Smo, after failing to send out email alerts the site is back to the "your email provider rejects us, add us to your safe list" nonsense again. Never mind the fact that I did so years ago and the constant email errors are a relatively new thing. Sigh.

Chapter 8

It was strange, but Master Ren's death seemed to hit harder the coming morning than it had the last. With supplies in hand, Tyrian's venom neutralised and a destination in mind, there were less immediate concerns related to survival to cloud the mind, and Jaune's thoughts returned to thoughts on what had been lost. Not just a teacher, but a friend, even a parental figure – and also a peaceful life filled with tranquillity and curiosity. There had been so much he wanted to learn from Master Ren, so much he wanted to say and experience.

Two days was what it took for him to shed the first tear, and many more came after that, left to run down his face and drip to the grass below. He cried as he travelled, allowing the emotions to run raw through him but not to impede his progress. Multitasking wasn't so difficult, and such emotions were best expressed than allowed to fester inside.

In the grand scheme of things, he knew his loss was but a fraction of what others experienced, and even of what he had experienced when he lost his family. Pain didn't work like that, however. The suggestion that someone should feel less because they were fortunate in other things was arrogance. All people experienced grief. Animals, too. Jaune pondered that as he whittled away at a long stick with his hunting knife, smoothing the edges to turn it into a staff.

His Jian slung over his back was a good weapon, but it was a lethal weapon and one to be drawn only with the intent of using it. And it wasn't so useful for traversing rocky terrain and knocking fruit from tall branches. A staff served many purposes, and the simple act of shaving at the wood kept his hands occupied in the long hours of walking. He was too used to being productive in the temple, always having something to be doing, and there was something relieving about working on a simple object like this.

Perhaps it was as simple a joy as having a goal. Of knowing that he would have created something once he was done. And as the staff took shape, Jaune found his tears drying. In a sense, this craft and this weapon were both proof of Master Ren's life. Without him, Jaune would not have learned how to carve a staff, nor how to use one. This was physical proof that the old man had lived and given to the world, and that his legacy would live on.

"I'd best live on as well," said Jaune, to the trees and the birds and the animals. "But the question is in what way. I need to reclaim the scrolls and protect them, but Master Ren would never forgive me if I acted like that was my only goal. What comes after?"

It almost sounded like arrogance to ask the question, as if he were dismissing the threat Cinder, Tyrian and Hazel posed, but that wasn't the case. Master Ren hadn't wanted him to be consumed with revenge, and to make their defeat his only goal in life would be to do just that. To have a plan for after was to accept that there was more to life than hunting them down. It was acknowledging that they were but the first step on the path to living his life.

"I wonder if I could open a school and teach the Lotus Sect arts to others." Jaune pondered it as he walked. "It feels right, but do I want to? Master wouldn't want me to waste my life on something I don't enjoy, and am I thinking of a school because I want to, or because I feel like I should?"

The latter was tempting, of course. He owed a lot to Master Ren – but that was the key. He owed Shu Ren, not the Lotus Sect, and there was never any suggestion he had to pay the latter back by spreading their teachings around the world.

"Maybe one student," he said, and that sounded less troublesome. "But I can hardly be called a master myself, so I should focus on my own training." That made him smile. "Yes. That's it. I need to refine my training and further myself. I'll need to be stronger to reclaim the scrolls anyway, so my first goal should be to get stronger. Not for vengeance, not to kill them, but because I want to complete the training I started."

He knew he had the right goal because it felt right. There was a lightness in his chest and a surge in his stomach – both of which the scholars of old would have taken as cultivation in his golden core. Nonsense, of course. It was the body's natural reaction to pleasure, and there was nothing mystical or unusual about that. Still, it was a physical representation of his joy and love for the arts Shu Ren had begun to teach him and having a goal in mind – like it had with the staff – made him feel stronger.

"How to get stronger. Training on my own, obviously, but I should test myself against other people." Test meant to spar and train, of course, not to kill, so involving himself in this war was out the question. "I wonder if there are other sects out there. Failing that, I can always see about sparring with huntsmen. Raven wasn't as strong as Master Ren, but she would have been enough to best me."

Even if that failed, there were martial arts schools out there. Most were just clubs for kids and self-defence from what he knew, but there almost had to be some more professional ones. Tournaments, practitioners who took it seriously, and instructors with decades of experience under their belt. He'd be honoured to learn from them all.

And there was always the scrolls.

