed out as soon as the bullhead had risen.

"You never told me its name," Land pointed out.

"I'm stuck between Defender or Stalwart," Alexander admitted.

"A mite pretentious, don't you think?" Land asked with amusement. Alexander rolled his eyes.

"The world already thinks that Atlesians are pretentious, might as well lean into it." he snorted. "And besides, that is what this rifle will do, defend people. Jacky Schnee has graciously decided to offer us the finger with regards to Dust so it's only right that we give him the finger back by introducing weapons that use little to no dust."

Land grasped the concept. In the village he grew up, dust was a rare thing to use. Granted, it was a time before mass dust consumption but now, things were different. Everyone used Dust. It was simply too versatile to not use and while Matilda was a straight up metal sword, he customized the thing to utilize the effects of different dust.

"What'll make you think people will trust those? I don't imagine the average Johann will abandon Dust?" Land questioned. Then, Alexander stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrow and alert. If Land were younger, he would ask why they had stopped but the man had lived a long life and war, he knew exactly why.

The forest had gone quiet, no bird-song. No deer cries. Even the howling wind had died down and the running stream stifled its own water.

"We're about to find out," Alexander muttered, flicking the safety of his rifle off as his eyes scanned the treeline. Matilda appeared in Land's grasp, the steel of his zweihander glinting underneath the sun. His eyes followed Alexander's scanning, at the treeline.

He could feel it, malevolent red eyes watching them.

And as if realizing that they were detected, evil made itself known.

"Grimm!" Land roared not in panic but in sheer joy as a smile rushing to his face as his heart and blood were alit with adrenaline. The hairs on his body stood as multiple shadows rushed forth from the trees, snarling and howling as they rushed at them on all fours, razor-sharp teeth and scimitar-like claws on their bodies. There were five of them, six hundred meters away. As Land prepared to meet them, powerful staccato clacks echoed.

Successive shots rang out in controlled semi-automatic fire. A few rounds missed but the ones that didn't hit with deadly effect. The first Beowolf, smaller than the rest, fell first. The white bony mask it had as a face cracked as lead punched through. Two others fell quickly, tumbling on the snow as lifeless as the shadows that birthed them. "Out!" Alexander cried out as he reached into his vest for another magazine.

Land did not wait for him to reload; the wolves were nearing them. "Light, Realm, Emperor!" he cried his fealty as he broke into a sprint, Matilda's steel cutting through the wind. As he crossed the distance, the staccato clacking returned and one Beowolf was downed in lead which left the last one for him. The ugly snarling thing leapt, claws raised and teeth bared. Land twisted Matilda forwards, jutting out his zweihander for the Beowolf to impale itself on. The Beowolf's eyes glittered with intelligence, realizing its mistake, as it speared itself on Matilda. Land laughed maniacally as the Grimm struggled against the blade. Man and beast fought, the man grinning as it stared with hate into the Beowolf's eyes. Then, it went limp as it died futilely. The body slumped and turned into shadows.

Behind, Alexander rushed and went on one-knee next to Land, still scanning the tree line. He gave him a cursory glance, "Still alive?"

With a huff, Land hefted Matilda on his shoulder. "Yes. It will take more than small-fry to kill me," he boasted. He glanced up, noting more howls coming from the distance.

"More coming," he said simply, the trees cracking as Grimm poured.

"I got four more magazines with me before I am out then I have the magnum left." Alexander remarked, patting his vest.

"At least you know your rifle can kill," Land remarked.

Alexander huffed, raising his rifle again. "It was meant to," he muttered before battle was joined.

The fighting was fierce, Land rushing and getting the small-fry to crowd him while Alexander picked off stragglers. Matilda was swung, pierced, and sliced beowolves in two. Land relished in the slaughter; his blood sung with glee. The more Grimm who were killed, the more Bad War acted up. He longed to fight, to kill and kill. And this feeling fed into Alexander who solely wished that he had a bayonet to attach to his rifle. The rifleman's discipline which he had forced himself to learn was abandoned as his soul sang for battle and war.

"IRON AND BLOOD!" he roared as all reason left him. He rushed into the fray, his aura filling his weapon to strengthen it from damage. Using it as a club, he swung it with all his might at the first Beowolf he could reach, the aura-enhanced weapon shattering the Grimm's head into pieces. A roar alerted him and he turned just as another one leapt at him. He ducked, catching the leaping wolf by its shadowy fur and flung it down into the ground. He moved fast, lifting his rifle and emptied its magazine into the Grimm's body.

