"—and that was when I beat the Grimm to death with the cabbage!"

"We know, professor. You've told us that one before."

"All the better to drive it into your heads. Anything can be a weapon in the right hands, and with the right mindset!"

Jaune blinked himself to dreamfulness and realised he was walking through a thick and brightly lit forest. The sun was high in the sky, the birds were chirping, and it was as far away from the gloomy and nightmarish forest where Amber died that they might as well have been on different planes of existence.

He didn't recognise the forest but he certainly recognised the portly and jovial man walking alongside him. Professor Peter Port was simultaneously Beacon's most beloved and hated teacher. Beloved when you were late on homework, needed an extension, or just wanted some quick advice. The man always made time for you, and always listened. He wasn't a soft touch, but he also wasn't as strict as Goodwitch and Oobleck, so he'd often let you have an extra day or two on a deadline if you could give a decent reason.

But in class, when you were forced to sit through his lectures, he might as well have been the most hated man on Remnant. His lectures alternated between waffle and fantasy, only occasionally broken up by a sudden Grimm dumped into the middle of class – and those were considered better days. It said a lot when you sighed with relief when your teacher unleashed a Boarbatusk on you. It said even more than half the class would gladly be gored to death by it than have to sit through another story.

"Kids these days," said Port, winking Jaune's way.

It took Jaune a second to realise what he meant. While he recognised Port, he didn't recognise the team walking behind them. Four Beacon students, maybe in their second or third year, but this could have been years before Team JNPR ever formed so there was no guarantee they were still in Beacon. They might have graduated by now.

I guess we must go on missions with teachers later in our studies, Jaune thought. It made sense to test them out in the field, though he had to wonder whether Beacon had enough teachers for every team. There weren't that many.

In fact, he decided to ask.

"What happens to the other teams without a teacher? I doubt you and Doctor Oobleck can handle every team."

"Ha. True. And Beacon would fall apart if Glynda stepped out. But hasn't Bart told you to call him by name? You're a teacher now, my boy. No need to call us on title."

Teacher—? Jaune doubted the man would dream of him becoming a teacher so this must have been a subconscious way for him to explain Jaune's sudden presence. Rather than realise someone who shouldn't be in his dream had appeared as such, Professor Port had just come up with a story in his own head that Jaune was a new teacher. It wasn't a big surprise from a man who came up with tall stories like this all the time.

"Old habits," said Jaune, playing along. "But you didn't answer my question."

"We enlist old graduates to help out. There are plenty who feel they owe Beacon something – as if fighting the good fight isn't payment enough! – and they're happy to help shadow a team and guide the next generation." He winked, adding, "Though we make sure the more dangerous tasks have more experienced huntsmen, of course. Like yours truly!" Port – or Peter – boomed with laughter, and shouted back to the team, "Did I ever tell you the time I wrestled a Beringel?"

"Yes!" the four groaned in unison.

Peter glanced back at Jaune and winked.

Hang on.

Was the old coot aware of what his stories did to people? Was it a joke to him? Ren had once postulated that perhaps Port's odd lessons were a test, that there might be true secrets and wisdom buried underneath riddle-like stories. Ren had committed days and hours to taking extensive notes and going over them, only to eventually let his forehead slam down onto the desk in their room and declare his surrender. If there were secret meanings, they were staying a secret. It looked like Port was aware of that too and was playing into it.

"Professors," groaned one student, including Jaune in his address. "Please can we focus on the task at hand? We should be coming up on the village."

Peter's face darkened. "That's what I'm afraid of," he whispered.

Jaune's head whipped to the man but he was focusing ahead once more, slinging his musket-axe weapon off his back and into his arms. He looked tense, with the wide smile on his face cold as steel.

They stepped out from the trees and toward a village that had seen better days. It was quiet, with no sounds of Grimm, but the place had obviously come under attack. There was a stillness to the place, broken occasionally by the barking of a dog or the crashing collapse of a home that had given up the fight with gravity.

"—too late," whispered a girl behind them.

"Keep your wits about you," said Peter, sounding harsher than Jaune had ever heard him. "Secure the perimeter first and then move inward. Aura up, and weapons at the ready. Go. Quickly now!"

