The test revealed to me certain things that arm-chairing wouldn't. The average Remnanite would withstand stuff that a normal fella from good ol' Terra wouldn't and hence I could go a little bit bigger in caliber.

I tapped against the table, my eyes glancing towards the FAL copy laying on it. The 7.62 performed adequately against common Grimm albeit it would take a couple of shots to take one down. It was a fair play, to be frank, considering the average Grimm was a large fucker. A bigger caliber could down one in one or two shots but really, Land was correct that a bigger caliber would limit the amount of ammo carried. Sure, the planned market would mostly stay at home and have a reliable supply but thirty rounds were standard back at home for a reason. Perhaps making it modular, as suggested, would be good.

My hands reached out and wrapped around a hammer, the blacksmith's tool. It was an old thing; as old as Solitas itself or so my father had claimed. On its sides was the Wayland eagle, proudly emblazoned. I took a breath, focused, and my Semblance flared. Energy surrounded me as I struck the rifle. My mind connected with the rifle and I could feel every bolt, every ridge and edge. Reality shifted to obey my wishes and the rifle changed. The black polymer Defender turned from a long rifle into a compact version of it. Sparks would erupt with each strike but it did not burn me or the floor and walls of the workstation I barricaded myself in. Then, with a final hammer-strike, it was over.

I set the hammer to the side, smiled at my work, before my legs shook and I was forced to hold onto the table to support myself. My breaths were shallow and harsh, utter exhaustion gripped my body and mind. The Wayland Semblance was handy, yes, but it drained me.

A short laugh left my lips as my body recovered and I could stand a bit straighter now. I could, theoretically, make anything I want with the only limit being my aura reserves. It was humbling that the quality of my products depended on how much I was willing to suffer for it. Little wonder why R&I prided itself on its merchandise.

I shook my head as I turned from the Defender model and took out my scroll. There was a checklist of items that were going to be part of the Frontier series of weapons we were going to manufacture. The Defender was a priority and I could green-light its completion. Next on the list were pistols, shotguns, and support weapons. There were heavier shit up the line but I was going to have to get my pops to help me with those. All I had to do was draw up the schematics, bring him into how they were made then bam, we could Semblance it to existence.

Semblances were bullshit cheat skills, sue me.

Once they were made, all we had to do was strip it down to our engineer guys, explain how it would work, then we could get it down to manufacturing. That was how R&I made its bank for years and I saw no reason to change it. I would have loved it if I could teach others our Semblance but sadly, it was a genetic thing much like the Schnee Glyphs.

My ears then perked as knocks echoed on my door.

"Alex? May I come in?" my father's voice spoke through.

I took a quick glance to check if there was anything I considered sensitive and found none.

''It opens," I said. The door swung open and in came my father, business suit and all. He looked at the table, nodding at the weapon there, then towards me. His voice and face were one of concern.

"How long have you been at this?" he asked.

"Awhile," I replied weakly.

''Take a break, we still have time," he advised me, eyes glinting. I shook my head.

"When we don't have to worry about our market value then I can go relax," I replied. I rather liked my nice and comfortable lifestyle. I cannot afford to be a degenerate at this time, not when we could go bankrupt. I lived modest life before; I was not going to go back working for someone else again. My father listened and his expression shifted to one of shame. It was my turn to be concerned as I saw that.

"I should have done harder to stop your grand-father from ruining us," he sighed. "He…I…"

I cut him off as I walked over and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Dad, we already spoke about this. It ain't your fault. Grand-dad was a piece of work. There was nothing we could do."

Gerard Wayland sighed again. He cared deeply for me; I could see that. But what was done was done, it was time now to clean up the mistakes of the past. "How was your trip?" I asked him instead to get his mind off grand-papa. He hummed, glancing towards the rifle.

"I've managed to calm the fires. Your speech and the remaining board members have helped stabilize things. I've also spoken with someone that our local boonie towns trust. She's willing to gather some representatives to watch a demonstration of the guns alongside the board." He reported.

