Apart from the eventful first day on the ship, Jaune concluded that sea travel was in truth quite boring. He only stepped out occasionally, to kill all the Grimm in vicinity. The sea had long lost its lustre. In the end, it truly was simply an unfamiliar, endless expanse of blue, its saltiness sometimes blown harshly into his face by a passing gale.
So he was understandably quite glad when the land of Menagerie came into sight. They'd stopped in several docks along the coast of Vacuo and southern Vale, but those had been brief respites.
Their docking in Kuo Kuana would be for much longer, picking up more trading goods and maybe a passenger or two before heading to Vale. It would be a reprieve from his discussions about navigation with the captain and the seemingly endless amount of time he spent in his room, either reading or doing callisthenics.
His happiness at walking on actual earth for the first time in weeks almost made him forget what Menagerie was. Almost.
Stealth classes were, after all, the bane of all mages. And Menagerie was nothing but filled with them. Half the people he walked by on the shabbily-cobbled street weren’t even civilians, but dark figures with their hoods drawn up, so as to hide their classes.
Did it really matter if your class was hidden if the mere fact you were hiding revealed what it was?
Jaune paused, considering his own hidden class. Someone ran into him from behind, the grubby thug opening his yap to say something but quailing away and moving on at Jaune's violet-green burning eyes.
Neat trick, that.
Well, probably everyone hid their class here. But there was still a definite overrepresentation of stealth classes in the heroes present. You could tell by their equipment. Not many warriors bothered dressing in leather armour and carrying knives.
Jaune moved on. The peddlers on Main Street didn't really interest him; they were mostly selling food. It was the most important resource after water, but it wasn't the type of food Jaune was interested in. Dried up turnips (the purple variant) and some sickly potatoes…
Jaune preferred more high-quality food, so when he spotted the first off-branching alley that appeared to cater to more well-off customers, he ducked in to explore a bit.
He did not fail to notice the three shadows that followed him from Main Street, that were now inconspicuously browsing wares that they probably couldn't even afford to look at.
Dimensional comprehension let him see into every shop, making sure it was not an ambush point, and being aware of their presence meant he could simply go back into Main Street and avoid any alleyways on his way back to the ship.
He kept perusing wares, buying some delicacies and picking up empty journals. Summarizing the important parts of Black’s books had demolished his supply.
Jaune wasn't in any danger, but that didn't mean others knew that. A girl approached him as he was contemplating if he should buy caviar at a fish store. (The owner was a mage, so all the fish were sprawled out on blankets of ice. Genius idea.) She wore the usual getup of an assassin’s: leather, cloak, and daggers. Her hood concealed her descriptors, but could not do the same for her faunus heritage.
“You're being followed,” she whispered to him, standing next to him and gazing longingly at a tuna fish.
“I know right? They're not very good it,” was Jaune's reply. The girl didn't have enough Lien in her pouch for any of the stuff in this district, so what she was doing here?
Jaune purchased the tuna she had been gazing at, received it packed in some nice brown paper, and unceremoniously handed it to his would-be rescuer. Who received it stiffly, almost flinching away at the unexpected gesture.
She really took her faunus heritage too seriously. Just because you had cat ears didn't mean you should attempt to emulate the animal's behaviour.
“Thanks for caring, I-” can take care of it, was what he was about to say, but he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed someone he knew, talking with his would-be followers.
Prometheus had done good work on the carvings. Jaune was now a proud owner of four pendants bearing the mark of death. Death was what he'd been told the symbol should be referred to as. An innocuous little piece of paper that had been stuck in one of his journals had informed him of this.
He also has one fairly big, but crude carving of the thing. What he was trying to say was that he'd forgiven the thief, but apparently the thief had not forgiven him.
After some more words, Prometheus and what was probably his followers’ leader parted ways. The most likely possibility was that Prometheus was a little snitch who informed this band of miscreants on high value targets that travelled to Kuo Kuana, and then worked together with them to lure them into places where they were then robbed. It was not certain, but it would be fairly easy to prove his hypothesis.
