A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 32

+++

There was nothing left to do but consolidate.

Klepht's fortress had been seized, and the valuables inside were taken. While the haul was significant, our focus had always been on the weapons—and whatever dust we could find. There wasn't much, as expected, but it was enough to arm a few more people. Klepht had been stockpiling supplies from the surrounding region, and his stores reflected that. The valuables, too, were plentiful. I tasked Sienna with sorting through everything and ensuring the rightful owners received what belonged to them. Some were grateful for the return of their treasure, but others chose to donate it to our cause.

Truthfully, we needed it. Actual valuables would be essential for trade.

Representatives from the surrounding towns and villages began arriving soon after, seeking an audience with the leader of the Union—a name I had chosen for our growing group. Their surprise was evident when they discovered that a faunus was in charge though they clearly feared the bandits more than animal people. Their requests were straightforward: they needed protection. The fall of Klepht would inevitably attract other opportunistic groups, eager to fill the void and impose their will.

It became clear that organizing a militia was the only solution. Leaving behind my fighters to garrison these towns wasn't an option; we had to keep moving forward.

Training them to be an effective militia didn't take much. These people were already accustomed to a hard life and navigating difficult terrain. They knew the land better than anyone, but on their own, I had no illusions about their ability to mount a meaningful defense. It quickly became clear to me that they had succumbed to Klepht in the first place because they were divided—each village and town fending for itself, with no coordination or unity.

That had to change.

To ensure they wouldn't be caught off guard again, I made it my goal to bring them all under the Union's banner. This wasn't just about arming a few villages or protecting local farmland; it was about building something bigger—something stronger. A force that could liberate this entire region from those who sought to exploit it.

I made this clear to every representative who came to me. Some were skeptical, others hesitant, but all listened.

"This isn't a one-time thing," I told them. "This is more than just defending your homes or holding onto what's yours. We're building something here—a liberation force. One that can break the cycle of tyranny and oppression in this region."

The room would usually fall silent at this point. Some glanced at each other, unsure, while others nodded slowly in understanding. I didn't give them time to protest or waver.

"We live together, or we die alone," I said firmly. "The Union isn't just a name—it's a promise. Together, we can make sure no one like Klepht, or anyone worse, ever takes what's yours again. But it will take all of us—working together, fighting together, and building something that lasts."

It wasn't an easy sell. Old habits, old fears—they weren't quick to die. But I could see the shift in their faces, the way they sat straighter after hearing my words. The idea of something bigger, of being part of a force that could reshape their future—it resonated with them, even if they didn't fully admit it yet.

Some left with renewed determination, vowing to rally their people. Others were more cautious, promising to think it over. 

​One particular meeting, Sienna could not help but quip.

"A bit blunt, aren't you?" 

I glanced back up at her.

"This is a matter of survival for them. And besides, they are a blunt people. They appreciate honesty, not kind words." 

​Sure enough, my words proved true when representatives returned, asking for the definite terms of what the Union wanted. 

 I gathered them in what had once been Klepht's war room, now repurposed for our discussions. Maps of the region lay spread across the table, with markers denoting key villages, towns, and strategic points. Sienna stood to my left, arms crossed, her presence a silent reminder of the discipline and focus we needed.

"You want terms," I began, my voice firm. "You'll have them. But understand this: the Union is not a charity. It is not a temporary alliance of convenience. It is a commitment—a pact. If you want to stand with us, you must stand with us entirely. That means providing support, resources, and people. It means sharing the burden."

The representatives murmured among themselves, some more receptive than others. I raised my hand, cutting through the noise.

"Here's how it will work," I continued. "Every village and town that joins the Union will contribute three things: fighters, supplies, and information. In return, you'll receive the Union's protection, training for your militias, and a voice in its decisions. This is not about domination. This is about survival—together."

