Golden Lion (New)
Golden Lion
Arslan watched the mist and waited for the appearance of whatever monster the mist should herald. And, as she waited, she narrated to herself.
My lords, ladies, gentlemen, and citizens, you are about to witness an extraordinary and unique display! Right here, for one day only, we are proud to present an exhibition match between Arslan Altan, the Golden Lion of Mistral, and-
The grimm emerged from out of the woods wreathed in smoke and shadow, and yet so tall that it rose above them both.
-and the ugliest thing I have ever seen.
It was a mushroom. It was a grimm mushroom with arms and legs. It was black, as all grimm were, although the mushroom cap which sat atop its head like a kind of hat was covered in red flashes and stripes, none of which stopped it from looking like it had gone rotten from neglect. Its face was a white bone mask but which kind of resembled a flattened version of a human face, at least as far as the jaw; its mouth, if it had one, was covered up by oily black tentacles that dangled down from its bony mask. Its eyes were red as burning coals and gleamed in the mist above the flat nose and the dangling tentacles. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks and ended in a trio of crab-like claws – they too were white; their thickness was the layer of bony armour that covered them, and from each arm, a quartet of sharp white spines protruded – while its legs were thicker still and stumpy in the extreme.
Arslan had never seen anything like it, and a part of her wished that she’d paid a little more attention in class.
She bared her teeth. Never mind what it was; with the way that it was plodding forward, it obviously couldn’t move very fast; she could run rings around it easily. It might be tough, but so long as she stayed away from those arms and hit it from behind or from the flanks, then she’d be fine.
She’d have this wrapped up in moments, and then she could catch up with Sunset.
Arslan’s bared teeth turned into a somewhat snarling smile. She crouched down, bending even lower to the ground.
A low hissing sound escaped the hideous grimm as it bore down upon her, moving slowly, its steps thudding upon the ground. The mist advanced before it.
Three, two, one… begin!
Arslan kicked off, dashing swiftly forwards; lions were faster than men, and when it came to pure running speed, she was a mite faster than Pyrrha was. She wasn’t faster when it came to the exchange of blows in battle, worse luck, but that wasn’t going to be a problem here. She charged straight for it, her mind dashing faster than her feet as it planned out her movements in her head, predicting the grimm’s countermoves as the fight played out in her mind’s eye long before a single punch was thrown or kick was made. She would feint a direct assault, then swerve at the last possible moment and come at it from the left.
She charged into the mist and staggered to a halt, a sudden cough rising from out of the depths of her throat. She stopped, one hand involuntarily clutching her chest, as she coughed twice more.
The grimm hissed as it advanced upon her.
Arslan shook her head. She needed to shake this. She couldn’t be distracted by hayfever or whatever now. She needed to- she coughed again, more violently this time, her body close to doubling over as it shook with the strain of her coughing. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were watering, she couldn’t see clearly; Arslan coughed again, hard enough to make her head ache from the vibrations; she breathed in deeply, desperately, breathing in of the mist around her and yet feeling as though she hadn’t breathed at all.
The mist… the mist…the mist! Some grimm, they… they had special properties, right? It wasn’t just the ones who ripped your arms and ate your face, was it? There… there were stories, legends, grimm who could turn you into stone if you looked at them, grimm who… grimm who…
The grimm continued to plod forwards, and this time, the rattle from its throat sounded a lot like snickering laughter.
Arslan coughed again, and this time, she really was bent double, coughing and spluttering and choking on the mist. She had to get out of here. She had to… she had to… she had to…
She had to get on the chariot.
Arslan blinked rapidly as the sun fell down upon her face. What… what had she been thinking about just then?
“Miss Altan, is everything alright?” Professor Lionheart asked solicitously.
“Um… yes, Professor, everything’s fine, I think,” Arslan said. “I was just… for a moment, I felt as though I was somewhere else.”
Professor Lionheart chuckled genially. “Daydreaming, Miss Altan? Why, isn’t this day enough of a dream come true without dreaming of other things?”
Arslan laughed. “Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to keep Mistral waiting.”
Yes. That was right. Mistral was waiting for her. Mistral was waiting for her. For Arslan Altan, a kid from the lower slopes. She had been born to nothing, yet today, the city waited upon her, lined the streets to celebrate her triumph.
For today, she was the Champion.
The chariot was waiting. It was pulled by four white horses in harness of deep crimson, and the chariot itself was gold and engraved with images of the gods of old Mistral: Seraphis, the lord of the sky, and his sister-wife Re; Tithys, the lord of the ocean, and his bride Amphitryte and their seven sea-nymph daughters. The chariot was large enough for three, and the driver was already aboard and waiting for Arslan. Waiting too was Victory, the personification of martial triumph over one’s enemies.
Okay, so the woman actually waiting for her in the chariot was a classically trained actress with a good theatrical pedigree, but she was dressed as Victory, with a golden wig and a crested helmet on her head and a cloak of spun gold worn over the shoulders of her gilded cuirass. She held a spear in one hand, and a shield decorated with the snarling head of a manticore was on her arm.
