Chapter 4
Jaune's feet pounded down the dirt path towards the burning village in the distance. He saw the smoke before he did the walls and the buildings soon after that. Many of them were on fire but some still stood, albeit not for long. Grimm ran through the streets and a Nevermore flew by overhead, screeching at something it had seen below.
It's the past, his mind protested. This must have happened in my time as well. I can't change the future this drastically. I promised I wouldn't. The best thing to do, the correct thing, was to let nature take its course.
The Nevermore dove down towards something.
He was already moving to intercept it. To hell with caution and to hell with the future – he'd come back to change it, not to sit back and watch the same tragedies repeat themselves. If he was going to save his friends, then he'd damn well try and save someone else's too.
"Oi!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Over here you stupid bird. Come and fight someone a tenth your size!"
A Beowolf dared to try and get in his way but slumped down a second later, cut from hip to flank as he dodged aside and let the beast's momentum carry its dying body behind and away. With a reverse and a twist he lopped the arm off another, stepping back into its body and driving Crocea Mors into its stomach down to the hilt. With his free hand he slammed its final claw away, kicking it off and to the ground, drawing his sword free in the process.
"Survivors to me!" he roared. There had to be some survivors, surely. "I'm a huntsman! Come to me!"
There was a startled cry from the left, maybe thirty metres away and a little down – in what looked to be a ditch of some kind. It was too small to be a Grimm, too high-pitched and afraid. He moved towards it instinctively, but he wasn't the only one. Up above, the Nevermore screeched and dove down towards the location.
No. He wouldn't let it happen. His feet hammered quicker, moving from grass to tile and slate as he hurtled to intercept the monster which had seen something below. It landed, and for a moment he thought the survivor lost. Until, to his shock, the Grimm seemed to pause. It was confused, uncertain, glancing below as though it had lost its prey.
Jaune crashed into it a second later. His body bowled the beast off its talons and down into the ditch, where they splashed into water only a foot or so deep. It screeched and clawed at him, buffeting his body with its huge wings. He ignored it, scrabbling for the sword he'd dropped in his fall and bringing it up above his head. "Die!" he roared, thrusting it down into the monster's breast. The blade bit deep, cutting through feathers, skin and muscle. Even then, the Grimm's struggling didn't cease and it bucked him off.
Water splashed around him as he rolled aside, recovering quickly and staggering back after his quarry. The Nevermore had managed to get back onto its feet unsteadily, but the water was weighing it down, preventing it from taking off. He slipped under one of its wings when it flapped and cut at the tendons connecting the limb to its body. Again it screeched and fell, splashing down on one side and spraying him with blood-tinted water.
There was no mercy to his attack; it was more a butcher's work. He hacked and slashed at the thing until it stopped moving, and then hacked some more until it had started to dissolve entirely. After a few seconds he paused, aware of the water that sloshed around his ankles and his own harsh breathing, more fevered pants than anything.
Something whimpered behind him. The survivors, of course, he'd almost forgotten. He knew he didn't cut a comforting sight but there wasn't much that could be done about that. "Are you okay?" he asked, splashing towards them. "I'm here to help you, I'm-"
Jaune froze.
"You're a huntsman," the boy said, in a remarkably calm and polite voice, especially given the horror he'd just witnessed. He was a small thing with black hair and pink eyes.
He would have known the eyes of his best friend anywhere.
"I-I am," he said, recovering. His eyes took in Nora, clinging to Ren's side. His heart broke. Kuroyuri. This was Kuroyuri. "I'm a huntsman and I'm here to help you. Are you safe?"
"We're fine," Ren whispered. He touched Nora and the girl visibly calmed, unnaturally so. "My father helped me escape. He… I don't think he's alive anymore. My mother died as well."
No child should have to say that, let alone with such a calm expression. He noticed that Ren was clutching a knife in one hand, something far too large for him. From the way his fingers gripped it he knew there would be no convincing him to part with it.
"Okay. I'm going to get the two of you out of here. I just-"
A scream cut him off. His head whipped back towards the village. There were still other people alive in the village, though that wouldn't last for long. They'd be massacred without his aid. His eyes flicked back to Nora and Ren, quiet and awaiting his instructions. Indecision tore at him, twisting his insides into tight knots.
