Reviews:

Greer123: Thanks, I'm happy you like how Riddle was handled and the Guts and Harry team up. I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

Greyjedi449t: I'm glad to hear it, here's the next one for you.

Necrogod: Not a problem, hope you enjoy this one.

Guest: Thanks, I'm happy you enjoyed.

Hairul The Nightrage Beast: The Holy See is definitely more corrupt than it would have people believe, and without giving away spoilers, I can say Harry will be getting an upgrade to his weaponry alongside Guts.

Naosj: I actually have a loose ending in mind that deviates from a certain point in the Berserk canon based on what is known or speculated.

Some Guy In An Ambulance: I was debating on if I was going to have Jill join them, but decided against it. I'm glad to see that the Hogwarts stuff paid off.

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Corpses were piled high on the Midland fields. They were that of farmers, peasants, women and their children, but primarily Kushan. Yes, there seemed to be no shortage of Kushan in Midland as of late. Having the largest ground empire to date, an expansion was inevitable. Some of the more eastern nations affiliated with the Holy See had already fallen to the unrelenting onslaught from the Kushan invasion. These people, the ones who lay dead, it was an inevitable fate; if the Kushan hadn't killed them, then the plague certainly would. At this point, it was hard to tell which had claimed more lives, disease, or Kushan. Probably the Kushan.

And he had killed more than any Kushan had. He had killed more Kushan than they did Midlanders. Death, the field of battle, as long as there was one, he would fight, and he would win, and victory made him even stronger. These corpses, the ones that lay before his feet, the ones that he sat upon, resting his chin on the pommel of his giant scimitar, they were all the same to him. They were different in only what he perceived them being before their deaths; civilians and opponents. Now they were all the same; weak. Civilians died far too easily when an enemy force invades, and the enemy force gets compliant killing weak civilians, it makes them lax when they finally come across a strong opponent.

For all of their boasting and the backing of the largest land empire since the time of Gaiseric, the Kushan were far too easy to kill. He had won an impressive sword from one of his slaughter of their forces, but it was a hollow victory; his opponent had barely put up a fight, the sword was just for intimidation purposes. A true disgrace, he sourly thought. One opponent, one strong opponent, that was what he sought, and these Kushan had barely been enough to hold back his longing for battle.

Perhaps he should pursue the Kushan Emperor Ganishka, little was known about the enigmatic emperor, but his strength was undeniable. It would not be long before Midland or even some of the neighboring countries under the Holy See influence began to hire out for mercenaries. He considered the plausibility. A fight is undeniable. They will take action eventually. With Midland's King dead of a heart attack, they will scramble to fill that power gap. It was unlikely the princess would take control, more likely a group of advisors would run the ruling behind the scenes. Just thinking about all that power structure began to bore him. It did not matter who was in charge, but what they decided to do that made the difference. And strong; yes, they had to have strength.

There was that one swordsman… he had been able to land a hit on me. The first in a hundred years. Nostalgia filled Zodd as he recalled that fight. That opponent had been a struggler, he never gave up even when he thought that he might lose. Of course, the fight had quickly turned the tide when Zodd switched to his apostle form, only sparing their lives because he knew what fate awaited them. Although, from what I've heard, he has been killing many apostles since the Great Eclipse. If our paths were to cross once again… I would love to see how he has progressed. The Black Swordsman… could you be the equal I have searched for? Will you give me the fight I deserve?

Zodd never went out of his way to seek out other apostles, but when their paths did cross they spoke of how great a warrior the Black Swordsman was, and how many had fallen to that cursed blade of his. The Eclipse had changed that boy, molded him into one who could stand toe-to-toe with apostles and come out the victor. From what he understood, that driving force came from what happened to that woman. He had heard apostles' jest about the fate that had befallen her in the Eclipse at the hands of the new Godhand, but the humor was lost on Zodd. A battlefield was for killing, not for defiling women in a show of dominance, it was a disgrace to all involved. And if that was the force behind the Black Swordsman's desire to kill, Zodd could not argue against it. With a driving force like that, a man could take on the world.

