Chapter 17
New
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He
Saltfort enjoyed a rare, tranquil night. The new, towering ice walls stood resolute, their magical nature ensuring not a single inch melted despite the sun's attempts. The villagers marveled at their durability, and it made our task of watching for Grimm much easier—they could only approach from one direction now.
With this newfound security, we decided to relocate our quarters closer to the gate. Several villagers pitched in to help move our belongings. The good news? It was convenient for responding to any threats. The bad news? Privacy became a rare luxury.
Pyrrha and I found our quiet moments interrupted more often than not. Ren's relentless pursuit of the "perfect" vitamin milkshake filled the air with questionable aromas. He refused to listen to suggestions about adding fruit for flavor. Nora, meanwhile, streamed her cartoons at a volume that could rival an airship engine, her laughter and the "unique" sound that I hoped came from a shonen or I would need to have a stern talking to Blake about corrupting my teammate echoed through the walls. And then there was Qrow—discovering I could "cure" drunkenness had unleashed his full potential. His antics escalated nightly, ranging from impromptu singing to questionable bets with the villagers.
The Grimm had pulled back, their movements eerily patient. It seemed they were waiting for the rest of the horde to arrive, biding their time to strike with full force. The Alpha was no doubt orchestrating this strategy—cunning, calculating, and likely a nightmare to face when the time came. Still, the reprieve gave us a chance to breathe and fortify.
Saltfort had started to feel like a temporary home. The villagers, initially wary, now welcomed us warmly. My healing and food summoning had transformed the siege from a desperate struggle into something almost comfortable. Hunger and injuries, once constant worries, were now manageable, and morale was higher than anyone had expected under the circumstances.
We even managed to maintain a connection to the CCTS, a small miracle in itself, who knew Qrow knew his tech? It allowed us to stay informed and send out updates, keeping the outside world aware of the situation here. For now, it was a waiting game, but the calm before the storm gave us time to prepare—and perhaps, just a little, to hope.
But still, it was mostly a waiting game. The bright side was that with the extra time on our hands, we managed to convince Qrow to give us some training. His experience, combined with Pyrrha's expertise, worked wonders for our team. We were sharper, faster, and more cohesive as a unit than ever before. Every session left us more confident that we could hold our ground when the horde finally came.
Of course, it wasn't all drills and preparation. I decided to lighten the mood with a "snow day," courtesy of my ice magic. The villagers, especially the children, loved it. Laughter echoed through Saltfort as snowball fights broke out, snowmen were built, and for a brief moment, everyone forgot about the looming danger.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—was more romantic than sipping hot chocolate with Pyrrha, huddling close for warmth under a thick blanket. Even if, ironically, I was the one who made the cold in the first place.
Still, we had been here for four days in Saltfort, which, according to Qrow, was unusual for Huntsmen missions like this. Most horde cullings would be wrapped up in a day or two, even accounting for travel time. But hey, we weren't complaining. At least we weren't camping out in the woods, fighting for scraps of sleep and warmth while Grimm howled in the distance.
The Grimm weren't expected to arrive for another day, giving us plenty of time to prepare. We moved the makeshift mines closer to the gate, dug a moat—or rather, magicked up a moat—filled with soft snow to trap the Grimm, and for good measure, lined the bottom with ice punji sticks to skewer anything unlucky enough to fall in. By the time we finished, night had fallen, and the village was quiet. There wasn't much need to watch the gate anymore; we'd know the Grimm had arrived when the booms started.
In the meantime, Nora decided it was the perfect opportunity to showcase her anime collection. It started off wholesome enough: your typical shonen adventures and feel-good slice-of-life stories. We were having a genuinely good time, laughing and enjoying the escapism.
Then came the degeneracy.
Harem anime, a boatload of fan service, and other madness took over the screen. We were halfway through Remnant's version of Oreimo when I had to call it quits. Pyrrha had already thrown in the towel, burying her face in my shoulder in a futile attempt to escape the cringe. Ren sat there stoic as ever, staring at the screen with an expression that betrayed no emotion. If this wasn't meditation, then Ren had truly ascended to a state of nirvana.
"So, Nora… who suggested this to you?" I asked, shutting off half my brain to avoid processing the trainwreck unfolding before us.
"Oh, you know, Velvet. The upperclassman in our year," she replied, eyes glued to the screen.
"The bunny Faunus? Didn't know she liked… these things," I said, my tone dripping with mild disgust.
"Mmhmm. She has great taste. Ruby and Blake also watch, but their shows are trash," Nora said, as if this was common knowledge.
I sighed and leaned back, resigning myself to the madness on the screen.
The night was still young when the explosions started. The muffled booms echoed through the village, shaking us out of our preparations for sleep. Scrambling, we rushed to put on our gear, the urgency of the situation pounding in our ears. The cacophony of detonations and distant howls of Grimm filled the air as we bolted toward the gates.
By the time we arrived, Qrow was already in the thick of it, his scythe a blur of deadly precision. He moved like a storm, each swing cleaving through Beowolves with practiced ease. The ground was littered with dark, disintegrating remains as more Grimm poured through the funnel created by the ice walls.
"About time you showed up!" Qrow shouted over the chaos, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and relief.
"Wouldn't want you to have all the fun," I quipped, drawing Crocea Mors. Pyrrha was already beside me, her spear glinting with golden light from the lingering effects of my Crusader's Mantle. Nora and Ren took their positions, forming up in a tight formation as we prepared to face the onslaught.
The Grimm surged forward, Beowolves in the lead. They came in waves, their numbers seemingly endless. The mines and traps had thinned their ranks, but the survivors were relentless, their glowing red eyes fixed on us with predatory hunger.
"Ren, keep the backline clear!" I shouted as I stepped into the fray.
Ren nodded, taking up position to pick off any stragglers that might flank us. Nora swung Magnhild with gleeful abandon, smashing through clusters of Grimm with thunderous blows, while Pyrrha danced through the battlefield with precision and grace, her shield and spear a deadly combination.
The fight was brutal but controlled. My ice magic came into play, freezing groups of Grimm in their tracks, allowing my team to shatter them with ease. When the Beowolves bunched up too tightly, I called upon gravity magic, raining down meteors to obliterate them in bursts of force and fire.
"Watch it, Jaune!" Qrow barked as a meteor struck dangerously close to him, scattering debris and Grimm alike.
"Sorry!" I yelled back, though a grin tugged at my lips.
The tide shifted as Ursas lumbered into view, their bulk dwarfing the Beowolves. They charged with reckless abandon, their claws tearing through the icy terrain. Pyrrha met one head-on, her shield absorbing the brunt of its attack before she drove her spear into its chest with a cry of effort. The beast roared before disintegrating into ash.
Nora, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of destruction, her hammer crushing Ursas with thunderous strikes. "Keep 'em coming!" she laughed, reveling in the chaos.
