"Ah, well met, my young friend! I've heard you become a Diestro quite recently... A shame about your arm, but it will heal in due time with that Shallyan you have in tow, hehe... As you might have recalled in my letter; your reputation has quite proceeded you down here in the south… No! No! You shouldn't frown over it! We, the Cult of Myrmidia, greatly benefit from it! And speaking of benefits…." — Fr. Bernardo, Priest and Prelate of the Myrmidian faith; Magritta.

Frankly, he should have seen it coming.

"You cannot do this to me, Ozpin!"

He was dealing with a mentality who relished in the ways of old. Of course, the boy would resist his decision to the bitter end. "We've gone over this, Mr. Arc. Even though you commanded admirably in the Emerald Forest; I still cannot accept your request after you told everyone about your so-called Estalia."

Jaune slammed his hands down on the Ozpin's desk — rattling the tea set placed there. "I know! But could you at least not have named us Team Pyrrha out of all things!?"

Ozpin smiled. He might have taken it a bit too far, but humor was important after all, more so when you were immortal. "Team PVRA was indubitably the most fitting name for the four of you, as like Team RWBY, your team is also named after your Leader..."

Jaune's eye twitched.

"P for Pyrrha; V for Valkyrie; R for Ren; and A for you."

"You even went so far to place my letter last!"

The Headmaster paused and leaned into his seat. "There is no correlation between the placement of a Huntsmen's name-letter and their competence, Arc."

"Of course there is! Look at the first letters on all the Teams!"

"Except that, yes. The first letter has always been reserved for the Team's Leader. Surely your goddess would agree on the importance of tactical traditions like this, hm?" The young anomaly flinched, and Ozpin knew he had been right about his weakness. "And speaking of your goddess... wasn't there a dogma regarding the utter importance of following orders—"

Jaune threw up his hands. "Alright! Alright! I give..." A dark glint came over his eyes before it disappeared just as suddenly. "Still, there must be some way for me to prove that I am worthy of being a leader. After all..." He dusted off his shoulder with an uncaring expression. "You did say this school respects merit above all."

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow at Jaune's acting. "Indeed it does. Remove any doubts from your companions' mind regarding your sanity, and..." Now it was Ozpin's turn to give a dark glint. "Defeat Pyrrha Nikos in single combat. Do this, and I'll grant your wish."

Jaune went wide-eyed; before a wolfish smile took over. "But of course, don Ozpin." He took off his hat and bowed elegantly. "It will be my honor to showcase a little dance with my dearest partner, hehe…"

The Headmaster almost blinked, as if surprised by the answer he received. There was no way Jaune could ever hope of defeating Pyrrha. Not even with that soul empowering him. "Is there anything else you want to discuss, Mr. Arc?"

Jaune arose from the bow with a slight frown. "Yes, there is the matter of my… of my weapon."

"Hm?"

Glynda stepped forward. "We have it ready, as long as you remember to store it within your assigned locker."

Ozpin did not have to see his old friend's face to know that she was giving one of her trademark glares.

"I see…"

Yet strangely, it did not seem to shake the youth out of his thoughts.

"Can I store it there while I use some other weapons for the time being?"

Glynda stiffened. "Why?"

"It's just… I can't use these weapons to my full potential, and more importantly..." Jaune mumbled something under his breath that was too low to hear.

"And if I refuse?"

The blond crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then I will fight with cutlery, of course." He nodded self-assuringly to himself. "I'll make it work, and gain myself a Diestro branch dedicated to my name in the process!"

Glynda coughed. "Mr. Arc, may I remind you that stealing from the School is strictly forbidden."

Jaune recoiled and placed an unsure hand on his back hair. "W-W-Well, then maybe I'll win some duels for a noble and save up to a rapier, or something…"

Noble?

Jaune was eighty years too late if he thought the old nobility would be of any help. Ozpin had seen to that personally.

"... I'm sorry to say this, Arc, but the nobles that you're looking for is n—"

"Ms. Goodwitch."

Still, there was no need for Jaune to have all his illusions destroyed in one night…

"Sir!"

Glynda got the message.

"Excellent response, Mr. Arc. I'll have professor Port guide you to our weapon arsenal tomorrow morning." The blond's confusion changed into happiness, and Ozpin reached below his desk to pull out the drawer. "You'll also be assigned a second locker to house your new choice of armament." He brought out Jaune's old weapon with an added item. "And here's a small Scroll of your own. Use it wisely, and keep it on you at all time."

It will make it easier to track you, should you decide to run.

Jaune stared at the white device on top of his weapon with a sense of awe.

"You know," a smirk appeared on the boy's face, "from my mad memories, I'm quite certain that scrolls were something you found in dusty libraries, not technological wonders that would leave scholars jaws on the floor." He took it up in his hand and pocketed it with a grin.

"Would you require an explanation on the basics of how to handle a scroll?"

"Absolutely not, doña Goodwitch!" Exclaimed the blond in his usual over-dramatized voice.

"Donja?"

"It'll be a wonderful little adventure to figure out! Besides, I should have the knowledge stored somewhere in here, hehe." Jaune knocked his head with his knuckles while equipping his sheathed sword to his left hip — entirely unaware that Glynda had asked him a question — so Ozpin once again had to step in to save him.

"You was asked what doña means."

Jaune's eyes flew to him with a bewildered expression. "Wh— It didn't translate!?... Uhh... Well, to put it bluntly, it's an Estalian feminine noun for don or s—!" The boy gasped. "Or sir!"

Ozpin and Glynda froze.

"Yes! I've figured out a direct translation between my dear Estalian and the tongue of this world! Haha! I'm one step closer to regaining my true self!"

"That's wonderful news, Mr. Arc." Congratulated Glynda with a perfect mask. "Perhaps you will regain yourself earlier than we assumed?"

The self-declared Diestro threw his right arm forward with the palm upwards. "May Verena's justice see to it!" Jaune then clenched it and pulled it back with friendly eyes. "Was there anything else, don Ozpin? Or do you prefer sir? Heh."

Ozpin quickly cooled his nerves and answered. "Sir is fine. And no, you're free to go."

"Then I'll take my leave." Jaune spun around in a flourish and strode towards the elevator. When he came to it, he once again repeated the same dancer's spin and faced them. "May Morr bless your night with pleasant dreams." The duelist then lifted up his hat in farewells and lowered his eyes towards the elevator panel — and mashed them all with an open hand.

"..."

"..."

They both stared as Jaune smugly crossed his arms while the elevator doors closed.

"... Did he just do that?"

Ozpin sighed deeply. "Yes. Yes, he did. It's going to be a long way down..."

The comedic moment was brief as Glynda's serious eyes met his. "Sir… have you experienced a merging like this?"

"Never. I've always made my presence known in my host body, and sure some merges were faster than others..."

And some who never came to be. He bit his lower lip. Suicides were never easy.