Someone lightly shook his shoulder, the girl. “Are you alright?” she asked gently.
The three followers were all young, and most likely city-dwellers. Which meant weak, but having backup would be nice...
Jaune waved her off. “Just observing my would-be followers. I've decided to spring their trap.” She frowned. “How much Lien to acquire your backup in case something goes wrong?”
Her friendly demeanour disappeared at the insinuation that she was purchasable. Bad phrasing on his part. “I'm not for sale. I did my part in warning you and do not feel obligated to help when you decide to leap into trouble on your accord.”
Jaune's second mistake was probably pulling out a filled moneybag and shaking it in front of her face, making the coins jingle their own little tune. “Thousand Lien with your name on it.”
She left after that. Taking the tuna he'd bought as thanks with her. Smart one, she didn't just dump the gift because she now disliked him. Jaune could admire the practicality over emotion in that simple gesture. Though she could have earned another thousand by not being offended. But there were lines people did not want to cross. He respected that.
He didn't need her though. He was enough for three scamps with underdeveloped muscles and low-quality gear. Dimensional comprehension was very useful in scouting out the strength of an enemy before engagement. He had really underestimated its ability to let him pick his fights.
Jaune made his way back on the Main Street and ambled towards where Prometheus was. Two alleys away from the docks, namely, along with another little rogue. That would make four. Five if the sailor also participated in the fight.
After a bit more walking and halting to look at merchandise (he had to make it look natural after all, or they might call the operation off), he reached the point where he could see Prometheus as he stood, very unconvincingly at the entrance to their chosen alley. The sailor waved at him, also seeing him, and was dragged back into the darkness of the side street by an arm around his neck the second after that.
Nobody around Main Street seemed to care enough to even gasp at the occasion, probably used to it. The three followers were still there, closer now, he'd also gained one following observer on the rooftops. Jaune ran into the side street, faster than anybody had expected a mage to run apparently, since his followers paused in surprise before frantically running after him.
The bait was quick. They'd managed to take one turn before he caught up to them, taking their fight out of sight of Main Street.
The highly stereotypical thug held a dagger to Prometheus' throat while using him as a shield. “Stop or your friend gets it.” He looked wary. Good.
Jaune didn't stop, shooting a few bursts of arcana behind him to accelerate even further, and while the two were in the process of stumbling back, he gathered a rend around both his arms.
Just before he would have collided with them, Jaune grinded to a halt by pushing his greaves into the stones under his feet, transferring all his momentum through his body in a whip-like motion to his hands, which snaked forward through Prometheus's hastily erected guard.
The dimensional cutting spell was best used in tandem with a sharp weapon. Here, it wasn't necessary. One of Jaune's hands sheared through the sailor’s solar plexus, the other through his stomach. Both of them continued onwards into the thug behind, assisted by arcane bolts firing out of Jaune’s elbows. But his arms weren't long enough to stab the thug all the way through.
Arcane bolt.
Twin explosions caused the already dirty wall behind the thug to be marred even further, this time splattered in much more visceral liquids than just vomit.
Ping. A notification cheerfully informed Jaune that he had risen to level twenty-five.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The two corpses on his arms were too heavy. Prometheus coughed a glob of blood into Jaune’s hood as a last unconscious act of spite, before he, along with the thug, were dislodged with a sickening 'schlop.’ Like the sound of a vacuum suddenly being filled. But... fleshier.
Jaune turned around to the three followers that had now caught up to him. By the looks on their faces they were wishing they hadn't.
No words spoken, they, as a unit, turned around and started running.
No screams.
No hesitation.
No chance.
Jaune teleported himself amidst the three of them in a crack of displaced air and promptly stumbled. He grabbed out instinctively and managed to grasp the head of the only one of them who was using a skill, some sort of shadow engulfing his legs letting him run faster.