I gestured to the map. "We'll divide the region into zones. Each zone will have a council of representatives from its towns and villages. Those councils will report to the central leadership of the Union—us. I won't dictate your day-to-day lives. Your villages will still govern themselves. But when it comes to defense, strategy, and survival, you'll answer to the Union. That's the price of unity."

The room fell silent. They were listening. Good.

"Fighters from each village will be trained to form local militias," I went on. "Those militias will act as the first line of defense. But if you're attacked, the Union will send reinforcements. No one fights alone. Supplies—food, dust, medicine—will be pooled and redistributed as needed. If one village suffers, the others will help. And information... well, that's the most important thing of all. We need to know about enemy movements, attacks, and opportunities. If one village falls silent, we'll know something's wrong."

I paused, letting my words sink in. "This is how we win. Not by fighting alone, but by building something bigger than ourselves. Something no warlord or tyrant can break."

One of the older representatives, a blacksmith with calloused hands and a skeptical frown, leaned forward. "And what about leadership?" he asked. "You say we'll have a voice, but who makes the final decisions? You?"

I met his gaze without flinching. "For now, yes. Someone has to make the hard calls, and I won't shy away from that responsibility. But this isn't about me. The Union's leadership will evolve as it grows. Representatives like you will have a say in its future. That's the promise I'm making."

The blacksmith grunted but didn't argue further.

Over the next few weeks, I set about turning words into action. Sienna and I traveled to the villages, meeting with elders, craftsmen, and farmers. We worked to build trust, sharing our vision of a unified region. The first few villages were hesitant, but once they saw the training we offered and the strength of the Union's fighters, they began to come around. It also helped when we showed Klepht in chains.

We established the first regional council in one of the larger towns, where representatives from each village could meet and discuss their needs. Sienna helped enforce discipline among the militias, while I focused on logistics—ensuring supplies were distributed fairly and that no village felt overlooked. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

As the Union grew, so did its challenges. Some villages resisted, unwilling to give up their independence. Others lacked the resources to contribute meaningfully, forcing us to make hard decisions about how to support them. And always, there was the looming threat of retaliation. Klepht's downfall had not gone unnoticed, and we knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to reclaim what we'd taken.

And sure enough, we were getting our first test. 

+++

"My lord, are you sure this is the right idea?" Porphyros asked, his tone measured.

The noble brat snorted, the sound dismissive. "Of course. Klepht is out. We are in."

Porphyros Lekapenos said nothing, the sea wind tugging at his cloak as the coastal road unraveled in jagged coils beneath the hooves of their steeds. Below, the remnants of Klepht's reign smoldered in blackened patches—torched farmsteads, broken carts, shallow graves with no names. All of it blanketed by the heavy silence of a land waiting to be claimed again.

Andronicus Doux rode ahead, as though he thought the world belonged to him—heels dug deep, head thrown back, hair braided in imitation of the marble statues in his family mausoleum. He looked every inch the conqueror, but Porphyros saw the cracks: the too-bright eyes, the forced arrogance.

"Better us than a bandit," Andronicus proclaimed loudly. "These peasants deserve proper rule."

He glanced sideways, expecting agreement.

Porphyros tilted his head in a half-bow. "The logic is unimpeachable, my lord."

They rode with fifty riders—armed and armored, their banners snapping in the wind, a force meant to intimidate. The Doux family was one of many noble houses clawing to reclaim its old seats, but one of the few that had succeeded. Why they would return to the countryside, far from the comforts of Mistral, Porphyros resented but dared not question. Such was the fate of a man whose salary depended on the whims of the Doux.

"Pity we couldn't come here sooner," Andronicus muttered, his tone almost wistful.

"We've had better enemies to fight, my lord," Porphyros reminded him, voice dry.

"Bah! Let my brother deal with skirmishes." Andronicus cackled, his bravado returning. "I shall reclaim our lands! This territory was ours once, after all."

