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Fate's Wild Card Ch.6
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 03:23:25 +0000 UTCAN: Medium is Premium
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Pryce has an okay sleep, considering everything that happened in so little time. That quickie with Neo probably helped a lot to destress.
What doesn't sit well with him is that Qrow is waiting for him outside his building, meaning that now they know where he lives and he doesn't like that. Either way, he swallows that annoyance and goes with Qrow to buy a proper hunter weapon as promised.
And unsurprisingly he is reeking of alcohol this early in the morning but doesn't comment about it and waits as the veteran huntsman takes him to a blacksmith shop somewhere in the industrial district, which has racks of weapons of all sizes and types. The place smells of oil, metal, and fire dust.
Pryce takes the chance to explore by himself, taking mental notes on various weapons as he passes by as they look deadly.
He stops in front of a giant hammer and he can tell that it must weigh more than he does, but shakes his head. He isn't looking for a big weapon because it would be counterproductive for him. Speed and agility kept him alive in Mistral and made him semi-successful in Vale, not brute force.
Moving to another section, he finds dual daggers with guns integrated into the hilts. Might have been an option but alas, not what he needs. While they match his quick-strike mentality, they'd be too small against Grimm.
He keeps looking around the shop, running his hand along various weapon displays. He's searching for something medium-sized, something that balances reach with maneuverability but not forgoing impact power. Then he spots it - a broadsword with an unusual mechanism built into the hilt and blade. The weapon has a revolver-like chamber integrated into the guard; he extends his arms and quickly notices that it isn't a short-sword but a longsword. That means that it might be what he is looking for.
He checks his surroundings first before picking it up from its display rack. The blade itself can split or shift to accommodate different combat functions, not just capable of shooting as he notices more details. He isn't an expert in weapons but he can at least tell that much.
Besides, the sword feels right in his hands - not too heavy to slow him down, but substantial enough to actually damage the creatures he'll be fighting soon. But since he is a practical person, he fiddles with its mechanisms, and soon discovers it can shoot dust-enhanced shots that travel along the blade's edge, adding explosive or another elemental power to his swings.
That's very good firepower.
But most importantly.
It fits his coolness factor perfectly.
Qrow walks up behind him and lets out an appreciative whistle. "Not bad, kid. You've got decent taste. That's a gunblade - pretty advanced for a first weapon, but if you can handle the recoil and get creative with its grips, it's versatile as hell."
"You think so?" Pryce turns around and raises an eyebrow but still presents the weapon to him and Qrow leans closer, rubbing his chin.
"Trigger mechanism, dust chambers... yeah, this'll serve you well. Just don't blow your own hand off as soon as you use real bullets." Qrow takes a swig from his flask before adding, "These things were real popular a few years back, but nowadays they prefer big weapons. Also, they take lots of practice compared to others which just swing and hit."
"I can handle it," Pryce says confidently, testing the weight again.
"We'll see about that. Show me the stance."
Pryce adjusts his grip and takes a basic fighting position he could come up with. However, the veteran huntsman immediately shakes his head.
"Wrong. You're holding it like a regular sword." He walks over and roughly adjusts Pryce's hands. "The trigger changes everything. Your index finger needs to rest here, thumb there. When you fire, the recoil's gonna kick - but if you time it right with your swing, you can use that force to add power to your strikes."
"That actually sounds badass," Pryce admits, practicing the adjusted grip.
"It is, when you don't screw it up. Most rookies blow their ears out or throw themselves off-balance first few times." Qrow steps back, watching critically as Pryce repeats the motions. "Better. Still terrible, but better."
That’s progress at least.
The blacksmith approaches them, wiping his hands on a leather apron. "Found something you like, son? That's one of my better pieces. Dust-compatible, variable ammunition system, reinforced for heavy combat. And my favorite, heat buildup, it takes time but it can with enough heat you obtain a free fire chamber with you. Not cheap though."
Pryce grins and pulls out Ozpin's note. "Good thing I'm not paying."
The blacksmith takes the paper, reads it, then raises an eyebrow. "Beacon Academy, huh? Don't see many faunus heading there these days." He gives Pryce a once-over before nodding. "Alright, it's yours. Come here if you break it or if the blade starts to dull."
After that exchange both exit the shop and Qrow scratches his head and sighs. "After seeing you back there, you clearly need to train a lot in a very short amount of time to handle that weapon. Would've preferred if you just picked a normal sword or at least a standard mechashift." He shakes his head, pulling out his flask. "But this was your choice, so I won't be angry or force you to change it. Just means more work for both of us."