Victory and the driver alike were waiting upon Arslan. Everyone was waiting on Arslan. Already the streets would be lined with crowds, and the Lord Steward himself would be waiting for her at the Temple of Victory. All she had to do was get in the chariot.
All she had to do was get in the chariot, and she would be borne through the streets, showered with accolades, praised beyond measure until the cheering of the crowd lifted her up to heaven itself. Then the Steward would place the laurel wreath upon her brow, and she would enter the temple and dedicate the supreme spoils.
She would be immortal. Eternal glory was hers, would be hers once she walked into that temple. Her name would be recorded as a Champion of Mistral alongside the likes of Peter the Wolf; of Heracleia, who had worn a lionskin and who had been Arslan’s idol growing up; alongside the name of Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl. They would be equals at last.
Pyrrha.
Arslan frowned. “Professor… what am I doing here?”
Professor Lionheart blinked. “Whatever do you mean, child? You are the Champion of Mistral, and everyone is waiting for you.”
“I know that, Professor, and I’m sorry to keep everyone waiting, but… how did I get here? Why am I the champion? How did I beat Pyrrha? I don’t remember it at all.”
Professor Lionheart chuckled. “How did you defeat Pyrrha? Why, Miss Altan, surely, you know the answer to that? You didn’t. Pyrrha has retired, don’t you recall?”
Yes. Yes, that was right. Yes, Arslan remembered now. Pyrrha had retired. Pyrrha had quit, walked away from it all. And so Arslan, unchallenged, had walked to victory, trampling all other fighters to dust beneath her chariot wheels. Michael, Vespa, Phoebe, none of them could stand before her.
And so, this was the hour of the lion. Her hour. This was all she’d ever wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Then why did it feel so hollow? So empty?
Why did the idea of getting on that chariot feel so wrong?
“Miss Altan,” Professor Lionheart said. “Everyone is waiting for you. Mistral is waiting.”
Arslan shook her head. “I’m not sure that I want this, Professor.”
“Not sure if you want it?” Professor Lionheart repeated, aghast. “Miss Altan, we are talking about being the Champion of Mistral! Your name will live on so long as the city endures!”
“I know,” Arslan murmured. “And I want it, more than anything-“
“Then take it.”
“I can’t.”
“Miss Altan, why in Remnant not?!”
“Because I want to earn it,” Arslan insisted.
“You have earned it; you have triumphed in the arena-”
“Not where it counts,” Arslan declared. “Not in the battle that matters the most. I mean no insult to my fellow fighters… well, okay, maybe I do, but they’ll all understand because any one of them would feel the same way in my place. I want to be the Champion, but not by default. I don’t want to catch the laurel as it falls down from on high; I want to pry the honours from off Pyrrha’s brow while she fights to keep them with every breath! I want to win. I want to earn all this. All this… this isn’t what I want at all.
It disappeared: the chariot, the actress dressed as Victory, Professor Lionheart, all of it gone. She wasn’t in Mistral any more. She was…
She was in the Emerald Forest, on her knees in a clearing there, and that ugly grimm was looming over her, glaring balefully down upon her, bringing down one of its crab claws to crush her head like a ripened watermelon.
Arslan’s hands moved as swift as thought; with one hand, she blocked the claw aiming for her head, slamming her hand into the claw with a jarring thud; with the other hand, as she rose to her feet, she swung for the grimm’s face.
It brought its own free claw in to block her in turn, moving faster than she would have thought, based on how slowly it walked; her hand slid off the protruding spines that jutted from the bone.
Arslan leapt away in a springing backflip that carried her across the meadow; she landed on her hands and then sprung again, landing on her feet this time, a greater distance from the grimm.
The mist had gone. It had vanished as though it had never been. Arslan could breathe again. It was as though it couldn’t affect her now that she’d fought it off the first time.
Probably that was exactly how it worked.
She grinned. “Not that it’s gonna matter now, but if you want to trap me in a hallucination, give me something that I earned.”
The grimm hissed at her.
Lords, ladies, gentlemen, and citizens, we apologise for that interruption; the fight will resume immediately.
Okay. He’s a little faster with his arms than I expected. But how quick does he turn?
Arslan dashed forwards, feinting a frontal assault, just as she had planned to do before; only this time, there was no hallucinatory mist to get in her way.
This time, you're mine!
The grimm hissed; it did not advance to meet her but stayed rooted to the spot on which it stood, planting its vast legs wide apart, waiting for her with its claws held up before it as though to shield its face.
Arslan raced ahead, closing the distance between the monster and the gladiator, waiting until the last possible moment, when she turned, sidestepping with a dancer's grace and the swiftness of a plains predator to come at the grimm not from the front but from the side, her fist snapping outwards to strike-
The grimm turned. No, it didn't turn; it swivelled; it moved as though its whole body was flexible, as though there was nothing to stop its upper body moving ninety degrees at the waist while its legs remained still.
Obviously, there was nothing stopping it, but that didn't make it any less bizarre to look at. The grimm swivelled and caught Arslan's punch upon the thick bony armour of one claw.