Zodd experienced an eerie sense of contemplation. Three-hundred years I've been fighting. Always one battle after the other… I love it! The thrill of a Calvary charge, the cries of rage and despair, swords' clashing with each other to create sparks. It is an art I can enjoy. I remember every battle I've fought in. He could recall every war. And his drive for that search for a true fight… well, perhaps that was something he had in common with the Black Swordsman apart from their prowess on the battlefield. The two of them were drawn to the battle field like crows; crows that surrounded him right now.

The black birds pecked and clawed out the eyes and flesh of any fresh, or rotten for that matter, corpse. The only thing out of place being the few white feathers that gently floated down from the sky. His keen eyes watched as more white feathers floated down from the sky and burst into sparkles of light as they touched the blood stained ground. The entire sky seemed to glow brighter than the sun as a great bird spread its shimmering wings. It was waiting, waiting for him. Zodd propped himself from the cushion of fallen warriors.

The Great White Bird regarded him. "Nosferatu Zodd, what you seek is a fight, and what you desire is an equal to fight with. Yet you will follow the strong and only the strong. They will not always guarantee you what you want but through the Hawk of Light… it will become a reality."

This… it feels like being in a dream. "It is true, I follow only the strong. And you, the Hawk of Light, you can offer what I seek?" the bird glowed brighter. "Words are one thing, they can be deceptive. You wish for me to follow you…" Zodd's body began to grow in size. Thick dark fur began to cover him. He sprouted a tail, goats legs, and two horns from his head; a true behemoth. "Show me. Prove that you have the strength!"

It was not like Zodd to transform into his apostle form almost instantaneously, but this… this felt like a power closer to the Godhand. He would pull no punches with this one, and that was how he started the fight, with a punch. His massive clawed fist slammed into the ground where the bird had perched itself, creating a small crater.

The bird had effortlessly dodged the attack, soaring upward with twin tails of light extending from the tips of its wings. The light trails wrapped around his left horn, and cut it from his head, leaving a small stump of bone. "Rraaaghhhh!"

Zodd's eyes shot open. He was sitting on the pile of corpses – in his human form. Had he actually dreamt that? His heart was racing, but not from the thrill of a fight, this was… this was a feeling he had not felt since he was a human; before he found his black behelit, and certainly before he had lost... a warm, thick liquid trailed down the side of Zodd's head. He brought one of his strong fingers to it – blood. There was a large gash on his forehead that would result in a scar. It would be right where a horn would be.

The "Wastelands" as they were known in Midland due to their hot climate, rugged terrain, and lack of vegetation, led straight to a mountain pass with a small village tucked away from civilization. Being in a remote location had some perks to it, such as being spared heavy taxes. On the downside, it was vulnerable to pillagers who dared to venture the trek up the mountain. And in this case, the pillagers were a group of Kushan scouts.

The invading Kushan Empire seemed to have spread further into Midland in such a short amount of time. If scouts had made it this far into the country, it wouldn't be long before the country disappeared and became part of the ever-expanding empire.

First Chuder, and now the Kushan, Guts thought. Two invading empires only barely two years apart, talk about not catching a break.

"Should we go around?" Harry asked. He too was eying the village under siege. "We could avoid those scouts altogether if we did."

"The fastest way from one point to another is a straight line. If they give us any trouble, we handle it. How are your injuries? That lady commander didn't work you over too rough, did she?" after reuniting once again with the young mage, Puck had offered his dust for Harry to apply to his chest. The wizard had been covered in lacerations that looked to have come from a whip.

"They're fine, thanks to Puck."

"You're… welcome…" Puck said lazily from inside of Guts' satchel. The little elf had given so much dust between tending to both of their injuries that he seemed to have worn himself out for the time being. Guts, of course, had no complaint against the quiet it brought, but Puck cuddling up to the behelit he had tucked away in his satchel was a bit concerning.

"The Kushan like to boast, but words mean little in a battle," Guts explained. "Leave the talking to politicians and philosophers." He patted Dragonslayer's handle. "I have my own diplomacy."

