Jaune the Imperishable or how Settra got his Golden Body (RWBY/Warhammer Fantasy) ch.17

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Gawain stood motionless, her form as perfect as it had been all those years ago. Her gauntleted hands gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, its tip resting against the cold stone floor. Her gaze remained fixed on the door, unblinking. If she were alive, she might have felt the chill of the night air crawling against her skin.

But she did not feel anything. Because she was a ghost.

So when that arrogant braggart had offered her the chance to walk again, to feel again, she had to admit he had earned her attention. But what truly captured her was the oath. It had always been ceremony, nothing more than theatre. A tradition meant to matter to squires who had fought for the right to become knights. A relic of an older era. There had never been any power behind it. At least, that was what she had believed before death claimed her.

But when she swore herself to Settra's service, she felt it. A divine power. 

Settra could make her walk again. 

And Gawain was going to do anything, everything, to feel alive again. Her thoughts were interrupted as the doors creaked open, and a familiar mop of blonde hair appeared. 

"You're late," Gawain chastised.

"I'm sorry," Jaune mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "My team had stuff to discuss."

"You only have so much time before the sun rises again," Gawain reminded him sharply. "An hour or two at most. And no doubt you're already exhausted from the day's activities, being a student and all. But a tired mind can still learn something." She straightened, her tone turning brisk. "Never mind. While you were away, I decided on a curriculum for you to follow."

Jaune groaned inwardly. Another lesson to endure.

"Do not dare to complain, foolish boy," Settra's voice thundered in his mind, sharp and imperious. "I have seen fit to invest in your development. Do not shame me by wasting my time."

Yes, your Majesty... Jaune thought back sarcastically.

"Remind me to have you flogged for referring to me with only one of my many titles," Settra replied with a scornful tut.

Jaune ignored him, focusing instead on Gawain, who was now watching him expectantly.

"Tell me, Jaune," she began. "What is your experience with the blade?"

Before Jaune could answer, Settra interjected with a sneer. "My possessing of your body does not count as experience, Jaune of Arc."

"I wasn't about to bring that up!" Jaune snapped under his breath.

To Gawain, he sighed. "Honestly? No experience. Nada."

Gawain tilted her head at Jaune's answer, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he wondered if she was about to mock him or chastise him for his lack of skill. But instead, she gave a small nod. 

"That is fine," she said evenly. "A fresh mind is unburdened by bad habits. It is open to learning things an experienced one might stubbornly resist."

Her words caught Jaune off guard, and he felt a flicker of relief. She wasn't mocking him, wasn't rolling her eyes or making some biting comment like others might have. Instead, she was…encouraging him. 

"Really?" Jaune asked hesitantly, trying to gauge her sincerity.

"Truly," Gawain assured him. "You might not see it yet, but there is potential in you. We will find it, and we will hone it."

She stepped closer, her ghostly figure circling him as if appraising him for the first time. Her gaze was sharp, focused, like a master craftsman inspecting raw material.

"You have a good height," she noted. "That will be an advantage when fighting the Grimm. A higher reach allows for greater control over the battlefield."

Jaune blinked, unsure how to respond, but Gawain continued. "In my time, firearms did not exist. Many knights and soldiers carried polearms to fight the Grimm: spears, halberds, glaives. Weapons that could keep a beast at bay while striking vital points. They were the tools of war."

Before Jaune could respond, Settra's voice chimed in, wistful yet proud. "Ah, yes. I, too, carried a polearm in my time. A glaive of unmatched craftsmanship, its blade forged in the fires of-"

Now, Jaune was no history buff. But even he was vaguely aware that knights and royals fought with specialized weapons. That's what the shows on tv had informed him. "Wait," Jaune interrupted, confused. "You? A polearm? Weren't those weapons for, like…peasants?"

The room seemed to chill as Settra went silent. A moment later, Jaune flinched as Settra physically manifested beside him, his towering form radiating a palpable aura of displeasure.

"You ignorant child!" Settra bellowed, raising a hand and lightly bonking Jaune on the head. "Polearms were the weapons of warriors! Tools of war, forged for the battlefield, wielded by the finest soldiers to ever walk the earth. Do not insult them by associating them with the rabble!"

Jaune staggered back, rubbing his head. "Ow! Hey, what was that for?!"

Gawain sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Settra of Many Titles," she said sharply, her tone laced with disapproval. "You know as well as I do that physically manifesting requires Jaune's aura. It should only be used in emergencies."

Settra turned to her, unbothered. "The boy's ignorance was an emergency. It is my duty to educate him."

Gawain crossed her arms, her expression colder. "His ignorance does not justify your indulgence. If you deplete his aura before a fight, and he dies because of it, what then?"