Porphyros resisted the urge to sigh. In his satchel was a paper declaring Catania and its castle the rightful property of House Doux, signed by the Emperors of old. Andronicus believed in its veracity. Porphyros did not have the heart—or the courage—to tell him it had been forged last night on his father's orders.

"My lord," Porphyros said carefully, "I must remind you that the peasants here freed themselves. They may not welcome noble rule again."

Andronicus snorted. "Oh, please. What's the worst these hicks can do to us?"

The answer came with a thunderous crack.

Andronicus yelped as his horse stumbled, its leg reduced to mangled flesh. The young lord hit the ground with a graceless thud, his aura flickering briefly before vanishing. Porphyros barely had time to curse before chaos erupted.

"Ambush!" Porphyros roared. "Fan out!"

Arrows and bullets rained down from the ridges, the attackers using the terrain to devastating effect. The disciplined formation of the riders collapsed into a panicked flurry of hooves and shouts. Porphyros wrestled for control of his own mount, guiding it toward a knot of riders who had regrouped amidst the chaos.

Andronicus, tangled in his cloak and gasping for air, was being hauled to his feet by two guards. His polished armor, gleaming that morning, was now smeared with mud and grass. He clutched his gilded saber, eyes wide and wild.

"What—what is the meaning of this? Who dares?!" he sputtered.

Another volley answered him. Two riders fell, their screams cut short as crimson stained the dirt. Porphyros cursed under his breath.

"Fall back to the treeline!" he bellowed. "We need cover!"

The riders turned, galloping for the relative safety of the trees, but the attackers gave them no quarter. Figures emerged from the ridges—lean, swift, cloaked in earthen tones. They moved like shadows, blending seamlessly with the terrain. Some carried bows, others rifles, and a few wielded crude but effective melee weapons. Their faces were obscured by scarves, but their precision and coordination spoke volumes.

"They're peasants!" Andronicus spat, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "How dare they—"

"They're more than peasants," Porphyros snapped. "They're organized, and unless we act quickly, they'll have our heads mounted on pikes."

The riders who hadn't been unhorsed regrouped into defensive circles, shields raised and weapons drawn. It was a rudimentary tactic, but it bought them precious moments. Porphyros scanned the ridges, his sharp eyes narrowing.

The ambushers melted away as quickly as they had come. The battlefield fell silent, save for the labored breathing of men and horses. Andronicus staggered to his feet, his face contorted with fury.

"They dare attack us and flee like cowards?!" he snarled.

Porphyros dismounted, his boots crunching against the dirt. "This was no random attack, my lord," he said quietly. "They planned this. They knew the terrain, and they knew how to make us bleed. We should regroup—press on to the nearest settlement."

Andronicus rounded on him, his saber raised. "No! We are not running. I will not let some dirt-stained militia humiliate the House of Doux. We will find them, and we will crush them!"

Porphyros opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. There was no reasoning with Andronicus in this state.

"Very well," he said at last, his tone resigned. "But we'll need a scout."

The scout returned shortly, his face grim. "They've retreated west, toward the forested hills," he reported. "They're camped near the river. Small, but well-concealed."

Andronicus' face lit up with savage satisfaction. "Then we ride. Now."

The riders advanced toward the hollow the scout described, their pace cautious, their formation tense. The sun dipped lower with every step, casting long shadows through the dense forest. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, and the faint murmur of the river served as an intermittent backdrop to the creak of leather saddles and the muffled clink of armor.

Andronicus rode at the head of the column, his gilded saber drawn and gleaming faintly in the twilight. His earlier fury had simmered into cold determination, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. Porphyros followed close behind, his gaze darting from ridge to ridge. Every rustling branch, every flicker of movement in the undergrowth, set his nerves alight.

As they neared the hollow, Andronicus raised a hand, signaling the column to halt. "There," he said, pointing with the tip of his saber.