Ren and Nora would be fine. They didn't know that, not yet, but he did. Everyone else? They were doomed. Every single person here was going to die a terrible death, and if he walked away with these two now he'd be the one condemning them to it.
"There are others you can help," Ren whispered. "I – we – can escape on our own."
They could, but he didn't want to make them. How could he let his friends walk away after he'd just found them again? How could he let them go when he knew they'd struggle on their own, at least for a few years? Things would improve for them later, but that was later. Right now, they needed him.
But so did the people still alive in Kuroyuri.
Damn it. Damn it all. "Is your Semblance unlocked?" Jaune asked, splashing down to kneel in the water and take Ren's shoulders in his hands.
"What?"
"Your Semblance," he repeated, this time in a hiss. "Is it unlocked? Is it working!?"
Ren appeared confused but knew better than to argue or ask why the strange man seemed to know so much. "Y-Yes, it is. It's how we avoided the Nevermore."
Good. Perfect. That explained why the thing had looked lost for a second. With his Semblance to help him, Nora and Ren would be absolutely fine. They were basically immune to any Grimm, and he knew from the future that there was no danger. Even so, he shrugged off his pack. "Here, take these supplies. There's food, water and camping equipment. Use it to get yourself to safety."
"I, but… what about you?"
"I'll be fine," he said, smiling confidently. "I need to go back and see if anyone is still alive out there. If so, I'll rescue them."
Nora spoke for the first time, leaning shyly out from behind Ren. "W-Will we see you again?"
A wave of nostalgia overcame him. Nora looked so soft and vulnerable in a way she'd never before been. He reached out a hand and she shied away, only to pause when she realised he was holding his pinky finger out to her. "You'll see me again."
She shyly took it with her own. "Promise?"
"I promise." The moment was gone when he released her and stood up. He stared directly into Ren's eyes. "Now go, get to safety. Keep your Semblance up at all times and don't stop until you reach civilisation. Do you understand?"
"I understand." Ren nodded. "We'll look after each other."
"Heh. I know you will." It was the hardest thing in the world to turn and run away, leaving his friends behind, even if it wasn't to an uncertain fate. Still, it would have been worse looking them in the eye ten years later and knowing he hadn't lifted a finger to try and save their village. He took Crocea Mors in hand and cleared the bank of the aqueduct, eyes scanning his surroundings.
Several Grimm noticed and started to surround him, but he saw the two children slip through with a bag held between them. The Grimm paid them no heed, speaking to the power of Ren's Semblance. Those two would be fine. For now, he had to focus on those for whom he could make a difference. That meant the main village square, where the houses still looked to be in one piece.
"Get out of my way," he growled to the Grimm around him.
They howled and brayed back at him. It was always the same. It would have at least been convenient for Salem's mark to actually do something – maybe make him invisible to Grimm like Ren or let him order them away. Instead, he fell back on the usual solution, turning his shield into a scabbard and strapping it back to his hip, taking Crocea Mors in two hands.
The first Beowolf seemed surprised that its prey had attacked before it had. That hesitation cost it and it fell with its head cleaved in two. Following the motion, Jaune twisted past the beast and drew his sword free. He chambered and thrust it into the flank of another, beneath the armpit and directly into its heart.
The others attacked then, moved to action by the sudden violence. A claw swept by over his head and he hamstrung the beast in return. One tried to fall on and crush him but he slid aside and used it to cover his back as he parried the claw of a third aside, caught it on the edge of his sword, and then ran the length of it down its body to slice off the limb at the elbow. It roared but he'd already turned away, swinging wildly behind him at neck height. Neck height for a Grimm, anyway. As expected, one had found itself there and soon found itself a head shorter.
Beowolves really were predictable. It was what made them so easily handled, at least by an experienced huntsman. Ruby had been able to handle six or seven in the blink of an eye at the age of fifteen. He'd struggled with one at seventeen, but been capable of ten or more before he hit eighteen. For him, at least, his greatest strength had been just how fast he'd adapted.
Now, with the added experience of Qrow and Ozpin's intuition, not to mention the constant campaign against Salem, such Grimm were chaff to him. The threat came in their overwhelming numbers, and eight or so just wasn't enough. He slipped under the guard of the last and pushed its arm down, using it as a springboard to leap up and pierce into its chin, up into the brain. It fell with a gurgle, Jaune stepping out of the way and allowing its own weight to drag his sword free.