Qrow moved like a ghost, his scythe carving through the Grimm with deadly precision. "Don't get cocky, Sparkles," he muttered, dispatching an Ursa that had gotten too close to Nora.
The battle raged on, the relentless waves of Grimm testing our endurance. Yet, despite their numbers, we held firm. The traps, the funnel, and our teamwork turned the tide in our favor. By the time the first Deathstalker emerged, its massive pincers snapping menacingly, we were ready.
"Big one incoming!" I shouted, pointing toward the hulking scorpion Grimm as it barreled through the remnants of its smaller brethren.
As my vision darkened, I cursed under my breath. Not now, dammit. The battle still raged around me, but I was pulled once again into the void where the Tree Light shone brilliantly. This time, however, something was different. The moon was no longer alone. Rising from the false horizon was another celestial body—a green moon, glowing with a sickly, pale light. My heart sank as recognition dawned.
Morrslieb.
The name echoed in my mind, drawn from both my memories of Earth and the visions granted by the Lore of Ice. The accursed moon of chaos, its presence a harbinger of madness and corruption. Its glow was muted somewhat by the serene light of Ranni's blue moon, but the pale green radiance reached me nonetheless, and I could feel its effects creeping in.
My blood boiled, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My Numenorian heritage shielded me from the worst of its influence, but not entirely. The laughter came next—twisted, mocking, and discordant. It filled my ears, worming its way into my mind, threatening to drown out all rational thought.
Then, amidst the chaos, I smelled it: lightning. The sharp, metallic tang cut through the madness like a blade, and the laughter was silenced by the sound of thunderous hammer strikes. The void quaked as the Tree's light reached a crescendo, banishing some of the oppressive darkness.
For a fleeting moment, I saw them.
Sigmar Heldenhammer—or perhaps Karl Franz, the last emperor of the Empire—wrapped in storms and lightning, his warhammer raised high as he battled Diederick, the three-eyed king, who stood as an avatar of Chaos itself. Their clash was monumental, each strike shaking the very fabric of the void.
And then my gaze was drawn upward, beyond their titanic struggle, to the gods themselves. Twisted and grotesque, their forms defied comprehension. Hands made of sickly pale stars reached for me, their laughter shaking the void as they sought to claim me. Their sheer malice burned itself into my mind, a searing mark I would never forget.
But then, salvation came. A sword of fire, impossibly bright, severed the gods' reaching hands. The void trembled as the wielder of the blade stepped forward—a giant clad in golden armor, a halo of stars encircling his head. His chiseled jaw and flowing black hair gave him an air of majesty, but it was his eyes that held me. They burned with blinding white light, radiating purity and power.
He looked at me, and in that moment, I felt seen—not as prey, but as an equal. He offered me a nod, a silent acknowledgment of my struggle.
Then, with a suddenness that left me reeling, I was back. The battlefield roared around me, but something had changed. Fire burned in my veins—not just any fire, but a searing, righteous flame. The Wind of Aqshy, the Lore of Fire, flowed from the broken moon of Remnant, descending to the earth and into me.
I rose, gripping my sword tightly as the fire within surged, ready to turn the tide of battle.
The fire in my gut surged, urging me forward. "Nora, team attack—Starfall!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the chaos of battle.
"You sure, Jaune? We've never managed to do it right!" Nora shouted back, her hammer smashing through a Beowolf with a resounding crack.
"Do it!" I barked, already running toward her.
With a tug of my gravity magic, I lightened my weight, allowing me to leap onto her with ease. I positioned Crocea Mors' shield under my feet, steadying myself atop her hammer.
"Alright, batter up!" she said, planting her feet firmly. With a grin that promised devastation, she wound up for the strike.
A little hit sent me in the air, the magic coursing in me making me float back down like a feather, then for a second time Nora's hammer connected with the shield, unleashing all her strength in one mighty swing. I shot upward like a missile, propelled by her raw power. My wings unfurled, catching the air and adding to my ascent. Gravity magic lightened me further, while the storms of ice coiled around me, carrying me higher and higher. The battlefield shrank beneath me until the village was no more than a dot on the landscape.
Far above, the air thinned, and the world seemed to hold its breath. I hung in the sky for a moment, the fire and ice swirling around me in an ethereal dance. Then, I twisted my body, angling Crocea Mors downward, and let gravity take over.
The descent began.
The flames in my gut surged, and my wings ignited as if in response, my gravity sorcery making me a lot heavier. The Lore of Fire roared to life, engulfing me in a fiery aura. Unintentionally, I had cast Wings of Fire upon myself, turning me into a blazing two-tailed comet. The wind of Aqshy fed the flames, igniting the very air around me. The Lore of Ice followed suit, wreathing me in a tempest of frost and flame—a paradoxical storm that burned and froze in equal measure.
The ground rushed toward me, the horde of Grimm directly below. Among them, a massive Goliath loomed, its tusks raised in defiance. A Deathstalker scuttled nearby, its stinger poised to strike. Neither would survive.
I crashed directly into the Goliath's skull, the sheer force of my impact driving Crocea Mors straight through its massive frame. The creature's bellow of pain was cut short as my momentum carried me downward, skewering the Deathstalker below. Its stinger flailed wildly before falling limp, the two massive Grimm pinned together in a grotesque tableau of destruction.
But I wasn't done.
Before I left the other side of the Deathstalker, I unleashed the power surging within me, casting Flame Storm, and the world erupted.
A colossal explosion of fire surged outward, and from it, massive rolling columns of flame spiraled across the battlefield. Each fiery cyclone tore through the Grimm, incinerating entire packs of Beowolves and Boarbatusks. The Ursas roared in futile defiance as the flames consumed them, their massive forms reduced to ash in moments.
The ground trembled under the force of the spell, the heat so intense that even the snow moat we had created evaporated in an instant. The battlefield became a hellscape of fire and destruction, the Grimm scattering in terror as the inferno rolled over them.
When the flames finally began to die down, I stood in the center of the devastation, surrounded by the smoldering remains of the Grimm. My armor was scorched, and Crocea Mors glowed faintly from the heat. Around me, the surviving Grimm hesitated, their primal instincts warring between fear of fire and rage.
"Now," I muttered, gripping my sword tighter. "Let's finish this."
The energy from the slain Grimm surged into me, filling my reserves to the brim with a fiery vigor. I could feel the power coursing through my veins, demanding release. With a swift motion, I summoned the magic within me, casting Sanguine Swords and Shardstorm in tandem.
Six flaming swords materialized around me, their blades glowing with an intense heat. They hovered in the air like sentinels, each poised to strike at the approaching Grimm. With a flick of my hand, the swords sprang into action, slashing and stabbing with unerring precision. Each blade found its mark, carving through Beowolves, Ursas, and even a charging Boarbatusk, reducing them to smoldering remains.