The camp was nestled in a natural depression, surrounded by rocky outcroppings and dense foliage. Tents were pitched in neat rows, and crude barricades of sharpened stakes and piled stones formed a rudimentary perimeter. But it was quiet. Too quiet. No movement, no voices, no signs of life.

Porphyros scanned the scene, his unease deepening. "Something's not right," he murmured.

Andronicus ignored him, spurring his horse forward. "They've fled," he declared loudly, his voice ringing with triumph. "The cowards ran before we even arrived! Burn it all!"

"My lord, wait!" Porphyros urged, riding up beside him. "This doesn't feel right. It's too quiet. They wouldn't abandon a fortified position without reason. We should—"

"Enough!" Andronicus snapped, turning to glare at him. "I will not be lectured by you, Porphyros. Do as I command! Burn it!"

Porphyros clenched his jaw, his frustration mounting. But he gave a curt nod, motioning to the riders. "You heard the lord. Burn it."

The riders dismounted reluctantly and set to work, dousing the tents and barricades with oil before setting them alight. Flames roared to life, consuming the camp in minutes. Thick, acrid smoke billowed into the sky, casting the hollow in a flickering, hellish glow.

Andronicus sat astride his horse at the edge of the flames, watching with a satisfied smile. "This will teach them," he said, his voice smug. "Let them see what happens when they defy the House of Doux."

But Porphyros' unease only grew. His sharp eyes scanned the surrounding ridges and the dense forest beyond. The feeling was unmistakable—a prickle at the nape of his neck, the sense of unseen eyes tracking their every move. Andronicus's laughed, his voice cutting through the tension. "We move on!"

The riders entered the village under the cover of darkness. Their horses plodded wearily, banners trailing limply in the faint breeze. The villagers emerged slowly from their cottages, lanterns in hand, their faces a mixture of apprehension and resentment. Andronicus, oblivious—or indifferent—to their mood, rode at the head of the column, his gilded saber raised high and the Doux banner unfurled behind him.

"Raise the banner high!" Andronicus barked, his voice bouncing off the narrow streets. "Let them know they are under the protection of House Doux!"

Protection. Porphyros nearly scoffed, but he kept his face impassive. The villagers didn't look protected—they looked wary. Their eyes flicked nervously from the riders to the banner, some clutching their children close, others murmuring quietly among themselves. Not one stepped forward to greet the newcomers.

Porphyros dismounted, his legs aching from hours in the saddle. He handed his reins to a guard, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. He noted the clenched jaws, the tight grips on lanterns, the way they held themselves—like people who had learned not to trust authority, only to endure it.

Andronicus, as always, was oblivious. He dismounted with a theatrical flourish, tossing his reins to a guard as though expecting applause. "You there!" he barked, pointing his saber at an older man standing at the forefront of the group, his face weathered but resolute. "Where is your headman? I would speak with him at once."

The old man hesitated, his grip tightening on his lantern. "I am the headman," he said finally, his voice steady but guarded. "What is it you want, my lord?"

Andronicus strode forward, boots crunching against the dirt. "We require food and lodging for the night. You will provide both, as is your duty to your betters."

The headman's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "We will do what we can, my lord," he said evenly. "But we are a small village, and our stores are not plentiful. Times have been hard."

"Hard times are no excuse for disobedience," Andronicus snapped. "See to it that my men are fed and housed. And bring the best of what you have. I do not eat scraps."

Porphyros stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Andronicus' arm. "My lord," he said softly, "perhaps we could show some restraint. The villagers are clearly struggling—"

Andronicus jerked his arm free with an irritated scowl. "Enough, Porphyros. I will not argue over trifles. Do your job and ensure my orders are carried out."

Porphyros bit back a retort, his jaw tightening. He turned to the headman, his tone gentler. "Prepare what food you can spare," he said. "We will pay for what we take."

The headman's eyes flicked between Porphyros and Andronicus, suspicion flashing briefly before he nodded. "Very well. We'll see to it."

