Jaune the Imperishable or how Settra got his Golden Body (RWBY/Warhammer Fantasy) ch.12

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Pyrrha stared, transfixed.

The ancient king glanced down at his form. He looked less human and more like a Djinn, his lower body hidden in a swirl of shifting mist. Yet he was tangible enough. Settra could feel the draft from the open door, taste the air in his lungs. "This is...peculiar," he drawled, inspecting his hands, flexing his fingers with mild amusement. "But it will have to suffice."

"Who...are you?" Pyrrha asked cautiously, her words almost a whisper.

"He's the voice inside my head," Jaune coughed, his legs wobbling as he collapsed into a nearby chair. His body was drenched in sweat, his aura flickering faintly, translucent and unstable. The Imperishable laughed, the sound reverberating like rolling thunder.

"This boy," Settra began, his tone grand and theatrical, "cannot translate greatness." He turned his gaze to Pyrrha, his presence filling the room like a stormcloud. "I am Settra! Great King, the Imperishable, Khemrikhara, The Great King of Nehekhara..."

Pyrrha stared, wide-eyed. Jaune didn't even bother to resist.

"King of Kings, Opener of the Way, Wielder of the Divine Flame, Punisher of Nomads, The Great Unifier, Commander of the Golden Legion, Sacred of Appearance..."

Pyrrha blinked. Jaune slumped further into his chair, his eyelids drooping.

"Bringer of Light, Father of Hawks, Builder of Cities, Protector of the Two Worlds, Keeper of the Hours, Chosen of Ptra, High Steward of the Horizon, Sailor of the Great Vitae, Sentinel of the Two Realms, The Undisputed, Begetter of the Begat..."

Pyrrha shifted uncomfortably.

"Scourge of the Faithless, Carrion-Feeder, First of the Charnel Valley, Rider of the Sacred Chariot, Vanquisher of Vermin, Champion of the Death Arena, Mighty Lion of the Infinite Desert, Emperor of the Shifting Sands-"

Pyrrha glanced nervously at Jaune, who just looked...tired. 

"He Who Holds the Sceptre, Great Hawk of the Heavens, Arch-Sultan of Atalan, Waker of the Hierotitan, Monarch of the Sky, Majestic Emperor of the Shifting Sands, Champion of the Desert Gods, Breaker of the Ogre Clans, Builder of the Great Pyramid, Son of a Bitch-"

"Son of a-?" Pyrrha started, but Settra ignored her.

"Terror of the Living, Master of the Never-Ending Horizon, Master of the Necropolises, Taker of Souls, Tyrant to the Foolish, Bearer of Ptra's Holy Blade, Scion of Usirian, Scion of Nehek, The Great, Chaser of Nightmares, Keeper of the Royal Heart, Founder of the Mortuary Cult, Banisher of the Grand Hierophant, High Lord Admiral of the Deathfleets, Guardian of the Charnel Pass, Tamer of the Liche King, Unliving Jackal Lord-"

'Be polite,' Pyrrha told herself, pinching her arm to stay awake, just be polite and listen to the seemingly mad, ancient Vacuan Pharaoh-creature.

"Dismisser of the Warrior Queen, Charioteer of the Gods, He Who Does Not Serve, Slayer of Reddittras, Scarab Purger, Favored of Usirian, Player of the Great Game, Liberator of Life, Lord of Sand, Wrangler of Scorpions, Emperor of the Dunes-"

Maybe I'm too polite, Pyrrha thought grimly.

"Eternal Sovereign of Khemri's Legions, Seneschal of the Great Sandy Desert, Curser of the Living, Regent of the Eastern Mountains, Warden of the Eternal Necropolis, Herald of All Heralds, Caller of the Bitter Wind, God-Tamer, Master of the Mortis River-"

Outside, crickets chirped. But Settra continued, utter gravity in his voice. 