"That's good!" I exclaimed. Having someone that boonie towns trusted would be great in marketing it to them. It was easier to sell something to someone when they were trusted after all. "Who?" I then added.

"Florianne Geyer, the Bundschuh Lady," my father reported.

I raised an eyebrow. "The Bundschuh lady?"

Bundshuch meant Peasant's Shoe, the party of the hard-working frontier. Frontiersmen may be crazy in eking an existence out of the city but even they understood that having a presence in the Council was necessary to protect and represent their interests. Atlesian boonies were still Atlesian after all.

"Yes, the Bundschuh Lady. I figured that since we were going to sell it to her people, contacting their representative would be prudent. Saves us a little bit in marketing it," Gerard explained.

"How'd you get in contact with her?" I questioned. Last I heard about her, she had sworn off contact with her fellow blue-bloods. The Great War ended the traditional nobility but you don't disappear easily when you've got connections and wealth. What remained of the Old Guard in Solitas either joined together in the conservative Vanguard Party who sneered at anything born from the Color Revolution or joined the Parties Jacques Schnee had his tendrils on to maintain their power. The former were bootlickers while the latter were uptight former aristocrats holding on to past glories. Geyer, who was as noble as anyone of our number, decided to give both the finger and live in the boonies. Some thought she did it to hold on to areas traditionally that was her family, others thought she lived for the people. No matter her reason, she was a potential partner.

"I have my means," Gerard answered mysteriously.

"Good enough," I shrugged.

He paused, nodding to himself. Then, he spoke again. "We both worked hard. I reckon we have the right to rest even a little bit," Father once again suggested.

Seeing that he was not going to stop, I relented. "And where should we go?"

"You haven't visited your mother in a while. Why not visit her?"

So, this was going to be that type of relaxation.

"Let me clean up," I sighed.

Much later, I traded the quiet and smoke of a workstation to that of flowers and leaves.

The Wayland Manor had an extensive garden in the back. It was maintained through the generations, each one adding flora that they thought would look good. Admittedly, it was an idyllic painting of flowers and other plants. Roses, chrysanthemums, every pretty thing that an ancestor thought would look neat, they bought and planted there. However, father and I weren't there to gawk at the bright flowers. At the very centre of the fountain was a raised statue of a woman in armor, shield and spear at the ready, steely eyes looking forward. Underneath her statue was a plaque.

Alana Wayland.

Father looked up at her, his expression unreadable. I stood by his side, quiet and still. When he wasn't busy, he would usually spend some time walking by the gardens and the fountain to gawk at. I never spent much time here, to be frank.

Some memories, I didn't want to revisit.

"Do you remember what she did, son?" He asked me suddenly.

I did.

"Yes," I nodded. Who wouldn't remember your own mother sacrificing herself to save people?

"Do you know why I hate Jacques Schnee so much, son?" he asked again, calm.

"Yes," I answered again, my heart slowly going into a pit.

Years ago, there was an executive summit held in an exclusive high-class retreat in the Solitan mountains. Both my parents went there and when it was over, my father returned with my mother in a box and him cursing Jacques Schnee. They were in the middle of having their talks when the alarms went off in the resort. A Grimm horde was about to migrate close to their area and an evacuation order was placed.

As if sensing my thoughts, my father continued. "It all was fairly standard, you know. The resort and the town next to it were shuffling for the airships to leave. Then the Grimm started to bear on the resort faster, they sensed that we were leaving. Your mother led a team of volunteers to delay them as long as possible. She told me she could do it, that she was trained for this."

He took a breath. "The SDC had the most presence there. They brought a lot of security, you know. They were a rising star still then and wanted to show off. Jacques Schnee could have offered his forces to assist in the defense. Your mother went to him and asked."

"He didn't," I said, my voice quivering.

"He did not. His forces had to defend the resort and if he sent his guys out, there would be less of them to defend the evacuation. To protect him and his worthless toadies." He finished, shaking as he stood. "They were showing off those robots of theirs, those ugly looking Atlesian Knights. They ought to have been sent to the front to delay the enemy. It turns out, they were all for show at that time. They could go and look impressive but they could not fight, not yet at least."