"But what Jaune Arc is going through is truly bizarre. Either the other soul is conscious of him and is unable to speak, or… this is not a merging at all… "

"What are you theorizing?"

He looked at his assistant. Glynda Goodwitch was an exceptional pragmatic, who had accepted the things he had told her without flinching. Yet, with all her strength she still could not handle the truth, so he had to tread lightly. "It could be that Jaune and Juan did merge upon Ms. Xiao Long's fatal punch, but are now in the process of splitting apart, like water and oil."

"The opposite of you," whispered the blonde with horror in her voice.

"Correct."

She shook her head and steadied herself. "Then we will use it to our advantage. If we can figure out the process and replicate it when we transfer the fall maiden's powers to Pyrrha, then we might be able to save her from losing herself."

"If Jaune doesn't break before that, then yes, we could use him for that."

Glynda went wide-eyed.

"You remember how my merging occurs?"

"Yes, upon death your soul transfers to a random male, and then over time dissipates and give your host all your previous memories and power."

His exact lie, word-for-word.

He gave Glynda a small smile which only he knew to be sorrowful. "It's one thing for two souls to merge. It's a whole other matter to separate souls from each other. I did think the damage caused by telling Jaune his name was physical in its nature, but if my last theory is correct… then it might be of the soul instead."

Glynda cringed. She understood the implication of it. If telling Jaune's name could decimate him like that, then a full reveal of his past would rip both souls asunder.

"Then that means… Sir," the shock disappeared in her voice, "if Salem gets a hold of Jaune, then she might learn of a way to do the same to you."

"I know." He thumbed the keyboard - causing the Dust light screen to appear in front of them. "But not if our associates do their part."

A flickering later and it had connected to its target: General James Ironwood.

"Ozpin. Glynda." Greeted the General with a smile behind a desk. The Headmaster of Atlas was a military man through and through; square-jawed, orderly, and dressed in the white uniform of the army he led. "If this is about the Staff of Creation then I assure you that everything is going fine."

Another window sprung up to the left.

"Hey Oz, do you mind? I was just talking with this cute waitress and— what's the Jarhead doing here?"

"Qrow," said the general without his previous friendliness, "... are you drunk?"

Qrow Branwen was the polar opposite of the General in everything from mannerism, posture, and even placement if the sleazy alley in the video feed was anything to go by. "Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that soldier boy?"

"Why you—"

Ozpin cleared his throat. "I got information to share." He brought Jaune's files up on the screen. "I have found something of a kindred person recently…."

For the fifth time a ding sounded out through the elevator, and for the fifth time, he grimaced, as the doors opened up to a new floor.

Arc took off his hat and scratched his head.

Honestly, he could see the purpose of the elevator opening on every floor, but they could at least have removed it in rush hours. At this pace, he would have to spend the night in the elevator before he reached the bottom of the tower.

Wait… what even IS 'rush hours'!?

His head fell down with a heavy sigh. Once again he was reminded of his messed up memories.

Usually, when gods wanted something out of their followers, they showed themselves in apparitions. Yet, he had only gotten symbolism — narrowing his sender down to one god in particular.

He ripped 'Crocea Mors' out of its sheath. It was named as such by Ozpin, but there was no doubt in his mind its true name was none other than Crocea Morr; after Morr, the god of the underworld himself. To think that a simple, humble longsword with such holy a name had stayed beneath his clueless nose was beyond humorous.

A true divine comedy beyond mortal men.

At least, that was the only reason Arc could think of that explained why he wasn't laughing and was instead clenching his hat like a drowning man would a robe.

It did not require a philosopher to decipher the message: A Diestro's touch was needed to slay a foe of Morr.

And even possession was too little of a 'sacrifice' to achieve it...

Boiling anger emerged.

By the first Diestro, I swear, I will tear apart the Divine Court if a mediocre reason is given for this! MY WRATH WILL BE L—

A sixth ding sounded.

Ugh, really? Talk about mistiming...

The blond snickered and placed his prized possession on top of his head. A sense of calmness washed over him, easing his rage into nothingness.

Truly, it was unbefitting of him to shake a fist against the gods when they had saved him from the brink of madness.

Who was he to question their ways?

Besides, compared to his previous mission, this one was downright simple: Find the foe of Morr and slay it.

…

Would he wander the world like a malnourished vagabond; seeking the enemy till the end of the stars themselves?

He smiled.

Of course not.

If Morr wanted that, then he should have sent one of his Templars.

But he hadn't.

Nor had he given any divine orders, which meant that Arc was free to rise to the top of society, and crush the wretch beneath accumulated power.

Now, rising to the top of society required respect. So he would fulfill the Headmaster's demand to take his rightful spotlight as the leader. Which meant gaining the trust of his companions.

A laughably easy task.

True, Yang and Blake did look differently at him now, but Estalian charm would resolve that conundrum...

No, his attention should be spent on how to defeat his Chamon-blessed partner and her metal manipulating ways. Because if what he thought about her Semblance was correct, then she would prove to be one of the biggest challenges imaginable.

He took out the item from his pocket and pressed the yellow diamond-shaped button; causing the Scroll to extend vertically in his hand, and revealed a see-through panel that had the same emblem on — he flinched —the initiation catapults, namely, two green axes, crossed over a laurel wreath.

What the?

The heraldry morphed into a 'picture' of himself which — unlike the previous one, where he had looked sickly and weak — had been taken while he was charming the heiress. Luckily the white beauty was not shown, or he would have strangled Ozpin for inadvertently sending assassins his way.

Something else struck him like a thrown brick.

Why am I not shocked to the core?

Under normal circumstances, he would have dropped the Scroll, but he hadn't. In fact; even him agreeing to have Pyrrha unlocking his Aura was utter insanity and something his old self would never have allowed.

Unless…

He killed the thought. Whoever he had been mattered not. He was Arc, and that was all that mattered.

The blond pressed a small magnifying glass in the corner and made a table filled with letters appear on the screen.

Alright, let's see… P… y… r—!?

After a mere three letters, the screen was filled with all kinds of search terms related to his red-haired partner. Arc blinked — doubting his eyes — he knew she was famous but this bordered on the brink of idolatry. Further scrolling revealed only more blabbering regarding his 'oh-so-famous' partner.

At least I can confirm that she has the adoration of the masses, but that does not prevent her from shoving a sword up my behind if I'm proven correct! So where is the information on her Semblance!?

He threw the search bar down with a light swipe — and promptly froze up.

Were anyone from back home to see him, they might note the surprising similarity to the outraged Inquisitor's face on the satirical painting: The Inquisitor whomst beholdeth the fondling of Myrmidia's likeness.

'What... kind… of… underwear… does… Pyrrha... Nikos… wear…'

The elevator's seventh and the eight dings sounded out before Arc returned to his senses.

They really DID want to know! Uncivilized plebeian scum!