"Guardian of the Dead, Great Keeper of the Obelisks, Deacon of the Ash River, Belated of Wakers, General of the Mighty Frame, Summoner of Sandstorms, Master of All Necrotects, Prince of Dust, Tyrant of Araby, Purger of the Greenskin Breathers, Killer of the False God's Champions, Tyrant of the Gold Dunes-"

It had been ten minutes. She counted.

"Golden Bone Lord, Avenger of the Dead, Carrion Master, Eternal Warden of Nehek's Lands, Breaker of Djaf's Bonds...and many, many more," Settra concluded triumphantly.

Pyrrha perked up. Oh, thank the gods. 

"And I..." Pyrrha swallowed, her voice cracking slightly. "I am Pyrrha."

"I know of you, Pyrrha of Nikos," Settra rumbled. "We met in the forest."

She froze. Her head snapped toward Jaune, who nodded tiredly, his voice low. "Yeah...when you activated my aura, it switched our souls."

"How is that even possible?" she asked. Both that and...whatever the hell was going on here. Was this his semblance? 

Jaune shrugged weakly, resting his head against the back of the chair. "I don't know," he admitted, his tone drained. "I didn't even know something like this could happen."

Settra's laughter boomed. "And that, Pyrrha of Nikos, is the brilliance of it! You do not know, he does not know, but I know." He gestured dramatically, his translucent form glowing faintly. "You have released me from my torment-" 

"Never asked for you," Jaune groaned. 

"Silence, whelp," Settra warned, before he turned back to Pyrrha. "You have granted me a boon. For that, you have the gratitude of the Imperishable." 

Pyrrha's face flushed. "I…uh…you're welcome?" she said awkwardly, not entirely sure how to respond to the towering ancient king.

Settra inclined his head slightly, the gesture as regal as it was intimidating. "Do not be modest! I shall grant you a boon. Name it, and it shall be so."

Pyrrha's eyes widened. "A boon? I…I don't know what to ask for," she admitted, glancing at Jaune, whose tired expression didn't offer much guidance.

Settra's posture straightened, his presence filling the room with authority. "So be it," he declared magnanimously. "The Imperishable does not forget favors, Pyrrha of Nikos. You may claim your reward when the time comes." His gaze softened just slightly, a rare glimmer of something almost resembling respect. "You have my word."

Pyrrha nodded hesitantly, unsure whether to be flattered or slightly terrified. She had so many questions. Who was Settra? What was he to Jaune? When did this happen? 

But...there were far more important things. She turned back to Jaune, her expression softening with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

Jaune forced a small smile. "Yeah, I think so," he replied, though his voice was weak. "I'll need some time to recover, but I'll be fine."

Relief washed over her face. "I'm glad," Pyrrha said warmly. "I brought some food for you, but..."

Jaune raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion momentarily giving way to curiosity. "But?"

Pyrrha turned toward the door, her expression shifting awkwardly. She had left the tray of food outside. That, and she had kicked in the door to get in here. "...We're going to have to explain all the damage," she admitted, glancing at the broken doorframe and the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Furniture was overturned, and the room bore all the signs of a small-scale disaster.

She winced at the mess, guilt creeping in. "I mean, I had to...you were screaming, and I panicked," she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck.

At least she wouldn't have to face the aftermath alone. "Well," she began, trying to sound optimistic, "at least you can explain everything. You can tell them about your sembl-"

She paused mid-sentence. Jaune had fallen asleep, his head slumped to the side, his breathing peaceful. Settra was gone, his overwhelming presence vanished without a trace.

Pyrrha blinked. "Oh," she muttered softly.

Before she could gather her thoughts, a sharp scream pierced the air. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY INFIRMARY WARD?!"

Pyrrha spun around to see Professor Peach standing in the doorway, a tray in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other. The professor's face was frozen in an expression of pure horror as she surveyed the wrecked room.

Pyrrha panicked, her mouth moving faster than her brain. "I-it wasn't my fault!" she blurted out. "Jaune's semblance acted up, and I...I met the voice inside of his head!"