"So, mom had to go out and show off how a real knight fought," I laughed with mirth.

"Yes," he sighed, glancing up at the statue. "And this is what her nobility won her."

I remembered a beautiful woman, blonde of hair and with a quick and easy smile. She was gentle but also strict at the same time.

"She loved flowers," I said, remembering her most favourite thing of all.

"That's why I buried her here, surrounded by our collected garden. She spent time here, you know?" Gerard chuckled. "And now, she's watching you."

He took a step forward, hand reaching out towards the statue before he stopped himself. He pulled his hand back.

"She would be proud of you, now."

In my previous life, I had a good relationship with my mother. I did not see any reason to not have the same with my second one. She tried to teach me nobility, justice, and the other virtues that had made her a good knight. While I could not do the best she wanted for me, I was going to pursue those values in spirit at least.

"Then let's make her even prouder by getting our weapons off the line and getting them to the frontier she tried so hard to defend," I said, steel in my voice. 'And as a massive fuck you to Jacques Schnee'

He nodded. "Let's"

The Bullhead landed with a click. There was a hiss as the side-doors opened, revealing a compound of fire and steel, and the flying eagle of Wayland fluttering amidst the snow and wind of Atlas. Out of the bullhead stepped Florianne Geyer, hat fluffy and clothes fluffier. It was a necessity for Solitas wasn't gentle in its frost. Quickly, she found herself being greeted by men and women dressed in waiter's clothes bearing silver trays either with sparkling glasses of wine or treats. Behind her, her fellow representatives allowed themselves to the free food and drink. She refused most save for a glass of wine.

She wasn't here for refreshments or the comforts of the city.

As soon as Gerard had told her that his company was going to sell weapons that required no dust, Florianne's attention was gained.

People had of course sneered at that idea and her political peers even more so. The benefits of Dust were boundless, why purchase weapons that didn't include them? It was alright for them to sneer at it safe as they were behind the comforts of the walls. They could afford to have an attitude when such things were easily accessible.

The Frontier did not.

The Bundschuh was a catch-all term for those who decided to live in the wilds, at least in Solitas. Many had their reasons for it, of course. Some were already living in the untamed wilderness, others like her had left Atlas sickened as they were with how their society was starting to revolve around Jacques Schnee's SDC, others just wanted to be left alone. Different reasons, different beliefs. But all united under the shared hardship of the wilds.

Florianne grasped the potential of dust-less weaponry. The Dust used in defending themselves from Grimm, it could be best used for heating homes or food, powering up their lights, and other domestic necessities. For city folk, that was nothing. But for those like her, the amount of Dust saved was massive.

But that only depended if the weapons shown were worth the trouble.

Dust-less weapons weren't a new idea. Hell, there were people who tried to sell such things to them. It never really fanned out however from different reasons. The methods for them were too expensive and those businesses couldn't support themselves or Dust outperformed what they were trying to sell.

If R&I found a method to make cheap what others tried to sell and have it be as good as Dust weapons then that was something to consider.

And so, with a few other representatives of the movement at hand, she found herself standing on a raised platform overlooking a firing range. Accompanying them were business-suited men, likely members of the company board, as well as a few members of the media with their cameras out. Below was the Wayland Heir overlooking into the distance where targets stood, mock-ups of Grimm. Behind him, an assortment of weapons lay, each one arousing curiosity not just in her but the others.

There is a silence at first. Then, thundering fire as powerful shots echoes.

"The Royal and Imperial Defender." Alexander Wayland announced, his voice piercing yet calm. His fingers moved to trigger the safety of the rifle in his hand. Then, he turned and gingerly held it on his palm, looking up towards them.

The rifle was made of black material, compact in length and looked like a toy almost. A toy that could shoot and kill, if Wayland was to be believed. Compared to the rifles being touted by the SDC, the image looked rather rugged. However, the air it gave... "This rifle is like a loyal brother who will always be there by your side. He sticks up for you, supports you but is never really appreciated. When he is gone, his presence is immediately missed. This can be semi-automatic or fully automatic though the semi is recommended. The iron sight is default but accessories can be added to it; accessories that we will produce. Holographic sights, lasers, chin-mounted grenade launchers, anything you wish to make this platform respond to your needs."