They felt light in the rucksack offered by the kind men at the logging camp, but their spiritual presence had more weight. Master Ren had never once said he couldn't learn from them, only that he should be cautious and meditate on the risks ahead of time. He had known Jaune might need them, and that he might one day be ready. That day wasn't now. Just reading the Demonic Gu Soul Technique had taught him that. His aura control was good, but it was not perfect. That was an Incarnation level technique, however. Perhaps he could read through the Foundation or Meditation scrolls, not to use them but to see what they were about.

I'll get to this village first. Maybe I can read one or two of them in a tavern or inn.

/-/

It was getting on toward the afternoon when he finally reached the coast. He'd been hearing the sounds of the waves for a while now, and had spied seagulls even sooner, but the forest reached right up towards it, only breaking for the last few hundred metres between the woodland and the beach. It wasn't a sandy one, sadly. Sharp-looking pebbles and gravel covered it for the most part, with only a little sand visible beneath and the water crashing on jagged rocks.

Someone had erected a metal pole with scraps of different coloured cloth atop it, perhaps as a marker or warning to people on ships. Jaune spied at least one on the water, a good distance out. It was small and stationary, possibly out gathering fish. Checking his map once more, Jaune nodded and moved westward along the coast, toward the village marked simply as "A" on the map. It was curious how the names of these places seemed to become less distinct the further from Vale they got. Perhaps a sign of their youth, or maybe an acknowledgment of their mortality.

The sun was still up when he finally found it. Though they called it coastal, the village was actually placed back in the woodland, and it was the pier that clued him in. It had been constructed out on the water, and a wooden set of planks had been laid down for people to walk barefoot to it, but then there was a stretch of empty land between it and the village itself. The tide must have been unpredictable, forcing them to construct their homes further back.

It was impossible not to notice the lack of a good defensive wall around the settlement. Instead, they had a barrier of small branches interwoven like wicker screens, with sharpened stakes before them as the lone impediment against the Grimm. Stealth appeared to be their primary defence, for if it wasn't for the ship and the pier then he wouldn't have noticed the place at all.

But they noticed him.

An arrow whizzed by him – a good few feet away, but close enough that he knew he was the primary target. Another thudded into the grass a few feet in front of him. Bows and arrows were archaic, even among those who hunted animals, so it was more than a little surprising.

"You're not welcome here!" a man shouted. "Leave!"

Quite the welcome. Jaune offered his best smile and called back. "I'm not planning to stay, sir. I'm only looking to purchase some supplies and then carry on home."

Another arrow came for him and while this one missed as well, Jaune had the feeling the one who shot it hadn't been aiming to do so. Or wouldn't have minded too much had it struck. Jaune brought his staff before him and frowned.

"You deaf, boy? You're not welcome!"

"Yes, I can see that. Is there any reason you're shooting upon me?" Under his breath and much too quiet for them to hear he added, "And with bows and arrows, no less. Is this some village that's lived alone since the dark ages?"

His answer was short and predictable, and much more violent than he would have liked. Jaune's staff whipped out and deflected the arrow before it could hit him. He stepped aside as he did, both dodging and deflecting lest he make a fool of himself and miss on the first. The arrow, its shaft snapped in two, flopped to the ground. Anger swirled within him, but he took a deep breath and let it go.

"Your point is taken, good sir!" he shouted. "I'll be on my way. I trust simply camping in the woods nearby won't result in me being murdered."

There was no response. Jaune sighed and hefted his pack, turning westward and carrying on a ways down the coast. So much for local hospitality. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but this was ridiculous.

Walking about a kilometre or so, he moved back into the trees in search of a good spot to camp for the night, then set himself up under the shade of a rock half-buried in the ground and jutting out at an angle. It was the work of but an hour to have a small fire going and to cook one of the ready meals from Keith upon it. The food was starchy, processed, and far saltier than anything Jaune was used to. Sweet, too. It was like someone had injected an ounce of salt and sugar into the meat.

"Gods above. People eat like this. Did I use to eat food this fake?"

The answer was almost certainly a yes. Jaune groaned and finished it, drinking far more water than he should have had to in order to get the taste out his mouth. That did nothing for the lead weight that it felt like had settled in his stomach. The portion size had been so large, and with no way of saving any if he only ate half.

"There goes breakfast, I suppose. Good lord, it's no wonder people find it easy to put on weight if they're eating this much." He wouldn't waste it, though. Not when it had been shared with him at cost to other people. He would make himself eat it all if he had to. "Ugh. Maybe I can find a water to water it down into a soup or broth, though I'll need a metal pan for that. A shame the locals won't let me buy one."