Silence hung in the air as Peach stared at her, the look of horror slowly morphing into incredulity. "You met the voice inside of his head," Peach repeated, her tone flat.

"Yes," Pyrrha replied, nodding with absolute seriousness.

Peach squinted at her, as though trying to decide if she was joking. "You...don't take hallucinogens, do you?"

"What? No!" Pyrrha exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with indignation.

"Just making sure," Peach said defensively, holding up a hand. "You'd be surprised what students get into these days."

Pyrrha hesitated, her indignation waning. "...Does that usually happen at Beacon?" she asked, both curious and slightly unnerved.

"Not as bad as before," Peach replied with a chuckle. Her expression grew wistful as she added, "Those days were wild, I tell you."

"R...right," Pyrrha said, shifting uncomfortably, unsure if she wanted to know more.

+++

Armor clinked softly as she sat.

Emotions swirled within her. Though death had claimed her body long ago, she could still feel them deep in her soul.

That sword...

Gawain had been away when Jaune began his Initiation. She had avoided the forest, unwilling to step into its suffocating despair. It was filled with shades: souls of the dead clinging to fragments of life, too weak to retain their sense of self. A grim, haunting place she had no wish to visit.

That was until a familiar light burned in the sky.

She had run as fast as her ghostly feet could carry her. And when she arrived...

The forest was cleansed.

No shades. No terrible memories. Only the full, concentrated power of the sun and the divine. In the chaos of battle, as Grimm fell in droves, she saw Jaune, wielding the sword he called Crocea Mors. But to Gawain, who felt the blade's radiant light, she recognized it by a different name.

Her expression softened as she looked at Jaune's sleeping form. Beside him, the redhead stood quietly, watching over him. Gawain sighed. The girl could not see her, courtesy of being a ghost. They were in a new ward now; the old one had been wrecked. A part of Gawain chided herself for not being here sooner, but she had been delayed, wandering through the forest, exploring places once forsaken but now renewed.

"What happened to you?" the redhead whispered, her voice quiet and filled with concern. She stood at Jaune's bedside while the faunus doctor typed furiously on her scroll.

"His aura spiked," Professor Peach said without looking up. "I warned him not to overdo it but you can't really stop stubborn people."

Gawain chuckled softly at that.

"I've injected him with recovery fluid," Peach continued. "Since he's asleep, it'll work faster. By morning, he should be fine. I'll clear him to formally join your team then."

"Thank you, Professor," Pyrrha said, her voice tinged with relief. "It's just...it's not exactly auspicious for our leader to miss the first day."

"Bah, you can't blame him for that," Peach replied with a huff. "Sometimes things just happen. What matters is making it right."

Gawain rolled her eyes. Wishful thinking, she mused.

"I suppose," Pyrrha murmured uncertainly.

"Geez, girl, lighten up," Peach said, laughing. "It's not like he wanted this to happen. You'll all be fine. I saw how you handled yourselves out there. You all kicked ass. Cut the guy some slack."

Professor Peach shut off her scroll and stretched her arms overhead. "Well, I'm closing the infirmary for the night. Time for you to shoo, little lady."

"I...I can't stay?" Pyrrha asked hesitantly.

"Nope." Peach shook her head matter-of-factly. "School policy. I need to monitor him overnight, and I can't do that with someone else in the room."

Pyrrha's face fell, heartbreak flickering in her eyes. But she nodded, reluctantly accepting it. "Very well. Thank you for everything, Professor," she said, her voice soft as she stood.

"No problem," Peach replied, smiling. "Come on, let's go."

Pyrrha gave Jaune one last worried look before turning to follow Professor Peach out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them. Gawain's gaze lingered on Jaune for a moment longer. His chest rose and fell steadily in sleep.

Armor clinked softly as she stood.