With the other spine-protruding claw, it struck her with a backhand blow while she was too surprised by what had just happened to react; it hit Arslan hard enough to knock her across the clearing, slamming her into a tree so hard that the trunk cracked. She didn't need to look at her scroll to know that her aura had just dropped more than a little.
What a turn of speed! Could Arslan be in trouble this time?
Arslan leapt back up to her feet.
But she's back on her feet and ready for more with no sign of giving up, and isn't that what we love her for in the end? That she's a girl who never gives up?
It's that or my charity work.
She went for it again, trying to find an angle, trying to find an opening, trying to find somewhere that she could get at it where it would be too slow off the mark to defend itself.
If such a place existed, it was hard to find. This thing was slow on its feet, but its claws were like lightning, and the way it contorted its body like rubber meant that it had no difficulty getting into position to oppose; whether she came at it from behind or from the flanks, she would always find its face waiting for her, and both claws too.
It didn't score another big hit on her – she was ready for it by now and no longer taken by surprise – but the fact that it couldn't hit her wasn't much comfort, considering that she couldn't land a solid hit on it either.
She wasn't even getting much of the measure of it, or if she was, it was a measure that suggested that in a slugging match, she might falter before it did. Whenever they came together, from whatever angle they came together, the pattern was always the same: Arslan's attempt to find an unprotected spot was frustrated, and the two would be left furiously trading blows, fists and claws alike a blur of motion, block followed by counterblock followed by a counter to the counter. Arslan's hands met claws again and again, neither able to land a decisive blow. But always, it was Arlsan who retreated, wary of a misstep, wary of the grimm slipping through her guard to land another devastating blow to take her aura down into the red.
She retreated, leaping away from an enemy that did not pursue her. She was reminded uncomfortably of the first time that she had ever fought Pyrrha: Arslan had strutted into the arena expecting to find an aristocratic dilettante; instead, she had found a warrior.
And she didn't have four years to spend losing to this thing.
And it looks like this battle is at a stalemate, but Arslan's aura is chipped away with every strike! What can the Golden Lion do to bring this match to a conclusion before her aura runs out?
I don't know yet, okay, just give me a second.
Arslan took a deep breath, waiting, watching her enemy.
Her enemy who made no move to come to her. The grimm appeared to have given up on walking as all a bit much. It simply stood, rooted to the earth.
Rooted.
That's it!
Arslan charged again, rushing forward once again, heading straight for her opponent. The grimm was facing her, and once more, it let out that snickering sound as the tentacles that hung down beneath its mask shook back and forth.
And another frontal charge from Arslan! Does she have anything at all up her sleeve?
Keep watching and you'll find out.
It was facing her, but because of the fact that it only turned the upper half of its body in any direction, its legs were side-on to her, one after another.
And so, this time, as she charged, Arslan did not turn, did not attempt to flank or slip around the rear; this time, as she charged, she dropped to the ground and skidded the rest of the way, sweeping the grimm's legs out from under it with a single kick.
The grimm topped, claws flailing, the eyes in its mask seeming to widen as it fell down towards and upon her. Arslan struck before it had the chance, a palm strike straight to the face which, amplified by a touch of her aura expelled outwards, hurled the flailing grimm up into the air.
And the crowd goes wild!
Arslan leapt up after it, her legs propelling into the air, flying like a rocket towards her enemy, one fist cocked back.
Arslan enjoyed the look of seeming helplessness upon the face of the grimm before she slammed her fist right into its mask, putting more than half of her remaining aura behind a blow so powerful that it shattered the grimm's face and punched a hole clean through its body.
It was turning to ash which drifted away on the wind as Arslan landed on the ground once more.
Look at that! Look at that! I can kill monsters as easily as you can, Pyrrha!
I just don't want to, is all.
Arslan stood, alone in the clearing, one fist raised in triumph; she held the pose for a moment before she slumped forwards. That had been tougher than she had expected. If inspiration hadn't struck her when it did… she would have died. It was enough to make you believe that, as the old stories put it, some god was putting ideas into your mind.
More to the point, this was what Pyrrha wanted? When all the glories of Mistral lay at her feet, she wanted to spend her time battling monsters who might, without warning, turn out to be so much stronger than you expected them to be?
So much stronger than you?
Arslan didn't know if that made Pyrrha touched in the head… or just incredibly brave.
Or both. Both was always a possibility.
Arslan had come to the great heroic epics of Mistral comparatively late; it had taken her until last year to work up the courage to try The Mistraliad, even though it was supposed to be a must-read for circuit fighters like her. She'd loved it, no questions about that, just as there was no doubt in Arslan's mind that it had been written – or composed, whatever – by a warrior, by someone who understood what it was to fight for glory and to ensure that you were not forgotten, but she had also felt that, alongside the courage and the ambition that drove on the heroes, there was also a touch of… obsession, madness, call it what you like, but it was there. She hadn't been able to ignore it.
If Pyrrha had that too, then… Arslan supposed it made sense.
The screeching of a nevermore flying overhead reminded Arslan that the day was not yet done. She checked her scroll as she retreated into the cover of the trees; her aura was deeper in the yellow than it had been before, almost but not quite in the red. And Ruby Rose, Sunset's real partner, was somewhere to the south of her.
