Reviews:
cra0007: Harry is 12 going on 13. Guts and Casca are around 19/20
Necrogod: No problem, I hope you enjoy this one.
Greer123: I'm happy you like Harry's new weapon, and I hope you have a happy holiday season as well.
Guest: Thank you, I'm happy that you like it.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
His journey resumed once again come the break of day. Bones cracked as his boots came stomping down on them. So many began to crack that anyone listening might have thought that a thunderstorm was brewing in the distance. At least he had been able to get a few good hours of sleep before having to continue on. A blue blur flew up to his good eye holding a stick.
"Hey," Puck began, "you look like you had a rough night, so I went and found some berries for you to eat." The elf presented Guts with the freshly picked fruit. He looked at them with skepticism.
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" Guts nearly spat.
Puck tilted his tiny head in confusion. "Huh? What's wrong with them? Are you allergic or something?"
Guts snatched the berry branch away from the small creature. He plucked a single berry and began to squeeze it between his thumb and forefinger to the point where a line of juice began to appear. "Take a sniff with that useless nose of yours. Tell me if you stiff think that's edible."
He tossed the berry to Puck, who caught it. "Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the-," he sniffed the juice and his bluish skin lost a bit of color. Puck looked up at Guts nervously. "Eh… yeah, I guess its best if you don't eat that; you know, it being poison and everything." He laughed nervously before discarding the rest of the branch. Guts didn't break pace, forcing the elf to beat his tiny wings faster to catch up. "So, where are we going today?"
"I am heading to the nearest town. You can fly off whenever you feel like it, which better be soon."
With an almost indignant shake of his head, Puck said, "Not that easy, mister. I'm useful for when you get into a tight situation, and you know it. You just don't want to admit it." Puck grinned cheekily at him. Guts blew in his face, causing the elf to become disorientated. His smile turned into a frown. "Can't you take a joke?"
Guts spent the next hour or so walking until the forest finally gave way back to a dirt-paved road. If he stuck to that, then he was bound to run into the nearest town or village. Carriage tracks were freshly pressed into the dirt road, and from the direction of the horses' hoof prints, left seemed the way to go.
"Hey, this road looks kind of familiar to me," Puck remarked as the two of them stuck to the side of the road, least a rider or carriage should come up suddenly from behind.
"Let me guess, this is where you were captured by those thugs I had to save you from?"
Puck put a finger to his chin. "No, that road was a lot nicer than this one. And it was a cloudy day too." He snapped his fingers. "Oh! Now I remember! The acting troupe I used to be a part of traveled this way once. They went to go put on a show for a town not too far from here."
"Terrific," Guts said sardonically.
Puck didn't seem to pick up on it and began to swell a little in pride as he recounted what must have been his glory days. "Oh, you should have seen us back then. We had this one guy right; he was super skilled with knives and all sorts of tricks."
"…" Guts didn't respond. Puck's description sounded a lot like someone he had known.
"That was a few years ago though," Puck continued following Guts' silence. "He moved on to bigger and better places, you know how it goes, right?"
"…Yeah, I know how that goes."
Puck seemed to catch onto the fact that Guts was becoming more distant, or at the very least more so than before and he dropped the subject, much to Guts' relief. They continued on in silence for the rest of the journey until the stone walls of the town came into view. They stood at least thirty feet high with sentries patrolling the battlements. Two stood guard by the lowered drawbridge and they chatted idly until they spotted Guts approaching. They readied their spears at his approach.
"What's your business here, traveler?" one asked suspiciously.
"Just passing through," Guts replied.
"The Count isn't allowing visitors in his town at this time," the other added. "We can't risk any heretics of the Holy See coming in."
Guts observed them. "Is that why the drawbridge is down and the portcullis raised?"
The two shared a look before reading their spears. "An outsider has no right to question the rulings of our Lord Count!"
"Maybe," Guts reached behind him. The guards readied to skewer him but stopped short when he tossed a few gold coins to the pair of them. "But are you going to turn away a paying individual? But if a count is running your town, I can imagine that you're pretty well off."
Another uneasy look was exchanged between them. "One night, traveler. You're gone after that."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Guts brushed past them, not caring if he was a bit too forceful doing so. Puck flew out from under Guts' cloak, wiping away a few beads of sweat on his forehead.
"Whew! For a minute there I thought that you were going to kill those guys. Guess nobody has to die today."
