Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth. I own nothing.
Chapter 2: Along Island Shores
October 25, 81 GWE
The simplest way to defeat Menagerie, Jaune thought, must be to leave them alone. Give the island another decade, and they'll starve themselves. Just like home. Standing on the bridge of La Lune Verte, looking through the windows, he must admit that the city appeared as a mirror to Arcadia.
The Chieftain's residence, a manor on a hill, overlooked the city. The nearest buildings were well-constructed and bore intricate details. Homes sat on spacious lots, with walls and courtyards. This quickly gave way to grid-like blocks, as the space between newer buildings shrank until the outer neighborhoods shared walls and roofs. Towards the edges, Jaune spied basic shacks squashed together, each containing one or two rooms at most. He likened these fringes to the districts between the Seventh and Eighth Walls of Arcadia. In the early days of the Faunus Revolution, they were poorly-erected slums that often contained the only available homes to the newly-arrived refugees. It took decades for the city to renovate and beautify the area until paved roads and brick houses took their place. As things currently stood here, Jaune thought it a miracle that anything currently stood here. Mud made for terrible foundation, and more shacks leaned and tilted than not.
Well, the slums in Menagerie weren't too bad yet. Most only had two stories, with only a few buildings so far adding a shaky third level. The Seven-Eight districts measured four units high in their days.
There came a time when a city stopped expanding outward, and can only go up. Arcadia's limit ended at the Eighth Wall, with the precious spaces of the Eight-Nine and Nine-Ten districts hosting the farmlands. Menagerie might not have a Great Kingdom claiming all the lands beyond the city's perimeter, but Jaune saw from his vantage point just how close the Grimm presence were to the city's wooden barricades.
Arcadia had their fleets, with regular patrols clearing out any nearby Grimm swarms. He wondered how Menagerie fared in the absence of such. Poorly and with many graves filled, no doubt.
They could be enjoying the boon of airships, too, if only they would accept his call for surrender and negotiation.
…
Haaaah.
Almost a full day since his first message, and still no response from either of the city's leaderships. Jaune wanted to bang his head against the glass.
His flagship and the thirty ships under his command have blared the same declarations every half-hour, with an envoy sent to the Chieftain's manor: That the Principality of Arcadia declared war on the White Fang. That the White Fang must officially disband. That Arcadia accepted to negotiate with the Chieftain on a long-term presence to ensure the White Fang does not rise again. An answer within 24 hours.
A strong starting position for Arcadia to take, though backed by more than enough capability to compel such an outcome through hostilities. Jaune arranged his fleet to hover throughout the city to visibly demonstrate the point that there were no defenses. The city cannot triumph. Arcadia stood unassailable and the prince held all the cards.
In the face of such an overwhelming display, the logical choice for Menagerie fell on the side of negotiation, if not outright capitulation. Out of the myriad routes, this was his most preferred. Fast, bloodless, and giving him more time to deal with the Atlas problem.
That the White Fang have not surrendered, Jaune understood. They had the pride and bull-headedness that came with being the city's military arm, never mind that they were a collection of guerrillas and saboteurs ill-equipped for air battles. What Bullheads they owned were across the ocean, since their best use lay in supporting operations within the Kingdoms. The crafts' short range will keep them far away from this theater of conflict. His spies reported the only weapons the White Fang possessed on the island with a hope of reaching the airships were anti-armor rockets. Good for Bullheads, perhaps, but against Arcadian hulls reinforced by Hardlight Dust shielding? At their best, the White Fang in Menagerie would leave scratch-marks on the underside of his ship.
Jaune held hopes that the Chieftain would at least open dialogues. Ghira Belladonna, by all accounts, valued peace and can be swayed through the promise of prosperity or the threat of annihilation for the city he ruled. The lights in the manor all through the night certainly proved that Jaune's fleet occupied the Chieftain's attention. The delay in a response suggested either a weaker power base than he expected or a closer tie to the White Fang that the man previously disavowed.
"Sir. Twenty-four hours have passed," reported his Adjutant, "Our envoy has confirmed that he received no answer from the Chieftain."
The delay will cost them, for time has just ran out.