The wide blue eyes stared at him in fright from between his fingers before he slammed the head along with the body into the cobbled ground. There, that helped steady his footing. The arcane bolt he released as the head made impact sealed the deal. The street was given another paint job, not that the artist was there to see it.
He could feel the remaining two thieves through dimensional comprehension. The skill provided a better map of the surroundings he was teleporting himself into than his sight. Which was probably the point, Jaune thought as he appeared before the two survivors. Skills of a class were supposed to synergize. A kick to the chest of the thinner thief probably broke some bones, judging by the sound.
A sweep of his hand towards the neck of the burlier thief had no chance to actually reach its target from the beginning until a sword blinked into existence, neatly decapitating the thief who ran into the edge at full speed. The head fell to the ground and started rolling along, passing the bend that would have brought the fleeing robber-wannabes into sight of the Main Street. Their salvation? Doubtful.
Nobody heard the thump as the head rolled to a stop on the wall. It would have been very dramatic if it had stopped in a position where the eyes were gazing accusingly at their killer. Alas, it was not to be, the head ended up face down.
The fight hadn't even lasted half a minute. Well. Fight was a bit of a misnomer. More like a slau-.
A wet rasp brought Jaune's attention back to the matter at hand, namely the last living member of the little robber band. The hood had fallen from the man's face after he'd been knocked down. His name was Bob.
Bob looked at him dejectedly, not looking all too well. Which was understandable. He did have a broken sternum. Before he could start begging for mercy, Jaune silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Shush you, I'm thinking.”
With a gulp, Bob nodded and stilled on the ground, choosing to not look at his probably future murderer and looking upwards. Jaune couldn't fault him. Gazing at lazily passing clouds, drifting along in a bright summer day was probably easier than looking at what the poor thief must’ve thought was some sort of monster.
Now, the question Jaune had to ask himself was, what could he gain from this situation? There weren’t many ways he can spin this. The men were dead, one injured. He would loot them of course. The two remaining questions were if he should let Bob live, and how he should display the corpses.
The object of his third question had run away in the meantime. The girl who had warned him of his followers had followed him on the rooftops, hand fiddling with a dagger, considering if the arrogant mage should be saved.
She had left with a hand held before her mouth, so her vomit would make no sound as it violently rose from her stomach and trickled down her neck.
-/-
Jaune pulled on the corpse that he had impaled into the wall with the daggers he'd taken off his would-be robbers, making sure that it was well and truly stuck there now. Nodding to himself, he dipped his crusty fingers into the clean cut on the neck and drew the symbol of death. Triangle, circle, line, where the head of the dead man would have been. He stepped back not to admire his work, but to see if there was anything more to be done.
The arms were spread out, impaled hands holding them up. The feet had been stuck together with a short sword through the gaps of flesh between the metatarsal bones. When taking the symbol replacing the head into consideration, the entire spectacle took the shape of a cross.
Jaune glanced at the corpse that had the contents of its skull decorating the street, another symbol of death drawn in the gray matter splattered on the ground.
He walked further on, startling Bob, who had just about finished drawing the symbol, but bigger, on the wall that had suffered from his first two kills.
“You'll live.” Jaune said, to the visible relief of Bob.
“Death comes to all, but you can escape its grasp for a bit more.” Jaune fumbled around his inventory before pulling out one of the wooden pendants the now deceased Prometheus had created for him. He'd threaded cord through them, so he probably should just start referring to the things as symbol necklaces.
He threw it at Bob, who caught it while wheezing, one hand clutching his chest. “Here.”
Bob stayed standing, clutching the necklace in his right hand.
“Well, wear it. That's the whole point of the thing,” Jaune had to say to make the thief put it on. Without saying a word.
Well, Jaune had told him to be quiet.
“You can leave now.” He waved him off, walked past the hobbling man to the graffitied walls. “Oh, and if you ever take it off? I'll kill you,” Jaune added as he dipped his fingers in blood for what was hopefully the last time in a while.
The sound of footsteps quickened.
