A Path To Omniscience

Those words weighed on Weiss like a heavy chain, stopping her in her tracks.

What did it mean to be a licensed Huntsman? The profession was hard to define, varying greatly across the different kingdoms. Some Huntsmen were relatively weak, while others were strong enough to be considered one-person armies.

Weiss wouldn't place her sister at that extreme, but Winter was certainly on the stronger end of the spectrum.

Not only was she licensed, but she had also undergone military training to become part of Atlas's Special Operatives Unit—an elite force composed of Huntsmen talented enough to catch the military's eye upon graduation from Atlas Academy.

I doubt he's as strong as Winter, but… does it really matter? I can't hold off a licensed Huntsman, especially if what he was saying about delaying any response to get help here is true. Plus, it's obvious he's been toying with me if he managed to block that attack so effortlessly…

Weiss glanced down at the twisted metal leg in her hand, tightening her grip before tossing it aside. Her gaze snapped back to the White Fang Commander, who raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh? Is the little heiress going to fight me with her fists now? Now that would be something worth watching." She didn't acknowledge him. Instead, her eyes flicked around the dining room, settling on the table and chairs nearby. A quick wave of her fingers summoned a glyph beneath her feet.

The Commander tensed. He'd fought Weiss long enough to understand how her Semblance worked. But instead of charging at him, she darted toward the dining table, hooking a chair with her foot and whipping her leg around to launch it at him.

For a split second, the Commander hesitated before raising his double-bladed axe, slicing the chair clean in half.

Then another came flying.

And another.

He sidestepped two, then shattered the last one with a single swing of his fist.

That's when he saw it—an entire dining table barreling straight for him.

"Throwing things now?" His tone was laced with mockery as he drove his fist into the center of the table, breaking it apart. But unlike the chairs, the tablecloth remained intact, billowing outward as if ready to swallow him whole.

The Commander clicked his tongue. Cloth was tricky—it was hard to cut in the air, and punching through it was even harder.

She's trying to block my vision, huh? Did she really think I wouldn't just dodge it?

The Commander shifted, preparing to redirect his Aura into his movements and evade the incoming cloth. He was already locking onto where Weiss had repositioned herself when—

Nothing.

His body refused to move. The energy he had gathered to dodge simply vanished. His eyes darted downward. A glyph glowed beneath his feet.

What? But I thought those just magnified speed…

That thought barely had time to register before the tablecloth wrapped around him.

"Damn," he muttered, immediately grabbing at the fabric. But as he tore at it, Weiss flashed in behind him, her next attack already in motion.

A lot of people assume my glyphs are only for acceleration, but in reality, they let me control the momentum of anything that touches them. There are limits—too big, too strong—but I don't need to hold him for long.

The second the Commander ripped the cloth away, Weiss struck. Her foot slammed into the back of his knee. Even with his Aura softening the impact, his leg buckled, forcing him down onto one knee with a heavy thud.

Now for the other one! He can't reach me from this angle. If I can keep him grounded, he won't be able to muster enough force to break my glyph—I just have to hold him here!

Spinning, she aimed a kick at his other knee—

Then she froze.

Her heart lurched.

The White Fang Commander bent backward. Not just leaning, but bending. His entire torso folded in a way that should have been impossible, his spine curving unnaturally despite his solid build.

And in that moment, his eyes locked onto hers as he bent far enough back to look at her. 

Weiss barely had time to react before a wide grin spread across his face—amused, almost pleased. Before her kick could land, his free arm shot behind him. His hand clamped down over her face. Pain exploded through her skull. His grip was crushing, squeezing with enough force to make her feel like her bones were cracking under the pressure.

Straightening, he let out a roar.

"Not bad for a brat!" Then, without hesitation, he moved—ignoring the force of her glyph like it was nothing. Raising the hand gripping her face, he slammed her into the ground. The impact sent a violent crack through the metal floor beneath the carpet, a deafening bang echoing through the room.

The glyph beneath his feet vanished the instant Weiss's Aura shattered.

With it went her enhancements, her protection—everything her Aura granted her. She had reached her limit, and until she recovered, she had nothing left to rely on.

The Commander straightened, still gripping Weiss by the head. His hand was so large it covered nearly half her face. Despite her Aura breaking, she remained conscious, though dazed. Her hands reached for his arm, grasping at his wrist in a desperate attempt to pry herself free. But even at full strength, she had been no match for him. Now, without her Aura?

She could do nothing.

He glanced at her flailing legs as he lifted her off the ground, muffled sounds of struggle escaping from beneath his grip.

The sight made him chuckle.

"Good attempt," he mused, "but you shouldn't assume things about your opponent. Like thinking I was too bulky to reach my own blind spot."

His voice lowered, the amusement fading as his fingers tightened around her skull. If before it had felt like a vice pressing against her head, now it was crushing her.

