The road stretched out—straight and mute—through plains still drenched with moisture.
The sun barely pierced the pale sky, yet the heat was already rising.
They had left the camp hours ago.
Guts walked at the front.
At his side, Rem. Silent. Present.
A little further back, Wilhelm moved with steady steps, his eyes always alert.
Ahead, Julius led a small group of soldiers—visibly tense, but focused.
Mimi and Tivey whispered and played around.
Felix brought up the rear, ears lowered.
They were about forty.
A composite detachment, born of a fragile alliance between three candidates—and a war against a forgotten monster.
Silence ruled.
Not the silence of rest, but that of fatigue. Of unspoken thoughts.
They would reach the Mathers domain by early afternoon.
And at the end of that road, the unknown.
For even if the White Whale was dead, what awaited them there was no mere beast to slay.
Guts could feel it. He didn't need to explain.
They walked side by side.
Silence served as an answer. And it was enough.
But then, Rem spoke. Her voice was soft. Hesitant.
Rem:
"You've changed."
Guts didn't react right away.
The wind blew faintly. The grass waved endlessly.
Rem:
"Since the Whale," she continued, glancing at his profile.
"It's not your exhaustion. Not the smoke.
It's something else. Like… something inside you froze."
He let out a breath. Neither an approval nor a denial.
Guts:
"You can feel it."
(It wasn't a question. Just a truth.)
"I had to change," he murmured. "This world doesn't leave you any choice.
Nothing ever goes back to normal. So I stopped pretending I could."
Rem lowered her eyes.
She gently tightened her fingers, searching for the right words.
Rem:
"It's not that you're colder.
It's… like you're lonelier. Even more than before."
He turned his head toward her. A brief look. Tired—but clear.
Guts:
"Killing that thing didn't give me anything back.
It just proved I could go even further.
So I dug. Buried what was left."
A silence. Heavy. Dense.
Then—for the first time in a long while—she gently grabbed his sleeve.
Rem:
"You don't have to bury everything.
Not with me."
He said nothing.
But he didn't push her hand away either.
They kept walking.
Rem slowly loosened her grip on his sleeve.
Rem:
"Julius is looking for you. He needs help coordinating the lines."
Guts nodded sharply. Then fixed his eyes on Rem.
Guts:
"Move to the front. Keep your eyes open.
What we'll face there won't forgive mistakes."
She nodded without hesitation.
Rem:
"I'll stay alert."
He slowed down his horse, gently pulling on the reins.
The mount obeyed. Dust rose under its hooves.
He let Rem move ahead, drifting gradually to the rear.
The convoy advanced in orderly formation, silence thick with latent tension.
He passed Wilhelm. A glance exchanged. Silent respect.
Ricardo raised a massive hand to greet him with a quick smile.
Mimi almost jumped when she saw him, waving her arms like an overly excited child.
Guts just nodded.
He scanned the soldiers with his gaze.
Men. Young, old, seasoned.
Some smiled through the fatigue. Others kept their eyes fixed forward, jaws tight.
The formation. The tension. The smell of iron.
A faint echo stirred in him.
The Band of the Hawk.
That distant memory.
He inhaled. Slowly.
Then he reached Felix and Julius.
Felix looked up—neutral, maybe wary.
Julius stood tall, focused. He didn't avert his gaze when Guts approached.
Guts (dry tone, not even looking at him):
"I'm not here to listen to you whine.
If you have something to say, say it now.
Otherwise… shut up and stay in line."
A heavy silence.
Julius clenched his jaw but didn't answer right away.
Next to him, Felix grimaced, ears low.
Felix (acid tone, not mocking):
"You could try a little kindness, you know…
He didn't ask to get his pride chewed every time you talk."
Guts (still flat):
"Not my job.
We're heading toward another slaughter.
Either he stands, or he falls."
Finally, Julius looked up. He held Guts's gaze—firm, unwavering.
His voice came out steady, swallowed.
Julius:
"You humiliated me.
That day, at the capital… I thought I knew how to fight.
But you weren't an opponent.
You were a storm.
And then… you brought down the White Whale. Almost alone.
I wouldn't even last a minute in a fair duel against you."
Guts finally looked at him.
A moment.
No mockery. No pity.
Guts:
"I've got nothing to prove. Not to you. Not to anyone.
But if you're ready to hold that sword for something other than your name…
Then keep your head up, Julius."
Felix gave Guts a look—surprised, almost respectful.
Julius nodded slowly.
Julius:
"I'll fight.
For Anastasia-sama. For the capital.
And maybe… to learn something from you."
Guts (pulling the reins):
"You won't learn anything from me.
But maybe you'll learn from war."
Then he returned to the vanguard.
Time Skip
Hours had passed.
The sun, now high, filtered through sparse foliage.
In the distance, the group saw the first smoke columns.
Chimneys.
The Mathers domain was near.
No one spoke.
Only hooves echoed faintly over damp earth.
A thin mist still hung over the fields.
But it didn't hide the truth: they were expected.
And yet… Guts felt nothing.
No cold shiver of instinct.
No breath of crawling death—he'd learned to sense it.
Rem felt it too.
She scanned her surroundings—attentive, focused.
But she wasn't shaking.
There was no fear.
Not like last time.
No trap. No fleeing shadows. No rumble beneath the earth.
The village looked untouched.
Almost peaceful.
And that… was the most disturbing part.
Ricardo (muttering):
"Too quiet."
Wilhelm said nothing.
But his fingers slowly closed around his sword's hilt.
Guts kept his eyes locked forward.
The brand on his neck wasn't bleeding.
Not yet.
They kept advancing.
Slowly.
Toward the wooden walls of the estate.
Toward the mansion.
Toward silence.
The enemy was there.
But it hadn't attacked yet.
And this pause…
This pause was a lie.
Hooves clacked against the packed dirt.
The first houses appeared in the gray morning.
A secluded village, cut off from the world, cradled by wind and mist…
And yet, soldiers were here.
The contrast was jarring.
Why was an armed troop marching through these forgotten lands?
Why had Guts returned now?
Rumors claimed he had slain the White Whale alone.
Others spoke of war.
Of monsters.
Of the Cult.
But here, nothing had changed.
The chimneys smoked.
Villagers moved about—discreet, watchful.
And the children were silent.
Petra ran from her house when she saw the group.
Her steps echoed louder than drums.
She stopped in front of Guts, eyes lifted.
She had grown. But her hands still trembled.
Petra:
"Mr. Guts… is it true?"
She hesitated, then whispered.
Petra:
"The Cult… are they coming? I'm… I'm scared."
Guts looked at her for a long moment.
Silence. Then he knelt down to her level.
His eyes were calm. Not empty. Just… present.
Guts:
"You're allowed to be scared.
But this time, I'm here before them.
Not to pick up the dead.
To stop them from killing."
Petra nodded. No smile.
But her shoulders relaxed—just a little.
Rem watched in silence.
She understood what he meant.
He had changed too.