Chapter 11 – Gone Awry

In which Cardin Winchester trusts Leonardo Lionheart and everything turns out okay.

Man, this mission was gonna be an easy one. Cardin was surrounded on all sides by famous huntsmen and huntresses, people known the world over – Shiro Wan, Heather Shields, Ivy Altham, Harkin Lunsford, Slate DeSena, even Lali Choi!

Well, Cardin hadn't personally heard of any of them, but they were Haven's best, so he assumed they were probably famous, or at least pretty good. Anyways, even if they were all average or below, there were over seventy people in their party, all pros except for Cardin. The largest recorded gathering of hunters since the Faunus Rights Revolution was something like fifty men and women, when an elder Grimm had stirred up some trouble in Old Mantle and needed to be put down by sheer numbers. No matter how numerous this horde of Grimm that people had reported was, it wouldn't stand a chance.

He wasn't exaggeration here – they could in theory kill any number of Grimm. Hundreds, thousands, millions, maybe even billions. The limiting factor would be their rations. You see, a huntsman or huntress, at least a pro, should be able to tear through Grimm for hours on end before running low on aura or Dust, and pros could probably do so without losing any ground to the beasts. That meant that if a vanguard of, say, three teams of people held off the enemy lines at the front, the remainder could sit back and relax. When those three teams reached their limit, a new three could take over while the first group rested up and recharged. With the twenty-four teams they were packing, that meant they could literally all get their full eight hours of sleep before even needing to get back up to be called in.

Errrr, seven hours, I guess, since one trio of teams will have to be holding the front lines. Still, it's pretty good.

The point was, this kind of mission wasn't just Haven throwing their hunters into a meatgrinder and hoping something went different this time. A single hunter or even a team could be overwhelmed, but this many fighters was a force to be reckoned with. What they had here was the equivalent of an entire year's worth of hunters from Haven. Victory was guaranteed.

Lionheart's intelligence had said that the most recent attack was on a frontier outpost some miles west of the main kingdom, so their massive war party had been on the road all day. Cardin wished they could've taken the airship all the way, but apparently the headmaster had some reason for why they couldn't.

The old man had said that if they went out into the forest in airships and spotted the horde, they could rain fire on it from above, but only using ranged weapons. They would eventually run out of bullets and Dust, forcing them to have a small group land to clear out enough ground for the rest to touch down, which would give the Grimm an opportunity to swarm them, and if aerial Grimm showed up they could be attacked on two fronts, and all sorts of other stuff. It was all heavily strategic, so complex that Cardin could barely keep up with it. But hey, Cardin was a fighter, not a thinker.

The end result was that it was simply easier for them to hike there. Cardin would've preferred a leisurely flight, but the other hunters had all agreed with the headmaster. He would just have to be satisfied with the knowledge that Lionheart had agreed to buy him a first class ticket home when he completed the mission. Besides, his legs were hecka muscular from all the walking he'd done over the past few weeks, so it wasn't like he was going to get tired in the three days it was estimated to take.

Several tents had been set up – one as a privy, one for the spare Dust and ammo to keep it safe in case there was rain, and one for the leaders of the expedition to sleep in and have their dinners. Cardin and the other low-level schmucks didn't get their own tent and had no other options but to set up sleeping bags in the open air around the fire that they were currently clustered around to eat dinner. It wasn't bad or anything, even though it did remind him a bit much of Raven. At least the company here was a lot more honorable.

I got spoiled by the White Fang. Damn do I miss those guys.

Huh. Never thought I'd be thinking something like that.

"…trashing the place! I know, right – indoors and everything, completely unaware of the fact that it was at a renowned huntress' birthday party bash!"

The huntress in question, a middle-aged woman named Amethyst or something, tried to hide her face away from the group with her hands, but her partner wasn't having it and kept his arms around her shoulder.

"So, what does our dear Amy do to destroy this ravenous Beowolf?"

Suggestions were quick, and some quite raunchy. Nothing Cardin hadn't heard in the locker room, but it was odd coming from this band of adults.

"String it up like a pinata?" Cardin offered.