"Help!" someone screamed. "Help me, please! Someone!"
"Huntsman!" Jaune roared. "Where are you?"
There was a moment of nothingness, a pause in the panic as someone dared to hope. "P-Please," the woman cried, sobbing now. "Please help. T-The bakery! I'm in the bakery!"
He saw it instantly, a shop front with smashed windows and several loaves of bread on display. There was a Beowolf hammering on a door that was being held shut. Another smashed a claw through the window, prompting a terrified scream from within.
He closed the distance instantly, slamming his sword through the back of the one trying to climb through the window and wrenching it back out, spraying himself with blood and toppling the beast backwards. The one at the door slashed at him but missed by a few inches as he stepped back. Open now, he thrust Crocea Mors into its windpipe and sliced sideward, removing its head in one savage blow. It fell like a tree cut through the base and toppled to the side.
"You're safe," Jaune panted. "I'm here."
The door opened a crack, as though the woman within couldn't quite believe her ears. A pair of green eyes met his, red around the edges and stained by tears that fell down her cheeks. She was young, twenty to thirty at most. "Y-Y-I… I…"
"It's fine. I've killed the Grimm. You're going to be okay. We need to get you out of the village – and to find any more survivors we can. Are you able to move?"
The woman nodded, too emotional to get any words out bar a few strained whimpers. Though terrified, she seemed willing – almost desperate – to do anything he told her. The courage required to step out of her store and into this hellhole would have been impossible for some. "Who…?" she asked. Her voice cut off halfway.
"I'm a huntsman, that's all you need to know. Is there anyone else alive in there?"
With tears in her eyes, she shook her head.
"Have you seen anyone else alive?"
Another whimper and another shake of her head. "I-I saw M-Mr Li," she whispered. "H-He tried to fight the monster."
Li Ren, Ren's father. He was dead then. Damn it. In truth he'd already known since Ren's old story involved him only retreating to the aqueduct after both his parents were killed. There wouldn't be any hope for either of them at this point, but there was for this woman. "What's your name?"
"A-Annie…"
"Alright, Annie. I need you to stick close to me and do whatever I say, okay?" Jaune tugged on her hand, drawing her out and close to his body. The girl was shaking like a leaf and took an almost worrying amount of comfort in a blood-stained stranger. "You're going to see some things that will scare you, but it's important you don't run away from me. I can't help you if you run away. I need you to trust me."
Annie nodded and clung onto his hand.
"I'll also need my hand back," he said, wincing at the frightened look on her face. "I need to use it to defend you. Trust me and I'll get you out of here."
"Okay." She let go of him reluctantly, though he made no motion to stop her hovering close by. If the world worked on the concepts of fate or destiny, then hers was to die. This was a woman who wouldn't – couldn't – be alive in the future.
But that was the whole point of me coming back, wasn't it? I'm here to stop the same future happening. And if Annie turned out to be some psycho mass-murderer somewhere down the line? Well, he'd deal with her himself. Right now, she was a young woman who didn't deserve this.
He motioned for her to follow as he cut across the square, listening for the sounds of any other survivors. This was their most dangerous part. He on his own was fine here, but with a survivor things became delicate. His first instinct was to shout for more, but that would only alert the Grimm and he now had someone who couldn't defend herself with him.
Even if the better option was to retreat with but a single survivor, he wanted to look for more. It was possible, though unlikely, that one of Ren's parents might still be alive. Ren had assumed them both slain but if he was here early enough…
"Do you know where you saw Li fighting the Grimm? He might still be alive."
"He isn't," Annie said, sobbing lightly. "I… I saw him die."
Jaune cursed. "Do you know where his wife is, or their house?"
She pointed to a small and neat structure off to one side, not a hundred metres down a cobbled path devoid of Grimm, at least for now. Jaune nodded and motioned for her to follow, sticking close to the buildings so that he could cut off a potential assault from one side. Some of them were burning but the flames had yet to cause the walls to break down.