"So what happens now?" Pryce asks, strapping the sword on his back, surprising himself with how easy it is to put it with the new harness. He then takes it out just as easily and fast, and notices that it's magnetized. "Oh, that's why it was so easy."
Qrow crosses his arms and closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temple. "It would be pretty shitty from my part if I just left you to figure this out alone. I'll help you a little—teach you the basics. Everything else will be on you."
Then both walk towards an empty place in the industrial district, navigating through narrow alleyways until they reach an empty plot of land that's filled with scrap metal, rusted machinery, and abandoned vehicles. The morning sun casts long shadows between the piles of junk.
"This is good enough," Qrow announces, kicking aside some loose metal pieces to clear a space. He turns to look at Pryce. "Now assume a fighting stance again."
Qrow proceeds to teach the very basic and general stances, the barebones foundations of fighting with a weapon. He demonstrates foot positioning, weight distribution, how to hold the blade at different angles.
"No, your feet are too close together. You'll get knocked over by a strong breeze," Qrow corrects, nudging Pryce's foot with his boot. "Wider. Yeah, like that. Now bend your knees slightly—you need to be ready to move in any direction."
Pryce is annoyed at the repeated corrections but doesn't complain as he really needs all the help since he's going to the initiation in a few days. His rabbit ears twitch with each instruction, betraying his frustration.
"Stop holding it like a big stick," Qrow groans. "This is a sword, not a club. Your grip needs to be firm but flexible. Too tight and you'll tire yourself out. Too loose and it'll get knocked out of your hands."
The veteran huntsman demonstrates a basic slash with his weapon, his movements fluid despite clearly being intoxicated. "See? Power comes from your core, not just your arms. Your whole body needs to move as one unit."
Pryce mimics the movement, feeling awkward and uncoordinated.
"Better," Qrow nods, "but you're telegraphing your attacks. Your ears give you away too—they move before you do. Learn to control that."
"Does it really matter against Grimm?" Pryce asks, frustrated.
"Most Grimm? No. They're mindless. But some of the older, smarter ones can pick up on patterns. And besides," Qrow takes another swig, "you won't just be fighting Grimm. Sometimes you'll face people too—bandits, criminals, or worse. They'll definitely notice tells like that."
Pryce grimaces but accepts the criticism, trying to focus on keeping his ears still while practicing a little more.
For the next hour, they work through basic forms—high guard, middle guard, low guard. And then trying to train his basic swings.
"Remember," Qrow says, taking another drink, "against Grimm, you can't just rely on speed alone. They're bigger, stronger, and they don't feel pain. One good hit from them and you're done if your aura's low. Never underestimate the fuckers."
"Great pep talk," Pryce mutters, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Still doesn't change the fact that I'm way under-prepared for this whole Beacon thing since I never went to any school in case you haven't noticed."
He slumps his shoulders, and his ears droop low, feeling a little down as he thinks again that there is practically no more time to prepare. The weight of what's ahead starts to sink in and he doesn't like it at all.
Qrow takes another swig from his flask and wipes his mouth. "Listen, kid. It isn't really a strict requirement for a student to be from training schools. Do you honestly believe that every licensed hunter out there came out from combat school?"
Pryce frowns as he thinks of that question but he shakes his head.
"Exactly. Yes, many are apprentices or learn by themselves. You just need to pass the initiation, that's all that matters." He leans against a rusted shipping container. "Of course being in a combat school helps a lot, but it isn't a guarantee. Seen plenty of academy kids freeze up when real danger hits. All that training goes right out the window when they're staring down actual Grimm."
"What's the actual requirement then?" Pryce asks, rotating his sore shoulder.
"Having your aura unlocked, that's like the bare minimum to be able to apply. Which you already have, so you're ahead of some." Qrow shrugs. "Everything else? They're looking for potential, not perfection. Ozpin's got a weird knack for seeing something in people that others miss."
"Didn't you say yesterday that people die?" Pryce reminds him, remembering their conversation from the interrogation room.
"Yes, they do," Qrow sighs, rubbing his neck. "Since they are facing Grimm. I've had the misfortune to see kids freeze and never snap out of it. Others make stupid mistakes, or get separated from their partners." He looks away, his expression darkening. "The academy WILL try to prevent deaths obviously, but there are only a handful of us and hundreds of kids scattered all over the forest. We can't be everywhere at every moment. Sometimes we're just... too late."
Pryce takes that information seriously, his ears drooping slightly. The way he is talking and his tone clearly tell him that this simply doesn't compare to some street brawl where the worst outcome is a broken nose or bruised ribs.