A symbol was a symbol. But having a bit more to accompany it would raise its memetic value. Jaune had been thinking of a phrase to write down as he decorated the alley.
And he'd found it.
He charged some mana into his finger and started writing. The mana was necessary because blood dried into a murkish red-brown, which was not so easy to make out against the murkish-gray of the walls behind it. Mana made the blood a bit more... vibrant.
Jaune had never thought that learning about what was basically magical painting would ever help him in any capacity. But here he was. He dotted the i's and stood back to admire the ominous-looking words, with an even more ominous symbol above them.
Very deep. Very nonsensical, but Jaune considered it a sentence that would stick with people.
The Goal of All Life is Death.
-/-
Jaune noticed that he had a slight problem as he walked back to the docks. The fact that he had decorated an alley in the blood of his enemies was good and all, but the highly distinctive symbol he'd used was present all over his clothes. All of his clothes.
He smacked a palm into his face, before removing it in disgust.
He had just left the market area.
Jaune turned around and hurried off towards the nearest shop selling clothes. He bought an unmarked cloak and used it to replace his stylish purple one. A downgrade was fine as long as it ensured some safety.
People would inevitably remember the fact that someone bearing the symbol had left The Lad (the name of his ship). The attire was made to be distinctive, after all. But for all that it mattered, that mysterious figure had disembarked in this town and was not coming back, having reached its destination.
Jaune Arc, young mage, however, would board the ship, free of any suspicions, to attend Beacon Academy in Vale and then promptly switch back into his symbolised clothes. News of the small slaughter would never make it to Vale due to it not being very important, and the sailors wouldn't care. Couldn't afford to care due to their weakness. Generally nobody would care about the death of some scum, but the presentation thereof may have raised some eyebrows and concerns.
The captain had apparently come back before even Jaune, which was odd, since the man should have many more things to settle in Kuo Kuana than Jaune did. Dock permit, trading goods acquisition, and whoring. All of those activities would probably take longer than Jaune's short stroll through the market.
Jaune approached the neutral-faced captain and asked, “What ails you Ercanbald?” The facade of the man broke a little at the question and he grunted and sighed.
“I'll be blunt. A Merchant Prince is trying to monopolize the trading market of Kuo Kuana and has hired assassins to “inform” anyone who tries to purchase anything.” Ercanbald said with a gruff voice.
Jaune blinked. That came out of nowhere. “I was just at the market. The atmosphere seemed fairly normal, if a bit stifling, which is expected of such a place.” Maybe the thugs had also had a secondary mission in accosting him. If so, he'd definitely stepped on some toes. “I imagine the jumped-up merchant prince will be dealt with soon enough. One particularly high-level assassin is bound to lose someone important to him if the planned takeover you described is truly a city-wide occurrence. But just because it will be dealt with does not mean that we should stay here in the meanwhile. I imagine we're waiting for the crew to come back before we set sail?”
The captain grunted in agreement. He seemed very standoffish. Understandable. If his words were true, he was losing his men to assassins at the very moment and would also run a deficit on this particular venture.
Jaune looked around the docks. They were mostly empty, and now he knew why. Had the other captains slash merchants known of this happening beforehand? Or had they also lost men, money, and then cut their losses?
The captain visibly tensed next to him. Jaune turned his head to where the man was looking.
There was a commotion at the gangplank. One of the tougher-looking sailors was arguing with a girl. It seemed she wanted to book passage to Vale, but Guts, the sailor, was obviously unwilling to let an obvious assassin on board.
It was the girl that had tried to warn him of the ambush and then followed him, presumably to save his dumbass when he got stuck in over his head. No saving had been required, and he'd most likely traumatised her. She also didn't seem like the type of person that would let herself be bought to kill innocents. She'd balked at being bought to kill robbers.
Attempting a good deed though, should be rewarded, even if the deed itself was unnecessary. “I vouch for that girl,” Jaune said, loudly enough for the captain, Guts, and the girl to hear him.