At the same time, ten jagged spikes of ice condensed in the air around me, their surfaces shimmering with frost. With a commanding gesture, I launched them toward the largest target I could see—a towering Goliath at the edge of the battlefield. The spikes flew with deadly accuracy, their sharp tips piercing through the beast's thick hide.
The Goliath roared in agony as the ice shards tore into its skull, pelting it with precision. Some spikes buried themselves so deeply that they emerged from the other side, leaving trails of frost and black blood in their wake. The massive creature staggered, its legs trembling under its own weight before it collapsed with a thunderous crash, shaking the ground beneath it.
The flaming swords continued their relentless assault, darting between the Grimm with lethal efficiency. Each swing left trails of fire in the air, and the burning corpses of the Grimm littered the battlefield. The icy spikes, meanwhile, shattered upon impact, creating bursts of freezing wind that slowed and weakened the surrounding Grimm.
I could feel the momentum shifting. The horde was thinning, their numbers unable to withstand the onslaught of magic and might. With each Grimm that fell, my reserves refilled, fueling even more destruction. This wasn't just a fight—it was a slaughter.
I was carving a hole through their midst, each swing of Crocea Mors cutting down Grimm like a scythe through wheat. The flaming swords I had summoned danced around me, striking with precision and ferocity. As the Grimm surged toward me in endless waves, I called upon the lore of ice and snow, invoking a power older than the land itself.
"Shoika answer my call!" I roared, my voice resonating with the fury of the storm.
The ground trembled, and from it erupted massive, twenty-foot tendrils of jagged ice, twisting and writhing like the limbs of a vengeful spirit. The tendrils coiled around the Grimm, ensnaring them in their icy grip. Beowolves howled as the tendrils crushed them with merciless force, their bodies breaking apart under the relentless pressure. Ursas and Boarbatusks were ensnared, their struggles futile against the ancient magic that held them fast.
The battlefield became a frozen nightmare, the icy tendrils creating a labyrinth of death that slowed the Grimm's relentless advance. Each movement of the tendrils was a reminder of the ancient pact between Shoika, the Widow of the Wastes, and the Khan Queen, a promise of vengeance that I now called upon to protect Saltfort.
My team was the pincer, closing in from both sides to connect with the pocket I was carving out. Pyrrha's spear and shield moved in perfect harmony, her every motion a deadly ballet. Beowolves fell in droves under her relentless assault, their blackened forms crumbling to ash.
Nora was a whirlwind of destruction, her hammer crashing down with thunderous force. Each swing sent Grimm flying, their forms broken and shattered. Her laughter echoed across the battlefield, a stark contrast to the chaos around us.
Ren was the calm in the storm, his twin pistols spitting precise bursts of fire. He moved with a fluidity that seemed almost supernatural, his strikes landing exactly where they were needed to thin the ranks and keep the pressure off Nora and Pyrrha.
Waves of Grimm threw themselves at us, their snarls and howls filling the air. Beowolves, Ursas, and Boarbatusks charged with reckless abandon, their numbers seemingly endless. But they served little more than cannon fodder. For every Grimm that reached us, a dozen more fell before they could even close the gap.
The battlefield was a storm of fire, ice, and steel. The ground beneath us was scorched and frozen in equal measure, a testament to the ferocity of our fight. As my team pushed closer to my position, the tendrils of ice continued their relentless assault, wrapping around anything that moved and crushing it into oblivion.
The Grimm were relentless, but so were we. Step by step, strike by strike, the pincer closed.
The Grimm kept coming, their persistence unyielding despite their dwindling numbers. Where once twenty or more had surged from the forest at a time, now only five emerged, their snarls desperate as they hurled themselves at us. Their ranks crashed against our defenses like waves against a rocky shore, only to be broken time and time again.
I summoned boulders with a pull of my gravity magic, launching them with devastating force into the advancing Grimm. The heavy stones struck with bone-crushing impacts, scattering the creatures and leaving them stunned.
Pyrrha was quick to follow up, her spear Milo whistling through the air with pinpoint accuracy. Each throw was a masterstroke, skewering the stunned Grimm before they could recover. With a subtle flick of her wrist and a faint shimmer of grey light, she used her semblance to call the spear back to her hand. Milo flew through the air like a guided missile, striking down another Grimm as it returned to her grasp.
"Nice shot!" I called, catching her eye for a brief moment before turning back to the fray.
"Keep them coming!" she replied, her voice steady as she prepared her next attack.
Nora and Ren flanked us, their combined efforts ensuring that no stragglers could outmaneuver our line. Nora's hammer was a deadly wreaking ball, and Ren's precise shots picked off any Grimm that dared to approach from unexpected angles.
With our combined might, we began to push the Grimm back. Step by step, we forced them away from the gate, driving them toward the forest from which they had emerged. The air was thick with the acrid stench of Grimm ichor, mingling with the faint chill of the icy defenses that still loomed around the village.
The forest loomed ahead, its dark expanse a stark contrast to the open battlefield. The Grimm hesitated now, their once-relentless advance faltering as we pushed them deeper into the woods. Their snarls grew quieter, almost as if they sensed the inevitable.
"Keep up the pressure!" I shouted, raising my shield to block a leaping Beowolf before cutting it down with a decisive strike.
The team rallied, our momentum unstoppable. Pyrrha continued to hurl Milo with deadly precision, her semblance ensuring it always returned to her hand, ready for the next strike. The Grimm, for all their numbers and ferocity, were no match for the strength and unity of our team.
With every step forward, the forest drew closer, and the tide of battle shifted further in our favor. We were not just holding the line; we were taking the fight to them.
As the Grimm retreated into the forest, I could feel the fire magic swirling within me, eager to be unleashed. I raised my hand, summoning a searing orb of flame that pulsed with raw power.
"Let's see how they like a little heat," I said, hurling the fireball into the treeline. It streaked through the air like a comet, slamming into the underbrush and exploding in a burst of flame. The forest floor caught quickly, the magic fire spreading hungrily from tree to tree.
Nora, ever eager to add her own flair, grinned as she pulled out a handful of grenades. "You're not the only one who can light up the night, fearless leader!" she called, lobbing them into the growing inferno.
The grenades detonated with a series of deafening booms, sending plumes of fire and debris into the air. The explosions only served to accelerate the blaze, the forest now a roaring wall of flames.
"That's one way to make sure they don't regroup," Pyrrha said, her voice steady but tinged with approval as she watched the fire spread.
"Just make sure it doesn't get out of control," Ren warned, his tone measured as he scanned the area for any stray Grimm.
"It's fine," I reassured him, summoning another fireball and sending it arcing into the forest. "We've got this under control. The fire will keep them from regrouping and force them to come out into the open. They can't hide in there anymore."
Nora chuckled as she launched another grenade. "And if they try, they'll be extra crispy by the time they get to us!"
The flames grew higher, crackling and roaring as they consumed the forest. The Grimm that had retreated into the trees now found themselves trapped, their snarls turning to panicked howls as the fire closed in around them.
