Remnant: Chronicles of the Sword King

Prolouge

In the southernmost part of the Sanus continent lies the town of Ansel. To call it a settlement would be a disservice, as the place is a veritable stronghold. With around 40,000 residents and its own private militia, Ansel stands as one of the few viable areas for mankind to live beyond the protection of the Four Kingdoms.

The success of Ansel can be attributed to a single group, or in this case, a single family—the D'Arcs.

The D'Arcs stand as one of the most renowned and honored warrior houses in all of Remnant. For as long as time could record, they have fought against the darkness of the world. Blessed with incredible amounts of aura, bodies that outperform even the strongest of their peers, potential and limits unknown, and powerful semblances to boot, D'Arcs have repeatedly shown themselves to be in a class of their own. Throughout history, they have made their marks, whether as merchants, mercenaries, knights, crafters, nobles, or even royalty. They have been recognized as great heroes of their age. Always standing on the side of the righteous and good. There've been over 150 generations of Arcs, spanning over 5 thousand years, each and every one possessing blonde hair.

In our story, we find ourselves following a very particular member of this family. Jaune Loup D'Arc. A 13-year-old boy who embodies all the beliefs of his forefathers.

He is courageous.

He is determined.

*THWACK!....THUD*

He is currently getting his ass handed to him by a girl 3 years his younger.

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"This is humiliating," Jaune thought as he pushed himself upright from his place on the cold, hard, unforgiving ground.

"Are you okay, Jaune?" He looked up at the young girl, who had just managed to hurt the little pride he had in himself. Fuchsia Belgreive, a girl who's been well into her huntsman training since she started at the ripe age of 8, looked down at him worriedly.

"I'm good, Fuchs, just...lamenting my crushed ego." He said, as he was trying to mask his bitterness with a light joke and a strained smile. Luckily, Fuchsia, as children do, took the words at face value and glazed over the ones she didn't fully grasp.

"So do you understand now, Jaune? I know it's a hard pill to swallow, but it's too late for you to become a huntsman; the gap between you and other kids your age is too wide. Even Fuchsia can beat you." Jaune looked over to the one who spoke. It was a man of tall stature and broad shoulders. He wore a pair of basic trousers and a long-sleeved shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His feet were in a pair of old boots, worn down by daily use. His form was packed with tightly coiled muscles and littered with scars that tell the stories of his numerous battles and brushes with death. His face was handsome despite the five o'clock shadow he had since he forgot to shave, and his chin-length golden hair was tied back into a "warrior's wolf tail," as he liked to call it. The man was a renowned huntsman, his skills earning him a title despite the man himself not wanting it. "The Ferocious Orlando" — Nicholas Roland D'Arc, the current patriarch of the D'Arc Family and Jaune's father.

So what sequence of events led to this moment? Jaune had, for what was legitimately the 1000th time, asked his father once more to begin training him on how to fight so he could prepare to be a huntsman. Instead of the usual "Maybe later sport" or "Not right now, son," Nicholas had decided to finally put an end to Jaune's pining and show him just how far behind he was. Hence, he was taken out to the training yard where the militia did their training and was made to duel and be shamefully defeated by the Belgrieve girl.