If there's one thing about Wuxia stories that I find hard to follow it's the names and long introductions. There's a scene in Jin Yong's novel where one man faces off against seven and you have introductions for all seven of them, followed by an agreement to each share a drink before the fight begins. Then starts the longest sequence of the one man tossing a censor full of wine to each in turn, them drinking, and returning the censor to him in ever more extravagant martial arts manners. It goes on for what feels like foreeeeever.

Also, the names of moves when throwing it back are hard to read sometimes. It's basically like,

"Jaune drank from the censor and then placed both hands upon it, pushing it away and back to the monk with the technique known as `pushing the moon into the sky`. An old family technique thought lost to time."

Like, bro. You're just throwing it back. Stooop.

Chapter 9

Jaune gave ground under the onslaught, keeping the blade away from him while parrying her kicks with his legs. The ribbon kept flapping about, and he kept an eye on it – certain it was for more than just show. His palm caught her elbow before she could finish bringing the sword around on him again, but she smiled and twisted her wrist at an odd angle, pulling away. The ribbon sliced across his neck, and he felt his aura trickle out from where it touched him.

That would have cut my throat open. She's really trying to kill me!

He took the moment of her gloating to step into her guard and drive a knee into her stomach. The girl grunted, hurt but not as stunned by it as he would have liked. Still, he had the inside angle and hooked his arm under her shoulder, twisting and jutting his hip into her pelvis to use as a fulcrum to drag her up over his back and shoulder.

Her knee caught the back of his head as he did, her adapting mid-throw, and it forced him to let go and throw her away rather than bring her crashing down in front of him where he could force a submission on her. The faunus wheeled through the air, struck the ground, and then two faunus got up. Jaune's eyes widened at the two identical faunus, who walked slowly away from one another to pincer him.

Was this some technique? But Master Ren said techniques like this were nonsense.

No, he realised, as he detected the faintest whisps of aura clinging to them. Like him, she only used aura when strictly necessary, and yet now she was saturated with it. This must be a Semblance. Not only her martial skill, but a Semblance as well. I'm in over my head.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," he said. "My master was an old man on the edge of his life. He would have been old when you and I were born. Whatever issue you have can't have been with him."

Both girls raised their guns and fired.

Jaune twisted but couldn't dodge a bullet no matter how much his reflexes had improved. One impacted his stomach, the other his shoulder, but they were only meant as distractions. When he ducked, both faunus wheeled forward, swinging their swords behind them and then above in dancing arcs that would have been suicide had she been in striking range. Far outside such a range, they caused the ribbons attached to the weapons to mimic the arc behind her, so that now she attacked with the sword in front and the ribbon chambered like a second attack in waiting. Except that there were two of them, and he couldn't tell which was real or not, so it was closer to four.

To stand still and let her dictate the flow of combat would be monstrously foolish, so he did the only thing he could and charged one, seeking to devastate one claw of the pincer before the other closed. He aimed his palm for the flat of her blade to deflect it, only to wince as her strength carried it through into his shoulder and cut a chunk from his aura. It didn't matter because he was close now, enough to drive a palm into her solar plexus, then a foot into the side of her knee.

As she stumbled, he grasped her by her collar and pulled, jumping forward himself to displace them, so that he could throw the stunned girl in the path of the other and have her act as a human shield to make the second hesitate. Instead, the second dashed through the first, who burst into dust as she ended her Semblance. It brought her so close that Jaune could see the victorious glint in her eyes through the slits in her mask.

Shit!

The sword hit his stomach with the force of a meteorite, more club than bladed weapon due to his aura, but no less painful. He felt his ribs creak as she dug it up, and even when her momentum drained and he thought he might recover, she twisted and delivered a textbook spinning kick to his abused gut, knocking him back so he couldn't hope to counterattack. Jaune hacked spit and bile, clutching his stomach with one hand.

Blake's teeth bared as she sneered at him, readying herself for another attack. This was only going to end one way – with her death or his. Jaune drew his Jian and held it before him, the tip aimed her way. Outmatched as he was, all he needed to do was deliver one precise strike after deactivating her aura.