Her ghostly form moved with grace, her steps light and deliberate as she approached the corner where Crocea Mors rested. The sword leaned against the wall, its edge catching the faint glow of the room's artificial lights. Gawain stopped in front of it, her spectral hand hovering just above the hilt, though she knew she couldn't touch it.

Her mind warped.

[SPOILER="The Realm of Gondor"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:hcYyDPBRP-0"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcYyDPBRP-0[/URL][/SPOILER]

Knights in gleaming armor, their banners rippling in the wind, charging down fields of Grimm on horseback. The thunder of hooves, the clash of steel, the cries of victory. And at the center of it all, a sword shining in the light, its golden brilliance cutting through the darkness like the first rays of dawn. The pride of mankind, beautiful and glittering. A realm of men against the consuming dark. Towers of silver and pearls. Twin-axes shining, over a banner of wholly green earth. 

She felt pride swell within her, a warmth she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. But as her gaze dropped to her waist, that pride soured into guilt. There, tied around her, was a sash. A reminder. A burden. A failure.

She froze as she felt a presence shimmer.

"I see you, ghost," the voice rumbled, low and resonant.

Gawain turned sharply, alarmed, her hand instinctively reaching for the sword at her side. Ice crept up her spine as twin orbs of blazing light gazed upon her, scanning her fully as if she were an insect under a rock. The sheer will etched into his face and the glimmering baubles adorning his form told her all she needed to know.

The voice inside Jaune's head.

"The ghost that haunts Sir Jaune," she mused, her tone wary.

"Ghost? Hah!" Settra's laugh reverberated through the room as he materialized from Jaune's body, standing tall and imperious. "I am no ghost, lost spirit. I am truth incarnate. I am Settra! Great King, the Imperishable, Khemrikhara, The Great King of Nehekhara…"

Gawain stared, her expression slowly shifting from alarm to confusion.

"King of Kings, Opener of the Way, Wielder of the Divine Flame, Punisher of Nomads, The Great Unifier, Commander of the Golden Legion, Sacred of Appearance…"

Her battle stance faltered slightly, her grip on her spectral sword loosening.

"Bringer of Light, Father of Hawks, Builder of Cities, Protector of the Two Worlds, Keeper of the Hours, Chosen of Ptra, High Steward of the Horizon, Sailor of the Great Vitae, Sentinel of the Two Realms, The Undisputed, Begetter of the Begat…"

Her lips curled into a frown as her patience began to fray.

"Scourge of the Faithless, Carrion-Feeder, First of the Charnel Valley, Rider of the Sacred Chariot, Vanquisher of Vermin, Champion of the Death Arena, Mighty Lion of the Infinite Desert, Emperor of the Shifting Sands-"

Patience is a virtue, she reminded herself through gritted teeth.

"He Who Holds the Scepter, Great Hawk of the Heavens, Arch-Sultan of Atalan, Waker of the Hierotitan, Monarch of the Sky, Majestic Emperor of the Shifting Sands, Champion of the Desert Gods, Breaker of the Ogre Clans, Builder of the Great Pyramid, Son of a Bitch-"

"Son of a bitch?" Gawain interrupted, her confusion breaking through.

"DO NOT INTERRUPT THE GREAT KING WHEN HE IS INTRODUCING HIS TITLES!" Settra thundered, his voice a deafening roar that made her wince. Before she could even think to respond, he continued, unperturbed.

"Terror of the Living, Master of the Never-Ending Horizon, Master of the Necropolises, Taker of Souls, Tyrant to the Foolish, Bearer of Ptra's Holy Blade, Scion of Usirian, Scion of Nehek, The Great, Chaser of Nightmares, Keeper of the Royal Heart, Founder of the Mortuary Cult, Banisher of the Grand Hierophant, High Lord Admiral of the Deathfleets, Guardian of the Charnel Pass, Tamer of the Liche King, Unliving Jackal Lord-"

Gawain's eye twitched. I swear, if I had ears, they'd be bleeding by now.