There was a click as he retrieved the magazine in the rifle and pulled out a bullet. It was shiny brass thing, with a "Thirty-round magazine, 7.62x51 mm. It's standard for this rifle. There will be a twenty-round version with .338 instead. The round is bigger and powerful but the recoil will be considerable."

That was all well and good, thought Florianne. But she did not care about that. The only thing that mattered was the cost, the accessibility, and most importantly, if it could kill.

"Will it kill?" she spoke up, Heads turned towards her as she asked that question. Her eyes however were directed towards Alexander. The Wayland Heir smiled as he slammed the magazine back into the rifle and cocked it with an audible pull.

"You will find out, madam," he said as he nodded to somewhere. Eyes turned towards the field where a pair of workers pushed forward a shaking cage. Florianne's gaze sharpened, her instincts flared, as she sensed what was inside. Her weapon appeared in her hand, silver-steel glinting. Her fellow frontiersmen too reached around their pockets for what they could use to fight. The workers did their duty and ran away as the cage opened. There was a shadowed squeal as a boarbatusk charged out, horns bared to spear anyone unfortunate in its path. Alarmed yells left the gathered witnesses at the approaching Grimm but a semi-automatic fusillade stopped it in its tracks.

The Grimm shook, trying to regain its footing but one final shot vanished it from existence.

A click echoed as Alexander turned the safety on the rifle, smoke rising from the rifle's barrel. He lowered it, smiling. "It kills," he proclaimed. He then turned for the table behind and lowered his rifle there.

"I invite you all to see them all up close and to shoot them, if you would like," Alexander beckoned. Her and the frontiersmen were the first to go, crowding around the table. The waiters from earlier walked up with little pamphlets. Florianne took one and found it to be a catalogue of the different arms available, their capabilities and how to repair them.

Multiple copies of his rifle was there but not just that. Revolvers of chrome-white metal sat, long barrelled and oozing authority without asking. Black-skinned shotguns, its stock folded above it and ready to be used. Her attention was focused however on two particular weapons, the first being a long black gun with a bipod at the end, its stock seemed bulky but her instincts told her this was lighter than its counterpart, a heavier barrelled gun on a tripod, a boxy green magazine feeding it brass bullets.

She felt a presence at his side. She turned to see it was the Wayland Heir, smiling. "It's a machine gun. R&I Deuce." he smiled. "And the one you are holding is the R&I Buzzsaw."

A machine gun. The name was appropriate, Florianne mused. A gun that fed bullets with automatic machine precision. And Buzzsaw? She wondered why it was called such. "I would like to try it. Both of them." she asked. She could have him tell her what they could do or she could go find out herself.

She decided on the former.

Alexander nodded and soon, both weapons were faced downrange. Florianne took of her hat, leaning into the first gun. It felt a little nothing in her hand but she figured it was because of her aura. Her ears perked up as gun fire echoed. Not the clacking of the Defender but a deep and dark heavy staccato boom, like multiple hammers landing upon nails. It was the big gun, she realized, as she saw one of the frontiersmen hunched over it and firing it. His bursts were controlled, conservative.

Alexander who had been at her side observed it and chuckled. "It's a machine gun!" he called out, motioning with his hands.

The frontiersman turned to him and smiled sheepishly. He turned back, hunching over once more. "Okay!" he affirmed before firing.

Florianne took a breath, repeating the phrase in her head. "It is a machine gun," she whispered as she squeezed the trigger.

"What do you think?" Florianne asked.

The time to test the weapons were over and now, they were ensconced deep inside the Foundry. Music played over their ears, a string band playing calming music over the din of men and women enjoying themselves to more free food and drink. Her and her lot occupied a corner of the hall. Compared to the others in the room wearing their finest, they looked like bumpkins what with their thick coats and her very own Huntsman garb.