To their credit, they leapt off to do just that. Or they had. Assuming this was a memory, these events had already happened, and the team had reacted well. Jaune wasn't sure how he would. He'd fought Grimm but never had to deal with this. The consequences of not being in time to fight the Grimm. Little wonder this would make for a nightmare. Arriving too late was any huntsman's worst.

"I knew we'd be late," grunted Peter. "Had a feeling deep in my bones. You get those sometimes." He moved through the broken gates with Jaune at his side. "Doesn't help that communications are so bad in far flung places like this."

"Aren't they connected to the CCT?"

"Yes and no. The coverage reaches them, but places like this aren't exactly wealthy, my boy. That's why they live out here. Can't afford life in the city. And being so far from it means extra costs to import anything. When you live off the land and even the smallest luxury is expensive, do you really think these people have money for scrolls? Or reason for them? They only know the people who live nearby, and they can walk over if they want to talk."

He'd never considered it. His parents had moved to Ansel because they couldn't afford to start a family in Vale, but Ansel wasn't a frontier village. It was a long-settled one with a decent history and its own amenities. It imported from Vale like this one would have to, but a lot of the people who lived there made good enough money. Or maybe his family had been the exception thanks to his father's work as a huntsman.

"The head of the village will have had a device – and a few others," said Peter. "They'd have been responsible for being the way to contacting the wider world, and for raising the alarm, but all it takes is for them to be caught unprepared or cut off from their homes. And with the distance and the response times." He shook his head. "All too often, this is what happens. It's gotten so bad that some places don't bother calling in aid anymore. They just accept their fates. Disappear off the face of Remnant."

"That's awful."

"It damn well is. The cities have done a lot of good, that I won't argue, but it's always for those best off. No one thinks of the ones who can't make it. Those who risk their lives for doomed chances like Mountain Glenn." He sighed. "Sorry, lad. This place is making me all morbid. Come. Let's see if our students haven't found anything."

The team had gathered back in the centre – and they were alone. They hadn't found anyone and were looking downtrodden. Jaune looked them over again, trying to see if he could recognise them. Two men and two women, looking maybe a year or two older than him. He definitely hadn't seen their faces anywhere in Beacon.

"We found nothing, sirs," said one of the girls.

"Nothing alive, anyway," said a boy, spitting to the side. "Dead bodies aplenty."

"S—Should we bury them?" asked another. "I... I can't..."

He buckled and vomited onto the floor. His teammates looked caught between pity and disgust, but Peter was firmly of the former.

"Better in than out, my boy, and don't think less of yourself. Scenes like this are truly terrible. You'll learn as huntsmen that no matter your best efforts, you can't always—"

"Child!" cried one of the girls, pointing to a standing building. "A survivor!"

Peter whirled, but the girl was already in motion, sprinting for the building. Before Jaune could think to stop her, she'd crossed the distance. Impossibly fast. It was less speed and more Peter's dream teleporting her into the doorway, making it so that neither had a chance to intervene.

"Wait, no!" he roared. "It might be dangero— Damn it. Stay here!" he commanded the rest. "Jaune, with me! After her!"

They sprinted for the house and Peter burst inside first, moving with surprising speed. "Kathy!" he roared, putting name to a face Jaune didn't know. "Fool girl," he hissed, then raised his voice again. "Aura up! Keep your wits about you, girl!"

It didn't feel like there were any Grimm, however.

"Upstairs!" came the girl's voice. She sounded elated, but also panicked. "He's alive! Medical! I need medical aid!"

They ascended the staircase in a rush and went down a corridor, into what looked to be a child's bedroom. There, the huntress-in-training was on her knees, cradling a boy against her chest and rocking back and forth.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. "It'll be okay. We're here now."

"M—Mommy?" asked the boy.

Kathy choked.

"Your mother is fine, lad," Peter lied, shooting Jaune a stern look and moving over. He wasn't sure what to make of the expression, but Peter knelt and placed a hand on Kathy's shoulder. Jaune stepped around as well and sucked in a breath.

The boy was missing his legs.

And he didn't mean that in the sense of him being disabled.

There was so much blood.

"You'll be okay," whispered Kathy, rocking him back and forth. She looked up at them with tearstained eyes. "He'll be okay. Won't he, professors? You can help him! We can save him. We have to save him!"

Jaune's tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth.

That was a lot of blood.

