Jaune pov

It felt good to finally train in peace again—to not have to worry about whether I could focus. My mind wandered freely as I worked out, the hours slipping by unnoticed as I moved through my sets. Only when I tried something new, like throwing punches or practicing hand-to-hand combat, did I have to concentrate harder.

Saff had taught me a thing or two and would occasionally drop by to drill me, though the movements still felt unnatural. To improve, I'd started punching a tree as part of my routine. I figured repetition might make it feel more natural, and it doubled as Aura training—or at least as practice for getting used to using it.

The book I found on Aura had explained the need for training before being able to use it reliably. It talked about learning to draw on Aura instinctively and maintaining it, but for me, it was never that hard. I could tap into it effortlessly, to the point where I sometimes forgot I even had it.

It still felt surreal whenever I punched the tree with full force. Instead of my hand crumpling, chunks of bark broke away. I barely lost any Aura when I did it, just a faint flicker that rippled across my knuckles as my fist made contact. It was subtle, not bright and obvious like when I'd used Aura to heal myself. The ripple would vanish as quickly as it appeared.

I kept punching until an old egg timer I'd swiped from the kitchen went off, signaling the end of my routine. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I grabbed the timer off the ground and walked over to my bag—the big camo one my grandfather had left me.

Normally, I wouldn't bring the bag since I only ever carried water and a snack, but today was different. Saff and Lavender had somehow managed to sneak out the one other thing Gramps had left me.

I unzipped the top of the bag slowly, revealing a bronze pommel atop a handle wrapped in blue leather. Carefully, I lifted the weapon out, holding it in both hands. It had been years since I'd last seen it, though I'd never forgotten the weight of it.

"Crocea Mors." The blade's name slipped from my lips as I held it. It felt heavier than I remembered, but the last time I'd held it, Grandpa's hands had been supporting mine.

I unsheathed the blade, sliding its scabbard into my left hand. The steel gleamed, polished to such perfection that I could see my reflection in it.

My gaze shifted to the scabbard, and I could still hear Grandpa's instructions as clearly as if he were standing beside me. He'd shown me how to operate it, how to hold it just right. Following his old movements, I reached for the small leather loop designed for attaching it to a belt, then pressed the hidden button just above my thumb.

In an instant, the sheath unfolded into a pearly white shield emblazoned with the twin arcs of my family's crest. I adjusted the shield over my arm, threading my hand through the second strap that had emerged when it deployed.

I couldn't help but smile. Holding the blade didn't really mean anything—it didn't make me stronger or solve my problems—but it felt like an accomplishment. More importantly, it felt right.

Slowly, I lowered my stance and raised the shield in front of me. I had no idea what I was doing, but I could mimic just about anything I'd seen. Huntsmen had to spar to keep their skills sharp, and while no one wanted to teach me, that didn't mean I couldn't learn. If I happened to be nearby when they trained—watching silently, hidden—well, no one could stop me if they didn't know I was there.

I thrust the blade forward, stabbing an imaginary enemy. My blood began to race, excitement building with every motion. I tore the blade free from my invisible target and brought it down again in a sweeping arc.

It was exhilarating. Every swing of the blade made me feel alive, like something deep inside me had finally clicked into place. I paused, lifting the sword to inspect it, admiring the polished steel as it caught the light. Slowly, my gaze drifted to a nearby oak tree, and a thought crept into my mind.

How much damage can this thing do?

I took a step toward the towering tree, imagining the satisfying crack of wood splitting under my blade. Just as I was about to swing, a voice boomed behind me.

"Put that blade down before you break it, you little shit!"

My heart sank into my stomach. I froze, turning slowly to face the source of the voice. An old man was storming toward me, his expression a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite place.

Richard Pov

"Well, I'll be damned."

I watched the kid hammer into a tree with everything he had, blow after blow, his Aura holding strong the entire time. Most kids need at least a year or two of practice before they reach that level. Aura wasn't easy to control—it took effort to keep it active in a focused and consistent way. And this kid? He'd only unlocked his Aura less than a year ago.

Honestly, I was impressed. Maybe there was something to this kid after all.

My eyes narrowed as he walked over to a large bag at the edge of the clearing. When he pulled out a familiar blade, my heart skipped a beat. Crocea Mors.