"Admiral, have you confirmed the target?"
"Yes, Sir."
Jaune said, "Good. Have Squadron Two begin their approach, and tell them to move as slow as they can."
The Admiral saluted and moved away, while his Adjutant tapped her scroll to a table. A holographic rendition of Menagerie appeared, made possible by collating the hundreds of cameras attached to the fleet. Jaune watched as the ten northernmost of his ships began turning southward. They drifted into formation, moving at Arcadian ceremonial pace over the entire length of the city. Plenty of time for the people below to figure out their destination, and despair.
The White Fang won't surrender, out of pride. Then their pride he must break.
At the end of Squadron Two's path lay the White Fang's headquarters. A military compound hosting a grand building three stories tall with three wings, festooned by banners bearing the organization's emblem. Around the main HQ, a collection of smaller cabins served as minor offices and sleep quarters. Warehouses laid in a row, the logistical hub of the Faunus cause. A training yard stretched to the edge of the city.
Outside the ship's windows, Jaune spotted movement. People streamed out of their homes, forming crowds in the street. For a moment, he feared they might make their way to the headquarters. Collateral damage to the civilians might sour any possibility of compromise with Menagerie. It has been a shield to the White Fang for years, that they could hide behind innocent lives. Jaune glared, willing the people below to get out of the way.
A sigh of relief escaped him as the crowds instead ran away from the ships. North, east, west, but not a soul ran south. He won't have to burn Menagerie today. Now, he just needed to wait for the White Fang to run, too.
"Activity at the warehouses, Sir." The Adjutant's words doused Jaune's optimism. She pointed to a screen, a camera feed of Squadron Two's lead ship. On it, the White Fang scrambled to open up their armories. The first soldier came out with an RPG on each shoulder. The next wheeled an ammunition crate, likely rockets. Soldier after soldier emerged with all they could carry.
They cannot be so stupid. Even now, they refused to see reality?
It was always going to end with violence, he knew. Yet, in his library, pouring over the daring tactics of generals past, Jaune had imagined that his plan could take the island with barely a drop of blood spilled. Establish his foothold, separate the civilians from the White Fang, then separate the moderates from the worst factions of the terrorists. Only the monsters need be captured or ended to appease the world, while the cooler heads of the organization surrender to his rule.
Hands clenched until knuckles turned white, as Jaune bit his lip. Hours of determining how people would perceive each of his every action. Weeks of crafting strategies to manipulate his enemies into acting as he desired. When the opportunity to take Menagerie came, Jaune believed himself ready.
His plan lasted all of two days. What use was his nights spent agonizing over every step, if people could not behave as if they have a brain or a heart?
The White Fang were extremists, true. But even in their madness, Jaune assumed they still had a spark of self-preservation. Most of those here were new recruits, and many have yet to step beyond their island. Their fanaticism and hatred never had time to develop like the veterans in Mistral and Atlas. They should have been little better than civilians. Inexperienced. Fearful. Predictable.
The many ways to Jaune's victory narrowed towards a point. His best routes fell one by one as the ships crept their way through the air. The only options left were to commit or to retreat.
"Squadron Two is in position," an aide reported.
Too late, too late, Jaune could only push ahead. He had asked for this war. Let it be his course.
"Prepare the cannons," Jaune ordered.
On each ship, two main cannons adjusted their positions. Their barrels glowed golden as Lightning Dust currents flowed along the rails. Under their light, the movement within the compound turned frantic. His foes understood now, what it meant for his plan to fail. Jaune pressed his hands on the window glass. They had their chance to back down, their small evils could have been forgiven. They chose this.
"30-seconds bombardment. Squadron Two. Sound off when ready." Jaune barked out between short, rasping breaths.
Fear and doubt fell away. The voices of the crew faded to the background. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He only saw the cannons. Here and now, for the best of reasons and the worst of actions, was the moment Jaune's name become immortalized in Arcadia's history. By what title would they call him?
"Aim for the buildings first. The White Fang second."
"They're running…"
"I want them to be ashes when we're done! At my signal!"
The Adjutant broke decorum to grab Jaune's elbow, shouting, "SIR! They're running!"