"Out!" he cried, going on alert as two more rushed towards him, claws digging onto the earth. The revolver on his knee went free. Chrome shone in the sun; the eagle of Wayland emblazoned in its side. He fired in rapid fashion, the three tearing through the first Grimm. The second one neared him however, snarling and moved to bite. With adrenaline and Bad War urging him to kill, Alexander roared as he met the Grimm and bashed its head with the revolver's handle, over and over again, until it fell limp on the snow. The last thing it saw before it was vanished was the Wayland heir looking down at him, volcano red eyes glinting, and the barrel of his revolver right between its eyes.

Alexander's finger squeezed the trigger, the hammer acted, and the bullet fired.

When Alexander came to, he realized he was staring down at the earth, revolver in his hand. The pounding in his chest slowly faded, his heart thumping back to normalcy. He turned around, hearing struggling, to see Land wrestling with a bigger beowolf, the Alpha. The beowolf however died quickly as with a clean slice, Land freed its head from its shoulders.

Then as if a spell was broken, the sound of the stream returned and even the birds felt safe enough to sing. Land huffed and puffed as he hefted Matilda on his shoulder, will-power forcing Bad War to cease functioning. He turned to see Alexander holstering his revolver and glancing at the last magazine left on his vest.

"Two-three shots were enough to put one down," he muttered, glancing at the forest line.

"You'll need a larger magazine, I think," Land added, noting the fallen black magazines on the snow. "How much was in there?"

"Thirty," Alexander supplied. "The Defender, that's the name for it now, I think it worked okay." He glanced at the trees. "The recoil was nothing, felt like a tap on my shoulder. Perhaps it can manage for full auto and with a bigger caliber..." His eyes glowed with calculation and excitement. "I guess it was just my aura absorbing the blasts and recoil."

"Try firing it without your aura on then," suggested Land. He cocked his head as an idea dawned on him. He puffed out his chest as he grinned.

"Shoot me," offered the old man. Alexander did a double-take, pausing his thoughts as he gave Land a quick look.

''You want me to shoot you?" He asked, incredulous. Land nodded.

''I'm curious on how strong that thing is. A shot is fine. And don't worry, my aura can handle it," Land assured him, as if he was inviting Alex into a wonderful picnic and not getting shot. Alex's lips went thin as he considered Land's offer. Truthfully, the idea of shooting a Huntsman with a 7.62 from a FAL copy was attractive. Science was to be found and Land was willing. And so, Alex turned off his Aura, aimed centre mass and squeezed the trigger. He did so while land was in the middle of talking.

''And besides, I don't think your new bullets will sting as much as-oof!" Land's mouth went agape as strong punch landed square on his chest. He stumbled back, one free hand reaching for his chest. Alex's spine went cold as the old man coughed violently. He quickly switched the safety on and rushed to his side.

"We aren't doing that again!" Alex cried out strongly. Land however laughed with a wheeze.

''I'm fine, boy. I have aura, remember?" He said as he took in a deep breath.

''That was three-thousand joules worth of energy," the heir exclaimed. ''If you didn't have aura, you'd be dead, Land.''

''Well, my bucket list is satisfied and you have your data,'' Land countered. He was never in any real danger, to be frank.

"How does it compare to a dust round?" Alexander asked curiously.

''Well, you are asking me on if I preferred getting run over by a truck or getting a needle struck into my skin then dumping toxins into me. That is how it feels," Land said tapping his chest. He could see a good use for it in punching through Grimm. Dust Rounds didn't hit so good but getting burnt by fire dust or chilled by ice dust and the coterie of effects other Dust could provide wasn't so cherry in his eyes.

"How was the recoil?" He then asked.

''It felt like a tap. I think the average Johann can handle this. I think we can up the caliber and change the rifle a bit to handle it." Alexander muttered, glancing down at the Defender.

"A bit too long, I think. If you can afford to make it more compact, why not?" Land said, glancing towards the forest around them where space would be an issue. ''Upping up the caliber, folk will find themselves with lesser ammo.''

''Fewer," Alexander corrected him. He shook his head. "We'll see about it. Let's continue on some more before we get Yaeger to pick is up.''

Killing more Grimm?

Land would never say no to that!

''Spears, Onward!" he cheered.

A/N: Taken from my QQ and SB account

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