Harry drew the blade Godo had crafted for him, the one made from the ore in the old elf cave. "So be it then. We're both heading for the same place, it'd be stupid if we were to go and split up again. Although…" he drew the staff he had constructed himself, "there might be a way to avoid fighting them altogether."

"Are you planning on raining fire down on them like a vengeful god?" Guts asked, only half joking.

"I can redirect their od."

"Huh?" Guts was unfamiliar with that term. Harry had covered some of the basics of what he had learned, and Guts had seen some it in action firsthand, but Harry seemed to have a rick up his sleeve. "What does it do?"

"Od is basically a life-force. If you ever got the feeling you were being watched," he had, "or when you have a feeling you know where someone is, that is a basic sensation of what od is. You can feel the life of another. If I were to manipulate that into making those Kushan think there was a distraction, we could slip by unnoticed."

"Hm." The kid really has come far. "Sneaking around isn't usually my style; but, all the fight we have in us should be saved for when we reach that tower. If you think this is the best way to do it, then do it."

Harry looked up at him, shock written on his face. "Wait, you mean it?"

"Did I stutter?" Guts rhetorically asked. "Why wouldn't I have meant it?"

"Well… I figured that you'd be a bit angry with everything that had happened before, back at the valley." He said, sounding a bit ashamed.

Oh, that's what he was hung up on. "Listen, Harry," Guts instructed. "You're not wrong to think that. I thought out of all the people in this world that you'd be the one to understand what it feels like. To feel the anger toward what her kind had done, and the anger toward yourself for not being able to stop it from happening. I was disappointed with what happened back at that valley, and not just toward you." He could see the wizard was confused. "I was disappointed in myself too. For so long I had allowed my hatred to drive me forward, to kill every apostle I came across. It consumed me like a rabid beast. And then you show up and let one go, and why? Because you knew that letting her live was worse. As soon as you got that vision of Casca, you left you magic studies to go and rescue her, and I was caught up on killing. I guess you never lost sight of that precious thing, something that I had."

Even though Guts couldn't see, he knew Puck was listening in. Harry didn't quite seem to know how to respond to that. "Well… uh… I never knew you saw it that way."

Guts shrugged. "Well you could stand there gaping like a fish, or you could do that witchcraft nonsense you were just sprouting a moment ago."

"Understood," Harry affirmed. He raised his staff and pointed it toward the Kushan infested village. He waved it around like the wheel to a mill, chanting a spell in words that sounded like gibberish in Guts' ears. But it seemed to have done its trick. The Kushan that had been sneaking around on some of the rooftops suddenly changed direction, aiming to the far side of the village.

"Looks like it worked," Guts observed. "Come on then, the sooner we get to this tower, the better." The sooner we get to Casca… just where are you?

Harry meanwhile was having his own mental conversation, this one with an actual listener. That sounded like a whole new Guts. Fighting is his passion, and he gave that up in favor of a quicker route.

'He must be motivated to get to the Tower of Conviction then. Is it for that woman – Casca, was her name?'

Without a doubt.

'I see. If it's okay for me to ask, but just who is she to Guts? She's obviously important, but how?'

Why? Do you have a little crush on Guts or something? He was baiting her, of course, but knowing Schierke, she was sure to get flustered.

'No! No, of course not! I don't mean to say that he isn't handsome, but the age difference… he must be at least thirty.'

No, Guts is twenty-two, twenty-three? Somewhere around there.

'Serious? He looks older.'

Well he spent most of two years being hunted by accursed spirits and barely getting the right amount of sleep, it would happen to anyone. It probably would have happened to Harry too if he had not found the spirit-tree and the sanctuary it provided. He instantly felt guilty about having it so easy while Guts suffered every night for two years. There was no spell to go back and reverse time, but he could give it his all to make sure the same actions were not repeated. But to answer your question, Casca is… she was a part of that mercenary band Guts and I were in.

'A lady knight like that Farnese.'

Well, not as… fanatical as Farnese, but yeah, she was one of the best, the second-in-command in fact. She and Guts didn't exactly get along most of the time, but they respected each other and one thing led to another… you get where I'm going with this.