Jaune raised a hand weakly. "Uh, guys? Can we maybe not argue about my hypothetical death right now?"

Both turned to look at him, and for a moment, Jaune regretted speaking. But then Gawain exhaled, forcing herself to calm.

"Fine," she said, her tone softening as she addressed him again. "Let us return to the matter at hand. Your lack of experience with a blade is not a weakness, Jaune. It is an opportunity. And as for polearms…" Her gaze flicked briefly to Settra before returning to Jaune. "You may find their utility surprising. But we will work with what you have for now."

Jaune nodded hesitantly. "Alright. Where do we start?"

Gawain smiled faintly. "We start," she said, "with the basics. Footwork, balance, and discipline. Everything else will follow."

And thus, they began. 

"You have a sword, and shield," Gawain said. "Tell me, how would you fight with it?" 

Jaune glanced at his deployed shield, and Crocea Mors. "The shield to protect myself, and Crocea Mors to start stabbing?" Jaune tried. 

"Excellent," Gawain praised. Jaune may be new, but Gawain was not going to treat him as if he was an idiot. Gods above knows how Settra was doing that to him. "Sword and shield combat requires balance, control, and discipline. Unlike fencing or dueling, this style is defensive by nature. The shield leads, the sword follows. Your shield protects. Your sword strikes."

Jaune nodded, taking her words in. "Now, give me your best stance," Gawain encouraged him. 

And he tried, fighting back the bullets of sweat dripping from his forehead. Not because it was hot, no it was extremely cold. No, it was because Settra was watching, and watching closely. He could feel the Great King rubbing his chin, eyeing him like a hawk. 

His shield arm wavered slightly, and Gawain immediately noticed.

"Plant your shield arm firmly," she instructed, stepping closer to adjust his posture. She tapped the edge of his shield with her sword, demonstrating how exposed his body would be if he didn't hold it properly. She then adopted a pose for Jaune to follow. Jaune swallowed, and tried. 

"Good," Gawain said. "Now, your feet."

Jaune shuffled his feet, trying to mimic the stance she demonstrated. His movements were clumsy, his balance uneven. 

"Keep your knees bent," Gawain added, her tone firm but not unkind. "A low center of gravity will make you harder to knock down. And remember, this stance is defensive. You are not rushing in; you are waiting, watching, and preparing to strike."

"The boy looks like he's trying to dance. It's embarrassing," Settra's voice rumbled in Jaune's mind, unimpressed. 

Jaune frowned, glancing upward. "I'm trying, okay?"

"Focus, Jaune," Gawain said sharply, pulling his attention back to her. "Ignore him. You are here to learn, not to entertain."

Settra huffed indignantly. "If he wanted to entertain me, he'd do it by not falling on his face. Look at him! His balance is atrocious. Drop your weight more, boy!"

Jaune gritted his teeth but adjusted his stance again, bending his knees further and tightening his grip on his shield. He felt the weight shift, his footing becoming a bit steadier.

"Better," Gawain said with a small nod. "Now, the guards. There are three basic guards in sword and shield combat: High, Middle, and Back." She raised her sword above her head, the blade angled back. "This is High Guard. The most common of the three. From this position, you can deliver strong, downward attacks. Your shield should remain extended slightly from your body, ready to intercept any incoming strikes."

Jaune mimicked her, raising his sword above his head and holding his shield out front. His arms trembled slightly from the effort of holding both weapons steady.

"Relax your elbow," Gawain instructed, gesturing to his shield arm. "A stiff arm will tire quickly. Let the shield rest on your forearm strap. It's there for a reason. Your energy should go into control, not brute strength."

Jaune adjusted, and the shield felt slightly less cumbersome. "Okay, I think I got it."

Gawain nodded, and lowered her sword, holding it to her side with the blade pointed outward. "This is Middle Guard. While slashes can be more difficult from this position, thrusting is much easier. It allows for precision strikes when used correctly."

Jaune shifted his sword to match her. His movements were slow, deliberate, and clumsy, but he was trying.

"And finally," Gawain continued, stepping back and smoothly transitioning into the last position, "Back Guard. The sword is held behind you, the blade angled downward. From this position, you can deliver powerful swings. It is less defensive, but it allows for devastating attacks."

Jaune tried to mimic her again, though his balance wavered as he shifted his weight. His sword dipped too low, and his shield sagged a little.

"Keep your shield up!" Gawain snapped. "Your shield is not just for blocking; it is your lifeline. If it drops, you die."

Jaune quickly raised his shield, nearly stumbling in the process. "Right, sorry!"