"Kick it in the nuts, then shove her club up its butt?" offered one huntsman.

A woman grinned. "I got it. She throws it into her birthday cake, where it impaled itself on the male stripper's erect–

"Nope!" said the partner. "You all get an F. No, the correct answer is that Ams here grabbed it by its hind paws, swung it around three times, let go too early, and hurled it through the door to her bedroom instead of out the window."

Amethyst turned beet red. "I was a little tipsy, okay?"

"Ahhhh…you were so sloshed it looked attractive," a gaunt huntsman quipped.

"No, but I bet you're quite familiar with women needing to use that strategy!" she fired back.

"Ohhhh, that's nothing," said a broad-shouldered huntsman (Harkin, maybe?) carrying a massive halberd slung across his shoulder. "One time, I was out in Atlas, and we were surrounded on all sides by Sabyrs – Atlas brand rip-off Beowolves, essentially. Me and my team were gunnin' 'em down like there was no tomorrow, but more of the suckers kept crawling out of the woodwork, and we needed to find some way to finish, and fast. Now, this was an old abandoned Schnee mine, and one of my boys figured out that if we could light up a vein of Dust, we'd bring down the roof on top of them and seal 'em in. Problem was, we didn't have no ammo to shoot it from afar, and it wouldn'ta been right to leave one behind when the rest escape. Now, Farrow, he used to weave Dust into his pants – said it was for stylish choices and not combat, but our backs were to the wall and there weren't no time for modesty. Roux and I slap him to the floor and strip him bare – Farrow, he likes to go commando. I hold him down as he scream bloody murder while Roux unsews the slacks into threads. We take the threads and light 'em up once we're outside of the cave, and BOOM! Grimm problem solved, even though Farrow's tallywhacker was flopping about."

There was a cacophony of disbelieving snorts from the people crowded around the campfire.

"No way! Ain't no way that tall tale of yours ever happened."

"Bet'cha saw the papers about Mr. Citron and his Haven concubine's 'sploding dress to get the idea. It ain't even original."

Cardin smirked. "You know, there was a guy at Beacon, Professor Peter Port." He pointed a spoon at the beefy huntsman. "You woulda liked him."

There were some knowing nods, though the guy just shot Cardin a confused look. Cardin laughed it off and went back to his supper.

"If you want wild stories, I got one," said Shiro Wan. He was essentially the mini-groups' captain, as the leader of the team that was taking point. "So there I was, alone, on a bounty mission to root out some White Fang troublemakers."

Cardin bristled at the mention of the White Fang, but no one else noticed.

"These Faunus freaks were out–"

He'd heard enough. Cardin quietly rose and made to step away from the campfire.

This was noticed.

"Hey, where ya goin'? You're gonna miss the whole story, son."

"I'm not your son," Cardin said, trying his best to keep his temper in check. "And I don't think I particularly want to hear this story."

"Why?" asked the huntsman, rising and puffing out his chest. It probably looked like an intimidating pose from Shiro's perspective, but with a full head of height over the man, Cardin didn't feel all that intimidated.

"You one of them Faunus lovers?" he asked.

"Yes," Cardin answered without hesitation.

"Stupid city boy. Well, a kid like you may not be old enough to understand the full picture, but the White Fang's been killing folks for nigh fifteen years. Faunus just can let things be – they always have to cause trouble for the rest of us."

By the Grimm…this must've been how I sounded. I was such a piece of trash back then before OC and the others set me straight.

Time to pay it forward, I guess.

"First of all, sir, you're twice my age, so if anything, you should be the one to remember when the White Fang was peaceful, not me. Dust, you were alive back then! I guess your memory must be shot in your old age."

The man looked like he was about to growl out a retort, but Cardin wasn't finished.

"And second of all, the only reason you even have any idea what we're looking for on this mission is because of the intel that I gave Lionheart. And do you know who gave that intel to me? Faunus. The ruins of Liunara was their staging point for a charity outreach operation to save the lives of the Mistrilian villagers that you were too busy playing around in Atlas to look after! It was because of good Faunus men and women that the refugees didn't just die on the road to Argus, or you would be going out into that jungle blinder than a damn bat! So don't you go telling me that I'm not old enough to know the full picture when you're the idiot who can't even be bothered to read his own mission brief!"