Through the smoke and flames, I could see shapes moving, some attempting to flee the blaze. A Beowolf burst from the underbrush, its fur singed and its movements erratic. Pyrrha was ready, Milo already in her hand. She hurled it with deadly precision, the spear piercing the creature's chest and pinning it to a smoldering tree.
"Bullseye!" I called, sending another fireball into the forest for good measure.
The forest was a sea of fire now, the flames creating a barrier that the Grimm could not cross without exposing themselves. We held our ground, ready for anything that might emerge.
"Jaune, you really know how to make an impression," Nora said, her grin wide as she prepared another grenade.
"Just doing my part," I replied, summoning another fireball. "Now let's finish this."
I took to the skies once more, wings spread wide as I soared over the battlefield. From above, I could see the Grimm still trying to regroup, their movements frantic and disorganized. They were desperate, but desperation wouldn't save them.
I unleashed streams of fire and frost, the elements weaving together as they rained down on the Grimm below. Fire roared through their ranks, igniting anything in its path, while frost followed, freezing stragglers in place. Each pass thinned their numbers further, their cohesion crumbling under the relentless assault.
The final death knell for the horde came in the form of the last Deathstalker. It skittered into view, its massive claws snapping wildly as it tried to rally the remaining Grimm. Its black carapace glinted in the firelight, an imposing figure even amidst the chaos.
But it was no match.
I summoned the power of my gravity magic, pulling meteors from the sky itself. The first struck with a thunderous crash, shattering part of the Deathstalker's armored shell. I followed it with another, and another, each impact sending cracks spidering across its carapace.
The beast screeched in pain, thrashing as it tried to retreat. I wasn't about to let it.
With a gesture, I called upon the frost. Shards of ice materialized in the air, their jagged edges gleaming in the firelight. I launched them with precision, each shard finding its mark in the Deathstalker's exposed weak points. The creature let out one final, ear-splitting shriek before collapsing, its massive form crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
From above, I could see the effect this had on the rest of the horde. They scattered like lambs to the slaughter, easy pickings for my team.
The battle was over. The horde was broken. And for the first time in days, the village of Saltfort was safe.
We let the fire burn for a few hours more, ensuring that no Grimm would crawl out of the inferno. Once I was certain the flames had done their work, I took to the skies again, summoning the magic of ice. A swirling blizzard formed at my command, snowflakes cascading from the heavens to smother the remaining flames.
I cast Lore of Ice to target the larger, stubborn blazes, their fiery glow vanishing under the icy winds. The snow blanketed the forest, extinguishing the smaller embers that had scattered. I flew over the charred remains, scanning for any sign of movement. There was none. The Grimm were either reduced to ash or had fled deep into the dark woods, far from Saltfort.
Back at the village, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Saltfort was alive with celebration. The little inn at the heart of the village was packed to bursting, laughter and music spilling out into the streets.
Kegs of beer and cans of soda were lined up in the corner, chilled instantly by a wave of my hand. The villagers cheered as I turned drinks icy cold with a flick of my wrist. In the kitchen, my summoned pastries were joined by roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and hearty soups. Together, it made for a feast worthy of the occasion.
Qrow, unsurprisingly, had called it quits early. He was slumped in the corner, his scythe propped against the wall and a faint snore escaping him. Too many drinks had done him in, but he'd earned the rest.
The villagers were ecstatic, toasting each other and sharing stories of the battle. Children ran around, pretending to be Huntsmen and mimicking our attacks with exaggerated sound effects. It was heartwarming to see the joy and relief after days of tension and fear.
As I leaned back against the wall, sipping a cold soda and watching the festivities, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride and my oath agreed with me, humming softly in the back of my soul.
The village square was aglow with the warm light of lanterns and the crackling of a large bonfire, its flames dancing in celebration rather than destruction. The fire seemed a defiant echo of the inferno we had unleashed on the Grimm, but here it was a symbol of life, not death.
Pyrrha sat beside me, her head resting on my shoulder, a serene smile on her face as she watched the villagers revel in their hard-won peace. Ren and Nora were nearby, sharing a plate piled high with food, Nora animatedly recounting her version of the battle to an enthralled group of children.
"And then, BAM!" she exclaimed, miming the swing of her hammer. "Jaune went flying, and WHAM! He came down like a fiery comet, smashing the biggest Grimm to pieces!"
The kids gasped in awe, their eyes wide as they hung on her every word. Ren, as usual, was quietly supportive, nodding occasionally as he sipped from a steaming mug of tea.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "She makes it sound like I had a plan," I muttered to Pyrrha.
"You did, in your own way," she replied, her voice soft like a cloud. "It worked, didn't it?"
I couldn't argue with that.
A cheer erupted from the other side of the square as one of the villagers raised a toast. "To Team JNPR and Huntsman Qrow! Our saviors!"
The crowd echoed the sentiment, raising their mugs and cups in unison. I raised my soda in return, feeling a bit embarrassed by the attention but grateful for the gratitude.
As the night wore on, the festivities grew quieter, the villagers gradually retreating to their homes, their spirits lifted. The inn became less crowded, the chatter turning into hushed conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.
Pyrrha and I remained outside, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the celebration. The stars above were brighter than I'd ever seen them, the night sky clear and vast.
"You know," I began, my voice breaking the comfortable silence, "we've been through a lot together, but this... this feels different. Like we're actually making a difference."
Pyrrha turned her gaze to me, her emerald eyes reflecting the starlight. "We always make a difference, Jaune. Sometimes it's just harder to see."
I nodded, her words settling over me like a blanket. She always knew what to say.
As the last of the villagers retired for the night, I stood, offering her my hand. "Come on," I said with a grin. "Let's get some rest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
She took my hand, her smile as bright as the stars above. Together, we walked back to our quarters, the echoes of laughter and the faint glow of the fire fading behind us. Saltfort was safe, and for now, that was enough.
Sleep came easy and the dreams were nice, It was about me and Pyrrha having a lovely time at a beach, but on the edge of my sleeping mind I swear I could hear something, the barking of gunfire, the roar of jet engines... and cruel laughter.
CP Bank:200cp
Perks earned this chapter :
Free :Imperial Lores of Magic - Aqshy (Warhammer Fantasy: Imperial Colleges of Magic) [Modus]
No human wizard, without divine aid, can safely wield more than one Wind of Magic with any great mastery. Those who try to wield multiple well are far too easily lured by Dark Magic, assuming they do not destroy themselves before they can be tempted. It was this discovery in part that made Teclis realize just how much mankind required his guidance.
Therefore, while founding the Orders, Teclis taught his human apprentices to focus on the one Wind of the eight which suited them best. The result is the system of Lores which persists to this day under the prescriptions of the Articles of Imperial Magic. You are sensitive to and capable of manipulating the Wind of Magic appropriate to your Order - Ghur for Amber Magisters, Hysh for Light Magisters, and so on - and know many of the spells devised by said Order.
