Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 6 (Patreon)

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The test revealed to me certain things that arm-chairing wouldn’t. The average Remnanite would withstand stuff that a normal fella from good ol’ Terra wouldn’t and hence I could go a little bit bigger in caliber.

I tapped against the table, my eyes glancing towards the FAL copy laying on it. The 7.62 performed adequately against common Grimm albeit it would take a couple of shots to take one down. It was a fair play, to be frank, considering the average Grimm was a large fucker. A bigger caliber could down one in one or two shots but really, Land was correct that a bigger caliber would limit the amount of ammo carried. Sure, the planned market would mostly stay at home and have a reliable supply but thirty rounds were standard back at home for a reason. Perhaps making it modular, as suggested, would be good.

My hands reached out and wrapped around a hammer, the blacksmith’s tool. It was an old thing; as old as Solitas itself or so my father had claimed. On its sides was the Wayland eagle, proudly emblazoned. I took a breath, focused, and my Semblance flared. Energy surrounded me as I struck the rifle. My mind connected with the rifle and I could feel every bolt, every ridge and edge. Reality shifted to obey my wishes and the rifle changed. The black polymer Defender turned from a long rifle into a compact version of it. Sparks would erupt with each strike but it did not burn me or the floor and walls of the workstation I barricaded myself in. Then, with a final hammer-strike, it was over.

I set the hammer to the side, smiled at my work, before my legs shook and I was forced to hold onto the table to support myself. My breaths were shallow and harsh, utter exhaustion gripped my body and mind. The Wayland Semblance was handy, yes, but it drained me.

A short laugh left my lips as my body recovered and I could stand a bit straighter now. I could, theoretically, make anything I want with the only limit being my aura reserves. It was humbling that the quality of my products depended on how much I was willing to suffer for it. Little wonder why R&I prided itself on its merchandise.

I shook my head as I turned from the Defender model and took out my scroll. There was a checklist of items that were going to be part of the Frontier series of weapons we were going to manufacture. The Defender was a priority and I could green-light its completion. Next on the list were pistols, shotguns, and support weapons. There were heavier shit up the line but I was going to have to get my pops to help me with those. All I had to do was draw up the schematics, bring him into how they were made then bam, we could Semblance it to existence.

Semblances were bullshit cheat skills, sue me.

Once they were made, all we had to do was strip it down to our engineer guys, explain how it would work, then we could get it down to manufacturing. That was how R&I made its bank for years and I saw no reason to change it. I would have loved it if I could teach others our Semblance but sadly, it was a genetic thing much like the Schnee Glyphs.

My ears then perked as knocks echoed on my door.

“Alex? May I come in?” my father’s voice spoke through.

I took a quick glance to check if there was anything I considered sensitive and found none.

‘’It opens,” I said. The door swung open and in came my father, business suit and all. He looked at the table, nodding at the weapon there, then towards me. His voice and face were one of concern.

“How long have you been at this?” he asked.

“Awhile,” I replied weakly.

‘’Take a break, we still have time,” he advised me, eyes glinting. I shook my head.

 “When we don’t have to worry about our market value then I can go relax,” I replied. I rather liked my nice and comfortable lifestyle. I cannot afford to be a degenerate at this time, not when we could go bankrupt. I lived modest life before; I was not going to go back working for someone else again. My father listened and his expression shifted to one of shame. It was my turn to be concerned as I saw that.

“I should have done harder to stop your grand-father from ruining us,” he sighed. “He…I…”

I cut him off as I walked over and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Dad, we already spoke about this. It ain’t your fault. Grand-dad was a piece of work. There was nothing we could do.”

Gerard Wayland sighed again. He cared deeply for me; I could see that. But what was done was done, it was time now to clean up the mistakes of the past. “How was your trip?” I asked him instead to get his mind off grand-papa. He hummed, glancing towards the rifle.

“I’ve managed to calm the fires. Your speech and the remaining board members have helped stabilize things. I’ve also spoken with someone that our local boonie towns trust. She’s willing to gather some representatives to watch a demonstration of the guns alongside the board.” He reported.

“That’s good!” I exclaimed. Having someone that boonie towns trusted would be great in marketing it to them. It was easier to sell something to someone when they were trusted after all. “Who?” I then added.

“Florianne Geyer, the Bundshuch Lady,” my father reported.

I raised an eyebrow. “The Bundshuch lady?”

Bundshuch meant Peasant’s Shoe, the party of the hard-working frontier. Frontiersmen may be crazy in eking an existence out of the city but even they understood that having a presence in the Council was necessary to protect and represent their interests. Atlesian boonies were still Atlesian after all.