He cursed under his breath and swiped up.

Since no one would provide the answer, he would do it himself. The Scroll sprung into life after a quick tap on something called 'Mistral Regional Free-for-all,' and suddenly pictures moved across his screen like magic.

Arc did stare a second longer than usual, but at this point, nothing really shocked him anymore, so he merely shrugged and gave the captured memory his full attention.

Fifteen competitors faced off in an arena, but only one caught his eyes. Pyrrha Nikos stood out from other contenders, both in her beauty and outfit, but more on the fact that she had fourteen glares aimed at her.

The dueling horn blared, and the five closest to Pyrrha charged her.

Dishonourable cowards. Well, I guess she's done f—!?

Arc's jaw fell.

Pyrrha not only survived the attack but even ring-outed a competitor with a spinning spear move that would have made Wu jealous. The rest were dealt with in a dazzling display as she shifted between spear, rifle, and sword in fluid motions as quickly as one could blink— decimating her foes with near perfect efficiency — while her shield proved both defensive and offensive when she hurled it point blank into the face of a staff-wielder before catching it midair.

Pyrrha Nikos now stood alone among the five unconscious cowards — but then she suddenly ducked as a blur passed over her.

Hm?

Someone had thrown an unconscious competitor like one would throw a ball.

The screen retracted; revealing a single dark-skinned beauty with platinum blonde hair and one sleeved yellow robe of the — not Cathayan — Mistralian variant.

A duel would decide the winner, and his Diestro blood boiled in anticipation at the thought.

Pyrrha's foe began to throw shadow punches to warm up and twisted her body to slam her right foot in front of her — causing a small shockwave to erupt around her.

Ohohoho, Cathayan Dragon stance!? She's a practitioner of martial arts then! My~ this land keeps getting more interesting!

If magnetism truly were Pyrrha's sole source of strength, then this would be her biggest counter. Yet, she was anything but worried if that passive face was anything to go by.

Pyrrha flew forward with a shield bash, but her opponent was ready and punched the incoming aegis — sending the redhead back with her high-heeled boots scraping the ground.

Arc observed that the shield had not only survived a Yang-tier punch without breaking, but it had also done so unscathed. And here I thought Dwarf-made was the best of the best. Hah!— hm? What is this~?

A slight smile had appeared on the otherwise indifferent Pyrrha.

You've found a worthy opponent and decided to go all out?

Her green eyes sharpened in response.

Very well...

The dark-skinned girl sensed something was wrong and took up a defensive stance.

Show me the full extent of the so-called Invincible Girl, Pyrrha Nikos!

As acting under command; Pyrrha shot forth with otherworldly speed. She parried the first incoming punch with her shield and spun onto the extended brown arm — dodging the second punch — before slamming her sword behind the brawler's knee.

The girl had barely fallen to her knees before Pyrrha delivered three piercing stabs with the speed of a Tilean master duelist — or a lesser Diestro apprentice — and stunned her opponent with a shield bash.

Pyrrha then shifted her weapon into a spear and uppercutted the fighter into the air, and threw her shield up into the still airborne fighter, before jumping up while delivering a power swipe from below.

The shield was then caught by the now air-superior Pyrrha and was thrown once more into the falling fighter's stomach. His Partner then did an elegant backflip and plunged down with her boots into the shield — slamming the martial artist into the ground.

The dark-skinned girl did not get up after that, and the victory horn sounded out.

Pyrrha Nikos stood victorious.

She's… She's this skilled even without her powers!? The Diestro missed the tenth ding because of his pounding heart. He had entertained the idea that it might be the case but did not really expect it to be true. He chided himself for his foolishness, as the signs of her skill had shown themselves throughout his time with her, but he allowed himself to see only some damsel to rescue. For starters, he would have died without her spear pinning him to a tree as well as not skewering him in the process. Myrmidia, and every Saint of The Spear. He grinned with his whole being. Thank you.

An unbeaten foe was the sweetest of fruit to pluck. But it was also a high hanging one, which was a thrilling prospect for a consummate duelist such as he.

"Hello, Arc!"

He almost dropped the Scroll. The friendly voice — and pale thighs beneath the screen — revealed it to be her.

"Oh! You have a Scroll?"

With the grace and speed of a true Diestro did he pause the Scroll without shattering it.

"Were you watching something nice?"

Arc raised up his eyes and met his partner's green ones outside the elevator. "P-Pyrrha, what are you doing here!?"

His target suddenly found something more interesting in the wall and began to play with her red hair. "Professor Peach gave us our rooms after you followed the headmaster, so I decided to come and get you if you want…"

Unbelievable.

He deadpanned and brought out the Scroll to look at the screen.

"Arc?"

The Pyrrha Nikos in the arena was focused, tranquil, and unwavering.

She stood like a true Myrmidian saint.

He raised his eyes and saw the girl with the waist-long ponytail go wide-eyed and avert her face when he stared.

While this Pyrrha Nikos was shy.

… Am I dealing with same-named twins here?

Once strength always signified once confidence in Estalian society, so why wasn't it the case with h— Uh-oh.

The elevator closed to Pyrrha's utter terror from the looks on her face.

... Oh well, I'll just find my way u—!?

Black aura shot up around the metal doors.

You have got to be kidding me.

Then the doors were ripped open with a ding by a wide-armed scowling Pyrrha, and Arc could not help but imagine her crushing a man to paste within his own armour with that power of hers.

Magnetism... Out of all the Semblances I could have faced... I swear, Ranald. If this is payback for all the rebels, I've killed. I'll—!

Pyrrha grabbed him and pulled him out. "Don't just stand there! Move!"

Well, more like yanked as she was not quite gentle in handling his arm. Not that Arc cared for that, because right now he was staring at the exact face of the girl who won the tournament — killing any theory regarding twins.

It lasted but a moment before Pyrrha blushed and recoiled. "I'm sorry! I-I've just been waiting so long, and I didn't want you late for bed when we have our first day tomorrow..."

Arc could barely believe his eyes. Here was one of the potential strongest humans he had ever known, with a unique ability that would make her the terror of every warrior in the Old World, and what was she doing?

Covering like a maid would in front of her Master after breaking something.

Maravilloso.

He stepped up to her. Pyrrha Nikos was not only a famed and skilled warrior — but she was also docile.

The perfect subject.

Maravilloso.

The brim of his hat touched her hairline — covering both their faces in shadow.

It was settled.

"A-Arc?"

He would forge her into the perfect second-in-command.

Pyrrha was used to getting stared at by fans, boys, and sycophants. However, what the blond was doing with his eyes was anything but mere staring.

He was piercing her very soul with a blue gaze.

How she realized this — while being calm — was something she would have to figure out later, but for now, she could relax that it was safely hidden away in the back of her mind.

Arc raised an amused eyebrow.

Oh, gods, he knows what I'm thinking!?