Shiro's eyes flared, and for a second Cardin thought he was about to get his butt kicked. Fortunately, though, another hunter, possibly Shiro's partner, stepped in between them and blocked Shiro's movements.

"C'mon, friend. Let's…Let's talk somewhere else. I don't think whatever you're about to say will be appreciated here."

Cardin looked to his side and realized that all the other huntresses and huntsmen had their hands on their weapons. He was so focused on his own rant and the jerk's reaction that he hadn't even seen them.

Shiro eventually relented to the will of his companion. The offending pair retreated to another one of the nearby campfires, and Cardin's crew settled down once more.

"Whew." Cardin wiped some sweat from his brow. "That was close."

"He's always like that," said Amethyst. "Shiro may be a great huntsman and a reliable guy, but he's never been big on the Faunus. An IED killed his uncle and young cousin some years back."

"White Fang?" Cardin asked.

She nodded.

"So, Cardin, sounds like we all owe you thanks," said Harkin. "We've all been defending Mistral for so long, but we didn't have a clue things had gotten this bad."

"Weren't you planning this mission to take care of said things being bad?"

"We all thought it was just routine scouting for some mildly elevated Grimm activity," said Heather. "The council thought it would just blow over, but Lionheart convinced them it wouldn't hurt to send us out. Guess he made the right call."

Cardin nodded. The mission had already been planned in full when he joined it, the only change being the scope and intent upon his intel being reviewed.

"So, Liunara," said Heather. "Sounds like a story…"

Cardin smiled and shook his head. "You lot have better tales. Don't let my boring adventures take up all the time."

"C'mon, tell us!"

"Yeah!"

"Cardin! Cardin! Card…C…"

Harkin trailed off awkwardly when no one else joined the chant, but it was enough. Cardin sighed and decided to regale them with the sordid story.

"Alright, alright, keep your heads on. So, there I was, walking on the eastern beaches of Mistral, when this flippin' pig runs out…"

"That's a load of hogwash," said one of the hunters. "No way White Fang would set up some sort of person shelter."

"Not mainstream White Fang," Cardin calmly explained. "It was led by one of the holdouts who kept his sights on the main goal – making a difference. They only kept him around as a PR move. He was about as much of a terrorist as you or me."

"I still don't buy it."

"Well, I do," said Harkin. "There's no way this kid could know so much about the Branwens without having actually encountered them."

"But what was that part about Raven conceding to you?" asked Roux. "There's no way you actually drove her off."

"Technically, I beat her protégé by stabbing her when her back was turned. Since I used to…used to ride with the Branwens, I technically was a member and had the right to choose my plunder from Raven's hoard. I chose the survivors and the village, and Raven decided not to push her luck. She'd already gotten what she'd come for. Less than fifty people walked away."

"Used to ride with the Branwens, eh?" asked Heather sarcastically. "Lemme guess – they were also good people?"

Cardin shook his head. "No. Never. It was a mistake on my part. One I'm struggling to make up for, if I ever can."

The regret in his voice must have shown, because the others didn't press him on it.

"How'd a Beacon boy like you ever get to Mistral?" asked Harkin, obviously trying to change the subject. It was not an unwelcome move, though.

"Rocket locker. Beacon has us keep our weapons in–"

"We know what rocket lockers are," interrupted Amethyst, leaning forward. "What I wanna know is what it has to do with you being here."

Cardin shrugged. "Bullied a kid, his girlfriend pushed me in and shut the door."

"And it landed in Mistral."

"Landed in the Grimmlands."

He knew they wouldn't believe that even before the laughter erupted. Such a wild story of a boy his age surviving in the Grimmlands must've sounded like Cardin smoked a little too much of whatever made up old Port's stash.

"Hey," Cardin said. "You all got any fish?"

"I think I got a can of tuna somewhere round here," answered Slate.