Milestone reached this chapter :
First mission: 200cp
With this newfound security, we decided to relocate our quarters closer to the gate. Several villagers pitched in to help move our belongings. The good news? It was convenient for responding to any threats. The bad news? Privacy became a rare luxury.
Pyrrha and I found our quiet moments interrupted more often than not. Ren's relentless pursuit of the "perfect" vitamin milkshake filled the air with questionable aromas. He refused to listen to suggestions about adding fruit for flavor. Nora, meanwhile, streamed her cartoons at a volume that could rival an airship engine, her laughter and the "unique" sound that I hoped came from a shonen or I would need to have a stern talking to Blake about corrupting my teammate echoed through the walls. And then there was Qrow—discovering I could "cure" drunkenness had unleashed his full potential. His antics escalated nightly, ranging from impromptu singing to questionable bets with the villagers.
The Grimm had pulled back, their movements eerily patient. It seemed they were waiting for the rest of the horde to arrive, biding their time to strike with full force. The Alpha was no doubt orchestrating this strategy—cunning, calculating, and likely a nightmare to face when the time came. Still, the reprieve gave us a chance to breathe and fortify.
Saltfort had started to feel like a temporary home. The villagers, initially wary, now welcomed us warmly. My healing and food summoning had transformed the siege from a desperate struggle into something almost comfortable. Hunger and injuries, once constant worries, were now manageable, and morale was higher than anyone had expected under the circumstances.
We even managed to maintain a connection to the CCTS, a small miracle in itself, who knew Qrow knew his tech? It allowed us to stay informed and send out updates, keeping the outside world aware of the situation here. For now, it was a waiting game, but the calm before the storm gave us time to prepare—and perhaps, just a little, to hope.
But still, it was mostly a waiting game. The bright side was that with the extra time on our hands, we managed to convince Qrow to give us some training. His experience, combined with Pyrrha's expertise, worked wonders for our team. We were sharper, faster, and more cohesive as a unit than ever before. Every session left us more confident that we could hold our ground when the horde finally came.
Of course, it wasn't all drills and preparation. I decided to lighten the mood with a "snow day," courtesy of my ice magic. The villagers, especially the children, loved it. Laughter echoed through Saltfort as snowball fights broke out, snowmen were built, and for a brief moment, everyone forgot about the looming danger.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—was more romantic than sipping hot chocolate with Pyrrha, huddling close for warmth under a thick blanket. Even if, ironically, I was the one who made the cold in the first place.
Still, we had been here for four days in Saltfort, which, according to Qrow, was unusual for Huntsmen missions like this. Most horde cullings would be wrapped up in a day or two, even accounting for travel time. But hey, we weren't complaining. At least we weren't camping out in the woods, fighting for scraps of sleep and warmth while Grimm howled in the distance.
The Grimm weren't expected to arrive for another day, giving us plenty of time to prepare. We moved the makeshift mines closer to the gate, dug a moat—or rather, magicked up a moat—filled with soft snow to trap the Grimm, and for good measure, lined the bottom with ice punji sticks to skewer anything unlucky enough to fall in. By the time we finished, night had fallen, and the village was quiet. There wasn't much need to watch the gate anymore; we'd know the Grimm had arrived when the booms started.
In the meantime, Nora decided it was the perfect opportunity to showcase her anime collection. It started off wholesome enough: your typical shonen adventures and feel-good slice-of-life stories. We were having a genuinely good time, laughing and enjoying the escapism.
Then came the degeneracy.
Harem anime, a boatload of fan service, and other madness took over the screen. We were halfway through Remnant's version of Oreimo when I had to call it quits. Pyrrha had already thrown in the towel, burying her face in my shoulder in a futile attempt to escape the cringe. Ren sat there stoic as ever, staring at the screen with an expression that betrayed no emotion. If this wasn't meditation, then Ren had truly ascended to a state of nirvana.
"So, Nora… who suggested this to you?" I asked, shutting off half my brain to avoid processing the trainwreck unfolding before us.
"Oh, you know, Velvet. The upperclassman in our year," she replied, eyes glued to the screen.
"The bunny Faunus? Didn't know she liked… these things," I said, my tone dripping with mild disgust.
"Mmhmm. She has great taste. Ruby and Blake also watch, but their shows are trash," Nora said, as if this was common knowledge.
I sighed and leaned back, resigning myself to the madness on the screen.
The night was still young when the explosions started. The muffled booms echoed through the village, shaking us out of our preparations for sleep. Scrambling, we rushed to put on our gear, the urgency of the situation pounding in our ears. The cacophony of detonations and distant howls of Grimm filled the air as we bolted toward the gates.
By the time we arrived, Qrow was already in the thick of it, his scythe a blur of deadly precision. He moved like a storm, each swing cleaving through Beowolves with practiced ease. The ground was littered with dark, disintegrating remains as more Grimm poured through the funnel created by the ice walls.
"About time you showed up!" Qrow shouted over the chaos, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and relief.
"Wouldn't want you to have all the fun," I quipped, drawing Crocea Mors. Pyrrha was already beside me, her spear glinting with golden light from the lingering effects of my Crusader's Mantle. Nora and Ren took their positions, forming up in a tight formation as we prepared to face the onslaught.
The Grimm surged forward, Beowolves in the lead. They came in waves, their numbers seemingly endless. The mines and traps had thinned their ranks, but the survivors were relentless, their glowing red eyes fixed on us with predatory hunger.
"Ren, keep the backline clear!" I shouted as I stepped into the fray.
Ren nodded, taking up position to pick off any stragglers that might flank us. Nora swung Magnhild with gleeful abandon, smashing through clusters of Grimm with thunderous blows, while Pyrrha danced through the battlefield with precision and grace, her shield and spear a deadly combination.
The fight was brutal but controlled. My ice magic came into play, freezing groups of Grimm in their tracks, allowing my team to shatter them with ease. When the Beowolves bunched up too tightly, I called upon gravity magic, raining down meteors to obliterate them in bursts of force and fire.
"Watch it, Jaune!" Qrow barked as a meteor struck dangerously close to him, scattering debris and Grimm alike.
"Sorry!" I yelled back, though a grin tugged at my lips.
The tide shifted as Ursas lumbered into view, their bulk dwarfing the Beowolves. They charged with reckless abandon, their claws tearing through the icy terrain. Pyrrha met one head-on, her shield absorbing the brunt of its attack before she drove her spear into its chest with a cry of effort. The beast roared before disintegrating into ash.
Nora, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of destruction, her hammer crushing Ursas with thunderous strikes. "Keep 'em coming!" she laughed, reveling in the chaos.
Qrow moved like a ghost, his scythe carving through the Grimm with deadly precision. "Don't get cocky, Sparkles," he muttered, dispatching an Ursa that had gotten too close to Nora.
