"-was found this morning unresponsive at the bottom of a set of stairs in what is being described as a homeplace accident." Announced the rich baritone of a reporter.

Leroy Browne only half listened to the radio. His attention was on the shack in his side view mirror. The silver hatchback he sat in faced the opposite direction.

Csenge had lent the vehicle to him to get around. While preferring to walk, he was happy to have it in this case. A paper map of the city was open in his lap to give the impression he was a tourist stopping to gain his bearings in the big city.

"The Council and VPD issued a joint statement an hour ago: 'We are monitoring the situation closely and wish the Commissioner a speedy recovery. His friends and family ask for privacy at this time.' No updates have been made since."

Finding this place had been no simple task. Leroy had to scour the streets, speaking to anyone who gave him the time. Most of them shied away whenever Roman Torchwick's name was brought up.

They did so not out of fear. It was respect. Torchwick was a folk hero to the destitute. He was someone who, in their eyes, gave the upper crust the middle finger. They would not roll on him easily.

After much searching, the former guard found someone willing to talk. An alleyway vagabond had seen the famous thief hanging around a former fish processing plant down by the wharf. This tale was only told after Leroy promised he was only seeking an audience with Torchwick.

There was also a lien donation made to the down-on-his-luck stranger. Ostensibly, this money was to get them back on their feet and not for drugs. Knowing they were both lying helped keep Leroy from regretting the duplicity.

"This leadership crisis caps a week of turbulence for both institutions. Recent opinion polls indicate a loss in confidence as a result of several high-profile incidents."

Over several hours, Leroy had been on a stake-out of the location. So far, there had been no signs of activity. It truly did play the part of an abandoned building well. That did not mean it was, however.

Although residential space in Vale was limited, there was plenty of industrial land that had been left to fallow. A financial downturn had wiped out many businesses on this end of town. The Council hoped that new industries would take their space, and so refused to rezone.

Their wishful thinking had proven incorrect. Instead, local gangs bought up the properties at dirt cheap prices. These buildings were used to hide away their illicit activities. Torchwick likely bought a few himself.

"For context, falls comprise twenty percent of all accidents in Vale. Nearly eighty people were hospitalized last year alone. Joining us now is a doctor who specializes in the treatment of-"

Tired of sitting around, Leroy turned off the car. He casually slipped out of the vehicle and onto the pavement. A closer look was in order.


XVI. First Blood


To be less obvious in the approach, he toured the block a few times. Reviewing the shack from every angle exposed a discrete path to the back of the building. Concrete and fencing obscured him as he traveled around to the rear.

The entryway was nothing special. Just a tan door with a corroded brass handle and a simple knob lock. Its internal mechanism was most likely a basic pin tumbler. Leroy could brute force his way in if he did not care about leaving evidence.

Surely, he thought, Torchwick would have a better security system in place. Then again, an abandoned building with a top end lock would have been suspicious. He might have been relying on anonymity for protection.

Going in mental circles, Leroy decided he needed to get in before he could know for sure. Luckily, he had the proper tool for this. From his pockets, he pulled out a chain holding a set of keys.

Each key represented the common locking brands, such as Yawl, Maester, and Kaldwin Bros. Their teeth had been filed down to nubs. When a key was inserted into a matching lock type, swift downward pressure on the bow would jostle the internal tumblers. This would grant the user a brief window to disengage the lock.

These 'bump keys' were leftovers from a former profession. Days long ago when he was part of a B&E crew. A life he thought he had left behind after his stint inside.

There was a moment of hesitation. So far, Leroy had not done anything illegal. Nothing provable, at any rate. He had been on the straight-and-narrow since leaving prison.

Did he really want to fall back into those bad habits?

Then he remembered a certain silver-haired boy. The smug look on his face. The dead bodies left behind. Leroy knew he needed to see this through, no matter where it led.

Leaning in, he could make out a 'B' and an 'n' on the rusted faceplate. Assuming this meant the Brank brand, he pushed the proper key inside. Applying Aura into his fist, he punched down. There was a click as the key turned and the door opened.

Wooden floorboards creaked with his first steps inward. He paused for a few moments to see if anyone came around to investigate. When no one did, he gently sealed the entrance back up.

At first blush, the theory of this building being one of Torchwick's properties felt wrong. It was surprisingly unfurnished. All that was immediately noticeable was fishing paraphernalia and freezers.

Before digging around in the ice boxes, Leroy saw there was a set of stairs. A second floor existed. Deciding to start there, he ascended the stairwell.