Schierke was quiet after that, seeing where the conversation was headed. Her calm and reserved mental voice was replaced by a loud real one coming from a backstreet of the village. A quick glance showed that it was a boy with short copper colored hair and a shifty look in his eyes. "Hey, idiots!" he yelled. "You shouldn't go that way!"

'Who's the monkey?' Schierke asked as Harry's eyes fixated on the village boy.

He must be one of the-, several od signatures were closing in fast towards Harry and Guts. Damnit! "Guts!"

The Kushan leapt down from the roofs, their curved swords raised high above their heads, ready for the kill. Guts was faster with Dragonslayer, however, despite it being the heavier of all their blades combined. He cut them in half in the blink of an eye, sending both of their halves scattered along the street.

For the ones that had leapt at Harry, he opted to use his magic. A powerful gush of wind knocked his assailants back. The Kushan were blown back, hitting the houses they had leapt from previous. Some were only knocked out, other were less fortunate, having cracked their skulls open from the impact.

The village boy looked to both Harry and Guts with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. "A-awesome!" he almost squealed in delight. "You guys just did what nobody in the village could do!"

Guts sheathed Dragonslayer on his back. "What's your deal, kid? You the only one left or something?"

The boy crossed his arms over his scrawny chest, trying to look impressive. "As far as I know, yeah. And don't call me kid. My name's Isidro."

"How'd you know the Kushan were over there?" Harry asked, he hadn't sensed their od until it was almost too late.

Isidro grinned slyly. "I know this village like the back of my hand. You have to keep on top of things of you want to stay alive, and I don't want to die without knowing a woman first."

'Isn't he charming,' Schierke snarked.

"Right…" Harry didn't quite have anything to follow that up with. "Well thanks for the heads up."

He snickered. "Yeah, well you guys handled that amazingly! I'll definitely be copying some of those moves."

Guts regarded him oddly. "You're a swordsman?"

Isidro grinned cheekily. "Soon to be the best that there is!" he pulled out a thin blade. "The people everywhere will know the name Isidro, feeding my legend."

"Good luck with that then." He said without any genuine empathy. Guts began to walk away, Harry following behind him.

"Hey! Wait!" Isidro called after them, running to catch up to them.

"What do you want?" Guts asked.

Isidro looked offended. "You guys show up and then just leave?"

"Is there a reason we should stay?" Harry asked. "We didn't come here to kill Kushan, we were just passing through."

"I'm not talking about the Kushan," Isidro said. "That sword of yours, where'd you get it? I didn't know they even made them that big. And yours," he pointed to Harry's sword, "why does yours look blue?"

"They were made by a talented smith," Harry told him, putting his sword away. He didn't trust Isidro to look at it. "Why'd you want to know?"

"I just said; one day I'm going to become the best swordsman. When my time comes, I'll need a blade to match my legend."

Isidro's bravado quickly fell apart when Guts asked, "Have you ever cut anyone before?"

"Uhh," Isidro's mouth hung open and he became rather interested in a passing cloud. "Of course I have!"

'He could try harder to be convincing.'

Nobody probably cared enough to pay attention to what he had to say before. Harry didn't know that for certain, but he got the distinct impression Isidro was largely ignored by the people of this village, if there were any left alive.

"Say," Isidro got a spark in his eyes, "how's about you show me some other tricks that you got?"

"You want to be an apprentice?" asked Guts, he didn't sound thrilled.

Isidro scoffed. "Apprentice? I'm not beneath anyone. If you want me to be honest, I'd just watch to steal some of your moves. Once I honed my skill enough, I'd go my own way; you'd never have to deal with me again, except when you hear people talking about my legendary skills, of course."

'Subtle, isn't he?' Schierke clearly did not have a positive impression of Isidro.

He does personify the word "brat."

'A loudmouthed one at that.'

"That's ambitious of you," Guts told the boy. "But since you were so honest, I'll be honest too; its best you stay away from us."

"You can't exactly tell me what to do," Isidro whined. "I do what I want. You're not my damn pa."

'Harry, just transfigure him into a monkey. He's acting just like one.'

I might take you up on that. But I want to see what Guts will say; it's bound to be good.