Arslan gritted her teeth and hoped she had enough aura left for more fighting before the day was out as she set off in the direction.
This, Ozpin had to admit, was not going at all well.
These exercises were supposed to be challenging, of course; all of the students had signed up for an occupation where death was not only a fact of life but a quite likely possibility, and so it was fitting that even the exercises that they undertook carried with them at least the risk of death or serious injury.
That was why they had practical exercises like this, pitting the students against the grimm in their natural habitat, putting their lives upon the line. That was why the forest had been baited in order to draw grimm to where the students were, because this was not supposed to be a walk through the woods but a battle against the creatures of darkness.
And yet, he had not anticipated that there would be quite so many grimm drawn to the students.
It was not just that the students were finding the exercise challenging; rather that, as he flicked through the views offered by some of the cameras embedded throughout the forest, Ozpin found that he was witnessing the exercise descend into chaos. Mister Arc and Mister Sentry were on the run, Miss Sparkle and Mister Ayana were not doing very much better. Miss Rose was down, and only the valour and prodigious skill of Miss Belladonna was keeping Summer’s girl alive.
Miss Shimmer and Miss Altan, he had last seen being carried off by a nevermore. He had not been able to find them since. For all he knew, they were both dead already.
It was a risk. Death was a huntress’ closest companion, one who would stay by their sides when all friends forsook them. Sometimes, death took those who showed the greatest promise; it was no respecter of potential, nor did it care that its latest victim might have their whole life before them.
If Miss Shimmer and Miss Altan were dead, then he did not find the fact incredible, but he was more than a little concerned that so much hell was breaking loose in the Emerald Forest now.
“Peter,” Ozpin said mildly, “just how many lures did you set in the forest?”
“Not enough to cause this, Oz!” Port protested vehemently. “I expected to lure in groups of beowolves or ursai at intervals, not to draw in so many grimm all at once!”
“Of course,” Ozpin said. “Forgive me, I… I had to make sure.” In truth, he should not have doubted Peter’s skill and judgement in the matter; for all that some of the students found it hard to look past his manner, Professor Port knew what he was doing, and he would not have made a miscalculation like this.
Unfortunately, accidents happened from time to time, and the grimm were wild creatures. Only one person could control them, or predict what they might do, and he was not that person.
More important than the question of how this had happened – a question without an answer if ever there was one – was the question of what to do about it.
He was not inherently opposed to the idea of letting the exercise continue. They were, some of them at least, some of the most gifted students to walk the halls of Beacon in many a year; Miss Altan was reckoned second only to Miss Nikos in her skill at arms in her own kingdom; Miss Sparkle was a weak link, true, but Ozpin had faith that the others would protect her. If they survived, they would emerge from this far stronger and with a belief in themselves that would carry them through the – perhaps far harder – challenges to come.
If they did not…
Ozpin closed his eyes. That was the rub, wasn’t it? If they did not survive, then so much would have been lost in those young lives and all the promise that they represented.
So much might have been lost already.
In any event, it was clear that the exercise could not continue as planned; nevermores were beginning to fill the skies over the Emerald Forest – the most visible sign that things were not going wholly according to plan – and they would make inserting any more students into the forest by air fraught with risk for both the pilots and the students. For that matter, they would make getting the students already in the forest out again more than a little difficult under the current circumstances.
Ozpin’s eyes were drawn inexorably upwards, to where one of James’ unspeakably hideous cruisers was currently defacing the skyline nearby.
An eyesore it might have been, but, well…
Unfortunately, I think he will be too upset that I put Miss Sparkle in this position to be smug about this. A pity; I would rather endure his smugness than his righteous anger. Under certain circumstances, Ozpin found James in the full flow of his temper to be rather magnificent; just not when it was directed at him.
However, before he could get in touch with James and ask him on bended knee ‘please, sir, will your armed might rescue my students?’ Ozpin himself received a communication from Councillor Novo Aris.
Ozpin endeavoured to conceal the impatience from his face and voice as he answered. “Madame Councillor, ordinarily, it would be a delight to speak with you, but I’m afraid-”
“Oh, is this inconvenient for you?” Novo asked. “Then perhaps you’ll begin to understand how I feel every time I have to deal with some more of your nonsense; something which I cannot help but notice is becoming more and more frequent.”
“It does seem we are living in interesting times at present, Madame Councillor, and I would be happy to discuss your concerns-”
“What concerns me presently,” Novo said, “is the fact that the Civil Defence hotline is being besieged with callers reporting Nevermore sightings to the northwest. Which would put them over the Emerald Forest, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You are not, Madame Councillor,” Ozpin admitted.
“What’s going on, Ozpin?” Novo demanded wearily.
“An exercise for some of our students in the Emerald Forest appears to have gotten just a little out of hand,” Ozpin confessed.
“‘An exercise,’” Novo repeated. “I see. Carry on with that, then, and I shall brief the press that there is nothing to worry about.”