Luckily, Peter was an experienced huntsman. "We can save him," he told her. "Hand him to me. Go fetch a first aid kit from your team. Hurry now!"

The girl bolted.

Peter laid the boy down on his back.

"Am I saved?" whispered the boy. "It hurts. It's cold."

"You're saved, my boy," Peter replied, drawing a sharp knife. "Close your eyes. Rest. Things will be better when you wake up."

"Okay, mister..." The boy did as he was asked and went slack. "W—Wake me up in time for school."

"I will, lad. I will."

Peter placed the knife blade flat against the boy's neck. Jaune tensed, ice settling in his veins. The child was dead, though. Dying. And not even real. It was a dream. And yet even in the dream, the small child didn't feel the knife's cold metal on his skin. To not be screaming after his legs were torn off, Jaune could only assume blood loss had robbed him of almost all sensation.

The child didn't even cry out as the knife cut into him.

He simply sighed once and lay still.

"Rest in peace," whispered Peter.

Jaune lowered his head.

Something thunked to the floor behind them. "M—Murderer..."

The huntress-in-training, Kathy, stood shaking in the doorway.

"Miss Morel," said Peter, standing. "You must under—"

"Murderer!" she repeated, in a hiss. Peter flinched as if he'd been struck. "Murderer! Killer! You killed him!"

"I gave him mercy—"

"MURDERER!" she howled, turning and running for her team. "He murdered him! The professor murdered a child! He's a murderer!"

"Damn it!" roared Peter, bounding to his feet and after her. "Calm!" he roared. "Stay calm! The Grimm are still close!"

"Murderer! He killed him! He's a murderer!"

Outside, Kathy's team were confused and didn't know what to do. They'd seen their member come running out screaming of Professor Port killing someone, and they could see the professor chasing her. They didn't attack him, but they didn't stop their teammate either. They didn't know what was going on enough to make a decision either way.

"He killed a child!" screamed Kathy, backing away and shaking her head. Tears ran down her cheeks.

"He was dying," said Peter, standing a distance from her and not approaching. He appeared to recognise she'd bolt if he did. "Kathy, please. You need to understand. Sometimes we are too late. We can't save everyone, but what we can do is give those who are dying a merciful end—"

"No! No, we—we're huntsmen. We're meant to save everyone!"

The girl backed away, sobbing and shaking her head.

A shadow rose behind her.

"KATHY!" roared Port, lunging for the girl.

Her team screamed her name as well.

In fright, in shock, and seeing her teacher shout her name and lunge for her, the girl screamed and turned to flee – never one realising the danger. There was a flash of black as an arm passed through her neck.

And her head toppled to the floor, her mouth still open in a scream.

"RARGHHH!" Port slammed into the Ursa and smashed his axe into its ribcage, shattering it in one blow. The axe lodged firm, but that only mean the barrel of the musket was planted under its chin. A pull of the trigger sent buckshot spraying up into its neck and face, reducing it to a fine pulp. Port tore his weapon free.

Panic set in. "KATHY!" screamed the boy who had thrown up earlier.

He fell to his knees.

The other girl screamed shrilly.

"FOCUS!" roared Port. "We're not yet safe!"

It was too late. Grimm howled and returned, drawn by the negativity from Kathy and now the raw grief from her teammates. That, and the noise of the screaming and the gunshot. The forest came alive with black shapes, as Grimm numbering almost fifty in total poured out. Enough to slaughter a village, but not enough to take on a full team if they worked together. Jaune had seen Ruby take on ten Grimm in as many seconds on her own.

But this team was not ready.

One had started to sprint for Kathy's body. Another was on his knees. The last girl had fainted dead out, collapsing to the ground. The first skidded to Kathy's side and clung to her, barely surviving as Peter smashed a Grimm that wanted the boy's head away.

"TO ARMS!" he roared. "Aura! Aura! Remember your training!"

The boy who had fallen to his knees threw his weapon down and ran.

"TOBIAS, NO!" howled Peter, still dealing with the Grimm trying to kill the boy over Kathy's corpse. "BACK!"

Tobias didn't listen. Driven by fear, he fled into the forest. Grimm gave pursuit, some even hitting him, but he at least had his aura up. That wouldn't help him, however. Not unarmed as he was. He vanished into the forest with at least a dozen Grimm hot on his tail, and Jaune knew deep in his heart that he would never be seen again.