The representatives glanced at each other. The representative of Lupfen spoke first. "With what criteria? Weight? How it feels?"

Florianne hummed. "The use for us in the Frontier," she emphasized. That was how most things they got were judged.

The same man replied. "Well, the no Dust is a massive improvement. We can use it for other things that using it for our weapons."

Florianne nodded. That was what she thought of as well. "It kills just as well as a the usual things we use," she added. That was important too and nods around agreed with her.

"But what about the bigger Grimm?" another representative asked.

The Lupfen man gave him a look. "I don't know about your village, Thomas, but we don't go around picking fights with bigger Grimm in Lupfen."

Thomas shook his head as his peers laughed. "It is still a valid concern, you know?"

Florianne took the moment to answer. "That's for me and other Huntsmen to take care of, I suppose. Not unless the Wayland's are planning to release weapons for that."

It was then a new voice joined in. "We are, Miss Geyer. The reason why haven't yet is because of legalities. The Council will not appreciate it if we made explosives and fire-power heavy weapons for the public."

The Bundshuh representatives turned to see Alexander looking at them, uniform clad, and wine glass in hand. He smiled at them. "The firing test never really allowed us to talk properly. You are intended to be our target market so any questions you have, I will gladly take them."

Ah. No wonder Gerard was so adamant about her coming over for her support. Making sure that their heavier stuff could be given the green light. Cheeky, she thought. Florianne strode forward to ask a question, intending to head straight to the point. Niceties were superficial in the wilds. "I do have one. There may be no Dust in your rifles but your ammunition is still finite. You are aware that supply lines from Atlas or Mantle outwards is fickle. How do you intend to supply us, Mister Wayland?"

"The methods used in producing the bullets will be made available to the public, Miss...?" He paused, unsure of how to call her.

"Florianne is fine," she insisted.

"Our methods will be licensed, designs and everything," revealed Alexander. "R&I cares for the people. We see no reason to hoard our processes to ourselves. Sure, we could make a fortune keeping it to a monopoly but at the cost of lives? Absolutely not."

Florianne would have had a hard time believing such a thing if it came from another person. Companies and corporations only cared for the bottom-line. But the Waylands had proved themselves trustworthy, what with them deciding to keep their employees when other companies would have fired them. And judging from how Alexander spoke, he looked like he legitimately believed in what he was peddling.

"What exactly is inside the bullets if they don't use Dust?" A representative asked.

"At this moment, I cannot fully reveal to you the formula but they are made from a chemical mixture whose license is available for purchase, by the way," Alexander said, his eyes glinting with greed. "In that vein, we will also be selling machines and expertise when it comes to having your own personal foundry in your town."

Florianne resisted the urge to laugh. Again and in the end, the Waylands were as much businessmen as they were weaponsmiths.

"How do you intend to let us pay you, Wayland? Some towns aren't swimming in Lien," another representative pointed out.

His reply was swift. "If Lien cannot be made available, the foundry would be happy to R&I would be happy to send prospectors into your settlements too and identify goods we'd take as payment. For example, what does your village produce?"

"Fish and other agricultural products," he answered, with pride. Florianne nodded at that. She helped instil a pride in their work. They may be simple but they still were craftsmen in their own way.

"Then we'd be happy to take those as payment. We could sell it to another company or process it ourselves," Alexander declared.

A few fingers tapped against a hard wood table, onyx-steel eyes glittered, as James Ironwood watched the Bundshuch Representative squeeze the trigger.

The Buzzsaw proved its name as continuous and unyielding rate of fire spat from its long barrel. The camera switched its perspective to the Grimm cut-out at the end. In a second, there was no cut-out left. Then, the camera switched back to the shooter who leant back, wide-eyed, at the rate of fire displayed. The gun was smoking, bad. No doubt from the sheer temperature of shooting so fast and quickly. Naturally, that would mean that gun would have to cool down before it could fire again.

