Author's Note

As mentioned in the description, I'd like to invite you to explore the history of the world of Remnant through the perspective of Jaune Arc—though with many significant changes. I hope you'll enjoy the story!

If you have any feedback or thoughts, please feel free to leave a comment or rating. Also, I apologize for any grammatical errors; English isn't my primary language, but I'm doing my best to improve. Thank you for your understanding, and I wish you a pleasant reading experience.

The sounds of fighting still echoed through the docks, accompanied by flickering firelight against the smoke-filled sky. This was the chaos left behind by the White Fang's final act—a desperate, "heroic" surge meant to serve as the grand finale of their crusade against humanity. In truth, it was nothing more than a smokescreen, a sacrificial ploy to buy time for their leaders to escape. Hundreds left behind to cover the retreat of a select few.

Once, such cruelty would have enraged me. Now? I felt nothing. Well, almost nothing—a cold satisfaction at what was coming next.

The radar led me to the warehouse. I opened the gate, stepped inside, and closed it behind me, pushing a nearby bookcase to block the way. The interior was dimly lit, so I switched on my flashlight and pressed forward.

Blood trails streaked the floor, leading toward the back of the warehouse.

No. You don't get to die here. Not until I get my answers.

At the far end, slumped against the wall in soaked, grimy clothes, was my target: Roman Torchwick. A bandage covered his arm, the blood soaking through it. His face was pale, exhaustion etched into every line, but his sharp, alert eyes told me he wasn't finished yet.

I moved toward him slowly, carefully. Even now, he was dangerous. When he noticed me, surprise and fear flickered across his face before settling into a mocking grin.

"Well, well. Hello, Jaune." He grinned. "You're looking good. Changed your diet? Tell me, my friend, how's Pyrrha?"

I kept my steps deliberate and calm, drawing my sword as I closed the distance. His words didn't matter. All that mattered was what he knew. Still, I decided to humor him.

"Doing just as well as Neo," I said, inspecting my blade's edge.

The grin vanished. Disbelief and anger replaced it.

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"You filthy liar!" he spat. "I know Neo escaped! She's far away, safe, and sitting on a mountain of Dust!"

I shook my head and took another step forward. "Roman, we've got the entire area secured. Do you really think she slipped through?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the dim space.

"Secured? Is that what you call this mess? Fires raging, civilians dying, chaos everywhere. Please, don't make me laugh."

I crouched in front of him, locking eyes. He no longer had his cane, his Dust tanks, or even his signature hat. His hair was disheveled, streaked with dried blood, and the makeshift tourniquet on his arm looked ready to unravel.

"Does that even matter to you now?" I asked, voice low. "Just tell me what I want to know, and we can end this."

Torchwick leaned back, his lips curling into a smirk. "Why don't you tell me how you found me so fast? Huh? I thought I'd get at least a little rest in this cozy dump, but no. Here you are, my shadow."

He was stalling. Maybe Neo had escaped. But the rest of his assumptions? All wrong. The area was locked down. No one was coming for him.

I sighed, pointing at his arm. "The arrow that hit you—it had a transmitter. You didn't just need to snap it off. You needed to remove it."

Roman let out a resigned breath, nodding. "No medic around. Figures. So, what now? Are you dragging me out of here? Locking me in some cell, hoping for intel? Or are you—AHHHH!"

I'd heard enough. My blade pierced his knee in one swift motion. He screamed, thrashing as I twisted the sword, watching the pain seize him.

"A cell? A trial?" I leaned closer. "No, Roman. Your road ends here. The only thing you control now is how long this conversation takes. And don't pretend you're loyal. We both know she used you and left you to rot. So do yourself a favor—tell me where Cinder is."

His face turned even paler, and for a moment, I thought he might pass out. I twisted the blade again, eliciting another agonized howl. His lips moved, but his voice was too faint. Slowly, he lifted his head, locking eyes with me.

"Forgive her," he rasped. "Spare Neo."

I blinked. Even now, he had the gall to make demands. Neo owed us less than he did, but forgiveness? Not a chance.

"No, Roman. Not an option."

Blood dripped from his mouth as he spat onto the floor. "Then... at least a fair trial. A fair punishment."

That, I could accept. Fair punishment. Yes, I liked the sound of that.

"You have my word," I said. "Neo will face justice."

Torchwick's laugh came out hoarse and weak. "Fine... Cinder has a meeting. Mistral, two weeks. The Spiders. Lost Horseshoe Bar. She won't be alone. And tell her for me—compared to Winter, she's pathetic."

His laugh dissolved into coughing, and I took a single, measured breath before driving my sword into his heart. His body slumped, the life leaving his eyes.

It was done. One step closer to my goal.

As I walked out of the warehouse, the sounds of battle faded. The fires seemed to die down, and distant thunder rumbled. A storm was coming.

Note from the Author:

The following chapters take place long before these events. They focus on Jaune's early career as a Huntsman—his training and school life.