Much to Harry's shock, Guts didn't scold the boy, he actually chuckled. "Heh. I guess you're right about that."

'Transfigure him into a monkey, do it, do it fast.'

Is he actually not going to argue him on this? It was like a complete opposite with Jill, whom Guts had wanted to keep away and off to the side. He had been doing that to spare her of a worse fate, but why the sudden change? It couldn't be that Guts believed Isidro was a competent swordsman, it was clear that he was all talk, so what? A strange thought entered Harry's mind, could it be that Guts is reminded of himself? He had only met the boy, yet Harry could see that he was stubborn, much like Guts could be, only much louder about it. The idea that Guts could have been a whiny brat like Isidro didn't sit right with Harry, and there had to be more to it than that. Perhaps it was the fact Isidro had taken up the sword at his age and that he was now caught up in the middle of a war. That seemed the more likely of the two. Either that, or Guts was willing to have the boy walk to his own death by following them.

"So, what does that mean?" Isidro asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Guts told him. "If you're going to follow us, then the only way I could stop you is to kill you." Isidro blanched. "But, lucky for you I don't feel like killing any more kids than I have already. So if you're going to follow, keep it at a distance, and don't get in my way."

Isidro's face was caught between surprise and delight. "R-really?!"

"On one condition," Guts reached into his satchel and pulled out a half-awake Puck and tossed the elf over to Isidro. "You get to carry him around."

Looks like he was just aiming to get rid of Puck as well.

Isidro twitched slightly as Puck began to stir. "So… you want to learn the way of the sword?" the elf asked. "What did you say your name was?"

"I-Isidro," he stuttered.

Puck nodded. "I hereby recognize you as a pupil in Elf Dimension Style. Use my teachings responsibly."

"W-wait a minute!"Isidro shouted. "What is this?!"

"Your first lesson," Guts began walking away, the two boys following behind him, Isidro further than Harry. "If you want to learn, maybe start with learning some patience. If dealing with Puck can't teach you that, you should just go home." It was either genius on Guts' end, or it was the worst idea he had ever had, and Harry really hoped it was the former.

As the quartet departed from the village, three sets of eyes watched their retreating forms. Two were bound in muscle, and the third was rather lithe and more agile, and all had copper skin, dark eyes, and wore light clothing befitting of a desert-like environment, the typical drappings of Kushan.

"Master Silat, what are our orders, should we pursue?" one of Silat's muscle covered henchmen asked. Silat's dark eyes followed the small band leaving the village. While he and his Bakiraka Clan had not been directly involved in this attack, or subsequent invasion of Midland, they were searching for ways to contribute to the war effort. All it took was one generous display for Emperor Ganishka to revoke their banishment and the Bakiraka could end their lives as exiles for the Kushan Empire.

"They are three and we are many," his other bodyguard mentioned, referring to the additional clan members that were stationed close by. "It would be easy to overpower them."

"No, it wouldn't." Silat scratched at his clean-shaven face from under his lower cowl. "That man dressed all in black – I've crossed blades with him once before." His appearance had changed, but Silat recognized the man as Guts from the Band of the Hawk. It was over two years since he had raided their camp and been humiliated in the process, but he still remembered. "Loathe as I am to admit it, that man is beyond our skills. And his one companion… did you see the sword he had?" Of all the people, he has to be associated with that man Guts!

He waited for one of his bodyguards to work it out. "It seemed to be blue."

"The same blue blade that killed that monster in human skin when we were cornered by those Midland Knights," Silat reminded them. The same blade we owe our lives to. Damnit!

His bodyguards tensed. "Young Master, you do not mean that…"

"You both go on ahead," Silat instructed them. "I've some business to deal with first." Silat silently leapt down from his observation point, following after the small party. It just had to be him! And he shows up now of all times!

'Just once,' Schierke said.

No.

'It doesn't have to be for long, just a few minutes.'

You said so before, and my answer is still no.

'If you're worried about Guts being mad, I think he wouldn't hold it against you.'

He would only become worse.

'What's worse is if you don't do something,' advised Schierke. 'It might actually help him out.'