It had been years since I'd last seen that weapon, back when my partner still wielded it. The kid slid the blade free of its scabbard, revealing finely polished steel so pristine I could see the light bouncing off its surface. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he deployed the shield.

For a moment, I just stared. The resemblance was uncanny. The older he got, the more he looked like Lewis. I could almost hear the old bastard's voice, clear as day in my head.

"Hahaha! He takes after me more than his old man!"

I shook my head at the thought, stifling a grin.

But then the kid started to move, and the illusion shattered.

He lowered his stance—or tried to, at least. It looked more like an awkward crouch than anything resembling combat readiness. He didn't widen his stance, didn't shift his weight properly. A stiff breeze would've knocked him flat. Then came the swing, and I damn near gagged.

The blade wavered as he thrust forward, his arm unsteady and his wrist bent awkwardly. The tip of the blade wasn't even pointed at his imaginary target—it was practically scraping the ground. Without pulling back, he transitioned into a wide, clumsy arc that was supposed to be an overhead strike. It wasn't.

With his blade angled wrong, the momentum would've made it bounce off any surface instead of cutting through. It was painful to watch.

So, the rumors from his sisters weren't exaggerated—he had Aura, but the kid desperately needed help. I could practically feel Lewis smirking from beyond the grave.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath. "I'll help the kid. But if I lose my home over this, I'm shitting on your grave, Lewis."

My gaze returned to the boy just in time to see him pause, his eyes fixed on the tree. My stomach clenched. I could almost hear the reckless thoughts tumbling through his head. What could this do to that tree?

Panic surged. There was no way he knew how to properly infuse a weapon with Aura, let alone keep it from breaking. And there was no way I was going to let him damage that blade.

"Put that blade down, you little shit!" I barked, storming toward him.

Was it a little rude? Yes. Was it effective? Absolutely.

The kid froze like a deer in headlights, his feet glued to the ground as I stormed out of my so-called hiding spot—a random stump off to the side.

"What on earth are you thinking, kid? Put that blade away before you ruin it and force me to kick your ass."

He started shaking, his wide eyes fixed on me. Then, gripping the blade so tightly his knuckles turned white, he barked back, "I'm not gonna let you take this from me! Crocea Mors is mine! I don't care what you think!"

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Kid, I never said I wanted your sword. I said put it away before you damage it—or yourself—swinging it around like that."

The words seemed to hit him like a brick. His grip loosened as his eyes widened in surprise. He stared at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish before giving up on words entirely. Finally, he clumsily slid the blade back into its sheath.

I let out a low grumble, muttering curses under my breath about this family that never seemed to stop pestering me. Then I turned back to the boy. "Find a stick about the same length as the blade and put that back in the bag."

He stayed frozen for a few moments until I waved him off. He took off like a shot, disappearing into the trees for a few minutes before returning with a stick in hand.

He looked up at me expectantly. "What now?"

I raised a hand to cut him off before he could ramble. "Let me guess—you don't know anything about infusing Aura or redirecting it, do you?"

His silence told me everything I needed to know.

I sighed. "Haven't you ever wondered why Huntsmen always seem to carry the same weapon their entire careers?"

The kid scratched the back of his neck, hesitant. "I always thought it was because they had well-built weapons."

I shook my head. "Well-built or not, any tool will break if you're constantly bashing it against creatures that can shrug off small-arms fire. No, the reason those weapons last is because Huntsmen infuse them with Aura. That's also why most weapons include a blend of Dust in their steel—it helps absorb and distribute the Aura."

The kid's attention was locked on me now, his eyes wide as he hung on every word.

"That's what we're going to start with," I said. "The same way you move Aura through your body, I want you to channel it into that stick. Picture it as an extension of yourself. It's a flow—this shouldn't consume any Aura. As you direct it, it will flow into the stick and then back into you, like a loop. Got it?"

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration, clutching the stick like it was a lifeline.

Good. He was taking it seriously.

I leaned back against a stump, watching him closely. Then I noticed it—a faint shimmer creeping up the stick in his hand. My eyes widened in disbelief. It should've taken hours to infuse something with Aura for the first time, especially without Dust to assist.