Guts didn't respond right away, he brought two fingers up to the brand on his neck. A thin trail of blood had begun to run down from the accursed mark. Puck noticed as well, his blue eyes widening in surprise. "No." a fierce look was now plastered onto Guts' face. "Somebody is going to die."
The curtains had been drawn to a close, but the thin material allowed only the faintest sliver of light from the setting sun to invade the isolated room of the spirit-tree. With a bag of salt in hand, Harry began to pout the contents out in a perfect circular formation, large enough to fit a person inside of it. Next, he poured the salt inside of the circle to form a triangle shape. Using the blade he had attached to the end of his staff, Harry worked on smoothing the salt out so that it was as flat as it could possibly be.
"You are finished making the ritual rune?" Flora asked from the corner of the darkened room. She and Schierke sat at a table illuminated by candlelight. Flora it some incense, while Schierke studied over a text.
Harry gave an affirmative nod. "I am." Flora came over with the incense and placed them along the outside circumference of the salt circle. It was to "put his mind at ease," or so Flora had claimed. Harry had smelled some of the incense before, and all he felt was an overwhelming headache. But, a clear head was vital in taking what would be the most important step into the world of magic; achieving an astral form. Since magic was so deeply rooted in the world of the astral layers, being able to have direct access to that was essential to any mage who was looking to further their magical abilities.
Even with his recently made staff, Harry was still a first timer when it came to journeying beyond into the astral world. His physical body would remain in place in the center of the salt circle, while his luminous body would be able to venture forth, unseen by any physical eye. It was getting a literal out-of-body experience. It was getting in touch with magic like never before. Harry carefully stepped inside of the circle and triangle combination and kneeled down.
"Relax your body and your mind," Flora instructed as she continued to light more incense, the smoke quickly filled his nostrils. "Breathe. Get in tune with your senses, allow yourself to feel weightless. You will soon leave your physical body to one that has yet to be experienced." Harry held his arms in front of him, his staff lying across his palms. It would serve as an anchor of sorts so that he would be able to find his way back.
Flora finished lighting the incense. "By taking these steps, you are only a skip away from traversing into your astral form." Even though his eyes were closed, Harry felt them grow heavy. If it was due to the smell of incense or the heat of the setting sun, he had no idea. "Your luminous body." He exhaled; his breath seemed much less faint. "It is the very essence of your soul." And Harry felt a floating sensation.
It seemed like the entire town had been gathered in the square. They stood, huddled in a great mass in front of a wooden podium where a few key figures looked to be assembled. Whispers broke out amongst the crowd, some of which he was able to overhear. "Did you know she was a heretic?" "She was just in my shop the other day; I hope they don't come after me now." "You're paranoid; you know how the Count is with this type of business."
Whether it was curiosity or fear, all talk was centered around a woman who was kneeling on the podium, a masked headsman stood at her side. Two other individuals were present as well, the first being an elderly priest, and the other sitting on a cushioned chair beneath a raised tent. The seated individual was quite large as he looked to almost be spilling from his expensive looking clothes. His head was as bald as an egg, and with a double chin, he looked to resemble a dumpling of some kind. The large noble gave a wave of his hand and the old priest began speaking.
"We are gathered here today to witness the execution of this heretic woman who turned her back on the teachings of the Holy See and committed a terrible act of heresy!"
The redheaded woman shook her head in denial, tears streamed down her face. "No! Please, I never committed any heresy! I would never betray the teachings of the Holy See! Please, Lord Count, take mercy on me!" the headsman raised his ax. "I'm not a heretic! I'm-!"
Thunk!
Her head came off in one clean swing, rolling off the podium and down to the assembled masses. The stone tiles of the square were now as red as the woman's hair. "She was the fifth one this month." The whispering continued. "How long until the High Pontiff comes here to investigate?" "It could be the Inquisitor that comes, he deals with these situations." The chatter had more to do with any attention that might be drawn to their town and less about the woman who had just been executed.
Parting his way through the crowd, he picked her head up by her red locks and nestled it in the crook of his left arm. His right hand reached up to the brand on his neck that was still bleeding. With two fingers, he began to draw an outline of the brand on the woman's forehead. A guard noticed his actions and maneuvered his way over to where he was. "Hey! What do you think you're-!?"
Guts suddenly tossed the severed head toward the podium, more specifically, to the Count. Much to the crowd's surprise, the Count managed to catch the head with ease, unexpected given his out of shape appearance. It took only a second for the Count's heavy brows to lift to reveal beady eyes as he took in the sight of what had been drawn in blood on the head. He looked down at Guts in surprise and… amusement.