He snorted — confirming her fears — and stepped past her. "It's fine, Nikorita. But first I have to deliver my weapon to the locker room."

"W-Wait!" She spun around and hastily followed her partner who was striding forward. "You still need to know where to go afterwards."

A single blue eye pinpointed to her faster than some Huntsmen she knew.

It hadn't hit her before, but Arc had quite a menacing look when seen from the side with how his hat covered half his face.

Luckily, his flirty uneven smile dissipated the tenseness. "Hmm~ Who said anything about you staying behind?" The sounds of students emerged further down the corridor which somehow made Arc lose his smile. "Tsk… But I guess that is to be expected of women. Only good for following orders."

Wh-What?

Pyrrha must have misunderstood what her partner meant, or it must have been Semblance messing up his thinking for a moment. "What do you mean, Arc?"

"I'm saying be a good little girl and follow like a dog."

She froze. There was no flirting or joking in his voice. This was how he really thought.

The blond didn't even spare her a glance as he kept walking.

Her first true friend had stabbed her in the back.

Or rather…

Pyrrha clenched a hand over her chest and bumped into Arc — knocking him down when she strode past him. She would deal with him later, but for now, she needed to cool off before she did something she would regret.

"... And then I told them that Huntsmen really are the best kissers."

"Pff! A wonder you even got their Scroll-data, bro!"

She went into a side-corridor and saw two older guys who instantly eyed her up. A small voice told her to hide, but she had more than enough stuff to deal with, and instead straightened her back.

The guys looked up, and their glazed eyes changed to one of pure horror.

They sidestepped to the walls — giving her clear passage.

"S-S-Sorry, Ms. Nikos!"

"Won't happen again, we swear, Ms. Nikos!"

Pyrrha was shocked, but she still strode past them without a sound. The moment she passed them, the two students ran like a horde of Grimm was after them.

"Kehehehe..."

A slow clap sounded out behind her. It belonged to Arc.

"That was a wonderful display of superiority, Nikorita."

The coldness in his posture and voice was gone, and in its place had returned his usual warm self.

Then it clicked in her mind. "You acted to make me angry."

"Indeed I did!" Arc laughed and missed her glare completely. "An old mentor of mine used to tell me that anger is a great tool if used correctly. Why, did you see the looks on their faces wh— ow."

She punched him, not to hurt him, but just enough to let him know he was pushing her buttons. "You're the worst!"

Her partner merely rubbed his shoulder and winked seductively. "Of course I am, but you're sadly still stuck with me." He leaned closer and gently poked her chest with his finger. "Mistress~"

Pyrrha felt heat burn through her body, but she knew that Arc was trying to slither away from the subject. "Enough."

And she wouldn't allow that.

The shrewd blond faked confusion. "Hmm~ Did you say something?"

"Why did you manipulate me?"

The relaxed atmosphere evaporated, and Arc's eyes became cold and calculating. "To teach you the difference between being exalted or being used." He nodded for her to follow and strode forward — uncaring if she did or not.

I should have slapped him instead!

Pyrrha groaned and went after him.

"You're the leader," continued Arc when she got close, "so you have to act your part. If you are weak, then we will be weak; and our enemies will grow bold."

Enemies?

She would have laughed if she didn't know his condition. "Arc, we don't have enemies. We only have the Grimm to worry about."

The boy turned to her with annoyance. "You're telling me you haven't dealt with assassination attempts from rivals? Or nobles trying to… ugh ... claim you by force?"

She gasped. "Good heavens no! I don't know why you would think that. But my rivals have been nothing but respectful — although some have been more respectful than others — and under no circumstances have anyone tried to 'claim me' by force!" Pyrrha noticed that the blond's expression eased considerably with each word she spoke. "Besides, we haven't had nobles for almost a century—"

"WHAT!?" His hands shot out and grabbed her by the shoulder, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. "Are you telling me the rights of nobility are no more!?" His eyes were more full than she had ever seen.

"Y-Yeah, the old monarchies in the four Kingdoms were disbanded after the Great War," Pyrrha explained, "so there's no nobl— Arc?" She paused when she realized that her partner seemed to have calmed down, but now scrutinized every iota of her eyes as if believing he could see her thoughts that way.

"By Myrmidia… you're not lying..." He released her and staggered into the wall with dead fish eyes. "They did it…the agitators... they actually did it…" She lost whatever he was trying to say in his mumbling.

"Are you alright?"

He twisted to her with piercing eyes. "What kind of government are we under?"

"Governing Council."

"Who's in the Council?"

"I-I don't know who's on the Vale Council, only the mistral council, but I know that Academy Headmasters are given a seat in their respective Kingdoms."

Pyrrha froze.

Why did I answer without thinking?

"So… he knew…" Arc spat the line out as pure bloodthirst began emanating from him. Then it all disappeared when he closed his eyes and gave her a soft smile. "No matter." He took her hands in his own. "At least now, I only have to focus on defending you on the battlefield."

"Ehehe…" She gently pulled her hands away. "Arc, what was that before?"

The smile deepened. "What do you mean, Nikorita? I'm just so happy that you won't have to deal with court intrigue, and that I only made myself look like a complete fool in the process. That's all~"

Riiight…

"Uh-huh, so back to what I was asking y—?"

He spun around and marched away.

… Is he serious?

She hurried after — there was no way she was letting get off the hook that easy!

Arc took a deep, deep breath.

Now finally in the locker room could he relax after the worthy challenge of navigating the student infested hallways, with green eyes promising death at all times.

At least the students who saw them would think twice about double-crossing Team PVRA.

Arc took a second deep breath.

To think that Pyrrha had so brazenly confronted his manipulations in the open — nearly giving him a heart attack in the process — was unbelievable. Arc believed only the most devout followers of Verena would have hunted for the truth to such an extent. However, his Pyrrha had proven herself unrelenting as he tried tip-tiptoeing around the subject to no avail.

So he had used an age-old trick to… subdue her.

The Diestro shifted his hat slightly so he could glance at her body posture without getting noticed.

Pyrrha was leaning against the locker next to him, with her arms crossed, her chest rising faster than average, and her index finger tapping impatiently.

If only that damned Headmaster had told him about the abolition of the aristocracy, then none of this would have happened.

Arc took a third deep breath.

But Ozpin hadn't, so of course, his mind had jumped into a frenzy when Pyrrha revealed that fact. No matter, his trick had worked as intended, and now he had to deal with the consequences. "Ah, Pyrrha."

"What?"

Yep… Still angry.

Women.

Making them happy was easy. Making them angry was easy. Doing both was akin to juggling hand grenades made by a drunk Gunnery School apprentice engineer.

Fortunately, he was quite the juggler...

"You know," he added a bit of force to his voice, "I only said that stuff about your skirt because I'm not the only guy here..."

Her grip eased a bit. "I see..."