“Indeed, Madame Councillor, I was just about to request the assistance of the Atlesian forces in clearing the skies. You may rest assured that-”
“No.”
Ozpin blinked. “No, Madame Councillor.”
“No, you will not request the assistance of the Atlesians,” Novo declared. “Their forces will remain protecting Vale and not make any aggressive movements. If the Atlesians move to engage these grimm, then it proves that there was something to worry about and that this was not a simple and routine exercise for your students. Ozpin, this city cannot afford any more panic-inducing crises.”
Normally, Ozpin was very much in favour of doing everything possible to avoid panic, but in these particular circumstances, he felt compelled to say, “Madame Councillor I have students in the forest whom aid cannot reach so long as those nevermores dominate the skies.”
“Isn’t that what they signed up for?” Novo asked tartly.
“In a manner of speaking, yes, but… I implore you, Madame Councillor, if nothing is done, they will die.”
Councillor Aris was silent for a moment. “That,” she said softly, “is regrettable, but my decision stands. Handle this yourself however you wish, but you will not involve the Atlesians or the Valish Defence Forces; do I make myself clear?”
Ozpin fought the desire to throw his scroll off the landing pad. “Crystal clear, Madame Councillor.”
So. That was that. He had to have faith in the students. Some of them, to be sure, were well-worthy of such faith. They had done so much already, and if they lived…
If they lived, then their legends would be burnished yet brighter still.
He had to have faith in them.
And hope his faith was not misplaced.
General Ironwood paused for a moment from reading a report on the state of repairs made to the Green Line to wonder how the exercise in the Emerald Forest was proceeding.
He would never be so childish as to admit the fact, but there was a part of him that was hoping his students managed to outdo Oz’s in the forest, in the same way that he hoped they would in the Vytal Festival.
Some might call it petty, to which General Ironwood would reply that you couldn’t climb to the very summit of your profession without having some sense of pride in your accomplishments.
And besides, it was good to cut Oz down to size every now and then. It made him seem a little less remote. Less like a god.
Oh, well. That was some news to look forward to later.
He returned to reading the report. Good progress was being made by the CBs. If, in the worst case scenario, a major attack fell on them, they would be able to fight it from behind adequate defences if this kept up.
A low whistling sound, and the flashing green light on his desk that accompanied it, alerted Ironwood to the fact that he was getting a call from the Valiant’s CIC.
General Ironwood pushed the small grey button that sat just below the blinking light. “This is Ironwood.”
“Sir,” the voice belonged to Ensign Brentwood, one of the comms officers aboard the Valiant. He was a young man, only eighteen years old, and his voice shook a little. “Sir, we’re picking up large numbers of nevermores concentrating over the Emerald Forest. Spitfire is requesting reinforcements and permission to engage.”
Spitfire, leader of Wonderbolt Squadron, was leading the CAP this morning; if this did turn into an air fight, that would go down as quite a lucky break for the Atlesians.
General Ironwood frowned. “Did you say the Emerald Forest?”
“Yes, sir.”
General Ironwood rose to his feet. “How many nevermores?”
“Twenty, sir, most of them are just circling at the moment; one or two are diving for the ground.”
“Tell Spitfire to adopt a defensive posture and await further orders; I’m on my way to the bridge,” Ironwood said.
“Uh, yes, sir.”
General Ironwood strode for the door, and as he did so, he pulled out his scroll. As the door into his office slid open – and the marine on guard outside saluted him, a gesture Ironwood acknowledged perfunctorily with one hand – he was pulling Ozpin out of his directory.
As he strode down the corridors of the Valiant, his boots thudding upon the metal flooring, he was calling the old man.
Ozpin replied voice only, and the voice that emerged from out of the scroll was a little tight. “James, I take it that you’re calling about the situation in the Emerald Forest.”
“I was calling about the situation over the forest,” Ironwood corrected. “What’s going on inside the forest?”
“It appears that the lures set up to draw in grimm for the exercise may have worked a little too well,” Ozpin replied. “I must say I didn’t anticipate this level of grimm activity.”
Ironwood paused in his stride for a moment. “How bad is it?”
“Nothing that our students can’t handle, I hope,” Ozpin said. “Not least because it’s impossible to get them out in the present circumstances; with all of those nevermores about, it would be madness to risk Bullheads in the area.”
“My pilots want to clear the skies for you,” Ironwood pointed out.
“I’m sure they do, James,” Ozpin replied, a slight sigh entering his voice. “When one has a skill, one wants to put it to good use, after all. But I’m afraid that I must decline. Councillor Aris insists upon it.”
“What?” Ironwood demanded.
“She is afraid that the deployment of your forces will suggest that something is amiss,” Ozpin explained. “She wishes everything to proceed as normal, in order to prevent a panic.”
Ironwood’s jaw tightened. Panic, panic, always panic! Ozpin, the Council, everyone was so concerned with avoiding panic. You didn’t avoid panic by sticking your head in a hole and pretending that the problem wasn’t there; yes, you might steal some peace of mind for a little while, but only until the problem reminded you that it was very much there by chewing on your leg. You avoided panic by putting the problem down, quickly and with extreme prejudice.