Upstairs was a cozy loft. He had to duck as the ceiling was rather low. A pair of cots lay in the corner while a round table with some chairs took up the center. While interesting, what first caught his attention was the large whiteboard beside the table.

Names were written with dry erase markers. Csenge, Junior, and those scumbag Division officers from the hospital were among them. What caught his eye were three names circled together in a corner: Cinder. Emerald. Mercury.

This was it then. The place really did belong to Torchwick.

Why the thief was so interested in the Underground's information factions was not clear. But there were implications. The words 'White Fang' were also on the board, having been written in a new color and underscored twice. A line connected them to Mercury Black's bubble along with a question mark.

A dangerous alliance, if true. Leroy had a hard time believing the Fang would work with humans. Or that Torchwick would care. He always gave off the 'looking out for numero uno' vibe whenever they chatted in the lobby. Whatever the truth, something big was happening.

Proof could be found beside the writing board. Two crates sat there. Inside were individual containers of Dust. Rummaging around the table uncovered a duffle bag filled with lien and plenty of fake official documents.

Leroy was starting to believe he had found a war room. There were plenty of questions he wanted answered. And he intended on getting them.

The area around the beds had been used recently. He found discarded clothes and ruffled sheets. A medium men's undershirt was balled up at the foot of the leftmost cot. Strands of hair were on the pillow.

Holding a few of the organic fibers up to the light revealed a yellow tint to them. Blond. Just like a certain someone he was looking for.

Convinced he was on the right track, Leroy ensured everything was as he had found it. He then carefully backtracked out of the room, down the stairs, and out the back door. It locked up automatically as he slunk off the way he came.

Barring some secret monitor or countermeasure, Torchwick and his crew would have no idea Leroy had been inside. The element of surprise was going to be crucial for what came next. For that, he was going to need a little help.

/ / /

"Vale General Hospital information desk." Droned a voice over the Scroll.

"Hi, I wanted to check in on a patient."

"Name?"

"Ruby Rose."

There was clicking from a keyboard on the other side of the blank screen. "I do not see them in our records…"

"Oh!" Ruby gave a brittle chuckle. "I thought you meant my name."

The young woman provided the proper information this time to the operator. There was more clacking. Then the voice returned, much more alert this time.

"One moment, please, while I connect you with a care provider."

Sighing, Ruby sat up on her bed. She had only been after a quick update. A jaunty tune began to play as a robotic voice listed off hospital services.

After listening to the same repeated message about transporting options for the infirmed, she set the device on her nightstand with the speakers enabled. There were other things she could be doing. One of those involved the open suitcase beside her.

Moving day was coming soon. Beacon awaited. She wanted to have everything ready instead of leaving it to the last moment.

This premature packing also served as an outlet for her fidgety energy. Ever since returning home from Vale, she had been restless. There was only so much maintenance work she could perform on her scythe, Crescent Rose, before it became excessive.

At least, that was what her dad told her. He then instituted a hard two-hour cap on use of the family workshop. Ruby lamented what a cruel father she had.

As she finished tucking black tank tops next to a book on classical mechanics, a familiar voice came over the Scroll. "Hello? Ms. Rose?"

"Nurse Tawney?"

After a short scramble, the Scroll was in hand. Sure enough, on the screen was the hospital attendant from before. Her pretty face was lined and tired.

Ruby turned on her own camera, prompting a response. "There you are. Are you alright? Getting enough sleep?"

"I think so?" Not expecting those kinds of questions, she became flustered. "Sorry for the interruption. Didn't think they would put me through to you. I was just wanting to check in on the old man."

"You might want to sit down."

Doing so, Ruby could not help but ask. "Did something happen?"

Of course, something had happened. That was a dumb question. No one began a conversation that way unless there was bad news.

"He passed away last night." The words were delivered like a bullet to the chest. "I'm sorry. There was nothing to be done. We tried to make him as comfortable as possible but-"

"No, I understand."

She had been expecting this result. The odds were never in the shopkeeper's favor. Tawney had been clear on that fact.

It still hurt.

"I'm sure it would have meant the world to him that you cared."

Ruby rubbed her itchy eyes. "What happens now?"

"We are still tracking down his relatives to make arrangements. There is no Last Will and Testament on file with the city clerk, so we need their input. Until then, we are keeping him in our morgue."

The phrasing made Ruby believe they were having trouble doing so. His room had been barren of well-wishers. She had spent many visiting hours trying to make up for that.