“Yes, the Bundshuch Lady. I figured that since we were going to sell it to her people, contacting their representative would be prudent. Saves us a little bit in marketing it,” Gerard explained.

“How’d you get in contact with her?” I questioned. Last I heard about her, she had sworn off contact with her fellow blue-bloods. The Great War ended the traditional nobility but you don’t disappear easily when you’ve got connections and wealth. What remained of the Old Guard in Solitas either joined together in the conservative Vanguard Party who sneered at anything born from the Color Revolution or joined the Parties Jacques Schnee had his tendrils on to maintain their power. The former were bootlickers while the latter were uptight former aristocrats holding on to past glories. Geyer, who was as noble as anyone of our number, decided to give both the finger and live in the boonies. Some thought she did it to hold on to areas traditionally that was her family, others thought she lived for the people. No matter her reason, she was a potential partner.

“I have my means,” Gerard answered mysteriously.

“Good enough,” I shrugged.

“We both worked hard. I reckon we have the right to rest even a little bit,” Father once again suggested.

Seeing that he was not going to stop, I relented. “And where should we go?”

“You haven’t visited your mother in a while. Why not visit her?”

So, this was going to be that type of relaxation.

“Let me clean up,” I sighed.

Much later, I traded the quiet and smoke of a workstation to that of flowers and leaves.

The Wayland Manor had an extensive garden in the back. It was maintained through the generations, each one adding flora that they thought would look good. Admittedly, it was an idyllic painting of flowers and other plants. Roses, chrysanthemums, every pretty thing that an ancestor thought would look neat, they bought and planted there. However, father and I weren’t there to gawk at the bright flowers. At the very centre of the fountain was a raised statue of a woman in armor, shield and spear at the ready, steely eyes looking forward. Underneath her statue was a plaque.

Alana Wayland.

Father looked up at her, his expression unreadable. I stood by his side, quiet and still. When he wasn’t busy, he would usually spend some time walking by the gardens and the fountain to gawk at. I never spent much time here, to be frank.

Some memories, I didn’t want to revisit.

“Do you remember what she did, son?” He asked me suddenly.

I did.

“Yes,” I nodded. Who wouldn’t remember your own mother sacrificing herself to save people?

“Do you know why I hate Jacques Schnee so much, son?” he asked again, calm.

“Yes,” I answered again, my heart slowly going into a pit.

Years ago, there was an executive summit held in an exclusive high-class retreat in the Solitan mountains. Both my parents went there and when it was over, my father returned with my mother in a box and him cursing Jacques Schnee. They were in the middle of having their talks when the alarms went off in the resort. A Grimm horde was about to migrate close to their area and an evacuation order was placed.

As if sensing my thoughts, my father continued. “It all was fairly standard, you know. The resort and the town next to it were shuffling for the airships to leave. Then the Grimm started to bear on the resort faster, they sensed that we were leaving. Your mother led a team of volunteers to delay them as long as possible. She told me she could do it, that she was trained for this.”

He took a breath. “The SDC had the most presence there. They brought a lot of security, you know. They were a rising star still then and wanted to show off. Jacques Schnee could have offered his forces to assist in the defense. Your mother went to him and asked.”

“He didn’t,” I said, my voice quivering.

“He did not. His forces had to defend the resort and if he sent his guys out, there would be less of them to defend the evacuation. To protect him and his worthless toadies.” He finished, shaking as he stood. “They were showing off those robots of theirs, those ugly looking Atlesian Knights. They ought to have been sent to the front to delay the enemy. It turns out, they were all for show at that time. They could go and look impressive but they could not fight, not yet at least.”

“So, mom had to go out and show off how a real knight fought,” I laughed with mirth.

“Yes,” he sighed, glancing up at the statue. “And this is what her nobility won her.”

I remembered a beautiful woman, blonde of hair and with a quick and easy smile. She was gentle but also strict at the same time.

“She loved flowers,” I said, remembering her most favourite thing of all.

“That’s why I buried her here, surrounded by our collected garden. She spent time here, you know?” Gerard chuckled. “And now, she’s watching you.”

He took a step forward, hand reaching out towards the statue before he stopped himself. He pulled his hand back.

“She would be proud of you, now.”

In my previous life, I had a good relationship with my mother. I did not see any reason to not have the same with my second one. She tried to teach me nobility, justice, and the other virtues that had made her a good knight. While I could not do the best she wanted for me, I was going to pursue those values in spirit at least.

“Then let’s make her even prouder by getting our weapons off the line and getting them to the frontier she tried so hard to defend,” I said, steel in my voice. ‘And as a massive fuck you to Jacques Schnee’

He nodded. “Let’s”

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A/N: A little something, eyyy.