The pain was immediate, sharp, unbearable. Weiss's muffled cries grew louder as her eyes went wide, tears pricking at the corners. She couldn't even breathe—his palm covered her mouth and nose, suffocating her. Her vision blurred. Her senses sharpened in a way only fear could bring, the creeping weight of death pressing down on her.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps. Fast. Rushing across the carpeted floor. The Commander noticed too, but too late. His attention had been locked on Weiss.

Something—someone—ran up his back, looping something around his neck.

Rope? No. He felt it immediately. Metal wire—thick, strong, easily as wide as an adult's thumb. It wrapped around his throat twice before tightening in a brutal, choking pull. His body tensed as the pressure bore down on his windpipe, the person behind him using his own back as leverage to cinch it tighter.

Who the hell?!

Veins bulged along the Commander's face as he clenched his teeth. With a heavy clang, his axe hit the floor. His now free hand shot up, clawing at the wire digging into his flesh, but it was too tight—his fingers couldn't get a proper grip.

The strangling force only increased.

With a growl, he finally released Weiss, letting her drop. Weiss hit the ground hard, her breath coming in quick, desperate gasps. The crushing pressure on her skull was finally gone, and she could breathe again.

Lying there, she looked up—past the Commander—to the figure on his back.

"A- Asher!" The O.M.N.I. Frame he wore locked into place, its electromagnetic brakes and skeletal components whirring as they tightened the thick wire wrapped around his hands and the Commander's throat.

"Move. Now. Get somewhere safe," Asher ordered, his focus never leaving the White Fang Commander.

She hesitated, glancing between them.

"B-But what about you?"

[Warning! O.M.N.I. Frame Power Reserves have fallen to 92%.]

GAIA's voice rang in his ear. Asher didn't react.

This wasn't the same O.M.N.I. Frame he'd worn when he fought Weiss. It was closer to the version he had given to Indigo and her team for training—except this was the latest iteration, the V0.2 prototype.

Unlike the previous model, it had built-in power-saving protocols and the modifications he had discussed with Whitley. Even without the high-quality Dust crystals he had yet to acquire, this version could operate for four hours on standard usage with all its upgraded features.

Dealing with the White Fang up to this point had barely drained its reserves. Even now, pushing its motorized joints to their limits, he had over an hour before power became a concern.

Power isn't the issue. But this man... he's absurdly strong.

The V0.2 O.M.N.I. Frame could exert over five tons of force, yet Asher still struggled to tighten the wire around the Commander's neck.

Asher had a solid grasp of how Aura functioned, thanks to his research and discussions with Weiss. A person whose Aura was still active couldn't be physically harmed. They could feel pain, they could be affected by external forces, but their body remained untouched.

That meant something.

The bruises covering the Commander weren't from a desperate struggle. He had taken Weiss's attacks on purpose—mocking her, toying with her. Meanwhile, Weiss herself was bleeding, meaning at some point, her Aura had shattered, yet the Commander had let her recover.

Putting the pieces together, Asher could see the likely truth. The man he was choking out right now was no ordinary fighter. He was likely a former licensed Huntsman.

With that fact settled in his mind, Asher turned to Weiss, who was still on the ground.

"I'll be fine. Get out of here—now." Weiss looked like she wanted to argue, to stay and fight alongside him. But the second she opened her mouth, he cut her off.

"You'll just get in the way if I have to look out for you." His tone was firm, leaving no room for debate.

"Go check on the hostages. Make sure the airship is heading back to Atlas." For a moment, Weiss was silent, clenching her fists as she struggled to her feet. Then, with a sharp breath, she met his gaze.

"Be careful!" With that warning, she turned and ran, disappearing down one of the hallways deeper into the airship. Asher only watched her for a second before shifting his focus back to the White Fang Commander.

Yes—Aura prevented physical harm as long as it remained unbroken. But that had nothing to do with suffocation. Without air, even a Huntsman would collapse just like anyone else.

That thought had barely settled in Asher's mind when the Commander, realizing his attempts to reach behind him or wedge his fingers under the wire were futile, suddenly made his move.

His muscles tensed—then he bolted backward at high speed.

Asher's eyes flicked behind him. The dining room wall was rushing toward them fast.

Smart.

But not fast enough. In an instant, Asher jumped, launching himself forward off the Commander's back while keeping his grip tight on the wire.

The moment the Commander's back slammed into the wall, denting it with a deep, thunderous impact, Asher used the momentum and the pull of the wires to drive both feet forward—dropkicking the Commander square in the face.

The force snapped the Commander's head back, slamming it against the airship wall and leaving yet another dent.

Asher didn't hesitate. He released the wire and bolted. His eyes locked onto the fallen axe.