The battle raged on, the relentless waves of Grimm testing our endurance. Yet, despite their numbers, we held firm. The traps, the funnel, and our teamwork turned the tide in our favor. By the time the first Deathstalker emerged, its massive pincers snapping menacingly, we were ready.
"Big one incoming!" I shouted, pointing toward the hulking scorpion Grimm as it barreled through the remnants of its smaller brethren.
As my vision darkened, I cursed under my breath. Not now, dammit. The battle still raged around me, but I was pulled once again into the void where the Tree Light shone brilliantly. This time, however, something was different. The moon was no longer alone. Rising from the false horizon was another celestial body—a green moon, glowing with a sickly, pale light. My heart sank as recognition dawned.
Morrslieb.
The name echoed in my mind, drawn from both my memories of Earth and the visions granted by the Lore of Ice. The accursed moon of chaos, its presence a harbinger of madness and corruption. Its glow was muted somewhat by the serene light of Ranni's blue moon, but the pale green radiance reached me nonetheless, and I could feel its effects creeping in.
My blood boiled, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My Numenorian heritage shielded me from the worst of its influence, but not entirely. The laughter came next—twisted, mocking, and discordant. It filled my ears, worming its way into my mind, threatening to drown out all rational thought.
Then, amidst the chaos, I smelled it: lightning. The sharp, metallic tang cut through the madness like a blade, and the laughter was silenced by the sound of thunderous hammer strikes. The void quaked as the Tree's light reached a crescendo, banishing some of the oppressive darkness.
For a fleeting moment, I saw them.
Sigmar Heldenhammer—or perhaps Karl Franz, the last emperor of the Empire—wrapped in storms and lightning, his warhammer raised high as he battled Diederick, the three-eyed king, who stood as an avatar of Chaos itself. Their clash was monumental, each strike shaking the very fabric of the void.
And then my gaze was drawn upward, beyond their titanic struggle, to the gods themselves. Twisted and grotesque, their forms defied comprehension. Hands made of sickly pale stars reached for me, their laughter shaking the void as they sought to claim me. Their sheer malice burned itself into my mind, a searing mark I would never forget.
But then, salvation came. A sword of fire, impossibly bright, severed the gods' reaching hands. The void trembled as the wielder of the blade stepped forward—a giant clad in golden armor, a halo of stars encircling his head. His chiseled jaw and flowing black hair gave him an air of majesty, but it was his eyes that held me. They burned with blinding white light, radiating purity and power.
He looked at me, and in that moment, I felt seen—not as prey, but as an equal. He offered me a nod, a silent acknowledgment of my struggle.
Then, with a suddenness that left me reeling, I was back. The battlefield roared around me, but something had changed. Fire burned in my veins—not just any fire, but a searing, righteous flame. The Wind of Aqshy, the Lore of Fire, flowed from the broken moon of Remnant, descending to the earth and into me.
I rose, gripping my sword tightly as the fire within surged, ready to turn the tide of battle.
The fire in my gut surged, urging me forward. "Nora, team attack—Starfall!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the chaos of battle.
"You sure, Jaune? We've never managed to do it right!" Nora shouted back, her hammer smashing through a Beowolf with a resounding crack.
"Do it!" I barked, already running toward her.
With a tug of my gravity magic, I lightened my weight, allowing me to leap onto her with ease. I positioned Crocea Mors' shield under my feet, steadying myself atop her hammer.
"Alright, batter up!" she said, planting her feet firmly. With a grin that promised devastation, she wound up for the strike.
A little hit sent me in the air, the magic coursing in me making me float back down like a feather, then for a second time Nora's hammer connected with the shield, unleashing all her strength in one mighty swing. I shot upward like a missile, propelled by her raw power. My wings unfurled, catching the air and adding to my ascent. Gravity magic lightened me further, while the storms of ice coiled around me, carrying me higher and higher. The battlefield shrank beneath me until the village was no more than a dot on the landscape.
Far above, the air thinned, and the world seemed to hold its breath. I hung in the sky for a moment, the fire and ice swirling around me in an ethereal dance. Then, I twisted my body, angling Crocea Mors downward, and let gravity take over.
The descent began.
The flames in my gut surged, and my wings ignited as if in response, my gravity sorcery making me a lot heavier. The Lore of Fire roared to life, engulfing me in a fiery aura. Unintentionally, I had cast Wings of Fire upon myself, turning me into a blazing two-tailed comet. The wind of Aqshy fed the flames, igniting the very air around me. The Lore of Ice followed suit, wreathing me in a tempest of frost and flame—a paradoxical storm that burned and froze in equal measure.
The ground rushed toward me, the horde of Grimm directly below. Among them, a massive Goliath loomed, its tusks raised in defiance. A Deathstalker scuttled nearby, its stinger poised to strike. Neither would survive.
I crashed directly into the Goliath's skull, the sheer force of my impact driving Crocea Mors straight through its massive frame. The creature's bellow of pain was cut short as my momentum carried me downward, skewering the Deathstalker below. Its stinger flailed wildly before falling limp, the two massive Grimm pinned together in a grotesque tableau of destruction.
But I wasn't done.
Before I left the other side of the Deathstalker, I unleashed the power surging within me, casting Flame Storm, and the world erupted.
A colossal explosion of fire surged outward, and from it, massive rolling columns of flame spiraled across the battlefield. Each fiery cyclone tore through the Grimm, incinerating entire packs of Beowolves and Boarbatusks. The Ursas roared in futile defiance as the flames consumed them, their massive forms reduced to ash in moments.
The ground trembled under the force of the spell, the heat so intense that even the snow moat we had created evaporated in an instant. The battlefield became a hellscape of fire and destruction, the Grimm scattering in terror as the inferno rolled over them.
When the flames finally began to die down, I stood in the center of the devastation, surrounded by the smoldering remains of the Grimm. My armor was scorched, and Crocea Mors glowed faintly from the heat. Around me, the surviving Grimm hesitated, their primal instincts warring between fear of fire and rage.
"Now," I muttered, gripping my sword tighter. "Let's finish this."
The energy from the slain Grimm surged into me, filling my reserves to the brim with a fiery vigor. I could feel the power coursing through my veins, demanding release. With a swift motion, I summoned the magic within me, casting Sanguine Swords and Shardstorm in tandem.
Six flaming swords materialized around me, their blades glowing with an intense heat. They hovered in the air like sentinels, each poised to strike at the approaching Grimm. With a flick of my hand, the swords sprang into action, slashing and stabbing with unerring precision. Each blade found its mark, carving through Beowolves, Ursas, and even a charging Boarbatusk, reducing them to smoldering remains.
At the same time, ten jagged spikes of ice condensed in the air around me, their surfaces shimmering with frost. With a commanding gesture, I launched them toward the largest target I could see—a towering Goliath at the edge of the battlefield. The spikes flew with deadly accuracy, their sharp tips piercing through the beast's thick hide.