"What if you can't find them?"

"If no family member comes forward in thirty days, the city will assume responsibility and determine his final resting place."

"Can-" She looked away. "Can someone else take over those responsibilities? Y'know, if the family does not get in touch?"

"You shouldn't worry about-"

"Please." Ruby pleaded.

Tawney reluctantly explained the bureaucracy behind taking possession of an abandoned body. Ruby would need to contact the city's Office of Mortuary Affairs. A technician could issue an Order of Release naming her as caretaker if a next of kin could not be located.

For them to do so, she would need to present a detailed funeral plan. Being an underage student might make them more skeptical of her claims, but that alone was not a deal breaker. Plenty of young adults had to make cases like this for orphaned friends.

"There is also a victim's compensation fund you can apply for. A grant would both prove you are serious and have a means of paying for any expenses. I can send you the forms later."

"Thank you!" The future huntress nodded along profusely. "I'll work on those right away."

"Do not get too far ahead of yourself. Let the process play out a little. Even after the mandatory wait period, it will take a while for the city to make a determination."

More time was good. Ruby would need that to figure out the specifics. Perhaps her father would know something. He was sure to have advice for dealing with these kinds of issues.

"That's fair. I will need to wait for your husband to finish his investigation."

A victim's fund would need confirmation that the Shopkeeper was actually a victim. Sending a weblink to a news story about the robbery would probably not suffice. A police determination or, even better, a conviction would make the application easier.

"Ah, yeah. About that." Tawney looked off to the side. "You will have to speak with someone else at VPD about the case. Earnie will be on extended sick leave."

"Why?"

"He's- Oh, I should just tell you. You will just learn about it on the news later if I don't."

"Tell me what?" Ruby asked in confusion.

/ / /

"Fire!"

Guns of various types were discharged upon the command. Even laying on a bed far from the action, Elder could identify the weapons. Each had a signature sound.

Single pops from a pistol. Bursts of three from a semi-automatic. Big booms from a shotgun.

Then there was an off-beat pattern. A series of close crackles mixed in he could not place. When he figured out what that represented, he clenched his jaw and got to his feet. Fully dressed with an arm in a sling, he exited his tent towards the echoes.

He soon arrived at the source. A squad from Kilo Regiment was practicing their coordination on concentrated shooting. This was an invaluable skill in the wilds, when done correctly.

"Reload!" Their drill instructor called out.

Kilo followed instructions to the best of their abilities. After fumbling around with their magazines of ammunition, they returned to the ready position. All the hardware was now pointed again at a blue barrel down range.

"Fire!"

The squad let loose again. An impressive number of rounds whizzed through the air. Hardly any made the mark. The ground around the target area was a mess of divots and tossed gravel. Somehow, this was not the worst aspect of this particular practice session. Elder wordlessly gestured to the instructor.

"Cease! Hold!"

To their credit, most did. Most. There was a notable exception.

A lad in non-standard camo was still firing off two sideways-held pistols. All shots were wide misses yet that mattered very little to the eager recruit. His large, jutting jaw pumped up and down with each squeeze.

Finally, mercifully, he ran out of ammo. Pleased with himself, he glanced at his comrades. Realizing they were all staring at him, he reached up and pulled a plug from his inner ear.

"Are we done?"

"For the moment, Caldwell." Their trainer said impassively. "We have a special guest. The floor is yours, Lieutenant."

That was when the one known as Caldwell noticed the giant in their midst. He recoiled as Elder approached him specifically. They all cleared the way as he stomped forward.

"I'd like to know something." He spoke aloud for all to hear. "I have been thinking about this since we escaped from the city. When did I become the battlefield commander for a gang that couldn't shoot straight?"

There was an awkward silence. The entire squad was busy looking into the sky or at their feet. With no answer forthcoming, Elder provided one of his own.

"Probably around the time we decided to allow street hoods into our ranks." He snapped his fingers in front of Caldwell, gaining his attention. The next question was for him. "Who taught you how to use two handguns?"

"I, well, no one taught me. Just did what I've seen in shows 'n stuff so-"

Elder held a hand up before asking the instructor. "And you gave him access to these guns?"

"Figured he'd learn after the first few shots."

"Learn what?" Caldwell piped in, going flush at the attention.

"That shooting two pistols at the same time is impractical." The White Fang Lieutenant answered easily. "Those models you are using were not designed for one-handed reloading or for side-gripping. There is no tactical advantage to be found other than possibly hitting your fellow brothers and sisters if-"

"-use a chainsaw."