"Dismisser of the Warrior Queen, Charioteer of the Gods, He Who Does Not Serve, Slayer of Reddittras, Scarab Purger, Favored of Usirian, Player of the Great Game, Liberator of Life, Lord of Sand, Wrangler of Scorpions, Emperor of the Dunes, Eternal Sovereign of Khemri's Legions, Seneschal of the Great Sandy Desert, Curser of the Living, Regent of the Eastern Mountains, Warden of the Eternal Necropolis, Herald of All Heralds, Caller of the Bitter Wind, God-Tamer, Master of the Mortis River-"

Someone, kill me again, Gawain thought miserably.

"Guardian of the Dead, Great Keeper of the Obelisks, Deacon of the Ash River, Belated of Wakers, General of the Mighty Frame, Summoner of Sandstorms, Master of All Necrotects, Prince of Dust, Tyrant of Araby, Purger of the Greenskin Breathers, Killer of the False God's Champions, Tyrant of the Gold Dunes, Golden Bone Lord, Avenger of the Dead, Carrion Master, Eternal Warden of Nehek's Lands, Breaker of Djaf's Bonds…and many, many more," Settra finished, his tone brimming with self-satisfaction.

There was a long, weighted silence.

Gawain stared at him, her throat dry though she didn't even have a throat. "I…I am Sir Gawain," she finally managed, her voice carefully polite. "I bid you good tidings, Settra of…many titles."

Settra's glowing orbs burned brighter, his expression hardening at her words. "Settra of many titles?" he repeated, his tone dripping with offense. "You would dare to lump my majesty into such a crude, dismissive phrase? You insult me, ghost."

Gawain raised her hands, palms outward, in a placating gesture. "No insult was intended, Great King. It is simply a custom of the kingdom to capture everything in a single sentence. A…mark of respect."

Settra narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her intently. "A custom, you say? Hah! That reeks of deceit." His voice dropped into a growl. "Do not think to lie to me, spirit."

Gawain straightened, drawing herself to full height. "I am a knight of the realm," she said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "A knight does not lie. It is against my oath."

Settra studied her for a moment longer. Then, with a dismissive huff, he turned away. "Very well. I will let it slide…this time."

Gawain exhaled softly, relieved that the conversation had moved on. Settra's gaze shifted to Jaune, still asleep on the infirmary bed.  The Great King regarded him with a mixture of disdain and curiosity, his glowing eyes narrowing.

"This boy," Settra said, his tone dripping with scorn. "He is weak. Fragile. Unworthy of the blade he carries." He paused, his lips curling into a faint, predatory grin. "But in time, I could forge him into something mighty. Something worthy of wielding such power."

Gawain tensed at his words, her hand hovering over the hilt of her spectral sword. "What does that mean?" she asked warily. "What do you intend to do to him?"

Settra turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. "What I intend, ghost, is to shape him. To refine him. I am on a divine mission to bring this boy up to my standards. To make him a warrior worthy of the gods' favor."

Gawain's frown deepened, her unease growing. "And I'm supposed to just trust that your 'standards' won't break him?"

"Break him?" Settra scoffed, his tone thick with derision. "If he breaks, then he was never worthy to begin with. But if he endures, he will be glorious. A champion unlike any this world has seen."

Gawain stared at the sleeping boy, her worry etched into her features. Settra's glowing eyes turned back to her, and his tone grew commanding. "And you? You will help him. You will guide him. You will ensure he rises to the challenge. I order you to do so."

Gawain bristled, her indignation flaring. "Order me? And why should I follow your orders, oh Great King?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You are no lord of mine."

"Fool, I am Lord of All!" Settra snorted. "The Gods may have made the world, but I rule it." 

"You are an arrogant braggart," Gawain snarled. 

Settra ignored her insult, finding it beneath him. "And you, you swore your sword to him. To Jaune of Arc. Is that not the truth, knight?"

