Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 74 (DEFUNCT)

Far, far from the city lied a complex atop a mountain, for Vale was a mountainous and hilly country outside its walls. It was the home of the Valean Theme and its Kastron was a fortress, rugged and efficient. Its central command building, a reinforced bunker of concrete and steel, stood at the peak, the heart of the operation. From here, long-range radar systems hummed as they scanned the horizon for any signs of movement. The base's layout sprawled across the mountain's jagged slopes, with barracks carved into the rock, their walls lined with the faint hum of machinery and soldiers. Narrow, winding access roads led to the perimeter, but they were heavily mined and guarded by automated turrets, their mechanical whirring the only sound in the cold air. Watchtowers loomed over the cliffs, manned by snipers, their gaze sweeping the valleys below. Inside the mountain's belly, several vehicle hangars housed the base's essential transports. Crocodiles, bullheads, Gharials. All ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. I did not mean to head for the common hangers however but on my personal one, hidden by a waterfall.

It was set up outside the city for Vale and other Kingdoms forbid mercenaries from setting up shop inside their cities. A fair thing to ask since having men and women armed and walking around town was a invitation for trouble. The Valean Kastron was set up in one of the many mountains for the sole purpose of keeping it hidden from the enemy and to keep the Grimm from constantly attacking us. Grimm did not do well on mountains after all. If possible, many were built on such terrain.  

My feet hit the ground. My hands reached for my helmet, pulling it off with a mechanical hiss. I inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air, and let out a sigh. Though the suit had its own life support system, nothing compared to the feel of natural air. Bootsteps approached, the sound of metal clinking with each step.

"How'd it go?" Land asked, tilting his head.

"I sorely need to add melee capabilities to my suit," I said, clicking my tongue as I walked ahead. There was a soft whir as robotic arms moved toward me. I held out my hand to stop them, and they obeyed, lowering in a submissive gesture.

"I meant the shipment," Land clarified.

"I destroyed most of it. Some was dumped into the sea. As for the Titan…" I shook my head. "The Valean police arrived before I could finish the job. It's stuck at the port now."

Land closed his eyes, his face grim. "You understand what will happen now?"

"Yes. I know," I replied simply. There was no need to say more. I extended my hand, and a hologram flickered to life in front of me. As I spread my fingers, the image grew clearer, revealing a Titan. It was sleek, silver, and designed in the style of a Mistrali samurai warrior. It seemed to teleport, appearing on one end only to reappear on the other, wielding a glowing energy sword.

It was a Ronin-class Titan, adapted locally under the same name. One of the Titans the enemy had stolen.

The Company and Solitas had maintained a monopoly over Titans for years. The Paladin from the original timeline had been scrapped, its design favoring imperial designs. Why wouldn't they prefer the more customizable Titans from Titanfall, tailored to meet the demands of the battlefield?

"I met Penny Polendina at the port earlier," I continued, turning to face Land. "She mentioned something about a scorpion Faunus being a suspect in the theft."

Another hologram flashed into view. This one was a police report, marked with the Mistrali seal. I recognized the name immediately.

"Tyrian Callows. Serial killer, maladjusted psychopath, the usual," Land said aloud, glancing down at his scroll. "He disappeared years ago. Now he's resurfaced and started killing again."

A new hologram appeared—security footage from the theft. Two Mistrali men patrolled under the shadow of the Mistrali port. Then, Tyrian was upon them. It happened so fast, it was almost a blur. The first man fell as Tyrian's blades sank into exposed areas—the thigh and under the armpit. The second man didn't even have time to react before Tyrian's tail wrapped around his neck and snapped it with a sickening crack. The bodies hit the ground with dull metallic thuds, and the man who had been stabbed convulsed violently on the floor. Tyrian laughed, dark and twisted, before turning away, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a passing annoyance.

I kept my lips pressed together, forcing myself to remain calm.

I didn't understand the angles Team Salem was working here. Stealing art was one thing—an annoying but ultimately harmless act. But the Titans? Those were the real concern. These were Ronin-class Titans, designed for close-quarters combat. With their energy swords, massive shotguns, and remarkable speed, they could close the distance between themselves and their targets so quickly it might as well have been teleportation.

"I have no doubt the Titan will be stolen again. I think Roman will be the one to bring it out," I predicted. I had little faith in the capacity or integrity of Vale's police and army to safeguard it, especially with the government being a tool for Salem. It spoke volumes about Rouge's pettiness that he'd rather see Vale work with a Queen of the Night than with me.

So far, we had been reacting instead of acting. The past few years had been spent fortifying and preparing for the war my bones told me was coming—a mask-off moment for Salem to assert her domination. Solitas was impregnable, and that had given me the comfort to step into the secret war more directly.

"Land, I want you to go to Mistral. Help out directly. Kill or capture Tyrian. No mercy. Understood?" I said, turning toward him.

The old Doppelsoldner nodded, making an "OK" gesture with his fingers. "Kein Problem, boss," he replied. "And you?"

"General Ironwood wants a talk. I'll oblige him," I said, my mind and mood darkening.

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"Mister Wayland," a voice greeted me.

"General Ironwood," I responded.