That whisper in the wind redirected Elder's lecture. "I did not catch that. Say it again."

Caught, the Kilo member shrunk in on himself before saying. "You use a chainsaw. That is, uh, not a practical weapon."

Whispers surged through the crowd. The majority would think that their fellow recruit was an idiot for speaking out of turn. A small minority though would think there was merit to his rebuttal. From there, they might question Elder's advice.

A demonstration was in order.

Elder freed his previously dislocated arm from the immobilizer. "Give me your gun."

The rookie hesitantly gave up the one in his left hand. The lieutenant took it along with a full cartridge. It was a relatively small, but deadly, thing. His hands nearly wrapped twice around the grip as he got used to the weight. At the ready, he gave a nod to the drill captain.

"Reload!"

The recruits backed away. Elder jumped into action. He ejected the empty magazine before slotting in the replacement. It was a smooth motion, practiced thousands of times before.

He then raised the pistol, right side up. His feet were planted with both arms parallel to the ground with a slight bend at the elbows. Perfect posture.

"Fire!"

On command, Elder pulled the trigger. And then he did it again and again. Each boom was accompanied by a hollow ping. Verification that the bullets were making contact with the target.

These shots were purposeful, quick, and precise. He took care to display the subtle adjustments necessary after each blast. The recoil could have been ignored using Aura, but these recruits did not, and most likely would never, have that.

After running out, he lowered the gun. Even from as far away as they were, all could see an even spread of dents on the once pristine barrel. Turning back to the group, he approached the weapon's owner.

"Learn the basics first before talking to me again about practicality." Elder said before handing off the pistol to the chastened recruit.

Smirks adorned the faces of his fellows, but a glare from their instructor wiped those silly expressions away. None of them were in a position to lord their technical prowess. All were deficient and could have been called out.

Maybe it was not fair. Aura really did make the implausible reality. But that was even more reason for Caldwell and the rest to learn their physical restrictions. One day they may even break them. Only then would wielding guns akimbo be acceptable.

The squad returned to their positions. All of them seemed to be more introspective. Some asked the instructor to run them through the proper forms for their chosen weapons again. Elder stalked off, not bothering to return to bed.

He had enough of lying around.

Like himself, the camp was restless. Few there had been involved in the raid, but word of their success spread quickly. Even the subsequent reprisal by an unknown entity was seen as validation. The White Fang, down to their least trained, could handle anything.

This was making them cocky. High morale was good but could lead to mistakes. Elder needed to instill some discipline into the rank-and-file.

Another opportunity to do so presented itself. At a checkpoint near the edge of the encampment, multiple guards had gathered in violation of their orders. The standard operating procedure was to spread out to keep the entrances secure.

"What's going on?" He asked gruffly.

There was no answer. They merely made room for him to push his way through. At the front, he found what had transfixed them.

A man was walking towards the crowd from the woodlands. Tall and lean, he wore a half mask denoting him as one of their members. Distinctive spiky red hair and bullish horns narrowed down the identity further.

"It's Adam!" One of the guards yelled.

Everyone cheered in support for their returning leader. Elder grimaced before going to meet him. He ordered the rest to stay behind.

The closer the two got, the more the lieutenant became alarmed. Adam was down to dark pants and a threadbare shirt. Dirt and shallow cuts covered his exposed torso. His whole body rocked as he shambled to a stop.

"Welcome back." Elder said warily.

Adam's lips, cracked from dehydration, parted. "Am I?"

He peered around Elder at those that awaited. Others from the camp had arrived to watch, growing the crowd significantly. Among them was the training squad from before. Their weapons were with them, as if expecting trouble.

"You've been absent. They are curious."

"Like they noticed."

After saying this, he nearly toppled over. Elder managed to catch him, slotting into his side to give support. The katana blade sheathed at Adam's waist sandwiched between their hips.

"Probably happier with me gone." He went on, trailing into a whisper. "None of them care. The only one who did, ran away. Left me to side with a bunch of humans."

Knowing where this was going, Elder gingerly pulled Adam along. When they returned to the group, they looked ready to render aid. Wanting to keep them clear of what was bound to happen, the lieutenant made an excuse.

"Adam is tired from a successful solo mission. An announcement on our next phase of actions will be coming soon. Until then, rest and prepare. Dismissed."