Gawain froze, her defiance faltering as his words struck home. She looked away, her jaw tightening. "I…" she began, but her voice trailed off.

Settra pressed on. "I was there, listening to every word you said. You gave your word. And unless you have problems with keeping it, you will do as I say."

Gawain's shoulders tensed, guilt flickering across her face. Her gaze dropped to the sash at her waist. Then, she looked up, determined. "I will help Jaune," she said finally, her tone clipped. "But not because you ordered me to."

Settra snorted, amusement flashing in his glowing eyes. "Hah! Say what you will, ghost. Your reasons matter not to me. As long as the boy rises, you will have done your part."

He turned back to Jaune, humming. "I have made a sanctuary out of the desert. I can make this boy into a man." 

Gawain didn't reply, her gaze fixed on Jaune as he stirred faintly in his sleep. "What can I teach him, even? He is capable enough." 

"That was me possessing his body," Settra rumbled. "On his own, he is a weak, useless child that can barely tell his left boot from his right." 

"You need not be so severe," Gawain tried. 

"Life is severe," Settra muttered, his voice surprisingly soft. "If you coddle him, you will only prepare him for failure. The world will not hesitate to gut him, ghost. It will not care for his kindness, his hesitation, or his fear. If he is to survive, he must learn to be sharp, strong, and ruthless when the time demands it."

Gawain folded her arms, inwardly disagreeing with him. What is life without kindness and love? That aside, she wondered. "And what exactly do you expect me to teach him?"

"What you would with any whelp about to start," Settra said. "How to fight, maintain his weapons and body, how to last in the wilds." 

"Why can't you teach him that?" Gawain asked, her spectral form shimmering faintly with muted defiance.

"These are trivialities," Settra answered plainly. "I am Settra the Imperishable. I will not waste time with the basics when I have so much more to teach." 

Gawain blinked, then, she raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, yes, how foolish of me. Forgive me, Your Majesty, for daring to suggest that the Great King soil his hands with such menial tasks."

Settra tilted his head slightly, taking her sarcasm as genuine praise. His glowing eyes flared with triumph. "Your recognition of my greatness is noted, ghost. Continue to serve me well, and I may yet reward you."

Gawain gave an exasperated sigh. "Reward me? And what exactly could you offer me, oh Great King? What 'boon' could you possibly grant to a spirit like me?"

Settra's laughter rumbled through the room like distant thunder. He leaned forward slightly, his burning gaze locking onto Gawain. "Oh, ghost, you underestimate the power of Settra. Tell me, would you not wish to walk the ground again? To feel the earth beneath your feet, the wind on your skin, the weight of a sword in your hand?"

Gawain froze, her spectral form flickering as she processed his words. "...What are you saying?" 

"I can offer you a body, ghost. A construct of my own design, infused with the essence of your soul. You would walk the earth again, as alive and whole as you once were," Settra revealed, his voice filled with nothing but promise.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint, steady rhythm of Jaune's breathing. Gawain stared at Settra, her expression a mixture of disbelief and yearning. "You...you're lying," she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction. "Such a thing isn't possible."

Settra's gaze burned brighter, his tone sharp with offense. "Settra does not lie, ghost. I gain nothing from deceiving you. I speak only truth. In life, I founded the Mortuary Cult to find me immortality. Though their efforts were...varied, their knowledge was boundless. If you serve me well and help me shape this boy into the warrior he must become, I will use that knowledge to grant you life once more."

Gawain took a step back, her spectral form flickering as doubt and hope warred within her. "Why...why would you do that? What do you gain from bringing me back?"

Settra's expression hardened. "To build me an army, worthy of Settra!" 

​Gawain stared. He...he sounded utterly sincere about that. "You are going to build an army?" 

Settra laughed at the stupidity of the question. "Yessss. This is a world yet untested, a world that lives in fear of the dark. I have banished evil from Nehekhara, and I shall banish it here as well." 