"Do you mind digging it out?"

Slate smiled slyly as he reached into his backpack. "Not for our hero who braved the Grimmlands."

Cardin responded with a smirk of his own. "How about I tell you a little bit more about that lost continent?"

The hunters all nodded, eager to see Cardin make an even bigger fool of himself.

"You see, there's all new species of Grimm there, never before seen. When I stayed there, I saw all sorts of things. The weirdest ones were probably these little floating Grimm balloons that could grab ya with razor-tipped tentacles."

"Sounds like someone's been watching a bit too much Mistrilian anime!"

Cardin joined in on the laughter. "There was also a castle. Tallest thing in the world, bigger than a CCT. It was made around several spiked Gravity Dust crystals that naturally grew out there. It had been hollowed out and was home to the orbies."

"A Grimm castle?" said Harkin. "This beats my made-up crap about Dust pants! Keep it coming!"

"Your tuna," cut in Slate, tossing Cardin the small tin.

"Now, the coolest thing about the Grimmlands was that there were no people around for miles, 'cept for a few folks that might've lived in the castle. They were all long gone, though, but they left bullheads that I used to escape. Now, as I was saying, no people there, and there never were. That means some of the Grimm there didn't have the same natural animosity against humans and Faunus. Makes 'em easier to train."

Heather's grin was now the widest, and she nodded slightly. "You train one?"

Cardin responded by cracking open the tin and holding out his arm.

"Treat."

When people saw the first-ever pet Grimm, the idea that Cardin had been the first-ever huntsman to survive a trip to the Grimmlands was swallowed a whole lot easier. He'd been expecting astounded bursts of shock and a litany of questions about his every experience while there, but the stunned silence and confused contemplation was equally gratifying.

"Damn," said Lali. She looked back at Cardin. "You actually did all that stuff?"

He nodded.

"Damn," she said again.

"Friend of the Fang, friend of the Branwens, friend of the Grimm – maybe we ought to be arresting you," said Harkin.

"Maybe," responded Cardin, not entirely sure if that was a joke from the big man or a veiled threat.

"And you walked out of all that alive," an astonished Amethyst said to herself. "I wouda died ten times over…"

"Maybe we should've gone to Beacon," said her nameless partner. "If it makes its students that tough after four years."

Cardin snorted. "Actually, I didn't last a full week at Beacon."

"Drop-out?" asked Amethyst' partner.

"Nope. Launch-out. On a rocket locker."

That garnered even more shock from the crowds.

"W-What? You're not academy trained?" asked Harkin. "I'd say I don't believe ya, but I'm not the one with a tame Centinel on my arm eating catfood."

"Tuna," Cardin corrected. "He likes the stuff. And no, I've technically never graduated."

"How many years ago was this accident?" asked Heather. "You must've gotten some serious on-the-job experience in the jungles if you survived Grimmlands, bandits, Fang, and bandits again."

Cardin thought on it mentally. He'd been in the Grimmlands and with Raven for about a week and a half, and he'd sort of lost track of dates when he'd been with OC and Mata. He'd been planning to stay there permanently, so there had been no need.

In the end, he rounded up to two months, just to be safe.

"One-sixth of a year."

His audience blinked in unison.

"These things I talked about – rocket locker-ing, Grimmlands, riding with Raven, meeting the White Fang – they all happened one after another. I've been trying to get back home since I left. I only managed to meet with Lionheart to fill him in on what I'd seen because I needed help booking a flight."

Cardin turned out his pockets.

"Lost my wallet and scroll in the Grimmlands."

He looked around and saw disbelief. That was okay – if he hadn't lived it, he wouldn't have believed it either. Cardin popped a hunk of the tuna that Long John hadn't yet devoured into his mouth, then decided he was full for the night.

He started to unroll his sleeping bag. "Well, I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"No way…"

"It all happened," Cardin vowed. "But I get how it sounds crazy."

"It does sound crazy," said Heather. "But we believe you, kiddo. It's just that…well…"

"You've got a full lifetime's worth of adventures under your belt, and you're not even eighteen," Harkin stated. "Probably as much as any one of us and then some."