The kid looked up at me, his expression one of pure awe as he realized what he'd done. I lifted a hand, pointing toward a nearby tree.

"Hit the tree as hard as you can," I said simply.

He didn't hesitate. Racing over, he slammed the stick into the tree with everything he had. Bark splintered and broke away from the trunk, but the stick in his hands didn't even bend.

I couldn't believe my eyes. This kid was a monster.

He stared at the stick in disbelief, then started laughing as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done. Slowly, he turned back to me, still grinning. "So… what now?"

I let a small smile tug at the corners of my lips as I held my cane out in front of me.

"Now? All I want you to do is try to fight back."

If he could take a beating and still wanted to be a Huntsman, I figured I could show him a thing or two. Every so often.

Without warning, I darted toward him, swinging my cane. The startled yelp he let out told me he wasn't ready for it, which only made me grin wider.

If I was going to help the kid, I might as well have some fun while I was at it.

Jaune pov
This was hell—had to be. Was it too late to go back to strength training with Blanc?

My legs burned as I staggered back, barely avoiding Richard's cane as it cut through the air with terrifying precision. Every muscle in my body ached, the bruises he'd already landed pulsing with pain. My grip on my weapon was tight, too tight, but I refused to let it slip again. The last time I dropped it, the punishment had been immediate and brutal.

Richard smirked, his voice dripping with amusement as he closed the gap. "You're already slow, kid. Any slower, and I might as well be beating on a training dummy."

"How the hell are you so fast?!" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The cane flicked out again—fast, efficient, and impossibly controlled. I barely got my club up in time, and even then, it was useless. His strike knocked my weapon aside, nearly wrenching it from my hands. I barely managed to hold on, but it didn't matter.

My guard was wide open.

Pain exploded across my shoulder as his cane slammed down with brutal force. The impact sent a shockwave through my body, my muscles locking up for a split second—just long enough for him to take full advantage.

The second hit came from nowhere. A sharp thud against my ribs. His boot. I barely registered the pain before I was airborne, then crashing hard onto the dirt. The wind shot from my lungs in a ragged gasp.

I barely had time to process the pain before my vision flickered, a familiar blue notification flashing in my peripheral.

*Ding*
Due to constant physical abuse your Constitution has risen by 1

Normally, I would've been thrilled to see a stat increase, but right now? It felt like the Game was mocking me, laughing at my pitiful attempt to keep up.

"C'mon, kid! You're not done yet, and I haven't even finished my warm-up," Richard called out, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

I should've stayed down. Every part of me wanted to stay down. But the way he spoke, the way his words grated against my skull, made something snap inside me.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, ignoring the screaming protests from my ribs and the pounding in my skull. My breathing was ragged, my legs shaky, but I locked eyes with him.

His grin widened.

Just once—I just needed to land one solid hit. One good shot, and I could walk away satisfied.

Fueled by sheer frustration, I gripped my weapon and charged, swinging with every ounce of strength I had left.

But Richard moved like a ghost. In one fluid motion, he ducked under my swing, the club soaring past his head, cutting through nothing but air. Before I could adjust, he stepped in close—too close.

He didn't lift his cane, didn't even raise his hands. Instead, he reared his head back and slammed his forehead into mine.

A brutal, skull-rattling collision that sent a shockwave of pain detonating through my brain. My vision blurred instantly, and I stumbled back, my balance lost.

Then, the world tilted.

I barely registered the sound of glass shattering—small, golden shards of light scattering around me, dissolving into nothingness as I collapsed onto the grass. Exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, my body screaming in unison as every angry welt, bruise, and sore muscle cried out in protest.

Still, I fought against it. My arms shook as I struggled to push myself upright, every inch a battle against the pain.

Before I could get far, the old man's cane pressed firmly into my shoulder, stopping me cold and forcing me back into the grass. The weight of it wasn't enough to hurt, but the message was clear: stay down.

"Do you get it yet?" His voice was colder now, harsher. "This isn't a game, kid. You just got your ass handed to you by an old man—me—someone who's spent the last three years rotting on a couch, drinking cheap beer, and watching reruns. And you think you're ready to take on monsters that live to kill? Creatures built from nightmares, pure muscle and rage, with claws that'll tear through you like wet paper? Do you really think you can handle that?"