What?
Jaune blinked. The fog cleared, and sound washed over him again. He focused his view on the ground.
His enemies didn't set up their weapons or fall into formation. Those that tried were pulled along by others that never stopped running. The first men and women to reach the fences of the compound disappeared among the trees, making their way into the city with as much as they could bring. Many of the White Fang in view had nothing in hands. They've all ran when they saw the light of the cannons. Behind them, the warehouses lay abandoned.
The Adjutant said, "Your orders, sir?"
"Heh. Hehe. All ship-, hihihi." Jaune tried to give a command, he really did. The joy bubbling within him made it difficult. "Bahahahaha-, HOLD! All ships hold, let them run."
Half-collapsed on a monitor, Jaune laughed on as sweat poured down his face. A hand appeared in his vision, offering a towel. His Adjutant truly prepared for everything.
That moment. Before he realized what his Adjutant said, that moment where he held the power to decide the fate of his foe. If all generals experienced that rush, then war was an inevitability. It was intoxicating.
But it had nothing on this feeling of a gambit won, of a world dancing to his tune.
It worked. A victory without death. Jaune looked at the empty headquarters of the world's most hated terrorist organization, and saw his routes branched apart once more.
He turned to the Admiral. "Power down the cannons, and hold position for the rest of the day. Send a detachment to secure our new base. Once they give an all clear, let me know."
"Yes sir. Will that be all?"
Jaune smirked. "Where did we keep the flags? We need to decorate before we can show the world our first win."
His plan was back on again.
We give our word to you
To the villages, to the towns
To the settlements, to the frontier
Over sea, and over land,
We go where the Kingdoms have forgotten
-Pamphlet, An Arcadian Promise, publication sponsored by the Arcadia Merchants' Consortium, and approved by Royal Order.
November 2, 81 GWE
Once more, Blake jerked her eyes away from the airships above, and continued her journey with bags of grocery in hand. She hadn't realized she had stopped, or how long she stared this time.
Along the way, she can hear market vendors hawking their wares and the hammering of builders. Children ran past her, headed for school. A military truck rolled past. A butcher shooed away a stray dog. Two housewives giggled at the sight.
Just another day in Menagerie.
She stepped around another airship-gawker, who stood in the very center of the crowded street. Not one passerby called out to him, or shoved him aside. Everyone understood. It happened to them all, from time to time, this past week.
A week.
The night the airships arrived, Blake expected her home to burn. Today, she stood under their shades to cool off from the heat. How quickly they've gotten used to a new normal.
Oh, nobody expected it to last. Blake, herself, carried Gambol Shroud at all times, prepared to draw when the fighting inevitably starts for the little good it would do.
A week ago, Arcadia called for Menagerie to surrender, for the White Fang disband, and promised a peaceful occupation. Her father met with Sienna Khan, and the two proceeded to bicker over their choices. Her father suggested that they bring Arcadia to the negotiation tables. Sienna countered that they should utterly reject Arcadia's demands. In the absence of a response, Arcadia moved on the White Fang's headquarters.
Pride gave way to pragmatism in the face of sure and ignoble death. Sienna ordered for all White Fang to abandon the headquarters and hide among the populace. It worked, for the Arcadians chose not to fire on the city.
The battle, when it came, will be house to house, street to street. Civilians fighting soldiers to buy time for the White Fang to launch their stockpile of rockets at the airships in the hope of bringing them down. That is, if Arcadia doesn't decide a scorched fire tactic should be employed.
Despite the heat, Blake shivered. The White Fang based their strategy on the mere hope that the Arcadians wanted Menagerie intact. The fleet allowed them to run, after all. She thought that once Arcadia start taking casualties, the invader's claims of a peaceful occupation and minimal disruption would hold the same substance as empty air.
Blake looked down the hill to said headquarters. The flagship currently hovered low above the main building, the site now serving as the invader's base of operations. Arcadian flags covered the banners bearing the White Fang emblem. Squads of armored soldiers wielding carbines, interspersed by massive mechanized units, guarded the perimeter and buildings. Armored convoys boldly moved between the base and the docks, where smiling soldiers showered the market stalls in Lien for food, souvenirs, kimonos, anything that caught their fancy.