"Y-You're showing up us old fogeys," laughed Slate, nervously.

"You guys? Jealous?" Cardin shook his head. "I don't believe it. You're pro-hunters. You'd probably run circles around me."

Harkin answered. "Most of the work we do is just standard search and destroy missions. Find a Grimm that's been plaguing a village, kill it, and collect the reward. All those exaggerated, larger'n life campfire tales – that was it. Those were the wildest things we'd ever done, and we each had but one or two of them, tops."

Slate seemed to have gotten his nerves under control, so he explained what that meant to a slightly baffled Cardin. "You may not have been around for as long as us, but the most dangerous stunts you've pulled are far more dangerous than anything we've ever seen."

"I made up the Dust pants," said Harkin.

"And I was embellishing the whole Beowolf birthday bash story," said Amethyst's partner. "Heavily."

"Kid, we're hunters. Pro-hunters, sure, but plain old hunters. It's not like we graduate and suddenly become superheroes. We're more practiced by a few more years, but we're still just human. A-And Faunus."

"My team and I have stumbled into Branwen raids a few times in my day," said Lali. "And we always did the smart thing and turned the other way."

"If we got tossed into the Grimmlands, we'd die," said Roux. "Trust me – they've tried expeditions with people better than us."

Now it was Cardin's turn to experience stunned disbelief. He'd been so sure that these guys, these pros, would be able to carve through the Grimm like a hot knife through butter. After all, they had four times the experience under their belt compared to Cardin, meaning they had to be four times as good, right?

But apparently, according to their own words, they weren't somehow fundamentally better than him. They were better, but not by nearly as much as he'd been expecting. As much as he'd been counting on to complete this mission.

For the briefest fleeting second, Cardin felt his determination to go through with the mission waver.

"SKREEEEEEE!"

Cardin jolted awake.

"Ugh, keep it down," said Heather from her sleeping bag nearby.

"Honey, hit the alarm," said Roux. "I'm tired."

He remembered that noise. It was Long John, crying out into the night sky. The last time Cardin had heard it, Kuana Lunai had been destroyed.

Cardin didn't hesitate this time. Both of his weapons were out before he'd even finished standing up.

"ATTACK! WE'RE ABOUT TO BE–"

The Grimm must have finished massacring the sentries, because fresh waves of midnight black poured right into the camp. Cardin had never seen so many in one place. Not even the migrating herds in the Grimmlands could compare to this absolute ocean of monsters.

This has to be every one on Anima…!

The forest was silent, except for his yell and Long John's screech. There were no roars, no howls, no growls, no grunts – the Grimm weren't making any noise.

Many of the hunters were still asleep and died that way. Those that woke up hadn't drawn their weapons, and only a few had the wherewithal to raise their aura. The Grimm tore through them all without stopping – without making a noise.

The adrenaline coursing through Cardin's veins was the only thing that kept him alive. He remembered that night from hell, when his best friends in the whole world had been slaughtered, and his mind was already in fight or flight mode the second Long John gave him those few seconds of early warning.

Fight went out the window immediately. Cardin cut down a few Grimm when they came at him and tried to bite his limbs off, but he couldn't kill them all. As far out as he could see, there were glowing red eyes out in the forest and sweeping through the camp.

Within ten seconds of the initial attack starting, he was the last huntsman standing. The invincible army of Haven was no more than scattered remains on the ground and one idiotic boy who'd thought his side strong.

I need to get out of here!

Running was cowardly, but the entire task force was already dead. He needed to flee, to survive, to warn Lionheart that this army was so close to the walls of the kingdom.

The only problem was, he was surrounded.

It wasn't over, though. Only about four or five Grimm could attack him at a time without crowding up and bumping into one another's personal space, which were the kinds of numbers that he could hold off. However, it would only be a matter of time before they drained him.

No! I can't die here! I refuse to!

The bulk of the enemy forces were simple Beowolves, though Cardin could make out a few elephantine Goliaths on the outskirts. No doubt the simple Grimm were there to wear him down, and then the heavies would sweep in and trample him to death using their sheer size along.