He did wonder at their reactions but chalked it up to the war. They must have been afraid of strangers, and it was possible they'd mistaken him for faunus from a distance. He didn't have any such markings, but maybe they just couldn't see him that well. Whatever th case, he wasn't about to push his luck by trying again.

I'll get no better a welcome at Rest after riling up those deserters, but at least they'll talk to me. Or, failing that, I'll just go back to the temple and see what I can scavenge. It's been a few days so Cinder and her ilk must have left by now.

And even had they taken every scroll, he doubted they would bother stealing pots, pans and travelling equipment. There would be supplies to find there. Clothes, cooking supplies, a roll to sleep on and more. And, with any luck, Master Ren's body to bury.

That thought in mind, Jaune sighed and snuffed out the fire, then rolled onto his side under the rock and tugged his muddy blue and white robes tight around himself. It wasn't a cold night despite being mid-autumn, and the gentle crashing of the waves lulled him to sleep.

/-/

It was the staccato of gunfire that awakened him.

At first, he wasn't sure what it was – having rarely heard the repeated cracking sounds in his life. It took him a moment longer than it should have to piece together what was happening, and then he cursed and rolled out from the rock, scrambling for his Jian sheathed nearby. He held it before him, still in its scabbard, and listened to the cool air. It was still late, likely only a little after midnight.

The gunfire rose up again, back from the direction of the village.

Are they shooting upon another traveller? Or perhaps it's the Grimm. It's no business of mine. They didn't want me there the first time so they won't want me now.

It was the truth, and no one would have blamed him acting on it to walk away. But Grimm had attacked Ansel and killed his family, and he couldn't help but think how distraught he'd have been to know someone could have helped but didn't feel in the mood.

I'll take a look, he decided. They might have things under control already.

He crept back toward the village while keeping to the trees, not wanting to appear as a threatening shadow now that they'd picked up guns instead of bows and arrows. While his aura would protect him, that didn't mean being shot at was a fun experience, and he might need his aura if he came across any Grimm himself. He left the scrolls behind just in case, knowing his aura wouldn't extend to them. If they got shredded by gunfire, he'd never forgive himself.

There was a lot of light in the village, the trees around it glowing orange, but there was yet more on the pebbled beach. Jaune watched for a moment, unsure what he was seeing, but then a burst of gunfire illuminated a shadow in the water and he realised that there was a ship moored there, driven up onto the shore.

And there were dark, humanoid shapes on the land between the coast and the village, rushing toward the latter and firing their weapons. Not at Grimm, but at the village itself. As the people inside shot back with their crude bows and arrows.

This was no Grimm attack. It was an invasion.

"White Fang...?" There was no way to tell from this distance, but it almost had to be. Unless the deserters had become even more violent of late. "But why would they attack a village like this? It's a tiny place in the middle of nowhere."

A woman's scream pierced through the gunfire momentarily.

It was that which galvanised him. Women suffered no more or less than men in times like these, but he'd heard his mother and sisters die and couldn't stand back hearing that sound again. Jaune raced through the trees and toward the village, clutching his staff tight between his hands. When he broke the treeline, the first of the White Fang weren't looking, focused instead on storming the village. They didn't react as he leapt among them, though some further back shouted warnings as they saw him strike.

His staff caught the first faunus between the neck and shoulder and dropped him onto his knee at the perfect timing and height for Jaune's knee to follow through into his cheek. With his momentum carrying him through and over the downed faunus, he stuck his staff between the second's legs and hooked it around the back of the man's heel, dragging back to unsteady him. As the faunus fumbled to correct himself, Jaune brought the staff back, around and across in a circular motion, catching him across the side of the face and sending him spinning to the ground.

The faunus had opted not to shoot for fear of hitting their allies, but now they were on the ground several took aim. Jaune dashed back through the wicker screens before they could, then hopped left. Bullets whistled by and through after him, piercing the thin wooden screens without losing any velocity. This "wall" was no use as anything other than a tool to break line of sight, but that was enough for now.

Hefting his staff, he raced deeper into the village and away from those outside, trusting that they'd be at least a little hesitant to come through the screen when he could be on the other side. The village was little more than a collection of wooden huts and shacks, some on stilts, and many of them were burning. Thick clouds of smoke clogged the air, collecting in the canopy above and struggling to find a way out into the open sky.

This was going to turn into a forest fire. The smoke was too hot for anything less, and the trees would ignite soon. Then, if it hadn't already happened, this village would be destroyed by falling trees and heavy branches plummeting from above.

"Get out of the village!" Jaune shouted. "Out the back! Go!"