The villagers dispersed reluctantly, their muttered conversations carried off by the wind. Porphyros remained rooted in place, watching them go, unease lying heavy in his chest.

Later that evening, they absconced in the village's communal hall, a simple structure of wood and stone. The villagers had brought what food they could—a meager spread of bread, root vegetables, and thin stew. Andronicus sat at the head of the table, clearly unimpressed but ate anyway. 

Porphyros stood near the door, his arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward the shutters. Outside, the villagers lingered in the shadows, their faces barely visible through the cracks. They were watching. 

"Porphyros" Andronicus called, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the hall. "Come here!"

Porphyros approached reluctantly, bowing his head. "Yes, my lord?"

Andronicus leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. "This stew is barely fit for pigs, but it will do. However, there is one thing missing."

Porphyros raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be, my lord?"

Andronicus gestured lazily toward the door. "I require entertainment. Find me a girl for the night. Someone young and pleasing. And make it quick—I tire of this dreary village already."

Porphyros froze, his stomach churning. He clenched his fists at his sides, forcing his voice to remain calm. "My lord," he began carefully, "these people are already resentful of our presence. Such a request will only—"

Andronicus slammed his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the hall. "I did not ask for your opinion, Porphyros. I gave you an order. Do it."

Porphyros swallowed hard, his face betraying none of the turmoil roiling within him. "As you command," he said quietly, turning on his heel and leaving the hall.

It didn't take long to find someone. A maid, young and trembling, who bristled at his attention but dared not protest.

"The lord of House Doux has requested your presence for the evening," Porphyros said, his tone clipped. "You will be compensated."

The girl's face went pale, her hands trembling. "I—"

Porphyros sighed, his voice softening despite himself. "It's not a request," he said grimly. "Please. Just do as he asks, and it will be over quickly."

The girl opened her mouth to reply, but another voice, honeyed and bold, cut through the tension.

"I'll do it."

Porphyros turned, startled, to see another maid step forward. She was taller and older, her tanned skin catching the lantern light. Bright amber eyes met his with a confidence he hadn't expected. A tiger faunus.

"What is your name?" Porphyros asked, unable to hide his surprise.

She smiled, slow and sharp. "Sienna Khan."

Andronicus was lounging in the hall like it was a throne room, one boot up on the bench, his tunic unlaced enough to display the fine chain around his neck. A goblet dangled from his fingers. He glanced up when Porphyros entered with Sienna, his eyes narrowing, his grin widening.

"Porphyros, you sly snake," he drawled. "I asked for a flower, and you've brought me wine. Well-aged, well-kept..." He trailed off, adjusting his collar. "Gods above, you didn't tell me the villages had this lying around."

Sienna curtsied, slow and deliberate. "My lord," she said, her voice like silk sliding over steel. "I heard you were looking for company. I thought I might…keep you warm."

Andronicus blinked, caught off guard by her boldness—but pleasantly so. "Well," he muttered, chuckling. "I expected some giggling milkmaid, but this...?"

Porphyros lingered in the doorway, his stomach churning as he watched what felt like a blade descending in slow motion.

Andronicus swaggered toward her, already loosening his belt. "You'll find I'm a generous master... Miss?"

"Sienna," she purred.

"Sienna," he repeated, savoring the sound. "How exotic."

Sienna smiled, stepping closer. Her fingers grazed his shoulder. "I'm sure I will," she murmured.

Andronicus flushed, his breath hitching as her hand slid down his chest. He reached for her hip, grinning—

Her knee shot up, a brutal arc into his groin. His aura shimmered briefly before flickering out. Andronicus doubled over with a strangled gasp. Before he could recover, Sienna seized the back of his head and slammed it into the floor. Once. Twice. He tried to resist but a tiger's jaws are not so easy to escape. The goblet clattered, rolling away as Andronicus went limp.

Porphyros gasped, his hand darting instinctively to his sword but a cold blade pressed against his throat. A low voice hissed in his ear. "Shhh."