The White Fang members appeared to buy this. Some glanced at Adam in awe, perhaps wondering what his mission could have been to leave him in such a state. They dispersed as their glorious leader was practically carried away.

"We're going to get them." The superior muttered to his direct report as he was guided to a more private location.

"Not here."

"Make them pay. Every last one."

"Not now."

Once inside the command tent, Elder released Adam. The exhausted man wobbled before finding a proper stance. He was still speaking in a hushed tone. Frantic and disorganized words spilled from his mouth. Then his mind settled on a course of action.

"We should march on Vale tomorrow. Show our fangs and claws. Let them all know that we will not be stepped on again."

He paced about. Twitching. Rambling.

"While small now, our ranks will swell as the crusade begins. The fence-sitters will be forced to pick a side as the humans show their true colors. Then the revolution can truly begin." Resolute, Adam gave the order. "Our next objective is clear. Call everyone."

When he saw that Elder was making no moves to carry out the edict, Adam started getting louder, pushing into his subordinate's personal space. "Well? What are you waiting for?! We need to get organized! Need to-"

A meaty slap resonated in the tent. There was now a red mark on Adam's cheek. Elder's open palm pulsated from the skin-on-skin contact.

The bull faunus' mouth hung open. "You-"

Another slap cut him off. Their masks pressed together suddenly. A single blue orb was visible to Elder through the eye slit. The shock was gone. What was left was murderous fury. The moment of truth had arrived, which he met with a simple word.

"Enough."

Adam's hand went to the hilt of his sword. "You've turned against me as well?"

"Never."

"Yet you refuse me."

"I refuse to allow you to throw our lives away."

While the lieutenant was willing to martyr himself for the cause, he would prefer that it happen during a plan that could succeed. What was offered was suicide. Being second-in-command came with certain responsibilities, such as telling decision makers when they were out of line.

"Craven traitors deserve nothing but a slow death." The blade was wobbly withdrawn.

Even with Adam's weakened state, Elder would not fight back. He refused to bear arms against his fellow White Fang members. If he were meant to die pointlessly, then they might as well end it all now.

"If you truly believe that, then go ahead. Pass your judgment."

That response caused Adam to pause. "You won't run from me?"

"I won't abandon my obligations."

The fervor broke. All the fight went out of Adam as his sword slid back into its sheath. Elder watched as he stumbled away, still growling to himself. At the planning desk, he fell into one of the chairs. Loose papers toppled to the ground.

After a deep breath, he said. "Give me the sitrep."

Acting as though they had not nearly come to blows, Elder explained what had happened over the last few days. Everything from Cinder Fall's return to the aftermath of the Dust robbery was covered. Adam gritted his teeth, but agreed with the choices that were made in his absence.

At the end of the report, he sat silent. Calculating. Then came the follow up question. It was an unexpected inquiry.

"Trifa? As in the Albain brothers' spy? She should be halfway to Menagerie by now."

"I asked her to stick around."

"That so?" Adam was quiet for a moment longer before asking. "Is she trustworthy?"

"It's not about trust." Elder only trusted one person, and that was Adam. "She is dedicated to the cause and her infiltration skills are handy. That is all that matters to me."

Trifa was also adept at handling Fall. Dealing with mouthy humans was not Elder's strong point. If she were not as suffocatingly powerful, he would have mounted her head on a pole. Part of him still wanted to try.

"Then it will be the same for me. I can ask that Trifa be embedded with us long term if you believe it prudent."

"I do." Elder said, while unsure of how the request would be received in Menagerie.

The Albains were tricky political operators and would likely demand a high price for one of their agents. But her skill set was invaluable in the short turn. Hopefully, they would not have to trade away the house to retain her.

"Very well." Adam shifted to gingerly lean forward in the chair. "Now, on to other business. It sounds like our first Dust raid was successful but there are weaknesses amongst our number. We shall make an example of them. Who do you believe is most at fault?"

Before speaking with the spider faunus, Elder would have pinpointed their guards. However, she had him rethinking that assessment. The intruder had taken them all apart, after all.

"Our security lapses were… a collective failure. Everyone, top to bottom, was responsible."

"You make a reasonable point." Adam exhaled. "If I were present, this mystery woman would not have troubled us. She would simply be dead."

Elder was glad the implication was understood but did not belabor the point. "Only time, training, and vigilance will improve our group deficiencies. What can't be fixed internally are our storage issues."