Despite the rough start, Jaune began to settle into the stances as Gawain walked him through them repeatedly. Each time, she corrected his form, adjusted his posture, and reminded him of the purpose behind every position. After awhile, Gawain decided on a short break. She remained standing, arms crossed. She had no need for rest. Jaune however was on the floor, Crocea Mors and shield laying at his side. 

"You're clumsy," Gawain decided. "But you're learning quickly, faster than some squires I remember. That is a good sign."

Jaune felt that he could detect when someone was just saying something to make him feel better. But Gawain's verdict felt final. He could trust her, he felt. "Really? You think so?" 

She nodded. "Your movements are improving with each attempt. That shows potential. With time and discipline, you could become a competent fighter."

"Competent is a generous word. He's still far from anything resembling a warrior," Settra chimed in, manifesting above Jaune with a scowl etched into his regal features. "My instructors would have beaten him with a reed stick for such clumsiness."

Gawain's gaze snapped toward Settra, and she recoiled slightly. "I do not condone beatings, Settra of Many Titles," she said firmly, her voice tinged with disapproval.

Jaune felt himself relax slightly. Gawain was strict, sure, but at least she wasn't that kind of teacher.

Settra, however, looked unimpressed. "Why not? Sometimes, a beating is the most effective way to address terrible behavior." He crossed his arms, his tone growing nostalgic. "My own lord father personally corrected me with his fists when I displeased him."

Jaune tried to imagine a young Settra getting beaten by his dad. The mental image nearly sent him into a fit of laughter, but he wisely smothered it, lest he provoke the Great King's wrath. Gawain, on the other hand, looked horrified. "By order of the King, squires are not to be punished like that," she growled, her voice edged with steel. Then she turned to Jaune, her expression softening into something almost maternal. "Worry not, Jaune. I will not lay a hand on you."

"Uh, thank you, Gawain," Jaune said, offering her a sheepish smile.

Gawain nodded solemnly. "Of course. The King's laws must be respected. However..." Her voice took on a sharper edge, and Jaune felt his stomach sink. "...I can deprive you of food and drink, assign extra labor in camp, or send you into the forest to reflect on your mistakes."

Jaune's jaw dropped. "What?! That's not better!"

Settra hummed in approval, stroking his chin. "Primitive, but I can respect such methods. Perhaps your kingdom is not as barbaric as I first thought."

Gawain scoffed at his remark. "Of course not. Vale is the center of culture for the world."

"How is that civilized at all?!" Jaune yelped, throwing his hands in the air.

Settra raised an eyebrow at him, his tone heavy with disdain. "Do not tell me your people do not practice beatings?"

"No!" Jaune's voice pitched with incredulity. "Why would we? Beatings don't achieve anything!"

"Exactly," Gawain said with a small nod of approval. "Citizens of Vale are the children of the Kingdom. And, as my King commanded, we do not beat our children."

Jaune sighed in relief, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. For being a long-dead knight ghost, Gawain was surprisingly reasonable.

Then Gawain added, helpfully, "We could beat slaves, however."

Jaune froze mid-relaxation, staring at her in disbelief.

Settra chuckled darkly. "Ah, now that is a policy I can agree with."

"Slaves?!" Jaune spluttered.

Gawain blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. "Yes, slaves. I never held any, however. I was constantly on the move, so I never held any."

"I had thousands," Settra snorted. "Spoils of war that dared resist Nehekhara. They repaid their resistance in service." 

Judging by the stories that Settra had told him of Nehekhara's wars, that could only mean thousands upon thousands. Jaune's throat tightened. "We're not getting any slaves," he decided firmly. 

"No slaves? How are you supposed to get anything done?" Settra asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"With...with workers! Actual workers!" Jaune chortled. "We do not do slavery anymore, alright?" 

Gawain looked genuinely taken aback. "Truly? No slaves at all?"

"None!" Jaune said firmly, crossing his arms.

"First, your so-called fiat currency, and now no slavery," Settra tutted. "How do you maintain order without the lash?"

Jaune groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not having this conversation with either of you." 

They are ancient ghosts, Jaune reminded himself. They are ancient ghosts.

"No, wait, " Gawain interrupted. "Does that mean all citizens are free?"

"Yes," Jaune replied, exasperated. "Everyone's free. No slavery." 

"No wonder I see many faunus then, without chains," Gawain considered. "One cannot beat them then?" 

"No," Jaune retorted. 

"Well, some clearly have missed that announcement," Gawain drawled. "There is a student here, a faunus of the rabbit or hare variety. She often gets bullied by some boys." 

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A/N: Updoot.

A bit short for my liking but it is to build up for the next updoot.