Yes! Jealous possessiveness never fails to warm the soft hearts of fema—

"Maybe I should make it shorter then."

He recoiled and inadvertently raised his head — locking eyes with Pyrrha. He had not expected her to reply with that.

"Is something wrong, Arc~?" The redhead asked innocently, perhaps a tad salaciously, even as her emerald irises told him that she was very much aware of his attempt at deflecting the conversation.

Dammit! She lured me into a trap!

"N-No, Pyrrha..."

She placed a hand on her hip and stepped closer. "Then how about you stop beating around the bush," Pyrrha continued until she was under the brim of his hat — making it impossible for him to hide his reaction, "and answer my questions?"

"W-Well," He gulped, only truth would save him now, "First of all, I only acted that way before because I was afraid that you would be used if you showed weakness so openly."

She gave him a glare in response.

"Secondly, as you probably have forgotten; I'm an Enf—"

"Enforcer of the Loyalists in Lustria, I know."

How in Myrmidia's name does she remember that!?

His mask luckily held and did not show his surprise on his visage. "Y-yes, which — as you might have guessed — made me quite taken back… I assumed this place to be under the Crown with all its court intrigue and backstabbing when you referred your countries as Kingdoms of all things."

The redhead's glare softened. "You didn't know better, and tried to protect me."

"I… uhh..."

Is that a question or a statement—!?

Pyrrha reached up and placed a gloved hand on his cheek. "You're a good person, Arc. But you must be more honest with me, okay?"

It was soft.

"Right..."

She pulled her hand back with a saddened look for some reason. "Your home was a rough place, wasn't it?"

"... It was. If you didn't die on the battlefield, then you would die when your guards opened the doors for assassins..."

Why am I telling her this!?

"How did you deal with it?"

"I…" Even though he had just revealed another weakness, Pyrrha didn't care. "I…" Instead, she was giving him her full attention with eyes softer than Cathayan silk. He gave himself a mental kick. "... I used my blade! Hmph!"

"..."

"..."

D-Did I just 'hmph'?

Pyrrha's hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Pfhaha!"

Welp.

He spun around; ripped open the locker — threw his accused weapon inside— and slammed it shut.

Time to go out in the Emerald forest and kill myself.

Arc's cheeks were burning — and from the looks of Pyrrha amused eyes — his face must have been full on tomato red. He quickly reached up to mimic rubbing his head and pulled his hat down to cover his face. "Lead the way."

"Alright~"

She took the lead, and he took his place at her side.

...

The Diestro glanced to his left and saw with his lowered hat that Pyrrha was still smirking.

…

Then her smirk grew.

...

Meaning she was watching his mouth beneath the brim as well.

Curses!

He put on a quick smile — but it was too late — she noticed and giggled.

…

Abandoning the gods didn't sound so terrible now for some reason.

They continued onward in silence — him in brooding, her in amusement — and although he hated to admit it, he was grateful that his partner didn't rub it in like the vultures back home would have.

She led him outside through the chilled night, and after a brief walk, they entered a building that must have been the dormitory, for the mansion like interior. Afterwards, she led up some stairs to a hallway filled with lined white doors, and guided him to one of these doors and opened it. "Well, Arc; we're here."

A cozy interior revealed itself. Directly in front of him on the opposite end, was a wooden cased window with red curtains — the same type he was using for his side-cape — and two beds on each side with an empty bookshelf beneath it.

Ren had taken the bed to the left and gave him a silent nod, which Arc mirrored before he turned to his partner with a pleased smile. "Thank you for leading me here, Pyrrha. I'll accompany you back to the female dorm now."

"Umm…" She blushed and looked away for some reason.

"Hiya, Arc!"

He spun around and saw a wet-haired Nora with only a towel covering her body.

"Did you get what you wanted from the headmaster?"

The Diestro blinked and leaned into the room — and went pale.

There weren't two beds in total.

There were four beds.

"Pyrrha..." The color drained from his skin as he turned to his partner. "Do Teams sh-share rooms?"

Her blush deepened. "W-Well…"

Yang leaned into the wall by the door with a slight smile.

"Teeeeam RWBY! Hah! I've always wanted to become a Huntress! But becoming Team Leader was something I never dreamed off! Don't you agree, Weiss?"

"Absolutely," said Weiss with a twitching eyebrow, "but I'm sure you'll be a superb leader."

"You really think so!? Ah!" Ruby rushed to Weiss and gave her a hug. "You're the best!"

"Ugh! Ruby! Don't!" The heiress tried strong-arm herself out of the hug, but Yang noted with sisterly pride that Ruby did not lose her grip. "My nightdress is getting all wrinkly!"

"Bah! Who cares about that!?"

"I CARE ABOUT THAT!"

Blake turned another page on her book, utterly uncaring on the fight happening in the middle of the room.

Things like this helped.

But it didn't change the fact that she was still feeling worse than that time she had a hangover on her period.

Jaune…

Yang lost her smile.

For what everyone believed, she wasn't 'blondie-stupid.' She just preferred having fun and making fun. However, no one around her really seemed to understand the severity of the situation and what she was going through.

What will happen once the truth is out… Will I—?

'What the hell is wrong with you people!?' sounded out from the corridor, and she knew who it belonged to.

Jaune Arc.

She looked to the girls in the middle, but they hadn't heard a thing from the looks of it, and her partner...

Her partner was looking at her with a smile like a pleased cat. "Hungry for a late snack? You've been staring at the door for quite a while now..."

"Eh heh, you know me~!" Yang could breathe easy knowing that Blake hadn't a clue. "Yeah, I think I'll go and grab a sandwich. You want something?"

The black-haired girl shook her head with a smile that was only getting more mischievous. "I'm fine. Just don't take too long, okay? We got class tomorrow."

… Yeah, shit, she knows...

"Sure, cya!" She took the door handle in her hand and pulled—

"Aww, but Yang," moaned Ruby, "what about your diet?"

The blonde had to use every bit of her self-control not to squash the handle. "What about it?"

"Didn't you say that your curves were getting a bit too 'curvy' for your liking?"

"One snack won't kill me."

"Okaii~"

"Hmf. Be careful you don't rip out the refrigerator door, Yang. It would be a shame if your lack of self-control caused yet another accident!"

Yang glanced over her shoulder and gave the Ice Bitch a death glare. "I'll do that, Ice Queen. You just take care not to melt all over the floor."

"Melt?" Asked her adorable innocent little sister, while the heiress went red in her arms.

"YOU GUTTER-MINDED PIECE O—"

The blonde left the room and closed the door behind her before the heiress could finish. A muffled 'URGH!' sounded out from their room, and Yang let out a satisfied chuckle.

Now then.

She took a deep breath. "Hi, A..."

The hallway was empty.

... That's life, I guess... I'll just get that sandwich...

Yang released her breath with a heavy groan and stomped down the hallway.