But this was Vale, and the Valish got to set the rules. Up to a point.
“Who’s down there?” he asked.
“Sunset Shimmer, Ruby Rose, Jaune Arc,” Ozpin said.
“Are you sure that this was unintended?”
“James, please, their presence is a complete coincidence.”
“And you’re willing to risk their lives?” Ironwood asked.
“I don’t like this any more than you do, but the Council is a fact of life, and Councillor Aris still looks set to win re-election, meaning that I must continue to deal with her and her party for the foreseeable future. As for the students, I have no doubt… no, James, you know me better than that; I am besieged by doubt. Yet I have hope that they will rise to the occasion, just as their predecessors did so long ago. They are joined by Blake Belladonna, in whom you should also have every confidence, Arslan Altan and Sage Ayana of Haven Academy, and…”
The fact that he hesitated told Ironwood that he wasn’t going to like whatever Ozpin had to say next. “Go on,” he demanded.
“Twilight Sparkle.”
“Damn it, Oz!”
“She is joined in the forest by a very capable Haven Student-”
A capable Haven student; are you sure that’s not an oxymoron? Ironwood thought bitterly. “You sent Twilight in the first wave, and now she’s stuck in the forest when all hell breaks loose?”
“You chose to have her masquerade as a student, James; was I not supposed to indulge your little charade?”
“You could have not indulged it quite so much,” Ironwood replied. “I’m calling Councillor Aris myself.”
“I wish you luck, James, really I do,” Ozpin said. “Let me know if you have the green light to send in your forces.”
“I will,” James agreed before he hung up the call.
He called Councillor Aris immediately.
She answered quickly enough and did not look all that surprised to see him. “Good morning, General Ironwood,” she said. “The answer is no.”
“You haven’t even heard the question, Councillor.”
“You want to unleash your forces on those nevermores over the Emerald Forest,” Councillor Aris said. “Or am I wrong?”
“No,” Ironwood admitted. “You are not, Councillor.”
“Then the answer is no.”
“Councillor, I have a student down there in the forest-”
“And their plight is unfortunate, but I must take a broader view of these matters,” Councillor Aris declared. “I would have thought that you would be able to do the same.”
“My view is clear enough, Councillor,” Ironwood stated firmly.
Councillor Aris sucked in a breath sharply. “If the people believe that there is a grimm attack in progress, they will panic-”
“There will be no panic, because my forces will take care of this before there is time to panic,” Ironwood declared.
“And that panic will bring more grimm to the door!” Councillor Aris said.
“Then we will fight them too and kill them too!” Ironwood shouted. “Councillor, there are lives at stake.”
“Yes,” Councillor Aris agreed. “There are lives at stake, millions of lives, a city’s worth of lives. And for their sake, your ships will remain deployed over Vale, as they are now.”
General Ironwood noted that if this had been Atlas, he would have already hung up on the Council by now and done whatever he felt was right regardless, but this was not Atlas, and he was only here by the consent of the Valish council, consent which could be withdrawn at any time. If he acted now to save Twilight, then he would lose the ability to protect all his students against anything that might happen later.
Damn you, Councillor. “Councillor, I must protest.”
“That is your right,” Councillor Aris said. “Contravening my instructions in this is not. Good day, General.” She hung up.
Ironwood gritted his teeth and fought the desire to make a dent in the wall. It might make him feel better, but it might alarm some of the younger officers and personnel.
Nevertheless, it took him a minute to collect himself. This was why he hated politics.
Once he had composed himself as an officer ought to be composed, Ironwood made his way to the bridge. As the door opened to admit him, a shrill whistle cut through the air of the CIC.
“General on deck!”
“Signal the Colton,” Ironwood commanded as he strode into the midst of the command centre, a nest of consoles and command stations being crewed by young men and women in the whites of the Atlesian navy, while older and more senior officers kept diligent watch over them. “I want Wonderbolt, Red, and Blue squadrons in the air immediately. And get me Spitfire on the line.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
In a moment, the harsh voice of Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts filled the bridge. “This is Wonderbolt Leader.”
“Wonderbolt Leader, this is General Ironwood,” Ironwood said, “you are to form up Wonderbolt and Red Squadrons above the Green Line and hold position until I direct you otherwise. You are not to engage the grimm unless they come within two clicks of your position. Vigilant and Courageous will provide close support. Do you understand?” The Green Line was still technically ‘over Vale,’ so he wasn’t breaking the First Councillor’s edict, even if he wasn’t bending it as much as he might have liked to be able to.
“I don’t really understand why we’re not shooting them up, sir.”
You’re not the only one. “The students are conducting an exercise in the Emerald Forest, and the Valish Council has decided to let it continue undisturbed.”
Spitfire was silent for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“That’s a lot of nevermores, General, and they’re just kids. We don’t have to bomb the forest, but we could at least clear the skies for them.”
“The Council disagrees.”
“Medical evac is going to be hot with those nevermores around, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain, I’m aware!” Ironwood yelled. He took a deep breath. “I am aware. And you have your orders.”