Sienna dusted off her hands, glaring at Andronicus' unconscious form. "Waste of space," she muttered before turning to Porphyros. "As for you..."

A wolf faunus slammed him against the wall, his sharp teeth flashing in a grin. "Evening," he said cheerfully.

"Evening," Porphyros replied, hands raised.

"Smart," the faunus said.

"Enough, Malik," Sienna ordered. "Knock him out. We've got an ambush to join."

At that, the sounds of battle echoed outside. Porphyros barely had time to widen his eyes before the darkness swallowed him. 

When he woke, his head throbbed, and his arms ached. He was kneeling, held aloft by two men, their grips firm and uncompromising. Blinking to clear his vision, he found himself staring into the cold, piercing blue eyes of a red-haired bull faunus. The man sat casually on a wooden box by a well, a sword resting against his shoulder like a crane. To his right stood Sienna, her amber eyes calm and calculating, while the wolf faunus lingered to his left, his smirk faint but ever-present.

Around them, villagers had gathered. Some bore fresh wounds from battle—torn sleeves, bruised faces, blood streaking their clothes—while others held torches aloft, their flames casting long, flickering shadows across the scene. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and anger.

"Good evening," the bull faunus greeted him, his voice low and steady.

"Evening…?" Porphyros croaked, his throat dry and raw.

The bull nodded, gesturing to the men holding him. They released their grip, and Porphyros collapsed forward, coughing as he struggled to regain his composure. Slowly, he straightened, meeting the bull's gaze with a weary determination.

"Where did you come from?" the bull asked, his tone calm but commanding.

An interrogation.

Porphyros considered lying. It would be the noble thing to do—or at least the loyal thing. But loyalty to the Doux? That was a joke. He was exhausted, filthy, and not particularly keen on dying for a family that had brought him nothing but grief. If the faunus decided to execute him, so be it. He still had savings. He'd rather live to spend them than die for Andronicus Doux.

"Massina," Porphyros answered truthfully. His voice was steady despite the situation. "I am Porphyros Lekapenos, the family butler to the Doux family."

"Noble," someone spat from the crowd, the word laced with venom, as if it were the foulest of curses.

The bull faunus remained composed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "Why were you and your master here?"

Porphyros exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging. "We heard rumors that Armatole Klepht had been overthrown," he said. "Andronicus Doux—youngest of the family—wanted to secure the lands before our enemies could claim them."

"And you didn't think to consult us first?" the headman from before shouted, stepping forward with a clenched fist. His face was red with anger, spit flying as he snarled, "Fuck you, noble!"

Porphyros kept his voice calm, almost detached. "No, we did not. That's why we are here. I must clarify, however—I had no say in this. I am merely the butler."

"Following orders, were you?" the bull faunus asked, his tone neutral but probing.

Porphyros nodded. "It is no good excuse, but what can a man do? They pay my salary. I had no other place to go."

"You could've said no," the wolf faunus muttered, crossing his arms. "Quit."

"And lose my job? In this economy?" Porphyros snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Easy for you to say when you have nothing to lose. I had plenty."

He paused, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Either way, I can kiss employment goodbye. Constantine Doux—Andronicus' father—will kill me if he hears about this. So, kill me or release me. Do what you wish."

The bull faunus leaned back slightly, studying him. "You're rather blasé about this."

"I am tired," Porphyros said flatly. "I am dirty. And I am already used to other people deciding my fate. What's one more decision for the pile?"

"I pity you, butler," the bull answered. Then, he stood. "No, we are not executing anyone. The ones who don't deserve it at least. You will stay in our good graces until we figure out what to do with you and your master." 

Despite himself, Porphyros let out a sigh of relief.

+++

The interrogations continued. Some lied, some begged, some stayed silent. But it was clear what was happening: a noble takeover.