His sword intent would ring true.

But the flames had other ideas. With a mighty crackle and an explosion of leaves, one of the many boughs above the village broke and fell, slamming down onto the roof of a nearby home. Made of wood itself, the roof caved inward and sent the walls exploding outwards from the force. Jaune and Blake both flinched, their attention momentarily diverted. And then, weakened by the first, another fell from above. The fires had spread and consumed the thickest boughs, and the village was on the verge of collapse.

"Take everyone and go," she shouted to her men. They saluted and fled. "I will deal with his one first."

"Even now?" asked Jaune. "The village is about to be destroyed."

"Yours is a legacy best cut short," she replied. "For the good of all."

Jaune cursed, ducked his shoulder, and ran. It might not have been traditionally courageous, but Master Ren had warned him of the folly of glorious last stands. He could not live a good life if he died here. Leaping up the steps of a burning house, he dove through the screen door and turned in time to catch Blake entering.

The sudden shift from retreat to attack caught her off guard and he scored several quick hits on her aura before she recovered. Only ever with his blade, though. She knew of his aura sealing technique and consistently chose his blade over his free hand, sacrificing her stance and aura to avoid it, and even focusing her own attacks on his limb whenever it reached out for her.

But he didn't intend to fight her. The second he had a moment of peace, he ran again, deeper into the house and then out the back, where they clashed once more and burst through a weakened wicker wall already on fire, the flames clinging to their robes as they danced and flickered among the flames and smoke.

The thick smog worked against them both, making every move perilous and filling their lungs, but the firelight reflected off their swords provided a medium by which to see attacks coming. Orange blades struck and struck again, parried, deflected, avoided, or taken if it meant creating an opening by which they could strike back.

But as the fires spread and the homes began to collapse, the fight became ever more perilous. A huge beam fell down between them both, scattering ash and smoke into their faces and forcing them apart. Any longer and they would be crushed under the falling roof, and aura and training would matter little when they were trapped and dying of smoke inhalation. Another beam fell, followed by a good portion of the roof between them, cutting the two off from one another. It was the chance he had been praying for and Jaune tucked his Jian under his arm and ran, bursting out the back wall and sprinting north into the woods.

"Coward!" she screamed. "You can't run from your crimes forever!"

I can certainly try, thought Jaune, using his aura as fuel to take him further and further, before doubling back west and then south again toward the coast and his camp. Following me would mean abandoning her allies to an unknown fate. Let's hope she chooses protecting them over hunting me down.

His hopes proved true. After thirty minutes, he slowed to a halt and crouched to listen to the world with closed eyes. A quick meditative trance eased his breathing and heartbeat so they would stop pounding in his ears, letting him hear better. The sounds of nature surrounded him, birdsong and animals, the distant sound of crashing waves. No pursuer, for no matter her skill she would have made noise chasing him at speed. He'd escaped her.

But what was all that about? She acted like she knew Master Ren, but she couldn't have been older than me. Did other members of the Sect do terrible things…? There must have been others before me, before even Master Ren.

Was this some distant sleight between his sect and hers, committed generations ago and held to this day? He didn't know and wasn't about to ask. Master Ren had been scant on detail on the whole sect business, and he always got the feeling the old man was tired and done with it. That he'd wanted to retire somewhere to enjoy his golden years in peace and not have to worry about things like this.

"I'd best get back to my scrolls and go. Staying here is inviting disaster."

It took him time to pick his way back to his camp, but the journey was made simpler by the noise happening at it. He dreaded the White Fang and Blake for several long minutes, imagining they had found his scrolls, but it turned out to be a small gathering of survivors from the village itself. Eight in all, rummaging through his bags while one stood nearby with a bow in hand, arrow nocked. His scrolls lay scattered across the grass, discarded as unimportant by these would-be thieves.

Jaune cleared his throat and stepped from the trees. "Excuse me—"

Fwip.