"So I help you and Jaune, and you build an army to conquer the world," Gawain surmised. 

To her surprise, he shook his head. "No. I shall seek to make it rise." 

Gawain blinked, her spectral form flickering faintly. "Make it rise?" she echoed, her tone laced with guarded confusion. "What do you mean, 'make it rise'? You're not talking about conquest?"

Settra's glowing eyes flared with intensity. "Conquest is the tool of lesser kings, ghost. I am Settra the Imperishable. My ambition is not to rule the broken ashes of a decayed world. No...I seek to raise it, raise it higher than it has ever stood before."

He gestured grandly, as if envisioning something only he could see. "I have seen enough to know that this world cowers in the shadow of the Grimm. Its peoples are fractured and scattered. They cling to scraps of hope, hiding within their high walls, too afraid to reach for greatness. I will not stoop to conquer such a pitiful existence. Instead, I will unite it, forge it into something greater. Something worthy of the Imperishable." 

Gawain was silent for a long moment, her thoughts churning. Whatever Jaune had said about Settra was an understatement. He was arrogance incarnate. But...if he could truly deliver on his promise, let her walk the earth once more...

Fuck it.

What did she have to lose?

"I'll do my best," Gawain said, her voice steady.

Settra's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. "Swear it."

Swear it...?

Fine.

Gawain balanced her blade across her open palms, its weight familiar yet cold. She took a breath; an instinctive gesture though her lungs no longer drew air, and began. "I give my body, heart, and soul to the victory which I seek. No plea for help shall find me wanting, no obstacle shall stand before me."

They were ancient words, a vow uttered by knights when they swore their oaths. A formality, nothing more.

But then, to Gawain's astonishment, her sword began to glow.

The light grew, and with it came a power that surged through her. Her voice strengthened as if something deep inside her had awakened. "No evil will taint the lands bequeathed unto me. When the clarion call is sounded, I will ride out and fight in the name of my liege and Victory."

The words were no longer just an oath. They carried weight, truth, and undeniable force. Her throat tightened, her voice rising with conviction.

"That which is sacrosanct I shall preserve. That which is sublime, I will protect. That which threatens, I shall destroy. For my holy wrath knows no bounds!"

The room seemed to hum with energy, and Settra's eyes burned like twin suns as the pact was forged.

"Honour is all. Chivalry is all. Rejoice," Gawain declared, her voice ringing with newfound strength, "for I, a Knight of Vale..."

She hesitated for only a moment, her gaze lifting to meet Settra's.

"...will be your shield."

Settra's smile widened and he bid her to come close. Gawain did so, and the ancient King held out his palm. "And I, Settra the Imperishable, witnessed by the Gods, take your vow and your blade, Gawain." His voice was a declaration, his palm dipping as he placed it on the metal of her blade. Energy seemed to flow through it, and he bid her to take a step back. 

Gawain did so, feeling more alive than ever. Settra continued.

"And I vow to you," He leaned back, his blazing eyes locking with hers.

"We will not serve."

A heavy pause hung between them, the room silent save for the faint hum of her glowing sword.

"We will rule."

+++

A/N: Insert anime end credits song. 

So based on my convo with Crit and other available resources, the Lore of Nehekhara is rather strict. Settra will be unavailable to bring something back unless he does it properly according the rituals of his people and if said soul is Nehekharan. It's not necromancy but a sacred process devised by the Mortuary Cult. As Settra founded the thing and he himself is a Priest-King, he would know much about the Lore hence, he could make himself and Jaune an army of goons. 

It won't be easy though. He will need materials, and the souls need to be strong enough to be worth a damn. For the purposes of this world, souls here are rabid shades that wander around (Because the Brother Gods aren't here to do their job lmaoooo) so most are useless. But there will be some like Gawain that will be worth something for Settra to use as pokemon. 

Can't wait to write more, tihi.

Also, currently dying of the plague. Bronchitis, cuh. Dicks out for me, plox.