They reached the building Annie had indicated in short time and he bade her wait outside while he looked in. "If you see anything, shout for me. Don't hesitate." Not waiting for an answer, he pushed his body through the damaged door, the building itself a ruin. "An!" he called. "An Ren, are you there? Can you hear me?"
No response. He ducked in a little further, wary of the roof above that had started to crack and splinter. The hallway was empty but a brief glance into a room off to the left revealed that the roof had already collapsed. And there, under a beam, lay a woman.
Jaune crouched and placed a hand to her neck. He ducked his head a second later. "Damn it."
"H-Huntsman, help!" Annie suddenly cried.
Crocea Mors cleared its sheathe and he was outside in a matter of seconds, drawing the frightened girl back behind him as he looked for a threat. He couldn't see any Grimm approaching, though dark shapes were always on the edge of his vision. "What is it?"
"Over there," she said, pointing. "I heard people shouting – other villagers!"
Survivors? He didn't dare hope but nodded instead and loped off, careful to keep his pace slow enough for her to stagger and bumble after him. The Grimm didn't seem interested in the two of them, and the reason why became apparent as voices and screams became louder. Annie was right, there were still people here. He also caught the distinctive crack of a gun. They were still fighting, but for how long that would last was still a mystery. Ren had no idea if there had been any survivors from Kuroyuri, or at least he hadn't said there was. As Jaune and Annie rounded the corner, he realised why.
They hadn't survived – or wouldn't.
It was a group of people locked within a restaurant of some kind, a little diner with a glass window out of which a faunus was shooting some kind of weapon. Another resident, a human, held the door with what looked to be a frying pan. It might have been comical but for the clear desperation and the sounds of children crying from within. And then he saw it, marching slowly towards the diner with the body of a middle-aged man, Ren's father, attached to its side.
The Nucklelavee.
If it was here then these people were about to die, because otherwise it wouldn't have been around to challenge them in the future. Everyone here – children and all – were about to be killed by it.
"Get into the diner," he hissed.
Annie started. "W-What?"
"Get inside and barricade the door. Try to send a signal out to find help. Call Mistral if you can, or anyone who will listen and send a Bullhead."
"You're going to try and hold that thing off?"
"No," he replied. "I'm going to kill it."
If his charge argued he didn't hear it. He dragged her toward the diner, drawing the attention of those within, and then pushed her towards them. One of the men rushed out to take her and drag her back, shooting him a grateful – if frightened – smile. They were trying but it wouldn't be enough. Not unless he could change their future. He took a stance in front of the building, sword held ready before him and legs bent.
The Nucklelavee saw him but didn't appear bothered by the intrusion. It reared up and stamped its hooves, the horse-like body seeming so much more alive than the rider, who slumped back and forth like a marionette with its strings cut. Worse was Li Ren, who flopped about and crashed into the sidewalk. His body, already dead, was being treated with such casual disregard.
First, he'd kill the Nucklelavee. Then he'd get these people out of here and to safety. And then, when it was over, he would come back and bury Ren's parents. His friend might not realise it at first, but if the future held and Team RNJR did end up coming out here, he'd see that someone had cared enough to give them a grave together. It would mean the world to Ren.
But he had to kill this thing first. That was no small feat given that it had taken a concerted effort before, not to mention Ren's Semblance. Then again, he was stronger than he had been. Qrow's training hadn't been for nothing. Jaune rushed the Grimm before it could him – surprising it for a moment, before it screeched and galloped towards him as well. He had to fight it away from the diner to limit collateral damage while still having space to manoeuvre. His eyes met that of the Grimm, its horse-like ones, and he readied Crocea Mors in one hand.
At the last possible second he ducked and rolled aside, staying low as the monster thundered past. Steel flashed out, clipping its back leg above the hoof and cutting through flesh and muscle more by its own momentum than his strength. The Nucklelavee roared its displeasure and almost stumbled. It held itself at the last and lashed out with its hooves. Jaune leaned back, falling and rolling aside as they passed before his face. It turned and tried to stomp on him with both feet but he rolled again, this time underneath it. Its muscled legs kicked and bucked as it tried to turn. As it did, he thrust his sword up and into its stomach, past the armoured plates and into soft flesh.