The rest of the table papers were cleared away. They both stared down at a map of the eastern end of the Sanus continent. A number of locations had already been circled and crossed out. Elder explained what they were examining.

"We need a safe place outside of Vale to keep our Dust stores. I would suggest carrying it with us-"

"But that would be inviting another mishap." Adam finished for him.

Notwithstanding the death threat, Elder was elated. A focused Adam was an effective Adam. His tactical mind was unmatched when clear of distractions.

"Correct."

Carrying around volatile materials was asking for trouble. This trouble did not have to come from an enemy aggressor. They could have an accident all on their own. One small slip would spell disaster for the entire White Fang branch.

"We need somewhere that is both secure and unlikely to attract attention. Close to, but not in, the staging grounds so our whole operation is not ruined if the worst happens."

They could always steal more Dust. There would be no regaining of the element of surprise if their plot was discovered prematurely. The primary vector for attack would be lost to them permanently.

With that in mind, they got to work.

Plenty of places met most of their criteria. None fit all of them. He had spent hours trying to come up with one on his own and with Trifa. This time he did so with Adam.

They spent a good hour brainstorming more places. All were batted down. At last, the White Fang leader hovered over the map.

"How about here?"

He tapped a spot near the coast facing a small island and Vacuo. The lieutenant pondered the location and its significance. When he pieced together what was being suggested, his brows rose in astonishment.

"That could work."

/ / /

They were deep into the afternoon before Jaune finished setting up camp. Roman had been a witness to the entire exercise, intrigued. The blond clearly knew his way around the great outdoors.

"Whew! That was fun." He exclaimed, flipping a small mallet.

Two medium-sized tents were now pitched. Beside them was chopped wood for the fire pit. Further out was a freshly dug latrine and a stream for a water source. Jaune, somehow, seemed to be in his element.

In one way, they were lucky. The specter knew next to nothing about living outside the city nor could he provide any manual assistance. That the boy could locate the perfect shelter spot, and carry out all the preparations necessary to make it so, was marvelous.

In another way, they were unlucky. Roman had hoped that an hour of roaming the Emerald Forest through the heat, dirt, and bugs would discourage the boy. Afterward, convincing him to turn away from being a dirty huntsman would be an easier sell.

Now that idea seemed like a pipe dream. Jaune was quite adept at the frontier lifestyle. And that fact annoyed Roman.

"This is not a relaxing getaway." He chided, floating over from his observation post.

The boy sheepishly rubbed his head. This stretched the heathered-aquamarine t-shirt over his torso. A pair of blue-jeans and used work boots almost had him pulling off the lumberjack look. If only he were buff with a beard.

"I know! It's just cool to get to use what I learned when I was younger."

Apparently, his rube family liked to take vacations on foot. That they had never taught him how to fight during these expeditions was odd. Traveling between kingdoms was not ordinarily a safe pastime.

"Well, don't rest on your laurels. You still have more prep work to do before we hit the hard part."

"R-right."

Storing away his tools, Jaune walked over to the location of the dead tree he had cut down. The large, leftover stump now served as an improvised table. Neo perched around it. A small tube was open beside her.

He watched as the tri-colored woman cautiously pulled a red Dust crystal out of the cylinder with tweezers. Then, just as carefully, she inserted the rock into an opaque orb. The sphere, about the size of a tangor, began to glow.

"What are you doing?" He asked before sitting down cross-legged on the other side of the container.

Ignoring him, she laid the orb next to another half-dozen of them. She next picked up Melodic Cudgel from her lap. With Hush being fixed up, she had taken to using its twin.

"Building ammunition." Roman answered after merging. "That weapon of mine takes a special kind. It uses depleted fuel cells loaded with Fire Dust."

The Underground called them 'Lagune bombs' because of their popularity during the Faunus Insurrections. Back then, the animals would chuck bottles stuffed with fuel at their human opponents. Melodic Cudgel's inventor updated the design idea to compact the ammo.

As if to prove what Roman was saying was true, Neo pressed a button near the weapon's collar. The cane split at the handle. She pushed the grenades one after the other into the hole.

"Where do you get the fuel cells?"

"Dumpsters." They were not exactly put under lock and key once used up. "We pay some dreggys to dive in the heaps outside of landing pads and hospitals. Gets me my supply and keeps them in booze. Everyone wins."

Jaune frowned. "Unless they got hurt while digging around."

Roman could not resist rolling his ghostly eyes. Everything was a moral issue with the kid. It was hardly a huge concern. Only a couple of his scavenger friends had been maimed.