Guts smirked back in mock humor before turning and leaving the crowded square. "After him!" one of the guards yelled.
Puck flew out from under Guts' cloak. "Why'd you have to go and do that?! They're after us now!" Guts took a glance over his shoulder; the guards were still pushing their way through the crowd so he had a bit of a head start ahead of them. He quickly made his way away from the town square and down a shady alleyway. He attached the repeating crossbow onto his prosthetic arm, ready to mow the guards down one by one once they entered his field of vision. What he didn't expect was for a door to a shabby looking house to open. A small, hunched figure stood on the other side, staring up at him in anticipation.
"You… have an elf with you?" the voice sounded a bit hoarse like the speaker was severely lacking in resources.
"What's it to you?" Guts spoke harshly. "There's about to be trouble coming this way, so unless you want to get used as a human shield I recommend you go back inside."
Surprisingly, the speaker didn't shy away. "Your words are harsh, but you oppose the Count, the ruler of this town, yes? I caught a glimpse of what you did back there."
Puck's curiosity was peaked. "You don't like that gross looking guy?"
The speaker gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Of course not. He was the one who did this to me!" he opened the door fully to show himself. He was an extremely short man, but that was due to his legs being stubby planks of wood. A dirty hooded cloak covered his disfigured face, and most of his right side was wrapped in gauze. Most of his teeth were missing as well, either from old age or from a far worse tragedy. "The name's Vargas. And if you're an enemy of the Count, come in quickly!"
"Search down this way!" the sound of the guards approaching drew closer. While it would be a mundane task to simple slaughter all of them, this Vargas clearly had some history with the Count, and if he could be persuaded into sharing what it was, then killing the monster could be all the easier. Guts entered and Vargas slammed the door shut, barring it with a large wooden plank.
"You won't regret it, swordsman." Vargas tried and failed to give a reassuring smile. He quickly realized his failure, and composed himself, wobbling slightly on his two peg legs. "No telling if they know you're here or not, we can hide in the cellar, I have a secret room down there that only I know about." His wooden legs clunked with each step he took down the wooden staircase and down to his cellar.
"This is a nice place you got here, Vargas." Puck flew around the small cellar. It wasn't, but the elf was just trying to be polite.
"Heh-heh," Vargas laughed to himself. "And I thought elves weren't supposed to be liars. We have enough of that with people as is. He hobbled on over to an apothecary bookcase. "It's right through here." He struggled to push the bookcase out of the way but was moving at a snail's pace.
Guts stepped, roughly pushing the crippled Vargas aside. "Taking forever." Guts muttered as he moved the furniture aside with ease.
Past the bookcase was an additional room, one filled with jars of sickly green fluid and texts of herbal medicine. At the very end was a small table with a locked box sitting on it. Vargas hobbled along inside with Puck flying in shortly after him. "I used to be a physician for the Lord Count, until the last seven years or so."
"What happened?" Guts asked. "Did he realize he couldn't stand to look at your face anymore?"
"That's rude!" Puck chided him. "Sorry about him, Mister Vargas. He's not good when it comes to meeting new people."
Instead of lashing back, Vargas pulled up a stool and sat himself down on it. "No offense taken. I know how I look." He took a pause. "And its all because of the Count that I'm like this. You probably saw at the execution, but he's obsessed with killing anyone who might be a heretic. I began to see how mad he truly was, so I tried to escape his service with my family." He choked up a bit. "But we were caught. We were all tortured; my family was killed and eaten in front of me. I only escaped by faking my own death and being tossed down a sewer drain."
"He ate them in front of you?!" Puck asked with a disgusted look on his face. "That's just sick!"
"Of course he is," Guts said. "He's one of them. An apostle, a demon."
Vargas' single eye widened. "You know of what he is?! Then why-why make such a scene. The Count won't take that slight lightly."
"I hope that he doesn't." Guts informed. "I want him to know that I'm coming for him. I want his last moments to be of fear, to be afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Let him experience what it's like to be the one who gets hunted." He finished with a maniacal grin that seemed to unsettle Puck, but intrigue Vargas, who gave a bow of his stout head.