The Goliath roared in agony as the ice shards tore into its skull, pelting it with precision. Some spikes buried themselves so deeply that they emerged from the other side, leaving trails of frost and black blood in their wake. The massive creature staggered, its legs trembling under its own weight before it collapsed with a thunderous crash, shaking the ground beneath it.
The flaming swords continued their relentless assault, darting between the Grimm with lethal efficiency. Each swing left trails of fire in the air, and the burning corpses of the Grimm littered the battlefield. The icy spikes, meanwhile, shattered upon impact, creating bursts of freezing wind that slowed and weakened the surrounding Grimm.
I could feel the momentum shifting. The horde was thinning, their numbers unable to withstand the onslaught of magic and might. With each Grimm that fell, my reserves refilled, fueling even more destruction. This wasn't just a fight—it was a slaughter.
I was carving a hole through their midst, each swing of Crocea Mors cutting down Grimm like a scythe through wheat. The flaming swords I had summoned danced around me, striking with precision and ferocity. As the Grimm surged toward me in endless waves, I called upon the lore of ice and snow, invoking a power older than the land itself.
"Shoika answer my call!" I roared, my voice resonating with the fury of the storm.
The ground trembled, and from it erupted massive, twenty-foot tendrils of jagged ice, twisting and writhing like the limbs of a vengeful spirit. The tendrils coiled around the Grimm, ensnaring them in their icy grip. Beowolves howled as the tendrils crushed them with merciless force, their bodies breaking apart under the relentless pressure. Ursas and Boarbatusks were ensnared, their struggles futile against the ancient magic that held them fast.
The battlefield became a frozen nightmare, the icy tendrils creating a labyrinth of death that slowed the Grimm's relentless advance. Each movement of the tendrils was a reminder of the ancient pact between Shoika, the Widow of the Wastes, and the Khan Queen, a promise of vengeance that I now called upon to protect Saltfort.
My team was the pincer, closing in from both sides to connect with the pocket I was carving out. Pyrrha's spear and shield moved in perfect harmony, her every motion a deadly ballet. Beowolves fell in droves under her relentless assault, their blackened forms crumbling to ash.
Nora was a whirlwind of destruction, her hammer crashing down with thunderous force. Each swing sent Grimm flying, their forms broken and shattered. Her laughter echoed across the battlefield, a stark contrast to the chaos around us.
Ren was the calm in the storm, his twin pistols spitting precise bursts of fire. He moved with a fluidity that seemed almost supernatural, his strikes landing exactly where they were needed to thin the ranks and keep the pressure off Nora and Pyrrha.
Waves of Grimm threw themselves at us, their snarls and howls filling the air. Beowolves, Ursas, and Boarbatusks charged with reckless abandon, their numbers seemingly endless. But they served little more than cannon fodder. For every Grimm that reached us, a dozen more fell before they could even close the gap.
The battlefield was a storm of fire, ice, and steel. The ground beneath us was scorched and frozen in equal measure, a testament to the ferocity of our fight. As my team pushed closer to my position, the tendrils of ice continued their relentless assault, wrapping around anything that moved and crushing it into oblivion.
The Grimm were relentless, but so were we. Step by step, strike by strike, the pincer closed.
The Grimm kept coming, their persistence unyielding despite their dwindling numbers. Where once twenty or more had surged from the forest at a time, now only five emerged, their snarls desperate as they hurled themselves at us. Their ranks crashed against our defenses like waves against a rocky shore, only to be broken time and time again.
I summoned boulders with a pull of my gravity magic, launching them with devastating force into the advancing Grimm. The heavy stones struck with bone-crushing impacts, scattering the creatures and leaving them stunned.
Pyrrha was quick to follow up, her spear Milo whistling through the air with pinpoint accuracy. Each throw was a masterstroke, skewering the stunned Grimm before they could recover. With a subtle flick of her wrist and a faint shimmer of grey light, she used her semblance to call the spear back to her hand. Milo flew through the air like a guided missile, striking down another Grimm as it returned to her grasp.
"Nice shot!" I called, catching her eye for a brief moment before turning back to the fray.
"Keep them coming!" she replied, her voice steady as she prepared her next attack.
Nora and Ren flanked us, their combined efforts ensuring that no stragglers could outmaneuver our line. Nora's hammer was a deadly wreaking ball, and Ren's precise shots picked off any Grimm that dared to approach from unexpected angles.
With our combined might, we began to push the Grimm back. Step by step, we forced them away from the gate, driving them toward the forest from which they had emerged. The air was thick with the acrid stench of Grimm ichor, mingling with the faint chill of the icy defenses that still loomed around the village.
The forest loomed ahead, its dark expanse a stark contrast to the open battlefield. The Grimm hesitated now, their once-relentless advance faltering as we pushed them deeper into the woods. Their snarls grew quieter, almost as if they sensed the inevitable.
"Keep up the pressure!" I shouted, raising my shield to block a leaping Beowolf before cutting it down with a decisive strike.
The team rallied, our momentum unstoppable. Pyrrha continued to hurl Milo with deadly precision, her semblance ensuring it always returned to her hand, ready for the next strike. The Grimm, for all their numbers and ferocity, were no match for the strength and unity of our team.
With every step forward, the forest drew closer, and the tide of battle shifted further in our favor. We were not just holding the line; we were taking the fight to them.
As the Grimm retreated into the forest, I could feel the fire magic swirling within me, eager to be unleashed. I raised my hand, summoning a searing orb of flame that pulsed with raw power.
"Let's see how they like a little heat," I said, hurling the fireball into the treeline. It streaked through the air like a comet, slamming into the underbrush and exploding in a burst of flame. The forest floor caught quickly, the magic fire spreading hungrily from tree to tree.
Nora, ever eager to add her own flair, grinned as she pulled out a handful of grenades. "You're not the only one who can light up the night, fearless leader!" she called, lobbing them into the growing inferno.
The grenades detonated with a series of deafening booms, sending plumes of fire and debris into the air. The explosions only served to accelerate the blaze, the forest now a roaring wall of flames.
"That's one way to make sure they don't regroup," Pyrrha said, her voice steady but tinged with approval as she watched the fire spread.
"Just make sure it doesn't get out of control," Ren warned, his tone measured as he scanned the area for any stray Grimm.
"It's fine," I reassured him, summoning another fireball and sending it arcing into the forest. "We've got this under control. The fire will keep them from regrouping and force them to come out into the open. They can't hide in there anymore."
Nora chuckled as she launched another grenade. "And if they try, they'll be extra crispy by the time they get to us!"
The flames grew higher, crackling and roaring as they consumed the forest. The Grimm that had retreated into the trees now found themselves trapped, their snarls turning to panicked howls as the fire closed in around them.