Or, rather, that no one had ever found his body.

"Fools!" howled Peter, grabbing the boy by the dead girl by his collar and dragging him away. "Defend your last teammate!" he spat, tossing him back to the unconscious girl. To his credit, the boy scrabbled to draw his sword and stand over the unconscious girl. "Hold ground!"

"But Tobias—"

"He's dead!" spat Peter.

"But—"

"You wanted to be huntsmen. This is the life of a huntsman! Now fight like your life depends on it – because it bloody well does!"

It was a dream.

It wasn't real.

That didn't stop Jaune sprinting among the Grimm and slaughtering them. If anything, he did it faster to save his professor the grief. The Grimm weren't so numerous that he couldn't decimate them alone, and this nightmare was obviously more about the loss than the Grimm, so Port's subconscious didn't see the need to summon more.

They died quickly, and they stayed dead. Port stood caked in viscera that was slowly fading. Not all, though. Some of it was that of a small boy's, and yet more was spray from Kathy when she'd died. He was bloody, worn, and angry.

But two of the team yet lived.

For all that the remaining conscious member dropped to their knees and began to cry.

"Pull yourself together," Port said, gruffly.

Jaune stepped in. "Peter, he's lost half his team. Give him a moment."

"He can cry once we're back in Beacon, but right now his misery will draw more Grimm and we're in no fit state to hold them off." He grabbed the boy by the collar. "Hate me if it helps you, but crying won't solve anything. Pick up your teammate. We're leaving."

"T—Tobias might still be alive."

Peter shook his head. "Do you hear that?"

Jaune listened, as did the remaining boy. "No," he said. "It's quiet."

"Exactly. Silent. Do you think it'd be this quiet if Tobias was still fighting for his life?"

Tears sparkled in the boy's eyes. He looked young, then. Younger than Jaune was. More fragile. Jaune couldn't imagine how it must feel to be on what was meant to be a routine trip, and then to lose half your team.

This wouldn't happen to Team JNPR.

He wouldn't let it.

The world blended then, and Jaune found himself at a campsite sitting on a log with Peter, poking at a fire and keeping watch while a single tent lay nearby. Inside, they could hear two people sibbing as they clung to one another. Jaune blinked his confusion away, quickly realising they'd skipped head, probably to on the journey back.

"There's always some that aren't ready," said Port, under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Every year," he continued. "There's always one team at least. You always pray it isn't yours, selfish as that sounds. Always hope it'll be someone else's. But when you're a teacher for long enough, probability dictates it'll be yours one day."

"That... I..." Jaune wanted to argue, but he felt exhausted. Mentally drained. And this was real, wasn't it? This was a dream, but also a memory. "Is this what being a huntsman is really like?" he dared to ask.

"Mercy killing and being too late? Pretty much. The Grimm don't hang around politely waiting for you to show up. They attack seconds after they're spotted, so unless a huntsman happens to be within the village, it's curtains for the inhabitants. How long do you think it takes Grimm to clear out a village like that one? An hour? More like twenty minutes." He jabbed the fire angrily. "It takes that long to charter an emergency flight, then that long again to gather your equipment and ready up. Two or three times that to travel – and that's assuming no ill-weather."

He'd never put it to seconds and minutes like that. But, now that he thought about it, he couldn't help it. His team woke at seven and spent about an hour having showers and getting ready before hitting the cafeteria at eight. They would eat and chat until nine when lessons began. In those two hours between waking up and their first lesson, a pack of Grimm could theoretically clear out six villages. Killing everyone within.

How did huntsmen ever make it on time?

Unless the place they were going to had incredibly robust defences like Argus did, or unless they had an advanced security detail like an SDC Mining Camp would have, there was almost no chance that a group of huntsmen would make it in time to stop an attack. Even if they moved as fast as they could, it'd take thirty to forty minutes to fly out to a place far away from a city.

The Grimm would be in and out by then. Those places had minutes to survive, and huntsmen just couldn't respond that quickly.