It was hard to know if the villagers nearby were listening to him or just doing what was obvious. His orders were hardly inspired. Either way, they raced back, some carrying children but others stopping to gather belongings as well – the fools. Two or three were shooting arrows at the faunus, and at least one of those shot him a suspicious look.

"You should get out of here as well," he told them. "I'll buy you some time."

They were only too eager to abandon him, not even pausing to argue as they ran and left him to hold back the White Fang alone. There were bodies here and there already, but Jaune only counted one masked faunus among them. Evidently, the White Fang had done a good job showing why guns had replaced bows.

If I'd come sooner... Jaune shook his head. No. This isn't my fault. And I'm here now.

The White Fang had finally made it through the screens, not by mustering the courage but by shooting it to shreds so they could see through. Clever. They paced into the village weapons raised, looking left and right for an ambush while two kept their guns trained on him. Jaune stood, wielding only his staff, but with his aura circulating inside him like a swirling whirlpool.

As they faced him, he held his staff out at them, then angled it down, using the head of it to scrape a line across the dirt before him before righting it and stabbing it down, holding it vertically at his side.

"You've done enough," he said. "No more and no further."

They were no more open to diplomacy than the villagers had been and opened fire. A short burst from each of them, three or four shots each, the dust rounds whistling toward him. Jaune turned his body, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet. Instead, he presented a smaller target, allowing several of them to miss by virtue of their own inaccuracy while the rest smashed into his body.

Though his aura protected him, he felt the impact; the sensation of a pointed bullet flattening against skin was not pleasant. He grunted despite his intention to stay quiet, unable to fully suppress the instinctive sound of complaint. There were almost certainly red marks in the shape of them in his skin now, and he knew he'd feel them come morning.

But the display had done its job.

"Huntsman!" one shouted. It wasn't said in fear, but rather caution. The faunus kept their guns up and backed away with surprising discipline. Jaune had expected them either to recklessly charge or to keep firing, but they conserved their ammunition. "We have a huntsman!" the faunus shouted again.

He wasn't saying that for his own sake, Jaune realised. And the only reason to say it at all was either to warn those with him – needless in this case, since they'd seen his aura themselves – or to alert someone else. The misconception on him being a huntsman didn't matter. He was a fighter with aura, and they needed someone more capable of facing him.

And, evidently, they had that someone. Otherwise, they wouldn't be calling out his presence but not running away. Jaune settled onto his staff, blinking away smoke and taking a calming breath. If he ran now, the faunus would have little trouble reaching the fleeing villagers.

Would you approve of this course of action, master?

He could just imagine Shu Ren's voice. "It is not for me to approve or disapprove, but for you to decide the way you will live your life."

Jaune chuckled. Such a typical response, but important all the same. There was no right or wrong, only action and consequence, and his own free will. He didn't want to fight, but he wanted to let people die even less, and so this was the only place he could be. With a deep breath, he centred himself and faced down the woman slowly approaching. The faunus parted before her, one of them whispering something to her as he did.

She was young. That much, Jaune could see. His age or a little older, with hair that reminded him of Raven, except that two triangular ears peaked above them, flicking toward him. She wore the same white and red mask as her companions, but her outfit was much less covering. Her legs were bare and toned, suggesting strong footwork and quick movement. A dancer's poise. Her upper half was covered in tight black and red, and she wore a coat over the top in the same colours. It came off, discarded onto her allies as she drew an odd weapon of unusual construction.

It was a gun, but also a blade, and there was an odd black ribbon wrapped about her wrist in a strange pattern. It was unusual enough to stand out, and he refused to believe it was a fashion choice. A technique of some kind; a trick to her weapon or fighting style. Jaune's fingers rippled against his staff as he flexed his hand. The woman, clearly well-trained if she was considered enough to deal with a suspected huntsman, removed her mask to reveal a pretty face with sharp yellow eyes and clear features. She hooked the mask on her hip.

"Surrender, huntsman." Her voice was strong. Cutting. "Our quarrel isn't with you."

"Why is it with these people at all? They're villagers. Innocent—"

"Innocent?" The woman scoffed. "One week ago, two faunus sailors called mayday after their vessel hit the rocks. They reported that they had managed to get ashore and had seen a village, and that they would ask for supplies there. They were never heard from again."

Jaune swallowed.

"Three nights ago, my men found two bodies on the shore. Faunus. Their limbs had been cut off and they had been thrown in the waters to be swept away but had washed back up. There were clear signs of torture." She cocked her head, tilting it to one side curiously. "So, tell me more of how these people are innocent."