His victorious grin froze when he felt something grab his leg. One of the rider's hands, elongated like some kind of gorillas, grasped his ankle. It tugged suddenly and he fell, only to be dragged out from under it and held down a second later. The beast reared and made to stomp on his skull. It struck his shield instead, desperately brought out and deployed over him. The force of the blow crushed him against the concrete below, drawing a pained scream and a more panicked one from the survivors.
Another blow struck like a meteor, driving the wind from him. While the shield held he knew he wouldn't if there was a third. He lashed out with his free hand, bracing his shield against his shoulder and swinging for the hand gripping his left foot. It snapped free with a sickening crunch and the rider groaned in a slower, more belligerent, tone. The horse snorted and raised its head, breathing down on him and releasing a cloud of emerald-coloured gas.
Clutching his nose and mouth, abandoning his shield, Jaune rolled away and staggered onto his feet, hacking for breath. He'd heard stories but never seen that attack. Their plan had killed it too quickly the last time. Still, he'd wounded it and taken several blows himself. A quick glance at his scroll revealed he didn't havea scroll, which meant the best he could do with his aura was guess. It was probably still more than half-full, but those blows had covered him in bruises.
The Nucklelavee was uninterested in the pause and charged him down. Its hooves struck with such fury that it pushed him back with sheer aggression alone, and the rider seemed more alert now, swinging its arms to try and reach him. He fended them off as best he could but the day's long march had already tired him and he could feel his muscles begin to ache. This hadn't been the plan. He was supposed to come back and change things by not being reckless. Rushing in like this could easily get him killed, and before he'd changed a damn thing.
That couldn't happen. Crocea Mors deflected the next attack away, the force of it causing the metal – and his hands – to ring violently. With gritted teeth, he pushed through it, charging in towards the beast and lunging for its breast. The Grimm turned at the last second to protect its heart, though that still caused the blade to cut deep into its flank. Rather than withdraw away as expected, he used his sword as a lever and hauled himself up onto the Grimm's back so that he was sat behind the rider. The Nucklelavee froze in shock – but only for a moment.
It soon went mad.
The Nucklelavee thrashed and whirled, kicking out with both front and hide hooves to dislodge him. Jaune threw his arms around the rider's waist, more than aware of how bad an idea that was. The rider tried to turn to remove him but groaned in pain as he – along with Jaune – were slammed into the side of a building. The horse was crashing into things now and Jaune grit his teeth as his aura flared, preventing any terrible harm but doing little for the pain.
In a moment where the wall supported him, even as it grated his skin, he reached up with both hands to take hold of the rider's neck. Holding on for dear life and with the Nucklelavee now dashing across the central courtyard, he wrenched his arms from side to side, trying to snap its neck. He'd never had to on a human or a Grimm before, and it was a whole lot harder than the movies suggested. It fought against him the entire way, not with its arms but rather its brute strength, tossing its body left and right. At one point the rider did it so much that Jaune was dragged off the side of the mount to dangle next to it. He winced and brought his feet up, planting them on its back and using them as a piston to pull away, twisting all the while.
The rider's neck snapped with a jarring crack.
It slumped to the side and hung, but still turned to look at him with burning eyes.
"That's not enough?" he howled. "Die already!" He took its head and twisted again, this time the other way. There was another crack and the rider slumped forward, either dead of paralysed. The mount itself screeched in agony and careened off the main path, down into the aqueduct he'd been in before. The Grimm stumbled on the embankment, toppled over and slid down. Water splashed all around him and the Nucklelavee rolled over, pinning him down and under. In shock and pain, he released his hold on the beast.
It wasn't a conscious move by the enemy, even if it was a good one. The monster looked like it had suffered brain damage, stumbling around like everything wasn't quite working – despite that it was still alive and able to function. It was like it was punch drunk, staggering and stumbling. It managed to get back onto its feet and roar at him, however. And worse, Crocea Mors was still stuck in its side. Jaune tried to move and winced as pain shot up his left thigh. A quick look down revealed a nasty gash running red with blood, staining the water below.
He was stronger than this, he knew, but he was so used to fighting in a group and with a team that he'd never really had to do so solo before. Whether it was his plan, Ruby's or Ren's there would always be someone to watch his back and distract the enemy if he got in too deep. Not here. He was very much on his own and this, for the first time since he'd come back, reinforced that fact. But if he couldn't kill even this thing, then how could he hope to kill all the other things he'd have to face? Tyrian, Watts, Hazel and even Salem herself. They were all out there and they all needed to die if he was going to change anything.