Then again it was probably some random dude. She gritted her teeth. And I really don't need that right n—

A hand shot out of the side-corridor and yanked her in — and before she could blink she was pressed against a wall.

ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT!

She retaliated with a right hook.

"My~ My~"

Yang stopped her fist a paper-length away from the assailant's cheek — blowing their hat away in the process.

"Look who lucky me got my hands on."

That 'assailant' being an extremely close and smirking Jaune with the charming accent Ruby had described.

"Hm?" His blue eyes moved to her fist — and kissed it. "Heh, soft as a flower~"

She continued the hook with a hiss — but the tall boy dodged it with a backstep. "What do you want!?"

He stepped back into her personal space. "You!"

Wh-Wh-What!? Everything froze for her. He's confessing to me already!? But we've only known each other for two days! And I—

"... To return to your normal self. Hehe~"

Oh.

"Hello, Sunflower?" Jaune waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You oka—"

She pulled him down to her face. "Leave. It."

Jaune stared back with an amused expression. "You really do have pretty red-eyes, you know that?"

She growled and pushed him away — causing him to tumble down into the opposite wall with a slight groan. "What do you want!?"

The blond cracked his neck and began dusting himself off. "As I mentioned before, sunflower." His blue eyes took her in. "I will see to it that you return to your former self."

She rolled her eyes at his horrible flirting attempt. "Pff, alright, listen I'm grateful and all but now's really not the t—"

"You saved me."

Yang froze again. There was no mistaken the sharp look he was given her. Jaune was serious.

And yet...

He was smiling warmer than she had ever seen. "Come." He tapped the spot next to him. "I got a secret to tell you."

Curiosity got the best of her, and she slowly trekked over to him and sat down — a bit too hesitantly for her taste, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Now, what I'm about to tell you is the absolute truth..." A soft hint of red appeared on his face, and he looked away. "So bear with me if it gets weird..."

She nodded couldn't believe how cute he was right now.

"I-I…" Jaune shook the nervousness away and turned to her ready to face the tempest. "I'm sure Ozpin told you this, but when I woke up — after him saying my true name — I did so with no idea who I was, but what he doesn't know is how I regained myself. You see..."

His exhale tingled her face.

"I experienced a hallucination of some sort during the memory loss. Whenever I closed my eyes: massive red eyes would appear. Luckily they quickly shrunk to normal size. However, that wasn't even the weirdest part, the weirdest part was the shadows gathered around the eyes and formed... "

A strong arm stirred around her waist and brought her into his side.

"You."

Heat erupted in Yang over being pressed up against his fully clothed self when she was only in nightwear. "H-Hey, A-Arc. W-What are you d—!"

He nuzzled her head with his own.

A hot boy was nuzzling and hugging her on the dormitory floor, where at any moment a student could walk out and see them.

"Thank you," whispered Jaune with his scorching accent.

Her mind went haywire.

"The memory of you brought me back from the brink of the abyss." He tightened the hug. "Therefore you mustn't be sad. I'll recover from this. I swear."

She looked up from the shirt into his deep blue eyes. "P-Promise?"

"Promise," he gave her his usual smirk, "so bear with me and smile until I can tell you my true name, okay?"

Unflinching boldness, calm heartbeat, and a faint aroma of roses.

That was the man she had created.

"O-Okay," she gave him her best smile, "Arc~"

If that were wrong, then she wouldn't want to be right.

Arc smirk changed into a smile to mirror her own. "By the way, Sunflower~"

"Yeah, Arc~?" Her heart raced.

Now came the best stuff.

He gently took her chin in a free hand. "You're…"

His soft thumb danced over her lower lip, and she allowed it with a giggle and closed her eyes for their first kiss.

"Open!"

His hand flew up from her waist to her head; and used it to push her down — and himself up — while ruffling her hair furiously.

"WHAT THE FUCK, ARC!?"

Her eyes flew up — but it was too late — he had sprinted away with his hat; leaving only the echoes of his laughter behind.

She stared at the direction he had escaped too, before slowly reaching for her arm.

"Ow."

There was no doubt about it: she wasn't dreaming.

…

Yang slid a hand through her hair and found it messier than the time she and Ruby went camping for a week.

…

Typically she would have chased him down for a lesson or two on why she was the last person one should ditch.

But they had four years together, so she had time to plan a prank that he would never live down for the rest of his days.

She grinned and went back to her room with a stroll.

Arc hummed and closed the door behind him. His success with the little 'sunflower gamble' had gone over and above his expectations, and now he only had Blake and Pyrrha to worry about before his position as leader was secured.

"Did you get over your culture shock, Arc?" Asked Ren from the bed to the far right.

"That I did, my Rival. Pardon, it took this much time to calm my nerves."

"Don't think about it."

"Oh! Oh!"

Nora suddenly appeared in front of him in the same type of outfit that Yang had worn.

"Stories! Stories! Stories!"

Her excitement brought fond memories of his glorious return to Margritta. "Hah! Ain't you special? Alright, how about…" Suddenly he felt the toll of the day on him. "... Eh, sorry, Nora. I got about five minutes before I fall asleep on the carpet." A yawn escaped him as his eyelids were getting heavier.

The hammer-wielder pouted. "Aww..."

He gave her a clap on the shoulder. "There, there. You got tomorrow and four years to ask me about stories."

That cheered her up from the stars in her eyes, and she nodded excitedly before jumping into her bed. The bed next to Ren for some mysterious reason…

He chuckled and turned to the side to find his partner writing on a notepad in a bronze colored pajama.

Time for some fun...

"Mistress, which bed is mine?"

"The bed to the far lef—" Pyrrha suddenly froze and looked away. "And don't call me Mistress! Call me Pyrrha from now on!"

"Haha! Alright, what rules have you decreed in my absence, hm~?"

The redhead turned a page on her a notepad with a fading blush. "No peeking when people undress; knock twice before entering the room; knock thrice before entering the bathroom; don't touch other people's belongings."

Arc blinked — shocked that she had actually come up with rules. He quickly used the cover of taking off his cape to hide his smile from showing. "You have my word that they shall be kept. Anything else?"

"We've gone over what we would want in the room. Is there anything you want?"

He took off his shirt and folded it onto a nearby table. "Give me the walls. That's all I need."

"The walls?"

"What'cha want them for, Arc?"

The Diestro threw himself onto the bed Pyrrha had chosen for him. "Ambición." He yawned. "Requires them, my dears. A farmer cannot toil without land, nor can an artist create with nothing!"

"So... you want to pretty them up?" Questioned Nora.

"…Yes."

This society was quite akin to Middenheim when it came to speaking directly.

"If four years of my life are going to be spent here, then it won't be with this plebeian interior."