You're just saying that because you want to see him as a monkey. She made no attempt to hide her disdain for their newest follower. Harry was worried that Isidro would turn out to be like one of Dudley's friends due to his loud mouth and brash nature, and while he was difficult to be around, he seemed to have some degree of respect to him; he kept his distance like Guts had requested. He had even taken an instant liking to Puck, who reciprocated the friendship and the two were holding a very animated discussion about the fighting form of Elf Dimension Style. To Harry's knowledge, it consisted of hitting your opponent as hard as you could and nothing else, it was something Isidro seemed keen on.

"The path of a warrior elf is not an easy one," Puck told his new and only pupil. "By accepting my teachings, you have taken the first step down the road of your training."

Even though Guts was leading, Harry could practically see him roll his eye. "I never would have figured the elfves to be such a bloodthirsty batch of people."

"Our technique is for defense only," Puck felt the need to clarify. "Violence only breeds more violence. If more people cared for each other, the world would be a better place to live."

"Kind of mixed messages you're sending to your student," Guts scoffed at the elf's declaration.

Isidro didn't seem to mind however. "Fighting is all about knowing what you're working with. If I build up my defense, it'll throw an offensive opponent off guard."

It looks like he has some knowledge about what he's doing.

"Hey!" Isidro looked at Harry. "Why don't you and I spar sometime? I'd love to see what you're like in a fight."

"Maybe," Harry said. Isidro could use a lesson in humility. "But no promises."

That seemed good enough for Isidro. "Yes! Your sword might not be as big as his, but it has an awesome design to it. I want to see you use it instead of that trick you did with your stick."

'When you spar with him, don't go easy.'

I could wind up hurting him.

'Pain makes a great teacher.'

Does Flora know you have this side to you?

Isidro seemed to fantasize about his future sparring match. "Oh, boy. Once I build my skill up I can really start knocking it to those dirty Kushan bastar-!"

"Not an insult against my people, I hope." An accented voice hinted with sarcasm spoke from behind them. They all drew their weapons, including Puck who brandished his burr. The speaker was one Harry had seen on two occasions, both of which revolved around fighting. It was Silat of the Bakiraka Clan. "While I and my people are not on the best of relations with the homeland, I feel your sentence would be very-,"

"-Kushan!" Isidro yelled, but he didn't attack with his sword. he opted to picking up a stone and throwing it at Silat's head. The Kushan assassin must have been caught off guard by it since it hit right between his dark eyes.

Harry and Guts both expected retaliation on Silat's part, but the Kushan kept himself restrained. "If I were here to fight you, I would have the greatest of satisfaction of separating your head from your body, boy. But that is not the reason for my appearance." He looked at Guts. "Do you remember me? Because I remember you."

Guts looked him over. "I was going to say that you were a street performer, but that doesn't seem right."

Silat's eyes narrowed. "We crossed blades once before, Guts. You told me your name, and I told you mine. Although, it would appear our fight did not hold the same meaning it did with you. Allow me to reintroduce myself; I am Silat of the Bakiraka Clan."

"Oh yeah, the clan that got exiled," Guts recalled. "So why are you here? Come to settle the score?"

"As much as it would bring me the greatest of satisfaction, no." Silat pointed at Harry. "You, your sword, is it the blade that fought with that monster in human skin near two years ago?"

Was he talking about Wyald? "The big white ape?" Harry asked. Silat nodded, and he did not seem happy about it. "Yeah…" he said slowly. "What of it?"

He almost thought he could hear Silat grind his teeth. "Then it would seem… that without your interference that day, my life would have been slain." He seemed to force himself to take a knee. "As customary of the Bakiraka Clan, I am indebted to you until my debt has been repaid or you release me from it."

Guts looked at Harry quizzically. "Is this true? You saved his life?"

"Well… I guess, Wyald was an apostle, and he was planning on killing Silat and a few others before I came by." Schierke, is what Silat saying true? Does he really owe me his life?

'The customs of the east tend to be like that. If what you said is true, then Silat would be bound by his honor to pledge his life or else risk expulsion from his clan.' And the Bakiraka were banished from their homeland as well. Silat would be a complete outcast if he were to refuse.