The Executioner did the action that was its namesake and sent five Beowolves flying in a single sweep while Crocea Mors carved up another pair as they tried to flank him.

This isn't working! I won't last forever unless I find a way out.

There were no ways out. The Grimm had snuck up on the task force, and they were present in massive numbers in all directions.

A Beringel's arm smashed him backwards, and Cardin splashed onto the bloodied remains of Harkin.

Harkin…surrounded by Grimm…Dust!

Cardin was a fighter, not a thinker, but even he could come up with a plan when Harkin's wild fable had laid the groundwork. He didn't have time to hesitate, not even as the idea was still forming in his head. Flipping the dead huntsman over onto his back, Cardin fumbled to grab the man's sidearm as Beowolves pummeled his aura on his back. Cardin slapped them back with his mace, but he had to drop Crocea Mors to handle the firearm, meaning he was no longer able to hold them off from all directions.

When he had the gun, he quickly rotated around and fired upon the few Grimm that were crowding him just to give himself some breathing room, then turned the barrel onto one of the three tents.

He shot the first one to ribbons and earned nothing as a result. It must've been the leader's sleeping tent or the crap hole they'd dug.

Aiming at the next tent, he was about to fire the trigger when a Nevermore dove out of the sky and tried to peck at his gun. Cardin pulled it back in time and shielded the precious weapon with his body. His gun survived, but he received a nasty trio of slashes to the shoulder for his trouble.

I can't waste aura – not if I'm going to survive the explosion.

He re-set his sights on the second tent and opened fire with his aura raised. This one must've been the right tent, because about three seconds after tearing it open, he heard a loud sparking noise that must've been the Dust reserves they'd packed exploding.

One moment he was ducking for cover.

The next, he was on the ground, some hundred meters away.

The Grimm weren't dead. No, there was no way that a single concentrated Dust explosion like that had wiped out that many monsters. But it had thrown Cardin far away from them, far enough that they wouldn't have been able to chase after him without taking a few moments to track him down first.

There was no time to waste. Cardin ignored the ringing in his ears and the agony that he felt all over and broke out into a run. He had no direction; he just needed to get out of here.

He ran through the night until his body collapsed from exhaustion. Gasping, panting, wheezing, he stayed on the forest floor for some time, doing his best to blend in with the ferns and foliage.

Then, when he'd caught his breath, he kept running.

When he was sure he'd put enough distance between himself and the Grimm, Cardin finally considered the matter of directions. The sun was rising in the direction he was going, which meant that it was east. That was a blessing, as he wouldn't want to have to traverse the Grimm horde's territory to get back to Mistral if he'd been going in the opposite direction.

He continued east for a few hours, more than the trek out had taken, which was an alarming sign that he might have passed Mistral. Still, if he made it to the east coast, he could probably orient himself from there, or perhaps locate some harbor colony.

Maybe I'll travel far south enough to see Menagerie. Then I can wave hi to all my friends before the White Fang shoots me in the gut.

Ultimately, he stumbled onto train tracks that could only be the Argus limited. They led him back to the gates of Haven, which accepted in the bloodied, wounded huntsman that trudged in with no any explanation of who he was. Cardin was offered no questions but several looks of concern.

Limping through the streets, Cardin spent the night in a corridor between a whorehouse and a single-floor casino on the lowest level of Mistral. His aura was actively being sucked away to heal all of the injuries that the Grimm and the explosion had inflicted, meaning it would take some time for it to come back up to 100%.

He wasn't stupid. Cardin was not stupid. Slow on the uptake, sure, but don't call him stupid.

Leonardo Lionheart.

The headmaster of Haven.

The first Faunus to ever rise to the highest rank at a huntsman academy.

It was too sickening to be true, and Cardin used that as the excuse for why he hadn't pieced the truth together before.

Emerald Sustrai's student ID card, casually placed in a castle in the middle of the Grimmlands.

Mustache Man, talking to Miss Grimm about having an 'in' at Haven.