"Before all this, my father told me about our old lords," the headman began. They were in his house, seated by the fireplace, nursing cups of something warm. "Not the Doux—some other minor nobility. Their name slips my mind now. They were wiped out during the Great War."

Sienna held up a piece of aged paper, studying it. "This looks like it was just printed on old parchment," she muttered.

"How brazen can one family be?" Malik asked.

"Very," I replied. "Anyone can claim anything with old paper."

"And now what?" Sienna turned to me. "Go smack the Doux?"

"Absolutely. These lands are free," I snorted. "And Massina's on the way to Panormus anyway. Might as well free it, too."

The headman cleared his throat. "I'd be careful, Adam. You've seen how the Doux are armed. They're not Klepht's bandits."

"Good thing we're not fighting them fairly," I said, shaking my head. I paused when I noticed the headman's expression.

"Massina," he said. "It's a pure human town."

Oh.

"They're not likely to welcome you," he warned. "Even if you come as liberators. Even if the Doux grind them underfoot."

"What?" Malik blinked. "Even if they hate the lords, they'd still back them just because Adam's got horns?"

The headman gave a slow, tired shake of his head. "Some people would rather serve a boot that looks like them than break bread with someone who doesn't."

"That's…" Sienna paused. "Stupid."

"Forget liberating them, then," Malik muttered. "Fuck Massina."

"No," I said firmly. "We're liberating this region, Malik. That includes everyone."

"But you heard what he said!" Malik cried. "Those people are idiots!"

"Adam." Sienna stood, her voice careful. "Can we at least talk about this?"

I nodded. "Fine."

"I'm not saying we should," she began. "And I'm not saying we shouldn't." Her gaze moved from me to Malik, then to the headman, and back again. "But what exactly do we get out of liberating Massina?"

Malik scoffed. "We get to waste men on a town that'll spit in our faces after we save it. That's what we get."

Sienna ignored him, watching me instead. "Resources? Positioning? Morale?"

I didn't answer. Not yet.

"Because if it's just for the principle of it," she continued, "we need to be honest about the cost. That town's not Catania. They're not waiting with open arms and warm bread."

"They're waiting with slurs and spit," Malik snapped. "Adam, they hate us. Even if we bleed for them, they'll call it tyranny. I say let them rot."

"The region includes Massina," I said. "I don't care how they feel."

"They'll make you care when they stab us in the back after we kick the Doux out!" Malik barked.

Sienna raised a hand, silencing us both. Her voice was quiet but sharp. "I'm asking what the benefit is. Tactically. Logistically. Symbolically, even."

Her eyes locked on mine.

"Because if we're going to take the fight into a place where the people don't want us, we need to know what we're fighting for."

I stared into the fire, letting it speak for a while.

"Massina's not the goal," I said finally. "It's the line."

Sienna tilted her head, listening. Malik didn't.

"They don't want us. I heard that. But if we only liberate the towns that cheer when we show up, we're not a revolution—we're a parade."

Malik shook his head. "They're going to hate us no matter what. We kick out the Doux, they'll spit in our faces and call it oppression. Why waste the blood?"

"Because skipping them tells every other town watching that if they hate us loud enough, we'll leave them alone," I said. "We start picking and choosing who deserves freedom based on how polite they are, we're no better than the lords."

Malik made a noise in his throat, something between a snort and a growl. I pressed on.

"They're sitting on old stores, workshops, road access. We'll need it if we're going to keep pushing. You think Catania can carry us forever? You think Caerlin can keep sending grain once winter hits?"

Sienna stayed quiet, listening. Waiting.

"And if we don't liberate Massina, what happens? The Doux dig in. We get cut off between here and Panormus. We bleed from both ends. That's the tactical side."

I let out a slow exhale.

"But the other side—the real one? Maybe, just maybe, if we walk in and don't burn their houses, don't drag their sons away, don't hang their elders, they'll remember it. Maybe not all of them. But someone will. Some kid watching from a window might ask why the 'monsters' didn't act like monsters."