"Then God has granted my prayers at long last. I thought that you were just a citizen standing up against a cruel ruler, but if you truly have the means to kill that monster, I shall assist you to the best of my knowledge." Vargas reached for the box on the table. "Before escaping, I managed to snatch this from the Count's chambers. He was rarely seen without it." He opened the box to reveal a green egg-shaped object with various facial features scattered around it.
Guts reacted on instinct, kicking the stool out from under Vargas, sending him to the floor. "Hey!" Puck yelled, but Guts ignored him, grabbing Vargas by his throat and pinning him against the wall. The man's stubby peg legs moved about in tiny circles.
"Do you have any idea what that is?" Guts' voice was low to the point that it sounded more like the growl of a wolf.
"Ack…no," Vargas choked out. "I saw him-agh, with it many times…ahhhh. I… thought it was precious to him… I don't-don't know…" Managing to calm his rage when he saw that Vargas was telling the truth, he dropped him back to the floor. "Ahhhhhh. Haaaaaaah." Vargas took deep breaths as oxygen filled his lungs.
"That was really uncalled for, you know." Puck said crossly.
Vargas picked himself back up, managing not to stumble on his wooden pegs. "I can see that whatever this egg is, holds some sort of importance. I may not know what it is, but I know how to get you to the Count."
"And that is?" Guts asked some anger still present in his tone.
Vargas gave a near toothless smile. "The same way I got out; the sewer."
He was looking down on his body; his physical body anyways. It-or, he seemed to be as stiff as a board; unmoving, undisturbed, almost dreamlike. But something grew from the back of his head, a tether of sorts. Indeed it was like a bright beam of light that extended from the back of his head and snaked around until connecting with a point on the back of his new head; his luminous one. But that was not the only thing that Harry noticed right away. His hands; when he raised them to his face, he thought that he was looking at a ghost.
They were nearly transparent but seemed to be wreathed in some sort of white flame or a very thick mist that seemed to radiate off of his new body in small, controlled waves. So this is a luminous body, huh? Harry pondered his newfound ability. He tilted back, and it was like an ocean current seemed to carry him, seeing as his legs were incapable of walking on thin air. Not only was he looking down on his physical body, but he was hovering in the air.
Using his shoulders, Harry leaned into an invisible flow, letting the current of his energy carry him in whatever direction he felt like. He started to get the hang of it-moving without a physical body. In a way, it was just like flying. He tilted his chin up, and he spiraled upward, stopping just short of hitting the ceiling of the spirit-tree mansion; not that it could actually hurt him. The tree and ceiling were just wood, a physical embodiment. Harry's physical body was down below, sitting perfectly still in the middle of the salt circle.
To test it, Harry reached out his hand, which sure enough, passed right through the ceiling as if it weren't there at all. He really was just like a ghost right now. Lifting his head, Harry continued upward, venturing out from the confines of the spirit-tree and above to view the expanse of forest that lay beyond.
He could almost imagine the wind that would be whipping through his hair if his body was physical, but he was unperturbed in his luminous body. And with it, came a sight that had before been unseen. They were ripples. All across the forest and as far as he could see, they looked almost like doors, or shimmering flickers of light leading to a hidden secret of a sort.
Having read about od, the life force that went side-by-side with magic, Harry knew that those flickers were in some way connected to a deeper part of the astral world. If he stared long enough at one, he could almost feel what was behind each one. Most of them seemed either light or neutral, but one-no, two seemed to have a much different od than the rest, and they came from beneath the spirit-tree. Right where the door in the roots led to. They had such a unique feeling to them, that almost seemed familiar to Harry, but strangely alien at the same time. The first was a very dark presence, one full of anger and spite; probably the armor that Flora had kept tucked away. The other was much less dark but seemed unstable. But one thing was for sure; both seemed to radiate pure power.
'What you are seeing is the flow of od,' the unexpected voice of Flora spoke from behind him. Her luminous body floated next to him, but she looked nothing like how Harry knew her. She did not appear as an elderly woman; instead, she looked young and full of life, not a wrinkle to be seen on her youthful face. Her hair was not in a bun, but flowed freely and seemed to radiate a fire-like heat. 'You are beginning to discover-?' the healthy smile on Flora's face vanished quickly, leaving one of concern.
She reached out her hand to his arm and was able to touch him. He could feel the heat radiate from her luminous being to his, but her focus was not on his arm, she was looking straight at his head. Flora stuck out a finger and moved it to his forehead. Harry did not feel her touch that time.