Rumor has the prince of Arcadia living it up in Sienna's former private suite. Some have called for an attack on the compound, others suggested capturing the trucks, but none have committed to what will certainly kickstart the first and last stand of the city. Not with ten ships floating in position over the city. Plus ten patrolling the surroundings. And ten more roaming over the desert or far out to sea. All can come to the ground force's aid when needed.
A cart sped past, carrying rolls of textile. Blake dodged out of its way and walked onwards. Up the slope she went, higher and higher until a throng of customers caught her notice as she passed by a teahouse. They packed into the shop, overflowing into the street. Nobody complained of the stink and sweat. They were too captivated by the news reports.
Arcadia brought more than the glowing barrels of their cannons. They've opened up their CCT transceiver's bandwidth, allowing limited information to flow into the island. For the first time in its history, Menagerie experienced access to the CCT and the wider world, even if news only went one way. Out came old scrolls and holo-screens, brought along by immigrants from the mainland but mostly useless until now. They were purchased at premium prices, and mounted in bars, cafes, and teahouses across the city. The populace came in droves, desperate for distractions from the terror over their heads. They received only more worries for the news were bleak.
" -note the imprints left by the railgun cannon's discharge. Judging by the size of the typical bandit encampment, I estimate the so-called 'circle of death' to span roughly 100 yards, with the heat extending the 'circle of casualty' by a further 200-"
In essence, each cannon shot can take out a city block. Thirty ships can lay waste to Kuo Kuana over the course of a day.
Blake kept moving along, catching snippets of news from the open doors of shops.
"-the Great Kingdom of Atlas remain committed to our course. The settlement of Arcadia, while well-meaning, cannot comprehend the tragedy that occurred in Durnel-"
Fifty more ships lay somewhere over the horizon, and this one did not bother to hide their intentions behind pretty words. Atlas wanted vengeance. Surprisingly, Atlas's 3rd Armada had been delayed in Mistral for weeks now, but it sounded like that situation might change soon.
"-the battle ended with the headquarters of the White Fang falling to the forces of the Arcadian 1st Volunteer Expedition! In mere days, the Principality has seized a key strategic advantage-"
She stopped at that bit of news. What battle?
On the cafe's screens were images of the military compound she had gazed upon earlier. From the language of the news reporter, what Blake knew to be the capture of an empty building became a glorious victory of strategic genius. Interviews and public opinions praised the invaders for their swift action and personal sacrifices.
Clenching her fists, Blake stomped away. Her home has been turned into a mere circus act to stroke egos. What military acumen did the Arcadians demonstrate? What sacrifices did they make, besides the Dust spent on moving their airships? Why-
Her ears twitched.
Why are the Arcadians pretending to fight?
The messages conflicted. They blared out requests for surrender and negotiation to Menagerie, and presented a story of all-out war to the rest of the world. She knew it's a lie. The people in the shops knew it's a lie. Yet, with the CCT transceiver allowing broadcasts going into the island but not from it, not a single person here can contradict the narrative.
The invaders wanted the Kingdoms to believe that Arcadia has bled here. Moreover, that they were punishing the White Fang. They threatened the populace with their ships, then sent said ships away into the desert. They might actually want Menagerie intact, but for what reason?
Arcadia's playing games, that much Blake understood. Sandaled feet carried the girl up the steps leading to her home, as she mulled over the how and why of it all.
-o-
"Blake!"
As Blake passed the gates of her home, a red-headed girl waved and jogged closer. A whip hung on her hips.
"Hey, Ilia. How's guard duty?"
"Pretty uneventful. Sienna is meeting with your parents again in about an hour but other than that, not much has changed." Ilia Amitola drooped for a moment, then perked up. "It's not so bad, at least the sky hasn't fallen. Uh...eheh?"
A tasteless joke, but Blake saw Ilia's eyes flicked upwards. Everyone coped a different way. Instead of blaming the girl, she tried to smile.
"Not your best, but quite apt."
"R-right? I mean, we have to keep our spirits up!"