Exhausted and with his muscles cramped, Jaune pushed one foot forward and adopted the stance Ren had taught him, Ozpin helped to perfect, and Qrow turned dirty and brutal. He was no Yang Xiao-Long, but he could hold his own.
He'd have to.
The Nucklelavee wasn't much better and that was evident in the way it laboured for breath and didn't attack him, despite its advantage. The rider was slumped over its neck with an arm on either side of it dragging in the water, and the blade lodged into its side had been driven even deeper by its impromptu fall into the aqueduct. They were both of them the worse for wear, so he'd done a damn sight better than he had against it the first time.
The sounds of gunfire had ceased from above. Were the survivors he'd left in that diner still alive? He had no idea and no way of telling. All he could do was hold this thing off and try to get back to them. With that in mind he sloshed forwards through the water, slowly making his way toward the Grimm. It didn't shy away but neither did it charge at him. Instead, it steadied its hooves and watched him warily.
Their clashing wasn't the stuff of legends, not even close. Jaune lunged in and nearly tripped in the water, which luckily meant that its hooves reared up and struck air. When he went for his sword it shied away, presenting its other flank to him. He rammed into it regardless, hooking his arms around one of its hooves and pushing with his shoulders and body. More noxious gas was blown into his face but he held his breath and struggled on until, with a startled cry, the Nucklelavee fell backwards. It impaled itself on Crocea Mors once more.
Its legs kicked weakly at him and one caught the side of his head, knocking him into the water with a splash. He gasped for air as he came up and quickly looked toward the beast, prepared for an attack that never came. The Grimm spasmed one final time and lay still. Motes of its flesh began to break down and be washed away.
"F-Finally," he croaked. Exhausted, he dragged himself towards its body to free his sword. He didn't have the strength to sheathe it, nor the scabbard he realised on second glance. He'd dropped it back in the courtyard.
The survivors. He had to find them.
Sword in one hand and the other clutching his wounded leg, Jaune dragged himself up the slope towards flat ground, listening desperately for the sounds of any fighting, any Grimm, or even the screams of the dying. All he could hear was a dull buzz in his head like static, that and the rush of water. As he reached the top his hand stretched out and clamped onto something soft and yet firm at the same time. His eyes sought it a moment later, and through the haze of fatigue, poison and aura loss he saw what appeared to be a black boot. His hand was around the ankle, gripping it. It was a person's foot, not a Grimm's.
With that last thought his strength failed him. He collapsed down on the embankment.
/-/
It was the cry of some distant bird that woke him, but his eyes did not open to joyful song or a bright summer's day but rather a white-cream tent and agony searing through his body. He folded up on instinct alone, cupping his head with one hand as he groaned out loud. Was this to be his fate, moving from one battlefield to the next and passing out each and every time? First with the ocean and now Kuroyuri, it felt like waking up in some strange bed had become the norm. Yang might have had something teasing to say about that. Ren would caution him for being so reckless, and with good reason. There wasn't much point coming back if he got himself killed like a moron.
"I fought the Nucklelavee," he recounted, trying to figure out what had happened. A brief surge of pride filled him. "I killed the Nucklelavee." From there he could remember trying to get out of the aqueduct before he'd seen someone and passed out. That had definitely been a person, as if the fact he was alive wasn't enough of a clue. Had the survivors also escaped, then? Had he been picked up by them and brought to safety?
Nothing about his surroundings answered that. He was on a low bed that was somewhat ramshackle and balanced on wooden slats. His quilt was both a linen sheet and also a sheep's fur blanket of some kind thrown over the top. The tent was bare, incredibly so. There was a central pole helping to support it but apart from that there wasn't so much as a wardrobe or a stool. His sword and shield were nowhere to be seen.
It was that realisation that forced him to his feet, even if he almost cried out the second he put some weight on his left leg. The wound from the Nucklelavee was still there, bandaged over but the pain a constant reminder. Gingerly, he tested it again, and found it easier to stand on once he'd gotten used to it. It ached, and he'd be walking with a limp, but he could walk and that was the point. He had to find his sword. It was the last thing he had left of Pyrrha.