Ironwood near stood up from his chair as his former student and now Heir of R&I clicked on something and the machine gun split open. With a gloved hand, Alexander Wayland took out the worn barrel and replaced it with a new one and soon enough, the Buzzsaw was ready to fire again.

And it did, repeatedly.

He sat back on his desk, expression muted, as the news showed off all the advantages that the new R&I guns were going to offer.

Everyone had heard the rumors that the Waylands were working on weapons that needed no Dust. Ironwood wasn't blind about why they were doing that. The SDC had clamped down hard on Dust for the market due to supply issues. In reality, Jacques Schnee wanted to punish R&I for refusing to sell the company to them and as a flex of his power to companies yet to surrender to him. The military was spared from this however for obvious reasons. While the SDC had power to influence the military's decisions, trying to bully them from Dust was going to backfire on his face.

However, it was due to that same exact influence of his that the military couldn't attend the R&I demonstration. They had encamped with the SDC and even trying to show interest in other companies would surely upset Jacques.

So, Ironwood had to use other means.

"What do you think?" He asked, turning to the lone man that stood at attention, the press ID around his chest indicating him to be another man of the media. But he was no ordinary journalist. Behind his clothes and ID, he was Clover Ebi, a rising star in the armed forces.

"To be frank sir, they will need field tests first. The Waylands could go and advertise that their guns could destroy an island yet we have to go see if that actually works," Clover replied, tone deferential yet casual. The man always bordered on professional to casual and no one really knew how he stood. Well, he wasn't too casual unlike someone Ironwood had the displeasure of knowing. Clover continued.

"I did secure a copy of their pamphlet. The technical side is impressive. The Defender shoots to kill, like most of the guns they have. That Buzzsaw and Deuce guns though, that is something we really should consider." Clover ended as he took a step forward and placed a pamphlet or rather, a little notebook on Ironwood's desk.

The General leaned in and examined the contents. His eyes grasped the technical feats quickly. Guns that shot that needed no Dust was a advantage townships would enjoy. Them hitting hard too was something they'd be sure to be favourable. Easy to operate, to maintain...

"Permission to speak, sir?" Clover asked. Ironwood nodded.

"With the relative ease of production as well as maintenance and cost...I believe that R&I weapons will prove not just popular for townships but also for interest groups such as criminals, bandits, and politicized ones." Clover surmised.

Ironwood's face went grim. Their neighbour to the south, Mistral, had no government save for the city itself. The rest of the continent, he could describe as a wild vacuum of scum and villainy. Roving bandits ruled the areas that Atlas was not interested in. If not them then Grimm. Again, Grimm ruled most of Remnant not occupied by humans or faunus.

And speaking of Faunus...

"We are going to have to keep a careful eye on the White Fang," Ironwood sighed. "R&I's weapons will be attractive to their movement for obvious reasons. Further surveillance on R&I too would be prudent. If their invention streak continues, we will surely have much weapons to worry about."

Despite the efforts of Ghira Belladonna, the movement was starting to burst at the seams. Members of the movement had begun participating in damaging attacks particularly towards the SDC. Ironwood knew of Ghira Belladonna, the faunus had been there since the very beginning and organized the group to be as it was. The Faunus man would never allow for violence. He knew that it was not him but the more extreme wings of his movement.

Clover sensed his thoughts. It was clear all over Ironwood's face. "I am always at your disposal, sir."

Ironwood nodded. "Thank you, Clover. I'll be sure to call on you when I have something for you to do."

He paused, smiling as he turned to his scroll. He tapped into it and Clover's own scroll pinged. Confused, the Specialist took his out and glanced inside.

"A file?" Clover said, clicking.

"Yes, a file." Ironwood surmised. "A student here has expressed interest about joining our ranks, Clover. She is about to graduate soon and I believe that her skills would be valuable to us. A pity Alexander Wayland decided to return to his father. He too would have been valuable."

Clover scanned the contents of his file then, his eyes widened. He glanced up. "The old man will be unhappy about this." He predicted.

"Of course he will," snorted Ironwood. "After all, Winter Schnee is his Heir."

A/N: Taken from my QQ and SB account

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