Damn it. Such was the price of acting on incomplete information, especially when he knew so little of the world and the war. He'd lived a sheltered life, and now inserted him into something he was only beginning to grasp.

"I apologise," he said, choosing his words carefully. "If that is true, then such actions are abhorrent, but while I approve of seeking those responsible and punishing them, it's too much to attack and kill everyone here. There are children who can't possibly have been involved."

"You'd be surprised how cruel children can be."

"I wouldn't—"

The woman leaned her weight forward, the toes of her right foot angling toward him. Jaune swept his own foot back and brought his staff down, narrowly diverting her weapon as it lanced at him in a straight thrust. The sharpened edge grated on his wooden staff, and their faces came close. Blue eyes met yellow, the latter faintly amused, before momentum carried her onward and he stepped back, the two falling back into more cautious stances.

"You're quick," said Jaune.

"You're not so shabby yourself, human."

He'd meant quick to anger or quick to turn a conversation into attempted murder, but there was no denying she was fast to boot. That attack would have caught anyone less prepared off guard, and she'd certainly not hesitated to go for a killing blow. Clicking his tongue, Jaune tossed his staff at her, and used the brief moment where she cut it in two to loop his scabbard to his chest and draw his Jian, then flip the empty scabbard back. It was a quick movement that almost looked continuous, like he'd made the scabbard do a full circle and drawn his sword in the midst of it.

She tilted her head. "A Jian? That's not a weapon suitable for use against Grimm. Are you truly a huntsman?"

"I never claimed to be."

The woman attacked again, cautiously this time, and the two of them traded blows, each testing and poking without committing to a full attack. It was swift and graceful and must have looked like a dance to the faunus watching, but the truth was that neither was putting too much into it. She wanted to get the measure of him without revealing too much of her own skills, and he wanted the same.

She doesn't fight like a huntress either. Not like Raven did, or even Tyrian.

Jaune stepped into her guard and feinted with his sword, then drew back and stabbed his left palm into her chest. The woman deflected it with a palm to the back of his wrist, then sliced the meat of her hand at his neck, only to have him flick his parried arm up to catch it on the elbow. It was a familiar set of moves, and ones Shu Ren had taught him when he was starting out.

All martial arts were born from similar fundamentals. While style and imagination and skill obviously mattered, and martial arts could and did diverge, there were still noticeable similarities. Namely, the way someone stood and balanced their weight and how they moved. It differed from fencing and swordplay, which typically focused on limited hand-to-hand interaction. Master Ren had said that sword users would use their hands, but mostly to grapple or wrestle. Not to weave martial arts into it.

It wasn't until her leg snapped up for his neck that he had confirmation, however.

Jaune blocked the strike with his forearm, then snaked his left hand down, channelling aura to his fingertips to strike her right shoulder and lock her meridians there. To emulate what Master Ren had done to Raven and rob her of aura so he could get a solid strike in with his sword. Raven hadn't seen it coming and nor would any huntsman, who had all grown accustomed to the idea that the only way aura could be broken was by wearing it down.

He was shocked, then, when the faunus sucked in a hiss and tilted her whole body back at an unbelievable angle, absolutely abandoning solid footwork and balance in favour of dodging his aura strike.

Shu Ren had taught him better than to ignore such an opening and his leg snapped out into her side, sending her off balance and falling. The faunus shot her gun at him as she did, tucking her shoulder and rolling away to create distance before leaping back to her feet. He'd got the first real good hit in – but only because she freaked out at him trying to deactivate her aura.

Which meant she'd noticed it.

"You're definitely no mere huntsman," said the faunus, laughing hoarsely. "I should have known from the robes." To his surprise, she paused to press her closed fist and the palm of her other hand together.

Automatically, and without thought, Jaune returned a shallow bow.

"I am Blake Belladonna, of the Blackened Ribbon Sect. Also, of the White Fang army."

"Ah. Jaune. Jaune Arc." He wasn't quite sure how to introduce himself to what was apparently another practitioner of the same style as he, so he mimicked hers. "Of the Lotus Sect. I'm nothing more than a traveller—"

He trailed off.

Her face had frozen, suddenly set like stone.

"Which... Which sect did you say you were from...?"

"The Lotus Sect. My master is, or was, Master Shu Ren—"

"MONSTER!" the faunus shrieked, her voice shrill with fury. The world flickered and she was suddenly upon him, eyes shining gold, blade drawn, and the black ribbon on her arm whipping around her body like a snake. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Next Chapter: 30th April

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