The chameleon faunus rallied with a nervous smile. Her humor has not found much appreciation for the past month from her colleagues.
Blake walked along her friend's patrol route. After passing by another guard, she murmured, "Did you catch anything from the meeting last night?"
Ilia whispered back, "A spy managed to get a message on one of the trading ships. No captains from the Kingdoms are willing to take passengers here anymore. Those airships that get sent out every day? They're patrolling the sea routes and inspecting every boat headed here. Only the trading ships are able to get through, and those all belonged to Arcadia in one way or another."
Her people never thought much of the merchants quietly docking in port every week for decades, until those same merchants decided to take the island. If they pushed Arcadia back, Menagerie could very well lose their biggest source of imports. Blake wanted to laugh. What was their motto, again?
We go where the Kingdoms have forgotten.
And if we stop, your home dies. Oobleck didn't mention that part in history class.
"Did they mention anything else, Ilia?" Any good news?
"The other White Fang cells are massing in Mistral along with the volunteers, with more joining since the transport boats can't land here anymore. They're setting up all along the Atlesians' expected route to try and delay them when their armada starts advancing again."
Blake frowned. "Do they have any ways to sink the ships?"
"Nothing better than what we have, but Adam's trying to raid military depots to get anti-air artillery for the ambush forces. With that, they can trim the numbers down," Ilia added optimistically, "maybe they can stop the armada altogether."
An unlikely hope that Blake dearly wished could be true. Those cannons were difficult to move and highly visible. Even if they take down a ship, the rest of the fleet would quickly move to bombard the area.
More importantly...
"We can't get those cannons across the ocean with the shipping lanes closed."
"Bullheads, maybe?"
"Those have too short a range to get here. And I don't think they're strong enough to carry artillery pieces."
Fighting Atlas was all well and good, but victory on the mainland mattered little when the Faunus capital itself was already occupied by the enemy.
A distant boom drew their attention.
The hill afforded Blake and Ilia an unrivaled view of the horizon. Far to the east, an airship hovered over massive dark shapes. A beam flashed from the ship to the ground, before the craft moved away. Another Grimm nest, summarily annihilated. A feat that required a full team of Huntsmen, so easily done through Dust and technology.
The two girls tore their eyes from the scene to walk along the stone path.
Breaking the silence, Ilia said, "This is going to sound really wrong… but I'm kind of glad the Arcadians are here to deal with the Grimm."
She glanced at Blake, as if waiting for a rebuke. When none came, Ilia continued.
"I used to go on one or two Grimm-clearing operations a week, then three, then four. It's terrifying every time, even with training. We've started losing more people, too, just before all this."
Blake hummed in response, letting the girl go on.
"I haven't gone on a single mission this week. It's peaceful."
"I'm not going to blame you for thinking that. I was training to be a Huntress, but I did sometimes wish that we can use the airships to wipe out all the Grimm. "
"Would you want them to stick around?"
Blake chewed her lip. "The Kingdoms only run patrols near the cities, because it takes too much Dust to do more. I think... I think the Arcadians won't be able to keep this up, then they'll just exploit us without giving anything back."
The chameleon faunus slumped. "And it'll be back on me to go out there."
"Not quite." Blake gave her friend a confident grin. "I'm here, and a few Huntsmen and Huntresses came too. Maybe after this, some of them will like Menagerie enough to stick around. If we all work together, Kuo Kuana won't be bothered by Grimm ever again."
She pretended to not notice the girl's watery eyes.
"Thanks, Blake."
Blake didn't tell her friend that she saw something different as the ship fired upon the Grimm. She saw the futility of fighting an enemy in their element. She saw herself standing underneath that beam, helpless.
No, Menagerie needed a different strategy if they want to counter their invaders. An inkling of an idea, a beginning of plan had been forming in Blake's mind these past hours.
The people who advocated attacking the former White Fang compound had something right. They aimed at the only viable target, one that they can reach. A frontal assault could never work, though. Too much provocation for too little gain. However, there were other ways to wage war. Within that base could be the key to turning the tables on the invader. Secret information or important hostages. It just required someone to sneak inside and get back out, unseen.
And Blake always was one of the White Fang's best infiltrator.