The arrow struck his chest and bounced off, and only then did he catch the shaft. He'd need to train harder to catch one mid-flight, it seemed. Not that it mattered much when bows and arrows were such antiquated weapons. And he doubted even Master Ren could catch a bullet out the air. Maybe stop it with aura in his palm and make it look like he had, but being hit in the hand was not the same as catching something in your hand.

"Fuck off!" the man snarled, nocking another arrow. "This is our camp."

"This camp belongs to me," Jaune said, as calmly as he could. Fatigue nagged at him and made him surly. "I'll happy to share my food with you if you're hungry but I cannot subsist of air alone. Also, you have thrown by belongings upon the floor."

Another man stepped up beside the first, gripping a spear.

"Take a hint and leave."

Such hostility wasn't a surprise given their brush with death, and yet it was no different to their greeting the first time he approached their village. Jaune got the feeling this was not solely motivated by the loss of their home.

"Peace," he said. "I've just fought the White Fang to buy your people time to escape. Doesn't that make us allies?"

"You probably lured them to us!"

Fury surged within him. He was tired, hungry, and strained from his fight and subsequent run, and to now have the people he'd risked his life to save accuse him of causing it – after turning him away, no less – was an insufferable insult. He let out a breath to calm himself but couldn't dispel his temper fully.

"The way I heard it, this attack was caused by your own actions in harming a pair of faunus sailors."

"Spies," said the first. "They got what they deserved."

"It's true, then. You killed them."

"What of it? We're at war. The whole kingdom is. People die in war. That's just the way it is."

Jaune would be the first to admit he knew little of the war and what it was like to live under it, but that didn't matter. There was no war here, no enemy invasion, just a small number of men ransacking his camp and threatening his life.

"Tell me," he said. "Do you have other survivors you're looking after? Women and children?"

"No," said the man with the spear, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Because that would have convinced me to feel some sympathy for you."

Jaune moved before they could process the words, flicking his sword up both to deflect the clumsily fired arrow and cut the string of the bow in one sweep. He carried forward, striking the man in the chest with his shoulder before grasping the haft of the spear with his free hand. His Jian swung down, shattering the wood, and he whipped the foot or so of it back up into the man's face and slapped him across the cheek with it.

A third that had been rummaging in his bags lunged at him with a knife, but Jaune caught the wrist with the back of his hand, took hold and twisted it upward, forcing him to drop the weapon. He carried the motion through and over, bringing the man down onto one knee where he could drive a foot under his armpit and knock him down.

The fourth swung a rock picked up off the floor for Jaune's skull, fully intent on cracking his head open like a ripe melon. Jaune ducked inward, catching the inside of the man's arm on his own and then snapping his fist, still clutching his Jian, into the man's face. His nose broke under the assault, and he went down.

Hearing footsteps behind, Jaune turned in time to block a haymaker from the archer, then slid his hand over the extended limb and pinned it down between his elbow and his side. His other hand struck the man once, twice, three times, finishing under his chin and releasing his trapped arm at the same time to send him back on his behind. The spearman, still on the ground, grabbed Jaune's wrist in one hand and tried to bring a hunting knife in his other into his calve. A quick stomp both stopped that and shattered the man's wrist.

Jaune stepped out the groaning man's grip and took his bag, stooped and collected the important scrolls they had so carelessly thrown across the floor. He packed them carefully, then collected his belongings and food before pausing. With a sigh, he unzipped his bag and took out a small pile of meals, setting them down among the defeated men.

"It's more than you deserve," he said. "Have my camp if it is so comfortable to you, but I'd move on if I were you. The Grimm will be drawn to the negativity of your village falling. This attack by the White Fang won't go unnoticed."

"You're a huntsman," one of them hissed. "It's your job to help us."

A huntsman's duty. Once, he might have considered it his duty here and now as well, because he had power and thus he should show responsibility. Master Ren had taught him better, however. Did he really want to commit himself to a code like this? To risk his life in the defence of men who not only attacked him but had taken two strangers and killed them. The answer was obvious.

"I'm not," said Jaune. "And it isn't my job to look after you." He started walking. "Good luck."