He leaned in closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "What happens when your Aura breaks, huh? You think you'll get back up? You think you'll get a second chance?" His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "The Grimm don't stop. They don't hesitate. They don't get tired. The second you show weakness, they'll tear you apart, and the only thing left of you will be a stain in the dirt and a story no one will bother telling."

My chest tightened, but I refused to look away.

Richard's expression was unreadable, his usual cocky smirk gone. All that remained was a hardened, empty stare—one that had seen more than he cared to admit.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I forced myself up straighter. My body ached, my breath was ragged, but I refused to let his words shake me.

"No," I spat, my voice sharp with defiance. "By the time I face the Grimm, I won't just be stronger—I'll be unstoppable. I'll be faster, smarter, and I'll cut them down before they even touch me."

Richard scoffed. "And if they do?"

I met his stare, my eyes burning with determination. "They won't." My voice was steel now, unwavering. "Not while I'm still breathing."

He started laughing—a loud, booming laugh that filled the clearing. It echoed in the quiet air as I lay back, letting the soft grass cradle me. Slowly, his laughter faded, and he shook his head, a faint smile on his face.

"Your grandfather said the same thing." He sighed, then nodded. "Fine. I'll teach you."

Despite my exhaustion, I bolted upright, staring at him in disbelief. I needed to see his face, to confirm I hadn't misheard.

He reached down and extended a hand, pulling me to my feet. His grip was firm, his tone serious. "I've got a few rules, though. Slack off, ignore me, and I'm gone. No second chances."

I nodded, still too stunned to speak.

"And if your father's in town, we're not meeting up—end of story. Don't even try to argue." His expression hardened. "And if I hear about you wandering into the forest to fight Grimm to 'test yourself,' I'll beat you to within an inch of your life, drag you home, and dump you in front of your mother. Are we clear?"

A mixture of emotions churned in my chest—happiness at his agreement, fear at his threat, and lingering frustration from the beating he'd just given me. Even so, I managed to squeak out the words he wanted to hear.

"Yes, sir."

A small grin crept onto his face as he patted my shoulder. "Good kid. Now go home and get some rest. Tomorrow, we start real training."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the trees at the edge of the clearing.

For a moment, I just stood there, dumbfounded.

He's going to train me.

The thought bounced around my head until it finally sank in. My heart swelled with excitement. I wanted to celebrate, to jump in the air, to cheer—but the second I moved, my legs threatened to give out, muscles burning in protest.

I forced myself to calm down, taking a deep breath. But as my excitement simmered, another thought struck me—I had to tell Saff and Coral.

As fast as my legs would allow, I hobbled over to my bag and slung it over my shoulder. Then, wobbling like a newborn deer, I made my way home.

They weren't going to believe what had just happened.

I barely made it through the front door, every step feeling like my legs might give out at any second. My muscles screamed in protest, my arms ached under the weight of my bag, and every bruise Richard had left on me throbbed with a dull, persistent pain.

But despite all of that—despite the sheer exhaustion dragging at my body—I was smiling.

I got lucky.

The living room was empty.

Mom wasn't here.

I exhaled a quiet breath of relief. If she had been sitting on the couch, one look at me like this and she would've gone mom mode in an instant—demanding answers, checking every bruise, fussing over me like I was still a little kid. I didn't have the energy to explain. I wasn't even sure I could explain.

I took another step forward, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Then I heard movement.

I turned my head just in time to see Saffron shoot to her feet, her book forgotten on the couch. Her eyes locked onto me, scanning my face, my bruises, the way I was barely holding myself up.

For a second, I thought she was about to rush me—her body tensed, fists clenched, her expression shifting from confusion to pure concern. But then she hesitated.

She saw the smile on my face.

I didn't say a word. I just met her gaze and motioned for her to follow. Then, without waiting for a response, I started up the stairs, forcing my battered legs to keep moving.

Halfway up, I paused at an open door and peeked inside. Coral's room.

She was lying on her bed, flipping through a book, barely glancing up as I leaned into the doorway.

"Hey, Coral," I whispered, my voice rough. "Come here."

She blinked at me, distracted, then actually looked at me—and whatever she saw made her sit up straighter.

I didn't stick around for questions. I just kept going, heading for my room.