"-Farm implements from Vale are purchased and shipped to the settlement of Ire for their famed whiskey, which can be enjoyed at a premium price in Mistral. Medicine from Mistral are then sold all along the coast for pearls, rare fruits, regional textiles, et cetera, which find their market among Atlesian nobles. By sea and by air, the ships of Arcadia roamed far from home, charting a series of overlapping circles that connected the frontier to the larger cities and, of course, to Arcadia itself. The Principality's current niche have allowed the merchants to weave a web of cooperation and prosperity between hundreds of settlements across Remnant-"
-Dr. Bartholomew Oobleck of Beacon Academy, History of Remnant lecture, to a barely-awake First-year class.
Chieftain's Manor, Meeting Room
Three faunus gathered at one end of a long table. The Chieftain and his wife, Ghira Belladonna and Kali Belladonna stood on one side of the table, while Sienna Khan, High Leader of the White Fang, occupied the other. They've dismissed their various aides and lieutenants in order to discuss more sensitive matters. The most worrying issue at the moment concerned a letter in Ghira's hand.
"Prince Arc has requested a meeting in two days," said Ghira, "the letter does not say what happens if we refuse. I intend to accept the invitation."
The invasion has, so far, directly resulted in seven captures and two deaths that Ghira knew of. The former came from scouting attempts on the Arcadian encampment; the latter, from those who attempted to rush the perimeter. An absurdly low number that lent credence to a genuine desire to talk. And after making excuses to the envoy every day for the past week, Ghira feared that a rejection of this formal request may incite more escalations from the Arcadians.
The problem rested with the leader of the White Fang, and whether or not Ghira can convince her to make peace.
"And what will you say at this meeting, Ghira? That Menagerie will roll over for the humans?"
Ghira held back his relief. Her response entertained the idea of a meeting, whereas in the last few days she had denied any possibility of contact at all. Even she must admit that the terse wordings in the letter conveyed a waning patience.
"I will pass on the will of our people. Menagerie is more than just the White Fang, and a growing number of it has petitioned me to sue for peace."
Sienna scoffed, "They must be the weakest-willed among our people. One taste of scrollnet entertainment and they're ready to give up our sovereignty."
"They are the leaders of the various districts, men and women who have supported our communities for years. I trust them to act in the interest of the city. They've pointed to the culling of the Grimm as the greatest merit for accepting the presence of Arcadia."
"The White Fang has been fighting back the Grimm for the last decade! We gave our blood to protect this city, and we don't need shiny toys to do it!"
Ghira almost snarled back a retort, until a hand set on his arm. Kali met his gaze with a calm smile, one that soothed his frustration. Once again, she saved him from falling for Sienna's ploy. Sienna's display of anger was as much to draw him into an argument as it was genuine. Her rhetoric played on emotion and faunus pride, and Ghira cannot deny that a part of him agreed with her view. He rankled at the thought of capitulating to the invaders. Yet, he must do what was best for his people. For the survival of his people.
"Yes, you have. And I have, as my scars can attest. But I know, as you pretend not to, that the White Fang do not protect Kuo Kuana from Grimm solely for the sake of altruism. It justified the donations you received. The Arcadians have done so without any demands for Lien, the continuance of which can be a condition we negotiate for should we meet their leader. These ships can clear out the Grimm more effectively than our people ever could. Your men and women will no longer take casualties and can focus your attention on expanding the city. With new farmlands, we can actually feed our entire population."
Sienna objected, "My men and women would be executed in such a world. They're calling for us to disband-" Ghira interrupted.
"That's right, disband. Take off your masks, call yourself a volunteer militia force, and who can say your soldiers were ever White Fang?"
"They would at least recognize the leaders of the movement. Without my lieutenants and me, the White Fang will either fall to pieces or tear each other apart in a power struggle."
"The way I see it, the Arcadians captured your headquarters without bloodshed, and appeared perfectly happy to not pursue you. The prince has shown that he is not a murderous tyrant, and I wager that he understands what comes next should you become a martyr. In our meetings with him, we can bring up your importance to our people and demand that you and your lieutenants remain free to lead Menagerie's militia."