By this point, I had long since removed my armor. The workshop was alive with activity, robotic arms tirelessly repairing damaged components.

"I'm getting calls from my counterpart in Vale," Ironwood began, his tone calm. "He's demanding to know why Solitan weapons and a war machine are present inside his port."

"Penny told me you were aware. Why are we still having this conversation?" I asked, tilting my head.

"I assumed you had something I didn't know," Ironwood answered. Fair enough, I thought.

"Well, Callows was involved, so you already know who these stolen items are for," I replied. The hardening of his expression told me Ironwood understood exactly what I was getting at.

"General, with all due respect, this is tiring," I continued. "I'm sick of just waiting for the enemy to make a move. Can we skip the foreplay and invade the Grimmlands already? You and I have the firepower and numbers to make that happen."

"Hell, we have the Staff of Destruction. Let's just activate the damn thing and turn the Grimmlands to ash."

Ironwood's face remained impassive, but his gaze sharpened. "You know it's not that simple. Questions will be asked about why I'm sending my men to a continent everyone believes is dead. The existence of the Queen would have to be revealed, and the secrecy Ozpin has carefully cultivated for all these years would be shattered."

He sighed, his voice lowering slightly. "It's not so simple with the Staff either. Ozpin has informed me that using it for great destruction requires a spirit inside it that's... difficult to control."

His eyes hardened with scrutiny. "Now, Ozpin has told me you wish to retake Mount Glenn from the Grimm. When were you planning on telling me about this?"

"When I had the city back in the palm of my hand," I replied flatly.

"Mister Wayland," Ironwood's voice cut through the tension. "Need I remind you that we are allies? Allies share plans. Allies don't just march off and expect others to catch up. Furthermore, you're involving Solitan citizens in this. Their deaths will be on you."

"These are not infants, General. They will be heading to Mount Glenn to reclaim what is rightfully ours," I retorted sharply. "Mount Glenn was humanity's first serious attempt at expansion, and The Queen crushed it. Reclaiming it will be the first step in restoring our pride."

What I didn't tell the General was the sleeping dragon beneath Mount Glenn. If the events of Vytal unfolded as in canon, or something similar occurred, my forces would be poised to reinforce the city at a moment's notice. Vale cannot fall. Despite my distaste for Fleur, Vale was the second-most populous kingdom on Remnant, and its agricultural resources were the lifeblood of the continent. Defending it wasn't just a strategic necessity—it was a matter of survival. We would need them in the war to come.

Plus, Vale was the second-largest consumer of Royal and Imperial Entertainment, and other civilian subsidies I controlled. I couldn't afford to let it slip from my grasp. Protecting Vale was protecting my investments.

"I understand your concerns, Mister Wayland. Believe me, I do. But I must insist that you involve us in your plans. Whatever plans we do will also affect others as well. We must know so that we can better navigate the fallout afterwards," Ironwood reasoned. "We are allies. We share the burden or not at all."

"You're not telling me to stop?" I asked, befuddled. I was confused. Ozpin seemed pretty opposed to any offensives whatsoever. Ironwood raised an eyebrow.

"While it's troubling that you've kept me out of your plans, I would still like to know how you intend to proceed," Ironwood said, his tone measured. "Only then will I decide whether or not to stop you. I've heard you wish to retake Mount Glenn, but not how." He paused. "You'll be spending the lives of men. Those lives must be spent wisely—or not at all."

I mulled over his words. He was speaking as a General—someone who valued the lives of those under his command. He wasn't just a leader; he was a man who understood the weight of responsibility. My Silver Shields weren't his soldiers, but they were soldiers all the same, and there was a brotherhood in that. He was asking me to ensure their sacrifice, if necessary, had meaning—to not see them as expendable numbers, but as lives that deserved purpose.

In my restless pursuit of achievements, I'd let my paranoia cloud my judgment. I had been overly cautious, even mistrustful, of those just as committed as I was. Ironwood and I weren't exactly friends, but we shared a common desire—to protect the world. For him, it was duty; for me, it was self-preservation—because the world's living people were my customers, and they made me money.

"I'd be happy to share my plans, General. I assume you'll be joining us for Vytal?" I asked, aware that Ironwood would soon be arriving to help prepare for the festival, as in the original timeline.

"Alas, my role as Commander-in-Chief limits my involvement," Ironwood replied. "I'll be there when the festival begins, but my presence will be more ceremonial. Vale, under Minister Rouge, is handling security, and Solitas' involvement will be minimal, by their request. It is happening in Vale and Vale must provide protection."

"That's a disaster waiting to happen," I said, my tone grim. "Considering everything we know."

"I'm aware," Ironwood replied, his voice steady. "That's why I've kept a fleet on standby, ready to intervene if things go awry. However, Solitas won't be entirely absent from security. I'm assigning someone to oversee it in my stead."

"Who?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Ironwood smiled, his expression almost amused. "Winter Schnee."

I blinked, processing the name. Then, it clicked—Winter had told me she was headed to Vale not long ago.

"We're in safe hands, then," I said, smiling with a hint of satisfaction.

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A/N: Short but brain not noodling so well. In the next chapter, Winter reunion.