"Regardless, you need to do a little refueling yourself. Get to it so we can go."

Taking the hint, Jaune retrieved his new metal backpack. As the seller had instructed, he slid a purple panel on the bottom away. This exposed a smooth slot. Borrowing the tube Neo had been using, he brought the lip to the opening.

The boy tipped the glass tube over, letting the Dust tumble out. While volatile, the jostling alone would not lead to a premature explosion. Only interaction from a biological component or a sudden energy transfer would set it off.

Once full, Jaune slid the panel back into place. All done, he stood and shuffled on the pack. Pulling the straps out from his body caused them to stretch like a rubber band. He then let go, letting them snap back into place.

There was a yelp of pain before the boy remembered to stick his arms out. Protective metal folded out, shifting into place. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the gloves.

"Snug fit."

"That means Mr. Ferrous did his job well."

Despite warnings from the arms maker, he clearly knew the theory behind armor crafting. It had taken him less than half an hour to make the adjustments. Working with offensive weaponry was clearly a preference rather than a lack of talent.

All that was left was the helmet. Jaune promptly tugged that last piece on and clipped his sword to his belt. Neo discreetly glanced at him before huffing and standing alongside him.

"Whoa!" Jaune exclaimed, waving a hand across his face. "That's new."

"What?"

"The lenses in here lit up like a screen. I'm being asked to sync my Scroll for a start-up sequence."

"Must have a computer in there."

Ferrous had neglected to mention this. Then again, he may not have known. His cautious self may have kept the armor set on a low charge in case there was a tracker on it. Roman was not too worried about that possibility. If anyone came to investigate, Neo would help shake them.

"Should I…?" The teen asked with a curious tone.

"Go ahead." Their Scroll was relatively clean.

Jaune dug it out from his pocket. After a few presses, the holographic display on the little device went black. The insignia of Atlas, a set of overlapping gears with a two-pronged scepter going through the center, appeared.

The cogs spun as they filled with blue. Once completely filled, they stopped spinning. A wall of text ran briefly across the screen before a single word dominated: STRATOS.

Then the display was back to normal. Whatever the sync had done, it was completed now. Jaune closed up the Scroll. He was quiet for a long while, eventually forcing Roman to ask what was up.

"Uh, I seem to have a health bar now."

"A health-what?"

"You know, like in a video game." Roman did not but urged Jaune to go on. "It claims to be measuring my Aura level. Can technology do that?"

"Oh yeah. Huntsman Scrolls do that passively."

Although a burner, the red Scroll was top of the line. It had to be to run the security system at Roman's flat. A little extra lien spent there felt well worth the peace of mind of knowing the gadget would operate when needed.

"What!? Why didn't you guys tell me earlier? That would have been incredibly useful to know!" He exclaimed, no doubt thinking back on the Aura manifesting training.

In truth, Roman had just plain forgotten. Neopolitan laughed silently. She clearly remembered, but thought it was funnier to withhold the information.

"Eh, it's a crutch. You won't have time to check while in a fight." He lied and was believed just as easily. "Now, remember why we are here. Are you ready to act like a true huntsman?"

"Let's do this." Jaune said evenly before drawing his weapon.

While Roman could not see the teen's face under that goofy head protector, he did notice the trembling in his sword arm. If nature alone would not deter, they would need to find something that would. Outside of Vale's walls, that would be easy to arrange.

/ / /

The forest was tranquil. Jaune Arc was not. He trembled in the middle of a glade.

His mouth ran dry. The shield strapped to his forearm shook with anticipation. Eyes that were scanning the thicket strained as they went in and out of focus. Stress sweat dripped down the tip of his nose.

A flash of pink went through the foliage before disappearing. Loud snaps from branches and twigs followed behind. Straight towards him.

"Any second now."

His grip on Crocea Mors tightened. The disruptions became louder as the source neared. Heavy breathing laced the air. That may have been his. At last, the unknown being arrived by breaking into the clearing.

"Ooh. That's a big one."

In the sunlight, it seemed other-worldly. Merely seeing the thing nearly brought Jaune to tears. Yet he dare not avert his gaze. To do so would be the end of him.

The monster was on four legs, like a dog, but much larger. Jet black fur was punctuated by bony protrusions. Its canine snout was filled with rows of sharp teeth. From behind a white mask-like structure on its face, a pair of red eyes hungrily stared at him.