The tent flap wasn't secured and flapped open when he pushed through. Early morning sunlight washed down over his thin shirt and equally thin trousers, the remnants of the Del'Ashari tribe, or at least what hadn't been ruined and blood stained beyond repair. His hair hung loose and his chin felt stubbly and unshaven, though he imagined it still looked an annoyingly childlike shade of yellow. He probably looked as haggard as he felt, which was something like a man trapped under a Bullhead.
Even so, he staggered out and onto a worn dirt path that ran between a series of cone-shaped tents and marquees. They came in various colours and were scattered around haphazardly, with little regard for theme, sense or order. It might have reminded him of a carnival were it not for the lack of any song, dance or fun. Someone walking nearby saw him, cursed, and rushed away.
"What have I gotten myself into now?"
A commotion to the left drew his attention, the sound of voices but also wood cracking against wood. He gravitated towards it, recognising it as some kind of sparring as he drew near. There was a gap between two tents and he pushed through, coming out into a rough circle made of logs. Inside, a man was fighting against a young girl not ten or eleven years old. They both used wooden swords, but that concession was all the girl received. The man twisted and disarmed her, then backhanded her across the face.
"Keep hold of your weapon or die!"
"Fuck you!" the girl responded.
"Big talk from someone with a split lip. The day you can back up your threats is the day I take them seriously." The man kicked her sword up towards her, and to the girl's credit she caught it. "Take a break. We'll continue later."
"Why not now?" the girl demanded. "I can still fight!"
"Because, if you used those senses I've been trying to drill into you, you'd realise we have an uninvited guest."
That was the cue for their attention to turn on him, and Jaune bore it without any show of weakness, standing firm even with his injured leg and low reserves. He stepped towards the ring, seeing no sign to trying to hide now. Many of those around and in front of their tents had also noticed him, and some paused with hands on their weapons to watch him. They relaxed when it was clear he was unarmed.
Up close, the man was at least forty or so with grey hair and grizzled skin. He wore a loose chainmail shirt and a leather harness, from which several knives hung. The girl, on the other hand, was tan and short with cropped black hair and icy blue eyes.
Jaune focused on the man and nodded. "I'm looking for my sword, and for what happened to the survivors I found in Kuroyuri. Do you know where I am?"
"Aye, I know," he said. "Not sure you do, though."
"I wouldn't need to ask if I did." Call him short-tempered but he wasn't in the mood for such games – not with Crocea Mors out of hand and the fate of those he'd risked his life for in doubt. "What happened to the survivors?"
"Taken to the nearest village," the man said. "They asked for you, or one lass did, but you were too injured to make the journey."
Relief washed over him. They had survived, and so had Annie by the sound of it. That was… honestly, it was perfect. It was liberating and exciting at the same time because it was proof – definitive proof – that he could change the way things were going. He could make a difference, even if it was just in the lives of a few people.
"Thanks for that," he said, nodding. "But that only answers one of my questions. Where is my sword?"
The girl from before, who had yet to leave the ring, had started shaking the moment he appeared. Now, furious at being ignored so easily, she stomped one foot down and pointed her wooden sword towards him. "Stop ignoring me, you bastard!"
Jaune and the man both paused. "Is there a problem?"
"You heard me! Stop ignoring me. You come out here and interrupt my training, and then you stand there asking stupid questions. Your sword obviously isn't right here so stop wasting my time and fuck off." The language was surprising enough from one so young, but the sheer arrogance – different from Weiss', more primal – surprised him. He heard the trainer mutter something about brats, but the man stepped away, leaving Jaune to handle it.
"I'm sorry if I ignored you," he said, not really sorry at all but knowing that saying so to an angry child wouldn't calm her down any. "I was just trying to find out where my sword is and-"
"Sword, sword, sword, is that all you think about?"
Jaune's eyes narrowed. "It's important to me."
"Yeah? Is it sentimental?" The girl sneered at him. "Boo-hoo, is it your daddy's sword and he gave it to you when he died?"
"My friend's, actually," he said. "And she died for it."
He expected her to back off or gasp. Instead, she laughed. "Just shows you were too weak to stop it."
There was a loud crack. It might have been his patience.
"Excuse me…?"