/-/

He saw no signs of other survivors over the day or so's travel inward, away from the coast and its dangers. The White Fang had been stopped in their pursuit by him, so he imagined many had escaped into the wilds. Hopefully, they would find shelter, but he had neither the time nor supplies to hunt them all down and so had to leave them. He moved on, rested when he could, and finished the journey to Rest at last.

The people there recognised him. "You're not entirely welcome here, lad," said Baron, who had been elected to come and speak with him when he entered the village.

"Am I that hated?"

"Hated? No. No, lad. A lot of us are downright thrilled with what you did to those deserters – made our day, it did. It's more we're cautious." His smile was hopeful, trying to convince Jaune there was no enmity. "We don't want to be seen as housing you if they come back. We have to look after our own, you see."

Jaune sighed. "That won't be a concern much longer, Baron. The temple was attacked and Master Ren was killed. I'm leaving after I bury his body."

A ripple passed through the crowd and several gasped. Though few had truly known him, many had known of Master Ren. Not his reputation for skill or anything like that, but as the old, eccentric hermit who seemed to live forever. The one rumoured to be immortal. There were no tears, but there were dipped heads and quiet respect.

That almost brought tears to his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," said Baron, and he meant it. "Let us gather you fresh supplies. We can't let you stay but we won't send you away with empty hands."

"Thank you. That would be a great help…"

They went further, feeding him a warm meal and letting him wash off in a wooden bath, even cleaning and repairing his clothes for him before filling his bag with fresh fruits and wrapped meat, along with fire starters and what camping supplies they could scrounge together. Baron topped it off with a shovel, its purpose explanatory. The apothecary offered a bouquet of flowers as well.

"Thank you," Jaune repeated, his eyes red. "Once I have buried him, I will leave. Please look after yourselves and take care. I came from the coast and a village was attacked by the White Fang there. It's been burnt down. You may come across refugees in the coming days."

"We'll keep an eye out. Not much we can do if the White Fang do come on by, though. No huntsmen out here, no soldiers. Too busy defending the core territories." Baron slapped his back. "We'll persist as we always have or, if fate wills it, we won't. There's not much point living in fear."

"Then I'll bid you all farewell."

/-/

The temple had been burnt down.

The outer walls remained, but the building itself, along with the outhouses, had been reduced to burnt wood and piles of ash by their attackers. It infuriated him, making his fists clench tight and his fingernails dig into his hands. Hadn't they done enough without this disrespect? Not only to kill Master Ren, but to destroy the home he had built. It was so unnecessary.

Setting his bag down, Jaune walked cautiously into the grounds. With the temple reduced to rubble, there wasn't much chance Cinder and her allies had stuck around. There was nowhere to hide if they had, and they'd have kept the buildings up for shelter if they intended to. Also, if they suspected that more scrolls might be hidden somewhere then burning the place to ash would prevent them falling into other hands.

Or maybe they had just wanted to punish Master Ren for defying them.

Jaune found the body laid flat in the centre of the pavilion. "Oh, Master Ren," he gasped, choked at last. All the grief that hadn't shown itself came pouring out and he collapsed to his knees, hands over the already decaying body. "I'm so sorry," he wept. "Leaving you out here like this. How could they…"

He'd heard it said all looked peaceful in death, and maybe they did soon after dying. Carrion had already begun to peck away at him, however. He was almost unrecognisable. Only his robes gave away his identity.

"I'll bury you by the pagoda where you drank tea," Jaune told him, standing and fetching his shovel. "You always loved it there, kneeling with a cup of tea and a book while I slaved away on my conditioning. You'll have a beautiful view of the sunrise and sunset."

He talked to Master Ren for the two hours it took to dig a deep hole for him, telling his master of his short travels and the things he'd seen, and how he'd had to open a scroll to treat the poison. He assured Master Ren that he would find the other scrolls, that he wouldn't be consumed by vengeance, that he would live a good life after securing the scrolls and find a student of his own one day to pass his teachings onto.

He talked of his fears and hopes, his plans, his dreams, and then of the things he would miss, of the times they spent together, of his gratitude and gratefulness toward an old man who had saved a young boy and taken him in. But he eventually ran out of things to talk about – and ran out of excuses not to lower the man into his final resting place.