Pyrrha nodded. "As long as you tell us what your planning on, then I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Thank you, Nikorita. I'll make sure to enlighten you all when I've figured out what masterpiece I want to create… Now if you'll excuse me." He pulled the blanket over him and blocked the light with his Diestro hat. "I have appointment long overdue with Morr. Goodnight."

"Ugh, Pyrrha why are both our guys so lazy?"

"Hehe, that's just how guys are."

Had it been any other time he would have thrown out a couple of friendly jabs. But he was honestly too tired.

Arc ceased resisting his eyelids and closed them with a fist over his chest for a quickly muttered prayer to Myrmidia.

He had a lifetime of research ahead of him tomorrow, if he were going to survive this strange place, and see his ambitions fulfilled.

An interlude from a different world's past

Jerónimo ignored the glares and angry whispers of 'foreigner' as he made his way to the room on the upper floor. He was not worried about the boy starting shit as he did in Mittelweg, because he was currently unconscious. And if he weren't, then he would have locked him up in a room anyway, as the nature of the meeting was meant to be confidential.

Soon arriving at a door indistinguishable from the rest, he knocked on the door to the rhythm of the chorus of one of the many songs created to celebrate the victory over Sultan Jaffar — so he would not be turned away like any other idiot trying to gain entry. He heard the door unlocking and the word "Enter" sound out from within, and took this cue to do as asked.

Within the room, he found several well-built men who were dressed like the average Middenlander, but the observant would notice the general lack of wear and tear and noticeably better grooming. But subterfuge and disguise is not something you associate with the Knights Panther.

"Greetings, maestro Theodoric, I trust you wish to discuss the terms of my employment, hm? The details were rather vague, and I am surprised that such an ancient and historied knightly order such as yours would consider funding a regiment of… 'Free Company.'" Jerónimo said with a slight flourish and a bow, even as Theodoric's subordinates very conspicuously and deliberately locked the door behind him.

"Indeed, the Grandmaster knew the sharper ones among you would pose such a question." Theodoric began by stating the obvious. A measure of surprise had spread throughout the mercenaries of the Old World, as the word that the Knights Panther had volunteered to foot the bill for the mercenary cost after the war in Ostland.

This was known by the enlightened to have been done, to mitigate the excessive losses amongst the State Troops of Middenland. An apology, ostensibly, for the charge of the knight's panther cavalry arriving too late to save many of the province's soldiery.

Of course, they would confine the hirelings to the most disciplined of the lot, but the minutiae of this were not what they were here to discuss. "But before we get to business, I must ask… do you have it?" Theodoric asked, his last words carrying inflections of the infamous Middenlander temper.

"Ah, of course, Maestro, hold a moment, and I shall show you immediately." Jerónimo then began to fumble with the many, many compartments of his leather coat, to bring out the proof of his employment. He allowed the moment to drag on, as the disguised knights began to grip their blades more and more tightly.

If Jerónimo were in truth some brigand who had ambushed, killed and impersonated himself, he would have pulled out the gilded sigil of the Knights Panther. Rather than the triangular brooch of white cloth, the colour of parley (even if most people just assume it to mean surrender, which was not entirely untrue.)

At the sight of the brooch, however, the hands of the knights left their hilts, though there was still an ounce of tension in the air, since this negotiation was meant to determine the future relations between the two Aquila Academies of Carcassonne and Nuln, but a cooperative relationship was far from the only possible outcome.

Jerónimo approached the empty seat opposite to Theodoric and sat down in the admittedly rickety chair, and laid his hand on the tablecloth. He looked to Theodoric for approval, to which the man nodded. With a swift motion, he pulled out the tablecloth from underneath their mugs of alcohol, shifting them by but an inch, to reveal the red twin-headed eagle of the Knights of Magritta under…

Where was the emblem of their order?

He looked over the table more closely, only seeing a few stains of ale. He looked up at Theodoric again, who looked back with a puzzled expression.

"... I thought you were asking if you could be the one to begin the negotiations." Theodoric spoke it as if that was the first thing that should have come to Jerónimo's mind.

"And I thought you lot would have had a sense of flair and drama for this clandestine meeting of ours!" Jerónimo spoke at his usual volume, but the embarrassed edge in his voice served as exclamation enough.

"You have attended too many Reiklander plays with overblown, exaggerated portrayals of intrigue! I did not feel like painting something that could be traced back to the order! Nor, paying the innkeeper to keep shut, and pray to Ulric that our enemies wouldn't pay him more! The order is already scraping the bottom of our treasure chest to keep the expensive mercenaries in the Graf's army paid, and I especially don't feel like paying out of my own purse! Not to mention what would happen to our progress of building an Aquila Academy here if Cult of Ulric found out!" Explained Theodoric, and Jerónimo had to reluctantly agree with his assessment of the situation — even if he felt the Middenlander could have put a bit more effort in the accommodation for such a potentially world-changing meeting. "Regardless, while you are busy picking up the pieces of your dignity, I will begin the negotiations. Give you something to mull over as you collect yourself."

Jerónimo began sputtering furiously at the jape but managed to shut his mouth before he made a bigger fool of himself. He represented more than his own person in this room.

"As I understand it, your master, Cesar Despain, sent a message, to my master, Gunther Ostermann, saying that the Carcassonne Academy was willing to cooperate with the Nuln Academy with regards to that false master Tecero Gramsci. And that he would be sending an envoy to meet with me, Ostermann's own envoy, to elucidate us on the details of the aid being offered. Although with you… I am starting to wonder if Cesar sent the wrong person."

By the time Theodoric finished, Jerónimo had regained his composure and swiftly replied. "Si, Señor, it is as you say; Gramsci has forgotten his knightly vows — an inevitable result from spending so much time among Tileans — and Cesar fears he would make us all into merchants and bankers should he become Grandmaster."

What he had stated was putting it very lightly.

The moment his master of the Carcassonne Academy had heard what Gramsci proposed, he exploded into a storm of swearing which exceeded the boundaries of verbal debauchery by a margin equivalent to the distance of the World's Edge Mountains to the borders of Grand Cathay.

"As such, we have established contact with you for the purpose of seeking your aid in ensuring that our Cesar is elected Grandmaster after Moretti's regrettable but imminent passing."

It is reasonable to assume that words which fully conveyed how absolutely insulted Theodoric and his compatriots looked, let alone felt, only existed in the most obscure lexicons of Khazalid.

"I… I must have misunderstood you beforehand. I was under the impression that we would have a negotiation, not for you to demand obedience from us. Perhaps you would like Ghal Maraz to hammer nails into wood as well?" The offended party ground these words out through clenched teeth.

The veteran Diestro had expected as much. "Listen…" He might be surrounded, but he would be damned before he allowed himself to falter. "We know that the threat of Chaos is not to be taken likely! For Myrmidia's sake, I was there at Volganof with you, Theodoric!"

The Knights Panther huffed mockingly in reply.

"However! Even with the academies combined would we still not have the power needed to take on the full force of Chaos..."