Through the smoke and flames, I could see shapes moving, some attempting to flee the blaze. A Beowolf burst from the underbrush, its fur singed and its movements erratic. Pyrrha was ready, Milo already in her hand. She hurled it with deadly precision, the spear piercing the creature's chest and pinning it to a smoldering tree.
"Bullseye!" I called, sending another fireball into the forest for good measure.
The forest was a sea of fire now, the flames creating a barrier that the Grimm could not cross without exposing themselves. We held our ground, ready for anything that might emerge.
"Jaune, you really know how to make an impression," Nora said, her grin wide as she prepared another grenade.
"Just doing my part," I replied, summoning another fireball. "Now let's finish this."
I took to the skies once more, wings spread wide as I soared over the battlefield. From above, I could see the Grimm still trying to regroup, their movements frantic and disorganized. They were desperate, but desperation wouldn't save them.
I unleashed streams of fire and frost, the elements weaving together as they rained down on the Grimm below. Fire roared through their ranks, igniting anything in its path, while frost followed, freezing stragglers in place. Each pass thinned their numbers further, their cohesion crumbling under the relentless assault.
The final death knell for the horde came in the form of the last Deathstalker. It skittered into view, its massive claws snapping wildly as it tried to rally the remaining Grimm. Its black carapace glinted in the firelight, an imposing figure even amidst the chaos.
But it was no match.
I summoned the power of my gravity magic, pulling meteors from the sky itself. The first struck with a thunderous crash, shattering part of the Deathstalker's armored shell. I followed it with another, and another, each impact sending cracks spidering across its carapace.
The beast screeched in pain, thrashing as it tried to retreat. I wasn't about to let it.
With a gesture, I called upon the frost. Shards of ice materialized in the air, their jagged edges gleaming in the firelight. I launched them with precision, each shard finding its mark in the Deathstalker's exposed weak points. The creature let out one final, ear-splitting shriek before collapsing, its massive form crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
From above, I could see the effect this had on the rest of the horde. They scattered like lambs to the slaughter, easy pickings for my team.
The battle was over. The horde was broken. And for the first time in days, the village of Saltfort was safe.
We let the fire burn for a few hours more, ensuring that no Grimm would crawl out of the inferno. Once I was certain the flames had done their work, I took to the skies again, summoning the magic of ice. A swirling blizzard formed at my command, snowflakes cascading from the heavens to smother the remaining flames.
I cast Lore of Ice to target the larger, stubborn blazes, their fiery glow vanishing under the icy winds. The snow blanketed the forest, extinguishing the smaller embers that had scattered. I flew over the charred remains, scanning for any sign of movement. There was none. The Grimm were either reduced to ash or had fled deep into the dark woods, far from Saltfort.
Back at the village, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Saltfort was alive with celebration. The little inn at the heart of the village was packed to bursting, laughter and music spilling out into the streets.
Kegs of beer and cans of soda were lined up in the corner, chilled instantly by a wave of my hand. The villagers cheered as I turned drinks icy cold with a flick of my wrist. In the kitchen, my summoned pastries were joined by roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and hearty soups. Together, it made for a feast worthy of the occasion.
Qrow, unsurprisingly, had called it quits early. He was slumped in the corner, his scythe propped against the wall and a faint snore escaping him. Too many drinks had done him in, but he'd earned the rest.
The villagers were ecstatic, toasting each other and sharing stories of the battle. Children ran around, pretending to be Huntsmen and mimicking our attacks with exaggerated sound effects. It was heartwarming to see the joy and relief after days of tension and fear.
As I leaned back against the wall, sipping a cold soda and watching the festivities, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride and my oath agreed with me, humming softly in the back of my soul.
The village square was aglow with the warm light of lanterns and the crackling of a large bonfire, its flames dancing in celebration rather than destruction. The fire seemed a defiant echo of the inferno we had unleashed on the Grimm, but here it was a symbol of life, not death.
Pyrrha sat beside me, her head resting on my shoulder, a serene smile on her face as she watched the villagers revel in their hard-won peace. Ren and Nora were nearby, sharing a plate piled high with food, Nora animatedly recounting her version of the battle to an enthralled group of children.
"And then, BAM!" she exclaimed, miming the swing of her hammer. "Jaune went flying, and WHAM! He came down like a fiery comet, smashing the biggest Grimm to pieces!"
The kids gasped in awe, their eyes wide as they hung on her every word. Ren, as usual, was quietly supportive, nodding occasionally as he sipped from a steaming mug of tea.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "She makes it sound like I had a plan," I muttered to Pyrrha.
"You did, in your own way," she replied, her voice soft like a cloud. "It worked, didn't it?"
I couldn't argue with that.
A cheer erupted from the other side of the square as one of the villagers raised a toast. "To Team JNPR and Huntsman Qrow! Our saviors!"
The crowd echoed the sentiment, raising their mugs and cups in unison. I raised my soda in return, feeling a bit embarrassed by the attention but grateful for the gratitude.
As the night wore on, the festivities grew quieter, the villagers gradually retreating to their homes, their spirits lifted. The inn became less crowded, the chatter turning into hushed conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.
Pyrrha and I remained outside, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the celebration. The stars above were brighter than I'd ever seen them, the night sky clear and vast.
"You know," I began, my voice breaking the comfortable silence, "we've been through a lot together, but this... this feels different. Like we're actually making a difference."
Pyrrha turned her gaze to me, her emerald eyes reflecting the starlight. "We always make a difference, Jaune. Sometimes it's just harder to see."
I nodded, her words settling over me like a blanket. She always knew what to say.
As the last of the villagers retired for the night, I stood, offering her my hand. "Come on," I said with a grin. "Let's get some rest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"
She took my hand, her smile as bright as the stars above. Together, we walked back to our quarters, the echoes of laughter and the faint glow of the fire fading behind us. Saltfort was safe, and for now, that was enough.
Sleep came easy and the dreams were nice, It was about me and Pyrrha having a lovely time at a beach, but on the edge of my sleeping mind I swear I could hear something, the barking of gunfire, the roar of jet engines... and cruel laughter.
CP Bank:200cp
Perks earned this chapter :
Free :Imperial Lores of Magic - Aqshy (Warhammer Fantasy: Imperial Colleges of Magic) [Modus]
No human wizard, without divine aid, can safely wield more than one Wind of Magic with any great mastery. Those who try to wield multiple well are far too easily lured by Dark Magic, assuming they do not destroy themselves before they can be tempted. It was this discovery in part that made Teclis realize just how much mankind required his guidance.
Therefore, while founding the Orders, Teclis taught his human apprentices to focus on the one Wind of the eight which suited them best. The result is the system of Lores which persists to this day under the prescriptions of the Articles of Imperial Magic. You are sensitive to and capable of manipulating the Wind of Magic appropriate to your Order - Ghur for Amber Magisters, Hysh for Light Magisters, and so on - and know many of the spells devised by said Order.
Milestone reached this chapter :
First mission: 200cp
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