"Welp, time for you to do what a huntsman does best." Roman said before leaving Jaune's Aura and rising above the treeline. "Good luck. Try not to get eaten."

The thief was correct on the first part. The chief duty of a huntsman was to destroy the terrors that threatened the lives of every sapient creature on Remnant. This was the boy's chance to be a hero.

Yet his feet refused to budge. They were numb. Barely strong enough to hold him up. The creature was not as indecisive. Prey in sight, it prowled forward with the intent to kill.

As this occurred, Jaune's visor display changed. A pinwheel began to spin in the 'O' of 'STRATOS' in the corner of his vision. The monster was outlined in a grid-like pattern before fading. There was a ding as text appeared over his right eye.

'Threat identified. Type: Grimm. Classification: Beowolf. Threat Level: Low.'

As if offended by the assessment, the beast roared. Jaune froze up as it lunged forward. At the last moment he remembered to bring up his heater shield.

Its large mass crashed into him, nearly taking them to the ground. His arm creaked as he let out a cry. Still, he held on.

Suddenly, the oppressive force seeking to steam roll him let up. Jaune peeked out from around his shield to see the Beowolf rear back on its hind legs. Up close, he could fully appreciate how large it was.

Jaune had to jump to the side to avoid a pounce. Clumps of dirt went into the air. With a drag of its claws, the Grimm growled. The monster wanted the human to stand still. The boy was uninterested in complying. He flinched as there was another chime in his ear.

New text appeared in his helmet: 'Melee engagement detected. Determining weak points.'

The grid lines appeared once again. Portions of his enemy, such as around the throat and the joints, were colored in with yellow. STRATOS was showing him where to hit.

Knowing where to strike and being able to do so were two different things. When the Beowolf tried to tear into him again, Jaune backed up. This time, he only moved a small distance before slashing at an exposed shoulder. Crocea Mors clanged off the hide.

In retribution, the Grimm backhanded him. The blow had his teeth chattering together as he tumbled over. His rolling along the ground stopped when he collided face first with a tree.

Neo's tutorials on pain taught Jaune how to focus even when aching all over. The lessons saved him as he rolled out of the way of another lunge. It was the beast's turn to bonk its head against bark. There was a snarl at the miss.

Seizing the opportunity, Jaune lifted his blade and brought it down on the Grimm's neck. This strike found flesh. A gusher of inky goo splashed onto him.

He blinked in astonishment. This was the first time experiencing the rush. His grandfather's stories had not prepared him. Taking the life of something, even a Grimm, was a solemn occasion.

The moment was ruined by the monster's flailing. It was still alive and upset at the addition of a notch in its neck. Jaune screamed before pulling out the sword and brought it down again.

And again. And again. And again.

After seven more hacking swings, he cut completely through to the other side. The Beowolf collapsed as the head detached. Another spray of the creature's blood flew up, some of which landed in his mouth.

He gagged, spitting out the disgusting liquid. Looking down at the dribble, it started to smoke. Worried about what that would do to the insides of his mouth, he began dry heaving. More of the mystery gas was coming from below him.

Attention back on the decapitated corpse showed it was smoldering. But there was no heat. Parts of the Grimm were flaking off. The head had already dissolved into a small pile.

Jaune was panting. Kneeling to steady himself, his sore arms pulsed down to the fingertips. A burning in his ribs made the air tingle with each heave. During this recovery, Roman floated down, clapping.

"Well done. So, how's that taste?" The red-headed specter chuckled darkly. "I hope you liked it. If you become a huntsman, you are in for struggles like that for the rest of your life."

The blond was not sure if he could keep going for another minute, let alone the rest of his life. One Grimm, a low danger one at that, had so thoroughly wrecked him. In less than a minute, he had gone from well-rested to literally on his last leg.

This might have been a big mistake.

There was a shuffling noise to his right. Jaune tiredly glanced in that direction as three more Beowolves shambled out. The sight of their felled kin set them to a frenzy.

It was not the impending doom that had the Arc's attention. It was his Aura bar. According to that measure, he was firmly in the green zone. The battering he had taken had only reduced the total by a sliver.

His soul was not out of the fight. It had not given up. So why had he?

Because he was lying. He was not ready to quit. Jaune needed to be a huntsman. He had to prove his worth to Roman, Neo, his family, and everyone else.

This revelation convinced him to stand up. All the previous pain seemed to roll off of him. The Grimm before him were small fry compared to his goal. He raised his ancestral blade once more before bellowing a challenge.

"Just bring it!"