"Are you calling us weak?" Sneered one of the other knights indignantly

"That's not what I'm saying! For crying out loud, Señor Theodoric..." He turned to the Nuln representative. "You know that if their Warlord hadn't ceased fighting, then we would NOT have won!"

Seconds turned into hours as Jerónimo's gamble would either secure his Academy's victory… or their defeat.

Theodoric looked back with an expression as stone-cold, as the Ulriscberg mountain where Middenheim itself were placed. His gauntlet fingers marched without moving on the table — then a glint of resignation played over the Middenlander's blue eyes. "What are you suggesting, Estalian?"

Jerónimo smiled on the inside, but he did not let it show and gave a hastily bow. "We Knights of Magritta are indeed not to be trifled with…" The surrounding knights eased up slightly at his flattery. "Be that as it may, even if we drained all our resources in men, gold, and political connections, we would still at best only make a stab into the Chaos wastelands before we would be surrounded by the hordes. But!…" He gave his spectators a confident grin. "If we had an Empire behind us, then everything changes! Help us unify the peninsula, and Cesar swears that all the resources of Estalia would be at your disposal! Our fleets and armies, our coffers of gold, the agents of the Holy Inquisition, and…" Jerónimo had to make a dramatic pause — Estalian blood demanded it. "Our Diestro branches. With that; the Crusade against the Chaos wastes can only end in victory!"

…

Silence.

...

No one said a word and one could even hear the laughter downstairs. Jerónimo started to sweat beneath his clothes as Theodoric merely stared at him with an expressionless face.

"... Everything except that last part is as enticing as you seem to think it is, we will take it up with our Grandmaster."

Yes!

Jerónimo barely held himself back from jumping up and dancing on the spot.

"However…regardless of the decision the Grandmaster makes, we have no intention to waste resources on an alliance with those that may not uphold their end of the bargain. What exactly does Cesar intend to offer us as a show of faith?"

Jerónimo bristled slightly at the implication that his word held no merit, but he could respect the reasoning behind it. They were not Dwarfs after all, and appearances can always deceive.

Reaching into his coat, he withdrew an envelope held shut with a gold-powdered wax seal. Unlike the previous wooden cylindrical scroll-carry Jerónimo had received, this envelope he was opening and the contract within were both made from royal Cathayan paper. Meaning this paper was of the highest quality, smooth as silk, and comparable to the magic scrolls of the High Elven Loremasters.

Royal Cathayan Paper was intended only to be used for direct orders and decrees from the Celestial Emperor himself. Using them for anything else was considered theft from the Celestial Emperor, which was punished by death.

This in practice meant that idiots with more bravado than sense, not in short supply even in the East, were willing to take the existential risk that was selling them to enterprising merchants of the Old World. Who was more than willing to associate themselves with the prestige such luxurious items possessed— even at a hefty fee.

Jerónimo felt his lips pull upwards at the glinting piece in his hand. The letters in the contract were lined with Lustrian gold powder to such an extent that the words seemed to glow in the candlelight.

It was the perfect display of raw power.

A literal contract of gold something that only a saint — or a savage — could refuse.

The men surrounding him stared at the paper with wide eyes, fully aware that a small castle could be bought for the piece alone. Driving home the point that while both Academies were wealthy within their spheres of influence — one was drowning in far more wealth than the other, and that such wealth would be made available to the other if they accepted.

Theodoric reached out and snatched it out of Jerónimo's hand, and began to read the words imprinted on the exterior. " Términos…. y… condi….ciones de…" The Imperial trailed off as he squinted at the envelope, turning it over in his callused hands as he silently mouthed what Jerónimo presumed was some sort of profanity.

"What the hell are these Southlander scribbles? I only speak and read the Emperor's Reikspiel." Stated Theodoric in frustration.

Jerónimo smiled wryly at this, which only managed to make the Middenlander more annoyed. "The document itself has been written in Reikspiel for your convenience of course. It covers the specifics of what we require of the Academy of Nuln and the benefits we will give in return for your aid." Said Jerónimo with a tone of finality.

"What? Did we not come here to discuss that very matter!? Do you think us initiates to order around as you please!? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU A—?!" Theodoric angry rant died in his throat when he heard knuckles rapping against the door.

Jerónimo smiled.

"What, Maestro? Did you really expect the Carcassonne Academy to not send their finest member as their sole representative to this meeting, hm? Come now, open up for the poor lady so she can serve our pints of Bugman's ale!"

Which was his way of saying 'Take it or leave it.'

The Knight Panther glared at him for a good moment, powerless to act without causing a scene that would draw too much attention, before giving his subordinates a nod towards the door. "So what are your plans for your little protégé? Planning on having him take over your little sword-whoring enterprise?"

Or having him prepared to become a member of one of the most influential secret society's in the Old World that is not drowning in the madness of Chaos, but that was left unsaid.

Jeronimó laughed softly. Theodoric did indeed know the games of intrigue, of hiding both barbs and hidden meanings within small talk. "No, he's far too extreme for our order."

"Extreme? Pardon me, but he's been nothing but ordinary until the ambush happened—"

"A friend of mine found the boy on a pier about to hurl away his pendant of Myrmidia. This was immediately after hearing about the 'incident' at Santa Clair, his faith did not waver so much as it evaporated instantly. There was not even an attempt at reconciling his faith with reality, no seeking out a priest to seek an explanation, no fervent prayer in the faint hope that he would be reassured, he just tossed it aside."

Theodoric paused and shook his head. "I see…."

" Some people are prone to zealotry. It does not matter the cause; when they believe in it, they believe it with all their heart and soul." Jerónimo sighed deeply. "My apprentice is the type of individual who is going to end up a fanatical member of an ideology — and if he becomes disillusioned with it — then he'll no doubt adopt an opposing ideology and be just as fanatical to said new cause; rather than simply moderating his commitment to his first ideology like a normal human would. In layman's terms, his faith is like a stone. It can be strong, yes, but it cannot change to suit his understanding of the world. It either stays the same, or it breaks."

"Then why in Ulric's name would you choose him as your apprentice!?"

"I would rather not have to deal with someone like that in some future encounter with some heretical cult. Santiago's moustache, I dare say that if I left him alone any heathen's parlor tricks would be enough to sway him to the Ruinous Powers."

Theodoric raised an eyebrow, taking a long draught of his ale as he did so "So it's just to deny the Dark Gods a willing pawn?" He asked, before taking another swig.

"Dark Choice. You have good taste." Theodoric smacked his lips before complimenting Jerónimo's order.

The veteran Diestro shrugged. "It is a factor…."

A/N

Savage Theron: Wew, ya know, there's something indescribable nice about finishing a chapter.

Anyway, thanks Y'all a ton for all the R&R /F&F, you guys are awesome!

P.S

Maravilloso = Marvelous

Cya all next time!