The captain gripped the railing and Guts stilled, backing off from the situation that was beyond his pay-grade. The girl flinched and looked ready to bolt when she caught sight of him. Had she recognised the visible bottom portion of his face, or his voice?
The captain respected him. Jaune was banking on that. The man would at least consider it.
The girl was hesitating, glancing at the rest of the docked ships. A few fishing boats that would get her nowhere, two galleons, and one other brigantine. All smaller than theirs and probably not even heading to Vale.
“The other ship that could take you to Vale isn't heading there. They're going to Mistral,” Ercanbald informed the girl. “Get on and we will discuss it.”
The girl acquiesced. Jaune wondered where'd she'd left the fish.
-/-
There had been a few concessions to be made for Blake's passage. Blake was the assassin girl’s name, as the first concession had been for her to reveal her name. Which she had done, somehow managing to make her descriptors only give her first name and class. The second was that she would keep to her cabin at day and only come out at night for the month required to reach Vale. Unless of course she wanted to dress like a civilian.
Which she vehemently refused. Jaune could respect her being proud of her own class, and wanting to display that, but inconveniencing yourself to do so was going a bit far.
The third concession was the one that had Blake almost jumping off the ship. She was to be watched over by the only person on board who could reliably keep track of her and stop her if she, as the captain feared, attempted to kill everyone and take over the vessel.
Jaune requested no monetary compensation for the service or the fact he would be sharing his room with an assassin. It had been his idea to let her on board after all. And he wasn't afraid of her either. Dimensional comprehension woke him up if anything that it recognized as a danger to him tried to get too close to him or took any threatening actions.
It was odd that the skill wasn't capable of ranking up. It was clearly improving, range, detail, and now Jaune had (with some questionable self-hypnosis and mental triggers attached to the skill) made it capable of being semi-active in his sleep and waking him up by putting pressure on the part of the brain it affected. The downside was that he now required an hour more of sleep on average.
Blake turned to him when they were alone in hi- their cabin. “Why did you help me?” she asked, sounding quite angry for someone asking that question. Was it anger at him in particular for helping her, anger at herself for needing help, or anger at the fact that she thought she was undeserving of help?
Jaune got the feeling that it might have been a mix of all three. Maybe she was suspecting ulterior motives? Which to be fair, he did have. In the heat of battle he had revealed his teleport skill to her and the robber that had survived.
But while Bob knew, it was highly unlikely that he would leave Kuo Kuana, go to Vale, and mention how he had tried to rob this one guy and gotten his sternum kicked in. Blake however, was travelling, was going to Vale. And from her apparent age, her destination was the same as his.
Her travelling with him meant that he could get to know her. Was she someone who revealed the skills of others, something which was considered incredibly rude and oftentimes malicious against your fellow man? Well, if she was such a person, she would not be able to get away from him on a ship. Jaune doubted Ercanbald and Guts would care if she were to quietly disappear one night to go frolic with the fishes.
Normally it wouldn't even matter that she had seen him teleport. He had his name hidden along with his face. But being the only person running around wearing the symbol of death kind of made it obvious who the dimensional mage was. Nobody was going to buy the fact that he was already level fifty, where some other fringe mage classes unlocked the teleport skill, or that he was simply that fast.
He would have to remember to keep his more questionable activities better hidden, changing his clothes when he was finished, for example. It wasn't like it would be hard, with his access to not one, but two inventories.
“Are you ignoring me?” she bristled.
Jaune shook his head. “No, I was simply thinking of an answer to your question. I imagine saying that it was simply the right thing to do would be unsatisfying.”
“Why was it the right thing to do?” she asked, making sure that he knew that the answer indeed needed further clarification.
Jaune needed something to stall with while he came up with an answer, so he pulled down his hood, releasing his hair and revealing the upper part of his face. “Having an extended conversation with someone, while having our faces hidden is uncomfortable. Also, why don't we sit down?” Jaune asked and then promptly plopped himself down on his bed.
His words startled Blake out of her frozen state.
She was probably taken aback by how handsome he was.