Villages falling left and right, with nothing being done about it by the true authorities. Things getting so bad in Mistral that the White Fang themselves had to step in to remedy the situation with not one but two refugee camps.

Lionheart, looking him in the eyes with fear, shame, and guilt as he assigned Cardin to a task force of Grimm hunters.

The Grimm, behaving smarter than ever before, entering a camp silently so as to sneak up on a slumbering crew of huntsmen and huntresses that they knew were there. A trap, set and sprung with zero hitches except Cardin's Centinel early warning system getting a sword in his hand before he could be slaughtered like a sheep.

"It's already too late," Cardin moaned to the dumpsters and rats next to him. "They already have Haven. Mistral's as good as dead."

He couldn't kill Lionheart. Even if he somehow managed to pull a miracle out of thin air and triumph over the guy in single combat, the students of Haven would prevent him from ending the life of that miserable rat. Lionheart lived in a fortress surrounded by loyal troops. Without a shred of proof, there were no moves to be made.

Outing him? Just as difficult without evidence, not to mention horribly irresponsible. Mistral was the second worst kingdom when it came to human-Faunus relations, beaten only by the Atlesians. The strides they'd taken to get a Faunus in that seat of power were huge. If Cardin outed him as being a traitor, and to the Grimm of all things, every Faunus from here to Argus would be lynched. He'd almost assuredly be instigating a genocide.

I guess we'll never know, because I don't even have that option, because I'm down in the bottom of this dump of a city without any resources or allies or anything.

He wished OC were here. The dusty old hedgehog would've known what to do.

But OC wasn't there.

The other hunters in the task force would probably have been able to work something out. Why, any one of them could easily have formulated a plan to bring down Lionheart without starting a race war.

But they weren't here either.

Cardin was.

Somehow, despite tragedy after tragedy befalling the people around him, Cardin had survived. Whether that was by luck, skill, or some magic semblance he didn't even know about, he was still here. If he stalled here, then hundreds of good men and women would have died for nothing. Their burden fell to him, not because he was the best or the most qualified but because he'd been the only one to brave the ring of fire and come out on the other side.

The responsibility to fix this is all mine. I'm the only person left in the world who even knows that Mistral is in trouble, let alone who's at fault. If I fail here…

But failure was the only thing he knew how to do.

It wasn't the will of the cosmos that he'd made it out alive; only a fool would count on that. Cardin survived the Grimmlands because Emerald was a little klepto and swiped a keyfob to a working bullhead. He survived the Branwens because his little spat of racism had disgusted Raven and Vernal so much that they considered him a lost investment. He survived the massacre of Kuana Lunai because Vernal got sentimental and had poor aura control.

None of those victories were his. His greatest attribute was getting lucky and running away to face more trouble somewhere else. If he did try to stop Lionheart and whatever Grimm contacts the traitor had, Cardin was certain to fail and die.

Death didn't scare him, not anymore. It was an old friend. He knew it would catch up eventually.

But failure? That…

Cardin brushed away the tears, the dried blood on his fingertips getting wetted and mixing onto his face. This burden was too heavy for him. He would break if he tried to bear it. He knew he would.

He couldn't stay in this alleyway forever. He needed to make a choice.

So, was Cardin going to give up, or was he going to be a huntsman?

In the end, it was an obvious choice. Giving up was easily the smartest decision he would ever make.

Which was why Cardin decided not to give up.

Remember, Cardin's a fighter, not a thinker.

tl;dr Long John's tuna bribes pay off in dividends (maybe he'll be friends with Blake?)

Next Chapter: One Last Fight

In which Cardin Winchester puts on his thinking cap and faces an impossible foe – twice.

Author's Notes

That last line is probably my favorite in this fic. I really like it.

All of the huntsmen and huntresses are canonically mentioned here and there in the main show. Their names are on the lists of the dead that Qrow tries and fails to find. Shiro Wan is specifically mentioned as a guy who has a tab at the 'No Faunus Allowed' bar, so I figured he's probably okay with that kind of mindset and maybe has it himself.

Long story short, they aren't OCs but I killed them anyways.

Happy rats, and don't do crime!