“Yes sir,” Spitfire said. “Sorry, sir.”
“No need to apologise for being right,” Ironwood said. “Ironwood out.” To his officers on the bridge, he added, “Have Blue Squadron and the Resolution take up position over Beacon; if any of those nevermores come close to the cliffs, they’re to let them have it with both barrels.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The last straw for Pyrrha was the Atlesian cruiser, flanked on either side by smaller combat airships, gliding in a stately fashion over the school towards the cliffs.
That was the point when it became impossible to deny that something had gone wrong. That was the point at which she could no longer tell herself that she was worrying over nothing. A warship, with escorts out, was heading towards the cliffs, or even to the Emerald Forest beyond.
They weren’t doing that because they wanted a better view of an exercise that was going perfectly.
A glance at Team RSPT confirmed that they were thinking the same thing.
The question was, 'what were they going to do about it? '
What was she going to do about it?
She might have added 'what was Professor Ozpin going to do about it?' but, even as she thought it, she realised that was almost beside the point. Yes, he was the headmaster, and yes, she had been brought up to respect her elders and her betters, but in this moment, none of that mattered. Not even the fact that Sunset, Ruby, Jaune, or even Blake wouldn’t have hesitated to come to her aid if she were in trouble mattered right now.
“What’s going on?” Penny asked.
“We don’t know, Penny,” Ciel replied. “We are in the dark.”
“That’s a figure of speech, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Penny, yes, it is,” Ciel murmured.
“I’m going to call the General,” Rainbow said. “He must know what’s going on, or he wouldn’t have deployed a cruiser.”
“Do that,” Pyrrha said. “I hope you catch up.” Because it didn’t matter what General Ironwood was doing or what he wanted from Rainbow Dash and the rest of Team RSPT either.
All that mattered, in this moment, was that her friends had need of her.
So Pyrrha turned and pushed her way gently through the mass of students all around her, and once she was free of the press, she began to run.
She ran, heedless of Professor Port’s voice calling out to her, heedless of the sound of her scroll buzzing, heedless of all of it except the need.
Her feet carried her swiftly; she was not as fast as Ruby; she could not run so swiftly that she could run over the ocean without wetting her feet, as Camilla of old was reputed to have done; but nevertheless, she had been blessed with fast feet as well as strong arms, and those fast feet bore her winged speed over the grassy lawns and paved paths of Beacon.
It did not take Pyrrha too long to realise that she was not running alone. She glanced to her side to see Cinder Fall keeping pace with her.
“I hope you don’t mind the company,” Cinder managed to drawl even while running, “but if Sunset is in difficulty, I’d like to be of assistance.”
Pyrrha would have dearly liked to refuse her, but in the circumstances, it would have been not only rude but foolish too; they might need all the help they could get.
And so they ran on, passing beneath the Atlesian cruiser as it held position just beyond the tower, passing into and without its shadow, running towards the cliffs as their hair streamed out behind them.
They would be fine. They would all be fine. So Pyrrha told herself, to calm the beating of a heart that was pounding fast enough already simply with running.
They would be fine. They would all be fine. Because she would rescue them.
The sunlight glimmered off her armour, and Pyrrha’s red hair trailed behind her like a banner as she leapt from the cliff and plunged, headfirst, into the forest.
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Politics are the worst, but this chapter was great. Cant wait to see what happens next
This is a spicy meatball! Let's get ready for locker-guided-emergency-reinforcements! Yeay!
Arslan finally got the minor wake-up call I was hoping for, to show her that the Grimm are truly a threat and that Pyrrha's decision is nobler than she gave it credit for.
And this certainly isn't what Ironwood meant when he wanted Ozpin occasionally cut down to size. Heh, be careful what you wish for!
And how's this for a stain on your public image, Novo?
You have forever spurned Professor Ozpin, all of Beacon Academy, and who knows how many Huntsmen (especially after your decision to withdraw protection from the outlying Vale settlements) by deliberately denying aid and rescue to school students. And on top of that, one of them is Twilight Sparkle, who is beloved by three majority seats on the Atlesian Council. You just sparked a diplomatic incident with the mightiest kingdom in the world, all because you're worried about your poll numbers! Are you even aware that every phone call between a military base/vessel and foreign authorities is monitored and recorded? 
I'm also excited for Cinder. She'll end up asking herself an important question: How does she feel about Phoebe trying to kill Sunset?
10769638
You know, Ironwood IS also the headmaster of Atlas Academy...... wouldn't that be a loophole he could exercise via the Atlesian students and as their headmaster? At least using the Atlesian students as an excuse to get involved in the exercise and send some extra "supervisors" to participate?
10769643
Maybe that, despite having both position, Ironwood still have to separate is fonction.
He may not be able to use the means of the general to accomplish the task of the headmaster.
10769638
I don't think there a lot of questioning to do. She hate Phoebe and like Sunset. The situation seems to be in accordance with her current opinion. Maybe the situation will permit her to overcome her fear? 🤷
10769676
It will make Cinder wonder how much she actually cares for Sunset.