"You were weak," she repeated, failing to sense the sudden tension in the air. Everyone else did. They shifted away, hands reaching for weapons as they sensed the threat in the air. "I bet your friend died cursing how weak you were, because if you were stronger she would still be alive. I'm right, aren't I?" She laughed. "You're pathetic. Just a pathetic and weak little piece of shit!"
Jaune's breath came out slow and measured. Stay calm, he told himself. Pyrrha would have your head if you used what she taught you on a child, even if it's in her honour. His hand, clenched into a tight white fist, loosened. "Maybe I was," he admitted, because really, it was all true. Except for the part where Pyrrha cursed him, of course. He knew she wouldn't have. "But I'm stronger now and I still need my sword. I'll get out of your way. You can go back to being knocked around if you really want to."
A wooden sword stopped him before he could leave. The girl held her sword before him. "No, wait," she said, smiling cruelly. "You want your sword back and I want a spar. How about you show me just how much `stronger` you really are, huh?"
He sighed. "Do we have to do this? I'm injured, not to mention unarmed."
"Then I guess you're fucked, aren't you?" the girl laughed, swinging for his head. It was a good blow, a fast blow – and aimed well.
It cracked loudly against the palm of his hand.
The girl gasped. "What!?"
The hilt, wood and leather, slammed back into her stomach as he rammed the sword back down into her. She fell with a gasp, releasing it as he twisted it to the side and around, hauling her toward him and over one knee. The girl made an impressive somersault before landing on her back in a cloud of dust. She stared at the sky in shock, and then the tip of the practice blade as it rested against her throat.
"Are we done now?" he asked, aware of the laughter of the crowd. She was too if her red cheeks were any indication.
"Fuck you," she snarled, swatting the sword away. She rolled onto her feet and dashed for her trainer, stealing the man's sword as he sighed and shook his head. He'd hand it to her; she had a high pain tolerance. Most kids her age would have been in tears after having the wind blown out of them like that. Guts didn't really cut it though, and he wasn't in the mood to play nice. Bad enough he'd lost his sword but she'd knowingly insulted Pyrrha.
No one got away with that.
She swung in and slashed down towards his face, crying out as she did. His own blade moved to block it and he saw her muscles tense for the impact. At the last second, he pulled back and feinted, stepping aside. The girl, so certain she'd make contact, over extended and stumbled. She managed to keep her balance, or at least did so until he hooked his toes behind her foot and swept it away.
The crowd laughed again as she hit the dust. She slapped a hand down angrily and rolled to the side, standing and charging once more. One, two, three wild slashes were dodged with relative ease, even if he could have deflected them. On the third he slipped around and rapped her knuckles, earning a yelp from her as she dropped her weapon. She caught it on a foot, kicked it back up, and would have caught it if not for him catching it on the blade of his instead. With a casual flick, he sent it back to the trainer from before, who caught it with a gruff laugh.
"We're done now," he said, holding the blade under her chin. He made it a statement and not a question this time. "You're not bad, especially for your age, but you really need to learn to control that temper of yours." She was like Weiss and Yang combined, except without the self-control of either. "Preferably before someone controls it for you. Permanently."
"Fuck you, you piece of shit. I'll tear off your head and-"
"And that mouth," he said, smacking her none-too-gently on the head. She fell onto her knees with a gasp. "Talking like that doesn't make you strong. It makes you sound like an idiot."
"Exactly," a voice from behind called. The girl before him gasped and went white and the crowd watching became silent. "Actions speak louder than words, as I've told you time and time before. If you want to run your mouth, you'd best be prepared to back it up, because I won't be there to help you when you fight someone you can't defeat. And your language does not make you strong. It impresses no one, least of all me."
The girl looked to be on the verge of tears. "I-I'm sorry…I..."
"Apologies are for the weak, Vernal. Grow strong or get out of my sight."
Callous, imperious and with a causal disregard for the shamefaced child before him. He'd have recognised the tone anywhere, and the voice, but he still turned just to make sure. She was younger for sure, fresher-faced and without some of the lines he'd seen in the future. She stood a little taller, a little more arrogant - and dare he say it, she looked more like Yang than she ever had before - but her black hair, crimson eyes and the smirk she wore marked her as a very different woman.
Raven Branwen.
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