"Not as glamourous as they say, is it?" Peter laughed bitterly. "No one would want to be one if they knew it was like this, so society holds us back from telling the truth. I hate it myself. If people were better prepared, they wouldn't have to face this." He grunted. "But my suggestions are shot down every time. Ozpin approves, as does Glynda and Bart, but the board and the Council won't have it. It'll reduce intake," he said, bitterly imitating an annoying voice. "We need to keep the number of huntsmen high. Pah. I've wanted to teach the harsher sides of the job for years now."

"But no," he whispered. "Got to keep the fantasy up. Got to keep their spirits high. Lest something like this happens." He closed his eyes, growling angrily. "Sometimes it's all I can do to make shit up on the spot. They ask me to teach the kids what the job is like, then tell me I can't teach them the reality. What else am I to do but fill their heads with nonsense? It's fiction, Jaune. All of it." He laughed. "It has to be. Tales of me beating a Grimm to death with a fucking cabbage—" Hearing him swear made Jaune flinch, "—because the reality of how I found mountains of corpses among the cabbage patches, mothers clasping dead children to their breasts, is too much for their delicate ears."

"All because they don't want the kids to get a glimpse of reality until it's too late and they're in the job. Then they slap a band-aid in the form of state-paid therapy on their heads and tell them it's okay. Don't sweat the PTSD, kids. It's normal. Enjoy the next twenty to thirty years of your life showing up too late to help anyone."

Jaune stared into a fire that didn't exist.

And contemplated a world that did. A life he had chosen to place himself into.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, at last. "Do you regret being a huntsman?"

Peter chuffed. His shoulders rose and fell. "No. I regret having to lie to them, and I regret watching them fall apart, but I don't regret what we do. That boy would have bled out alone and afraid if not for us. He would have dragged his body into his mother's bedroom and cried himself to death over however many hours he had left in him. Someone has to help them, Jaune. Even if it's not in the way any of us would want. If that has to be me..." Peter sighed. "So be it. Better someone do it, and it might as well be the useless professor who puts his students to sleep with boring lectures."

Jaunt stared into the crackling flames.

"Get some sleep, Peter," he said. "I'll take first watch."

"Thanks, lad." The large man groaned as he stood. "I feel like I could fall asleep and never wake up sometimes." A bitter laugh slipped out of him. "But this horrible world of ours keeps dragging me back. There's work for us huntsmen to do yet. Grim, terrible work. But someone has to do it, and better it's me than a bunch of unprepared children."

Peter Port curled up to rest.

And the dream faded into white mist.

/-/

"—and there I was, surrounded by Ursa, but with a lost little puppy whimpering behind me, I knew I couldn't afford to fail. I set the small dog between my legs and got to work! With a chop and a slice, I tore into the Grimm and brought them low!"

Peter Port waved his hands animatedly.

A single survivor, Jaune's mind translated. Everyone dead. The puppy is a child. He found one survivor. All that remained. Fought standing over him to protect him from all sides."

"But the Grimm came in hard and fast from every side, and the poor little tyke was panicked. While I was distracted fending off three at once, the pup panicked and bolted!"

The child panicked, ignored Port's warnings, tried to run.

Peter rubbed a finger under his nose, smiling broadly. "Luckily, the Grimm ignore animals!"

Grimm ignore animals. Grimm don't ignore children.

"He'd have been in trouble otherwise!"

The child died.

"Angry and worried, I roared a battle cry and—"

The bell jingled, startling several people awake and making others almost fall off their seats in shock. Beside Jaune, Pyrrha jumped and her knee struck the desk; she bit back a hiss and cradled it, rocking in her seat. Ren and Nora were calmer in waking up, or just less caring about hiding it. Nora yawned loudly.

"Well, it looks like that's all we have time for today," boomed Peter, checking the clock on the wall. "Remember, a huntsman is always aware and always ready. And they must stay calm in danger, unlike that young puppy."

He laughed.

It was a loud and booming sound.

Too loud.

Forced.

Students filed out chatting loudly. Yang was fighting with Weiss over something, but it was clear Yang was baiting Weiss to get a reaction. Blake was reading, Ruby animatedly gushing to Pyrrha about some new revolutionary gun barrel she'd read about, and Ren was just trying to wake up as Nora talked into his ear about a dream she'd just had.

But Jaune looked back, watching Professor Port as he sat down behind his desk and leaned back, closing his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Lost in memories, or in frustration. Ren had been right that there were hidden meanings in his stories.

Jaune wished he could unsee them.