"Look," Qrow continues, pushing off from the container, "I've given you the basics. Practice those forms until they're muscle memory. Work on your footwork. And for fuck's sake, learn to control those ears of yours - they're like signal flags announcing your every move."
As if that was easy.
He starts walking away, then pauses. "Oh, and kid? In the forest, trust your instincts. Street smarts might actually save your life where book learning fails. Most academy brats know theory but panic when shit gets real. You? You know how to survive. Use that."
With that, Qrow walks off, leaving Pryce alone with his thoughts and his new weapon.
Not what he expected for his life to take this turn, but he'll face it head-on like he always did with problems. At least this time, he has a weapon more sophisticated than a switchblade and smoke bombs.
He spends the rest of the afternoon practicing the forms Qrow showed him, trying to make the unfamiliar movements feel natural. His arms burn, his legs ache, but he pushes through since his life will be on the line.
This is his life now. Time to adapt or die trying.
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The days passed rather quickly since he spent them cramming as much training as he could so he wouldn't be that much of a joke. His arms and legs ache constantly from the endless self-imposed drills, but he could feel himself getting better or at least he hopes so. The gunblade no longer felt like an awkward extension of his arm—it was getting easier to wield it.
But also he had time to chat with Neo, telling her his predicament through messages. And she gave him a solution: stick close with someone that knows their shit.
Solid advice.
He enters the airship, greeted with the sight of a lot of people around his age hanging around and talking, laughing—well, what people do when gathered in a place. Also for some reason people didn't seem to want to use the chairs as they preferred to be standing close to the windows or just sitting on the floor for some reason. Maybe nerves, maybe excitement.
Either way, it made the cabin feel more crowded than it was.
So he moves to a better spot and leans against the wall to wait and try to assess the situation and find that special someone that might help him.
But first he starts chatting with Neo again.
He pulls out his scroll and starts typing. A small chat with her updating her of the situation.
Pryce: 'on the airship now.'
Neo: 'u got this bunny '
Neo: 'just dont die lol'
Neo: 'would be inconvenient'
He smirks at her response.
Pryce: 'any more advice for not dying?'
Neo: ‘dont trust atlas bitches'
Neo: 'they stab u in the back faster than i can'
Then she sends him some funny pics—one of her eating ice cream with a comically serious expression, another of her pointing at a poster advertising Beacon with a mock salute.
Pryce: 'miss me already?'
Neo: 'I can visit anytime u know?’
Neo: ‘can grab a girl on the way so we can play!’
Pryce: ’don’t do that, sounds rapey’
Neo: 'but will be lots of fun! Even better if you get her all preggo!’
Yeah, sometimes he forgets that Neo has a few screws loose in her head.
Pryce: 'gotta find a partner. Wish me luck'
Rather than reply Neo sends another picture.
But unlike the first ones this is actually a nude, Neo laying on the bed smiling at him while covering her breasts.
She is truly an amazing girlfriend. He is going to save that pic.
He pockets his scroll and starts scanning the crowd more carefully. First, he sees a girl with a black dress and a red cape talking with a tomboyish woman with long blonde hair. The shorter girl doesn't seem like much but the blondie does look like she can throw a punch—not even a pun since she has big gauntlets on her wrists that look like they could cave in someone's chest.
Not so far from them there is an obviously pompous Atlesian girl with arms crossed in a white dress, clearly annoyed and fed up with lots of bags and luggage around her. Not good teammate material but with that much stuff he could pretend to talk to her and steal something valuable. He can tell she has a bitchy attitude as well so it would be doing a favor for the world.
Changing his attention to another spot he spots a redhead who is calmly seated on the mostly empty chairs, but what actually interests him is that she is already in full bronze armor and has a shield and spear on the seat next to her. She looks like the expert he has been looking for. Professional. Prepared. Someone who not only takes this seriously but is experienced. Powerful.
And is that girl with black hair watching him? He swears that he saw her try to hide her face in the book when his gaze passed her. Black bow on her head, amber eyes that quickly dart away.
Interesting.
His rabbit ears twitch slightly as he considers his options. The redhead seems like the best choice for survival, but the girl watching him has piqued his curiosity. The Atlesian bitch might have valuable items, but Neo's warning echoes in his head. The blonde and her friend seem approachable at least.
Who should he go to now?
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AN: And we that we reach the 6 chapters and now we return to the normal short stories poll, this was definitely different and not that difficult to work with. Don't worry this story will continue. Later or probably tomorrow (tomorrow in my case) will post an announcement with new changes on tier, meaning increasing he benefits so you guys feel you are getting your money worth.
Also halfway finishing the next chapter of JUSTICE!