Gently, he laid him down in the soil, laying what remained of his hands over his chest and then placing a small, cracked teacup upon those. Something small left from the devastation. Jaune stood in the hole with the body of his master and closed his eyes, saying a few quick words. It occurred to him he'd never been able to bury his family this way. They had been cremated in the home they'd built together and raised a family in.

And now he'd lost a second family in just seventeen short years.

It didn't seem fair.

"Life is never fair," he recited. "But those who have strength can determine their future, while those without can only appeal to those that do to protect them. I will find my code and live well, Master Ren. I will make you proud – even though you would tell me not to seek your pride. I'll do it anyway. Watch my actions, master. I'm sure you'll have plenty to critique me on in the next life." His voice caught in his throat as he shovelled the first heap of dirt onto the man's body. "Farwell Master Ren. I will never forget you."

Once his gruesome work was done, Jaune sat and drank and cried and ate, simply laying on his back as he let the grief wash over him. He grieved the loss of the man but did not grieve his death because Master Ren wouldn't want him to. Better instead to remember the good times, even if that meant acknowledging they would never come again.

Soon, he had cried himself out, and that forced him to action. Though the temple was destroyed, he pushed himself to shift the cold wreckage aside, peeling apart the ruin piece by piece in search of anything that remained. There were no secretly hidden scrolls, but he was able to find Master Ren's own sword, the silken sash tied around it charred and burnt brown in places. Swallowing a lump, he carefully tied it to his backpack. Master Ren would have him take it as an extra tool, but he would keep it for sentimental reasons as well.

Other belongings that had survived were less usable. Broken pottery and cutlery, candle holders and little bronze statues. Their clothes had all been burnt to ash and the food was beyond gone, the remnants picked apart by scavengers. Jaune gathered what little he found and took what little of that could be used – some flint, some sharp knives used for cutting hide, some needles lest he need to repair clothing or sew skin.

Shu Ren had lived a frugal life despite the sizeable temple.

There wasn't much to recover.

"It was still worth it just to bury him," Jaune said. "I could not have moved on if I knew he was left there all alone. Where now, though? I've no destination, no direction. I need to find the scrolls but where would I even begin…?"

He knew names. Cinder, Tyrian, Hazel, Mercury, Emerald. Five people to track down, and five people who had some skill, but who were also clearly trained as huntsmen. That implied the military, though he hadn't gotten the feeling they came from any army. No uniforms, too small numbers, and the army would have tried to throw their weight around or draft him.

Even so, the whole way huntsmen were trained was in the academies, or so Master Ren had said. Centralisation, with all education and influence retreating to four major cities and the various villages and sects dying out as a result. They were obviously too old to be students at Beacon, but there was always the chance they had once studied there. Perhaps there would be an old roster of names or, failing that, some way of tracking them down in the city.

"I guess that means Vale is my first destination." He took out the map given to him by the lumber camp. "I should stop by small villages on the way there and ask if they saw them. Those people didn't come by aircraft so they must have stopped at places to rest, and only Tyrian was a faunus. They wouldn't have risked the southern coast and the White Fang."

Heading inland and north would also take him away from the White Fang himself, and he wasn't interested in testing Blake Belladonna and her allies again. They'd had few qualms attacking and murdering humans despite the provocation of two of their own dying, and she'd had a vested interest in killing him as well over some perceived insult from the Lotus Sect. He'd gotten out alive from that confrontation, but the White Fang might have more like her. There was little chance he could have escaped had there been two people of her skill.

"Vale it is. And if that fails, I'll travel to Mistral and then Atlas. They must be somewhere. One doesn't seek power like they did unless they have a use for it, and they specifically mentioned the war."

It could have been a lie or an excuse, but it was the only lead he had. Hauling his back up onto his back, Jaune spared one last look for the temple that had been his home for years, linked his palm to his fist and bowed, then turned away and set out.

The scrolls would not recover themselves.

Next Chapter: 14th May

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