Hurriedly, she led him back into the spirit-tree and guided him back so that his luminous body returned back to his physical one. Harry's eyes jolted open at once, looking over to Flora who opened hers as well. "Did you manage to do it?" Schierke asked, looking over from her text.
"That was odd," Flora said walking over to Harry, her eyes full of concern.
"The life-force or strange?" Harry asked, not really looking forward to her answer.
"Both."
Dammit! Harry mentally cursed. He was sure he had done everything right.
"What happened?" Schierke approached. "Did he botch it up that badly?"
"Not funny," Harry shot her a weak glare.
Flora shook her head. "You achieved your luminous body alright. But, I was a fool for not seeing it earlier."
"What?" Harry almost demanded.
"You did not feel it? Our luminous bodies are manifestations of our souls, and yours-yours had a hole in its forehead. It was in the shape of your scar."
Harry ran his hand up to rub it. It didn't hurt; in fact, he hadn't felt much of anything from it of late. "What does my scar have to do with anything?"
Flora looked him dead in the eye. "I had my suspicions, but I didn't have confirmation until now; that scar is magical in nature. It's a wound to your astral form itself."
Schierke's eyes widened. "How is that possible? If it is a wound to his astral being, then shouldn't it have festered by now?" she eyed his scar warily.
"But I was told I got this scar from when my parents died in an accident." He felt stupid as soon as he said it out loud. When have the Dursley's ever given him reason to believe them? "Can it be treated at least?"
Flora cast a downtrodden look. "That is hard to say. I am familiar with almost every form of magic, but soul magic is always tricky. The best I can offer now is the means to ensure that the magic from the wound does not fester anymore."
Guts and Puck managed to slip out of Vargas' hideout, with the former taking off in the direction of the sewer that would lead right into the Count's castle. Their escape proved to be a risky endeavor as town guards were seen storming the hideout soon after they had left. Vargas had said he would try to stall for time, but one crippled man against a squad of armed guards, they both knew that it was a losing battle.
"There's still time to try and save him," Puck argued. "Compared to the monsters you usually fight, a couple of guards would be no problem."
"Why help the weak?" Guts rhetorically asked. "He's lived his life, no need to risk mine for the sake that he can fumble around on fake legs for a few more years."
Puck clenched his tiny fists. "How can you say that?! He didn't have to help us out, but he did. He knew that the best chance of taking that Count guy out was through you. How does helping someone make you weak? He even let you take that egg thing before we left." Guts knew exactly how dangerous it was to leave that behelit behind. It wasn't a crimson one like Griffith had had, but that didn't mean that someone wouldn't be able to use it at one point down the line. No, better to keep something like that close at hand. "Besides," Puck continued, "I think the real reason you're acting this way is because you see some of yourself in Vargas."
"You're delusional," Guts denied as they walked past the town square, keeping to the outskirts to avoid detection.
"It's true," insisted Puck. "You both have some sort of resentment toward those-apostles, or whatever they're called. He just lacks the means to do anything about it, so he has to rely on others, something you'll never admit."
Guts scoffed. "Like I said, you're delusional."
"Hey, I'm not the one that's always-, hey! What's going on over there?" Puck's attention was drawn back to the town square. A smaller crowd had gathered, and the Count was present as well. There was no woman on the chopping block this time, but a horribly disfigured man. "Is that Vargas?!"
It was indeed. His peg legs were hogtied and a basket was placed under his head. The Count motioned for the headsman to step forward. "You have been accused of aiding and abetting a degenerate, how do you plead?"
"Guilty as charged," Vargas made no attempt to deny. "I have a clear conscience, my only regret is not being able to witness the fate that awaits you." The headsman's ax raised high into the air.
"C'mon!" Puck pleaded with Guts. "Whip out your crossbow and put a stop to this!" Guts regarded the scene, then turned and continued to walk to the sewers entrance. "Fine! If you won't do anything, I will!"
Puck zoomed toward the execution like a small blue bullet, but before his body could collide with the headsman, a pair of fat, meaty hands clamped around his body preventing any form of escape. "Hey! Let go!" Puck found himself staring up into the fat face of the Count, his eyes barely visible from beneath his heavy brow.
"My, my; an elf?" the Count leered down at him. "Fetch a birdcage," he ordered one of his attendants. "This will make an excellent gift." The next thing Puck knew, he was stuffed inside a cage, and the headsman's ax came down with a resounding Thunk! Vargas' head rolled from his body. "Come now. I have a gift to deliver."