I turned to Malik.

"We don't change the world by only touching the parts that already want changing."

Then I looked at Sienna.

"You asked what the benefit is. There it is."

There were precedents to this, back in Earth. The closest I could think of would be the Vendee War. When the French Revolution broke, you would think that people would be up in arms in overthrowing the old world. But no, that was wrong. In the Vendee, the peasants hated the revolutionaries and kept to their traditions and nobility despite the revolutionaries offering an objectively better deal for their descendants.

"Let's send some people there, then. Spies. Let them find out what the situation in the ground is like," I compromised. "If the locals there hate the Doux more than they hate us, we can exploit that." 

I met their gazes. "Fair?" 

Sienna gave a slow nod. "Fair."

The headman, who'd stayed quiet through the back half of the exchange, finally spoke again. "I got a cousin who frequently travels, selling our produce. I can have him go and spy for us." 

"Do it," I said. "Quietly."

The headman grunted and took another sip, and left. Malik walked off as well, grumbling.

Sienna hadn't moved. Still watching me.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?" 

She stepped forward, slow, not cautious—deliberate. Not the look she wore on the battlefield. No flint in the eyes, no clipped breath. Just weight. Thought, hanging from her shoulders like armor not yet unbuckled.

"Massina's going to be a different test," she said.

I stayed quiet.

"Bandits are easy," she went on. "Everyone hates thieves."

She stopped at the edge of the hearth, gaze dipping into the fire. Then, she turned back to me. "But if they love the Doux, they will hate us, liberation be damned." 

I said nothing. She stepped closer.

"We can bypass them, sure," I muttered. "But that will leave our backs exposed." 

​She glanced up at me.

I glanced down.

Our eyes met. 

"This is hard," I admitted. "Planning this was easier."

Sienna snorted. Not mocking, no. It was the sound someone makes when the last joke's already rotted and they're laughing at what's left.

"Yeah," she said. "Everything's easier when it's just names on a map."

She placed a hand on my cheek. "But we are trying to change the world. That is never easy. They will dislike us for this, but if we do it right, they will accept it." 

​I laughed. "I admit it's a bit strange hearing this from the Sienna Khan. When I met you, you were convinced that only the faunus mattered." 

​She harumphed, turning away, arms crossed. "And I still do, to an extent," she admitted. She turned, her back facing me. "Then I met someone with big dreams, who convinced me to look beyond." 

​I stared at her back, keenly aware how the maid dress she stole wore hugged her body. 

​She glance back. 

Our eyes met.

She didn't look away this time.

"It's been a while since Clus," she said, voice low, almost flat, like she was mentioning the weather.

I frowned. "The farm?"

Her expression rolled—lips twitching, brows arching, the most expressive kind of exasperation.

"No, you idiot," she said, dry as dust. "Since we last fucked."

Ah.

I blinked. "Right."

"What? No longer interested?" Sienna asked

I didn't answer. I stepped forward. In one smooth motion, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground, back pressed hard against the stone wall, breath knocked out of her in a half-laugh, half-gasp. Her legs coiled instinctively around my hips, hands gripping my shoulders like she'd expected it

Her eyes locked with mine, sharp and blazing.

"Took you long enough," she breathed.

"You could've asked."

"I did."

Fair enough.

And just as I leaned in, just as the heat between us began to bleed out of control, fingers tightening, breath catching—

A cough.

Awkward. Polite.

We froze.

"If it's all the same," the headman said gently, "I'd prefer you not rut against my wall."

We apologized profusely.

+++

A/N: The issues of revolution is that not everyone wants it. One of the biggest examples is during the French Revolution in the Vendee region. You would think that the locals would support overthrowing their local nobles but no, they were super conservative, super religious folk that hated the French Revolutionaries. The Vendee War was so bard that Napoleon himself had to keep troops there to keep them contained.