In one smooth motion, he reached down, fingers closing around its hilt as he skidded across the dining room carpet. Whipping around, he didn't waste a second. With a sharp heave, he hurled the axe—its blade spinning through the air, aimed directly at the Commander's neck.

The Commander reacted instantly.

He wrenched himself free from the dented wall and ducked. The axe barely grazed his horns before embedding itself deep into the metal behind him with a heavy thunk.

A low chuckle broke the silence. Standing straight, the Commander reached up, rubbing his face.

"Not bad… not bad at all." His voice carried a mix of amusement and intrigue.

"I almost blacked out there for a second." His grin widened.

"You definitely hit harder than the little heiress." He reached for his axe but made no immediate move to attack. Instead, he studied Asher, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Who are you?" Asher didn't move. Instead, he answered the question directly.

"Asher Frostvale." The name took a moment to register, but when it did, the Commander's expression shifted to genuine surprise.

"Frostvale? Ah… so you're the young heir." He paused, thinking back.

"Now that I think about it, I do remember seeing your name on the list too, but I got distracted by the Schnee girls."

Shaking his head with an amused grin, he continued, "I've heard plenty of rumors about the Schnee heiress wanting to be a Huntress, but nothing about the Frostvale heir. Since when did you Atlas elitists start learning how to fight?"

The sarcasm was thick—his dismissive tone making it clear he didn't consider Asher a real threat. But Asher's expression remained unchanged.

"Well, you can never be too careful," he replied smoothly.

"I think this little incident proves that, don't you?" The Commander raised a brow, then nodded.

"I suppose." His grin widened.

"Though now, I'm a bit interested to see if that fancy little suit of yours can really keep up with me!" His stance shifted as he charged. Like a rampaging bull, he barreled toward Asher, each footstep carrying the weight of sheer, unstoppable force.

Asher reacted instantly. A pistol materialized in his hand, and he fired straight at the Commander's head. The bullet flattened uselessly against his forehead. The Commander didn't even flinch.

Asher barely rolled out of the way as an axe came down, splitting the floor where he had just been standing. The moment he landed, the pistol in his hand simply vanished. The Commander's eyes tracked him, intrigued.

"Oh? So you have a Semblance?"

"Perhaps." Asher's answer was short, his focus elsewhere.

Unlike Weiss, his Aura is too strong—guns won't even make him flinch, let alone break through his defenses. The only way to hurt him is with the force of the O.M.N.I. Frame. But going head-to-head in a contest of strength against a former Huntsman? That's a losing battle.

As Asher was thinking, the Commander charged again.

His axe blurred through the air, striking over and over in rapid succession. Each swing was a lethal arc of steel that Asher had no choice but to evade. He ducked under a horizontal slash that would have taken his head off and sidestepped a downward strike that effortlessly cleaved through a dining table—and the floor beneath it.

As they fought, the Nexus Space proved its worth.

Every movement, every shift in stance, every feint the Commander used was analyzed and assimilated into the Nexus Space, allowing Asher to predict and counter better and better in real time. Compared to Weiss's refined technique, the Commander's fighting style was simplistic—direct, powerful, and without much subtlety.

That meant the completion rate of his combat data was rising fast. Paired with Asher's own instincts and the HUD tracking his opponent's movements, dodging attacks at this level was easy.

But there was one problem.

This wasn't even close to the full strength of a former licensed Huntsman.

"You're pretty good at dodging!" The Commander shouted, grinning as he swung again.

Asher weaved around him, circling to his flank—only for the Commander's speed to suddenly increase. His arm lashed out like a hammer, too fast for Asher to fully avoid. His HUD flashed an alert, forcing him to raise his arms to block.

The impact hit the O.M.N.I. Frame first. The force sent a brutal vibration through Asher's body, rattling his bones. He clenched his teeth as the sheer power lifted him clean off the ground and sent him flying backward.

The wall loomed behind him, closing in fast.

At the last moment, Asher twisted his body, engaging the exoskeleton's stabilizers. When he hit, the O.M.N.I. Frame absorbed the brunt of the impact, letting him land on the wall almost as if he were standing vertically against the surface. Then, with a sharp push, he kicked off, flipping back to the ground.

This isn't going to work.

The Commander was underestimating him. He had toyed with Weiss, and now he was doing the same to him. That worked in Asher's favor—if he could take advantage of it. But right now, his arsenal was too scattered. If only he had more of his prototype weapons on hand.

As things stood, he didn't have enough firepower to fight effectively. His eyes flicked around the room. The dining hall. The windows. Then, his gaze stopped on the Commander's exposed abdomen.

A scar. Long, deep, fully healed—but noticeable.

That could work. Is it viable, though?

If he was going to pull this off, he needed the Commander angry. The type who thrived in battle but never truly imagined losing—that's what his evaluation of this man was. A plan began to take shape, slotting together piece by piece.

Yeah… that might work.