The cage rattled as the Count carried it up to the top of one of the towers of his castle. All the while Puck continued to shout to be released, or he would evoke the wrath of the elf-dimension style. The Count paid no mind to his ramblings but made sure to shake the cage a little harder should Puck not cease his banter. Despite putting on a brave face, on the inside Puck was panicking. What's this guy gonna do with me? I can tell he's not fully human. Is he going to… he's gonna eat me, isn't he?! Oh man, I'm a few steps away from being a chestnut roasting on an open fire! Oh, I hope I taste bad! Forget it, who am I trying to fool? I'll probably taste like a blueberry.
They arrived outside of a door, which instead of just marching in like a high lord demanding service, the Count politely knocked. "Theresa? May I come in?"
A muffled, "O-of course, father," was heard from the other side. The Count opened the door, not to a kitchen or butchery, but the bedroom of a young preteen girl. Long black hair framed her youthful face, and eyes full of recognition and fear. She sat up from her bed and shifted over to where the Count stood in the threshold. "What is it, father?"
"I've got a gift for you." The Count presented Theresa with the cage containing Puck. "I came across this little elf not too long ago. I thought you would like a companion to keep you company; you always spent too much time in your room."
Theresa lifted the cage to her face, Puck stared back at her as her eyes widened. This must be her first time seeing an elf. "I-is this really an elf, father?"
The Count smiled. "Indeed it is. I know that you will keep it in good health." He extended a hand to pat her on the head, but she recoiled, seemingly fearful of his touch. His eyes actually managed to widen and his outstretched hand curled into a meaty fist. "Are you, displeased?"
Theresa shook her head. "Not at all. I was… overwhelmed. This is a bit too much to take in as a gift."
"You need not worry about such things as that, Theresa. Now, why not come and join me for dinner? The chef can prepare your favorite."
She shook her head. "I'll… take my meal in my room, father."
His eyes lowered in disappointment. "Very well. Just know that there is a space at the table should you wish to join me." He exited the bedroom leaving the two alone.
Theresa carried the cage over to her nightstand by her window, opening it just a crack so that some cool night air could infiltrate her chambers. "Do you like the window open?" Theresa asked him kindly. "I've never, er-had an elf before."
"I'd like to say that I've never been locked up before, but… that wouldn't be true. The name's Puck."
"Hello, Puck." She gave a wry smile.
"Soooo," he trailed, "is that Count really your father?"
Her smile faded. "He is."
"If you hadn't called him father, I never would have guessed," Puck told her. "I mean, you look nothing like him. He's bald, you have hair, he's mean, you look like you're nice, he's um, kinda fat, you're not."
To his relief, she seemed to take it in good humor. "He tells me that I take after my mother." Once again, her happy demeanor quickly changed. "She's a bit of a sensitive topic for him."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." He was, he couldn't help it. It was elf nature to feel connected to children. "Was it recent?"
"No." she shook her head. "It was seven years ago. It was around then that father began to… change."
"Huh?" he tilted his head in curiosity.
"He used to be a highly regarded member of the Holy See religious order," Theresa explained. "It was his job to punish heretics, he never enjoyed it, it was just his job. That changed when a group of heretics broke into our castle and murdered my mother. Since then, father was never the same. He enjoyed killing them after, people of this town started to fear him, he saw possible heretics everywhere, even some who weren't…"
"Like the woman and Vargas," Puck sadly realized. "So you know what he is then?" from what she had told him, it sounded like she suspected her father was not as human as she appeared.
"I know of some of the rumors that circulate about him. Some of them say that he-," she looked sick, "that he eats the flesh of the supposed heretics."
"Eek!" Puck retched. "And he keeps you locked up too?"
Surprisingly, she shook her head. "No. The doors unlocked, I can leave whenever I want."
"Then why stay?" Puck asked. "I'm locked up now, and I would want to go and find my friend. If you know about the bad things that he does, why stay?"
"Because… he's still my father, I guess." She surprised him again by opening his cage door. "I have a choice, so do you. You said you had a friend to find." Puck fluttered out, giving her a toothy smile.
"You know, you're not too bad, kid! I won't forget this. Maybe I'll see you again."
She smiled. "I'd like that."
He flew out the open window, descending down to the town below. Guts was still here, Puck knew that for sure. The Black Swordsman wasn't going to leave until the Count had been dealt with.
A/N: That's it for this chapter. Thank you for reading.