"You paint a beautiful picture, Ghira, but you forget one thing. I lead my organization because it stands between faunuskind and complete subjugation by the humans. You are suggesting I abandon the cause and live under human rule, while our brothers and sisters continue to suffer. I am not giving up this fight!"
Two fists slammed the table, as Sienna glared at Ghira. He stared back with dispassionate eyes.
"Yet, your actions have directly led to the subjugation, if not possible eradication, of our people." At that, Sienna wilted. Ghira took a moment to be glad that she at least recognized the failings of her methods. "You made us a target with the blatant presence of the White Fang here. If you intend to carry on your attacks on the Kingdoms, you can always establish new headquarters in Vacuo, Vale, or even Mistral. Do it quickly enough, and it might even draw the Atlas Armada away before they arrive here."
And wasn't that another gut-wrenching nightmare to deal with? Based on the actions of this prince Jaune Arc, Ghira believed that Arcadia wanted them alive. With the past actions of Atlas, he could only see his people massacred. Just another reason why he needed a deal with the prince. If he can make the Principality serve as a buffer between Menagerie and their other invader, his people might actually survive past the year's end.
Ghira said, "But if you insist on attacking the Arcadians, then let me know your plan."
Silence.
"Do you have any weapons that can turn the tide in our favor? Those rockets you salvaged won't be enough."
Silence.
"What are you going to do if they turn their cannons on the city?"
Her silence said it all. Ghira leaned back, and closed his eyes. He waited. If she refuse to see reason even now, then he saw little hope in trying to save her life.
"…What do we do, Ghira?" Sienna slumped in her chair.
And if she chose to stand with him, then Menagerie may have peace after all.
"It all hinges on what we can bring to the table. Right now, the prince holds the advantage, so we need to gather leverage. You've seen him sending ships into the desert. The prince is looking for something here, and we need to send scouts to follow his trail."
"They won't make it back in time for the meeting. We would have better luck getting the information from our old headquarters."
"I thought the rumors of the prince living in there were false?"
"He has been seen, always behind a personal Hardlight Dust shield. There's also too much activity within the building for it to be unused. I've had my hands full trying to stop my own idiots from attacking and dooming us all."
That changed things. If prince Arc really was living in the White Fang compound, then there may be reports, scrolls, or letters that can shed light on his goals. With a good spy, all of the prince's secrets could be sitting on Ghira's desk before the meeting. Every bit of information contributed to a more favorable outcome, but the risk…
"Who do we have that can make it there and back?"
"I have a few names."
"Make sure they know to not harm the prince. Arcadia won't forgive us if they lose one of their royals."
"No worries on that. I'm not eager to see our people dead," glowered Sienna. "…I also have documents stolen from Atlas we can offer. Airship designs, mostly."
Ghira tapped his chin. "Hm. That could be very valuable to him. Good idea- hang on, Sienna? Don't tell me you've been…"
"…"
-o-
Above the Chieftain, his wife, and the High Leader, a ceiling panel slid back into place.
"Sir, we've got another one coming in."
"Ha! Like flies to honey. But you don't have to report to me every time, you know."
"This one is special, I recognized her from the files. Please take a look."
*Paper shuffling*
"You're serious? What is someone like her doing here? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"No reason, your royal highness. What would you like to do, sir?"
"...I can work with this. Patch me to the guards and prep a landing craft. Good job, Adjutant."
-Conversation on La Lune Verte.
November 3, 81 GWE
A military truck rolled up to the guardhouse, weighed down with produce and goods purchased from the markets. Entirely unnecessary given the food reserves available on the airships, the guard thought, but the top brass wanted the locals to get used to Arcadia's Lien. Far be it for him to question the prince. Especially since this allowed him to get his hands on the dried squid jerky from the docks. The shops back home don't make them as spicy as these Menageriens do, and he might have to stock up by the crateful when it comes time to ship out.
The guard made a circuit of the truck, as his partners checked the drivers' papers. Yes, the drivers were their own, but considering the sheer amount of possible hostiles in the area it pays to be careful. Opening the cargo doors, he smiled upon seeing a box off to the side bearing the words 'Tiger Snacks Company'. Inventory checks may be a pain, what with all the lifting, but it did get him first look at the tasty treats available.