10769679
Well it's simple, Sunset is
the love of her lifethe only friend she ever had.The fact than the so hated Phoebe had tried to harm Sunset, and in general seeing Sunset hurt might make her understand that.
Yandere Cinder being jealous of sunset teammates for being so close
they sleep in the same room than her beloved, she will be so jealous of it once her inner gay is revealsound glorious.More seriously, I wonder what will happens.
Cinder loathe Pyrrha, and even her huntress persona is personnality-wise the stark opposate of Pyrrha, I wonder if Cinder would say to Pyrrha's face than she loathe her, on one hand, prior to volume 4 she had proof herself as someone cunning, but on the other hand, it's Cinder, a petty idiot who's arrogance and rage are as big as the powers she crave for, and shipping aside, she still care about Sunset, so even if it's a simple liking, the situation with Sunset make her emotions more difficult to control, especially since she see Pyrrha as one of the chains of what she consider the "true Sunset".
There is also the problem with Phoebe, there is the legit possibility than Cinder actually try to murder Phoebe if she learn it and then Sunset had really been hurt, or at the very least, seriously harming her.
10769750
I can see Cinder being quite open about her dislike of Pyrrha, after all she told Sunset herself that she didn't like her friends and Jaune is already openly antagonistic against her. Acting against her? That is just going too far, she can't touch Pyrrha for as long as she needs to act as a student, and any attempt to do so indirectly would have a low probability of working and a high probability of exposing her.
Phoebe fate depends entirely on how convenient her continuing existence is for Cinder. She IS a student of Atlas, so publicly disgracing her would hurt Atlas/Mistral in general and Ironwood in particular, so if Cinder learns (an gets evidence) of what Phoebe did then I can see her saving it for the most convenient time. And after that kill her obviously, no-one keeps a grudge like Cinder.
10769901
I said "saying to her face" not attack, it would be stupid, not only for her cover, but she would lose sunset friendship if she harmed Pyrrha.
10769916
Yeah, but you have to admit that Cinder has poor impulse control. She is probably planning something a bit more underhanded with them, since she already figured out that she isn't going to break their friendship with Sunset with words.
10769975
oh definitly.
Honestly, if the plan wouldn't obviously show Cinder as a culprit, a good idea would had been having her spend years to create a good relation until the betrayal.
10769975
Cinder does have poor impulse control, but she is also a control freak... and the situation as its developing is spiraling out of her control if she does nothing. I'm honestly more surprised that Emerald isn't following her team leader into the Forest out of a legit concern for Cinder's well being.
Also despite his frustrations with the Vale Council, I feel like Ironwood must be taking a small comfort in the fact that he employs intelligent officers like Spitfire. Being able to accurately read a situation and how its going wrong is a good trait to have.
This is also a golden opportunity for Cinder to further divide Vale and Atlas... through in a somewhat different manner then before. Normally she attacks the Atlas military presence, but once word about what Novo did starts to spread through the student body (and boy you know it will), I think she'll start bashing the Vale Council for a while.
This latest chapter got me wondering, Ruby mentioned that Novo and probably the rest of the Vale Council hoarded Vale's huntsmen and huntresses around Vale's major cities, which left Vale's outlying settlements and towns open to Grimm and bandit threats. And considering the hinted state of Vale's local military being small and untested in relation to its larger territory and more numerous outlying settlements and towns, as well as the poor, incomplete state of its Green Line.......
I'm wondering what might be the short-term fix either post-Breach and/or post Battles of Beacon and Vale? Freeport's Rangers and their regular patrols got me curious about the idea of increased recruitment to establish local garrisons to each of Vale's outlying settlements and towns to hold the line and airborne, rapid-response soldiers and huntsmen units to respond to SOS. Later, there would be Merlot's combat robots post Battles of Beacon and Vale after Sunset told Cardin. And Merlot's combat robots were superior quality-wise compared to Atlas' newer AK-200s since they were meant to take on and/or replace huntsmen and huntresses.
That was cold, even for Novo. Is every politician in this universe cold, short-sighted, lacking in empathy etc. jerk?
10776367
You have Cadance and Blake parents as examples of politicians that are quite good at their jobs.
10777989
Right, I remember. One in Atlas, no surprise there. Just why Novo had to take such a level in jerkass? She wasn't THIS bad in the show.
10776367
Yes, because they're elected politicans and this is a monarchist work where the meanness of elected magistrates is contrasted with the nobility of princes.
10778076
I'm sorry, what do you exactly mean by that? Wouldn't by the same logic, Cadence also be meaner?
Chancellor Aris is the first person General Ironwood is going to shoot with the gravity gun.
I hate politicians
I do not agree with the end of the chapter even if it can be considered that for political reasons Ozpin cannot obtain the help of the General.
There is no reason why he should not go directly into the field or at least send Professor Port.
Or any other action to tell the students to flee ask for help from the other students on the spot etc.
For once I find the excuses presented for the non-action of all members to be totally artificial.
Even nova would have to realize that the death of several students, especially half of whom are celebrities, would cause more harm than other things.
I absolutely love these politics. I fear I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but you truly have outdone yourself.