They weren't gonna believe what just happened.

I stumbled into my room, my legs barely keeping me upright, and let out a long, shaky breath of relief. The second I made it to my bed, I collapsed onto it like a sack of bricks, savoring the soft embrace of the mattress. For a moment, I just lay there, my face buried in the blanket, trying to block out the dull throbbing in my muscles and the stinging aches from Richard's "lessons."

I wasn't alone for long.

Saffron and Coral followed me in, their footsteps quick and purposeful.

"What happened to you?" Saffron demanded, her voice somewhere between worry and suspicion.

"Yeah," Coral chimed in, trying to keep her voice low but clearly struggling. "What's going on?"

I rolled over onto my back, grinning up at them despite how beat up I felt. "You guys won't believe it—I got someone to train me!"

Both of them froze, their faces a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"What do you mean you found someone to train you?" Coral asked, eyes narrowing. "Who?"

My grin widened as I sat up, propping myself on my elbows. "Well, it's less like I found someone and more like they just showed up, but it was Richard! You know, Grampa's old partner!"

Both of their jaws dropped in unison, their shock almost comical.

"You're kidding," Saff said, staring at me like I'd just told her the moon was made of cheese.

"That's why you look like you just ran into some Grimm?" Coral asked, crossing her arms but not hiding the concern in her tone.

"Yeah." I shrugged, trying to downplay it, though my bruises made that a little hard to do. "The old man taught me a few things… and then spent the rest of the day knocking me around. He was trying to scare me off, but I didn't back down. When I didn't quit, he said he'd train me."

Coral looked like she was about to say something, but Saffron beat her to it.

"You seriously let him beat you up?" she asked, still sounding both annoyed and amazed.

"Pretty much," I admitted with a sheepish grin. "But hey, it worked, didn't it?"

Coral sighed, shaking her head like she couldn't believe what she was hearing, while Saff just muttered something about me being an idiot. But even with their exasperation, I could tell they were a little impressed. Maybe even a little proud.

And honestly? That felt just as good as getting Richard to agree to train me.

The two of them exchanged a knowing look before Coral stood up. "Alright, I'll go let Lavender know." Saff nodded, and with that, Coral marched off.

Turning back to me, my older sister crossed her arms. "So, how do you want to handle this?" She gestured vaguely at me and my exhausted, barely-functioning body.

I stretched out on my bed, groaning. "Honestly? Part of me just wants to pass out right now, but it's still a little early. Maybe I'll take a quick shower and then just hide in my room?"

Saff rolled her eyes. "Yeah, great plan. Skip dinner and give Mom every excuse to come barging in here. You do know she's been worried about you not being around as much, right?"

I cringed. She caught it immediately. "Yeah," I muttered, guilt settling in.

Her voice softened. "I get it. But if you overdo it, she's just gonna get more concerned. Maybe actually stay home every now and then? Let her see you're still alive?"

I sighed, conceding. "Yeah, okay. I'll stick around more."

Satisfied, Saff stood up and ruffled my hair before heading for the door. "Go take a shower. If you've got any obvious bruising, I'll cover it up with some foundation. It won't be perfect, but at least you'll make it through dinner without Mom interrogating you."

I smiled slightly. "Thanks, Saff."

She chuckled. "What are big sisters for?" And with that, she walked out of my room.

With a groan, I slowly crawled out of bed, shoving my bag into the closet before grabbing a fresh change of clothes. Despite the exhaustion weighing me down, I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my face.

Tomorrow, I was finally going to get some real training—and I couldn't wait.

AN - I got in a good mood to write and got this chapter written out pretty quickly, I've looked over it a couple of times so I think its good to go but I'm also posting within an hour of finishing and that's not normal, I'll probably end up editing it by tomorrow but no big changes.

This Fic has been getting a good amount of attention lately and it feels weird, I was pretty sure this was just gonna sit at the back of the website and collect dust but its done better than I ever thought it would so I cant thank you guys enough :)

Btw thx to Cold daylight for helping me with the new name, Bro is a legend. If you haven't read his stuff he's writing another Gamer fic called Empyrean its fantastic.

Don't be afraid to leave any thought or complaints in a review I read them all and am always grateful

Again thanks for reading my stuff and I hope to see you next time :)