*clatter*
"Alert!"
His rifle snapped to his hands, pointing into the truck. The other guards circled to his position, covering him as he listened for movement. There should have been an inspection as the drivers loaded up. Unless a crate has a false bottom? Were they armed?
Inch by inch, the soldiers crawled into the depths of the truck. They peered into the shadows, fingers caressing the triggers on their rifles.
A head poked out of a basket, and they nearly shot it on reflex. In the dark, its eyes shined. Its fluffy ears twitched.
*meow*
-o-
As the soldiers and drivers crowded around the kitten, Blake rolled out from under the truck and entered the compound. Crouching behind a cabin, she noted the guards positions along the grounds and rooftops. Using her Aura-enhanced speed, Blake jumped from one shadow to another, then observed patiently for an opening to advance to the next cover.
Despite the slow progress, Blake felt better than she had in weeks. Yes, she may die. Sure, she may come back empty-handed. But fearful waiting has given way to a clear course of action, and she stood in her element once more. In this moment, there was only her and the mission.
Blake took a deep breath. And exhaled.
How invigorating.
It took almost an hour of starts and stops, but with a final leap she was testing the second-floor windows of the west wing. There's always a good bet of a negligent guard who thought that the upper floors were safe.
...Not this one...
...Or this...
Ah-ha! An unlocked window.
The breakroom was empty, its lights turned off. Blake listened at the door for footsteps. Hearing none, she cracked open the door. From a pocket came a tiny circle of mirror that allowed her to see the opposite direction. Not a soul.
Soft steps took her to a corner, around which stood…nobody. Blake made her way to the stairs, which proved similarly empty.
Huh. Déjà vu. Had there been a mission like this?
Blake spotted her first guard on the third floor, standing at the far end of the hallway. Legs crossed and a cigarette in hand, he gazed out the window in contemplation. She raised an eyebrow at the sight. Even the SDC had better security, and they scrimped on every paycheck. Then again, the patrols outside would be difficult enough to deter most intruders.
Ducking into the central atrium, Blake saw two guards moving along the opposite balcony, with another on the grand staircase landing below. This left a straight path to Sienna's office, without any line of sight. She crept low, using the balcony as cover. An ear pressed to the office door. No movement beyond that she can hear. She opened the door.
Blake at last recalled why her infiltration seemed familiar. She never personally experienced a mission so easy, but she has read of one.
On a couch, a man sipped from a delicate cup. He set it on a coaster, and spoke.
"Would you care for tea? Back home, this is the preferred blend of my family for special occasions. I also have a selection of pastries for your enjoyment."
A glance behind showed squads of very-alert ,and heavily-armed, soldiers emerging from the other wings.
"Please, do accept my hospitality. I only want to talk with you. My guards will stay outside."
It was in the novel Ninjas of Love, Volume One, Chapter One: The Kunoichi and The Warlord.
Where the main heroine of the story walked into a trap.
Do not accept gifts from Arcadian merchants, they lie.
Do not speak alone to Arcadian merchants, they lie.
Do not trust Arcadian merchants.
They lie. They lie.
Pamphlet, Beware, Brave Settlers!, publication sponsored by the Society for Valean Prosperity, and approved by the Vale Council of Governance.
Author's Notes: This idea began as Remnant: The Game writ large. The in-show board game supposedly had armies, resources, territories, Grimm, airships, traps, etc. to simulate what war would be like in RWBY's world. For this story, it does mean there aren't enough explosions, and too many words. Good thing though, there's an exposition cat that thinks a lot and talks very little to help tell the story.
In Yakuza Arc, I exaggerated Jaune's naivety and willingness to fall on the wrong side of the law to become a hero. In this story, I wanted to exaggerate his dream and his 'tactical genius' from canon, for good and bad. Master plans that strike in unexpected avenues. Yet, with so many more moving parts, circumstances are bound to change beyond expectations. Which leads to on-the-fly strategies with far greater stakes.
It does usually put him far above the action on the ground. Blake will provide that perspective, instead.