Guts addressed Harry. "Then what happens to him is up to you."

Harry regarded the Kushan assassin, Silat's pride was clearly wounded from having to kneel before someone as young as Harry. From what Harry remembered, Silat had more of a martial arts style of combat unique to eastern peoples. 'What are you going to do with him?' if Isidro's eyes were shifty, Silat's were ten times more cunning.

He's from an assassin clan; he isn't exactly the most trustworthy. Keeping Silat around for a long period of time would be more harmful than it would useful, and they had enough to deal with as it was. "I'll make a deal with you, Silat."

"And what would that be?" the Kushan asked.

"If you help us rescue the life of a woman, then your debt will have been paid." Guts shot Harry a knowing look.

"Such a noble task. I'm almost jealous."

"You can stop kneeling," Harry told him and the Kushan rose.

Isidro was looking back and forth, clearly bamboozled. "W-what?! Just like that?!"

Puck flew straight toward Silat's face, making his almond shaped eyes widen in surprise. "Hm. Another one with a shifty look. You have competition, Dro" it was the nickname Puck had given to the aspiring swordsman.

Guts was keen to just keep moving. "He's your responsibility, Harry. if he tries anything, you're the one that's going to put him down."

"Not a problem," Harry affirmed, giving the assassin the best glare he could, letting him know not to try anything.

"His people are invading," Isidro scowled. "Just so you know."

"If you have a problem with it, you can go back to your village," Guts suggested. "You do have to be here, you know."

"Back to my village?" Isidro bit at his lip. "Trying to get rid of me that soon? Not until I've learned what I need from you two. That village was a dump anyway." He pouted. From the way he was acting, Harry almost felt there was more to what Isidro was saying. His disdain for Silat and the Kushan was clear, but the boy was most likely the only surviving member of his village. Maybe he was just following them because he didn't want to face going back to nothing. "Just make sure that guy doesn't try anything."

"I assure you, no problems will arise due to my actions." Silat made a hand gesture that must have conveyed a promise, just so long as it wasn't the Kushan equivalent to fingers crossed.

Isidro looked doubtful. "Yeah, well if you do try something, I have another rock ready for your head."

"While I am bound by the life-debt, to my..." he struggled to say the word, "Master…"

"Harry, just call me Harry." he didn't need anyone calling him master.

"Yes… Harry, I will not harm him or any of his companions." Silat's demeanor began to change as he stared Isidro down. "However once I am freed from by debt, if you were to throw another rock at me, there would be nothing stopping me from taking your hand."

"Enough!" Harry ordered and Silat backed away from Isidro. "Come on. Guts will keep walking if we don't catch up." Silat cast one last look at Isidro who stuck his tongue out at the Kushan. A vein seemed to throb in Silat's temple, but he kept his tongue to himself, not wanting to disgrace himself any more than he had by owing his life to a teenage wizard.

Rolls of wrapping had been set along the rough ground; each layer added some comfort as Luca laid down on her back. She had taken care to light some scented candles, a rare import that she had gotten from a trader from the south near the Uterine Sea. The smell the candles provided helped to drown out the lingering stench of sex. It was a smell Luca and her protégées had grown accustomed to, but never truly enjoyed. Her current client was a member of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, a man with dark, wavy hair named Jerome. The knight had come across Luca and her girls during the trek to the Tower of Conviction, and had been a customer of Luca's from then to their arrival.

Jerome craned his neck to plant kisses along her collarbone, slowly sliding his way to her entrance. Luca let out a small gasp as he initiated the act; she found that it tended to urge him on. It wasn't to say Jerome was a bad lover, he was certainly more gentle than most, although he largely avoided eye-contact, something that Luca found attractive. No, it had more to do with the honeyed words he would whisper into her ear as he built up to his climax.

"You are far too lovely to be a street whore, Luca," he whispered to her, his thrusting got faster. It wasn't the first time she had been told. Men seemed to like her long brown hair, brownish grey eyes, and slim figure.

"You have a silver tongue, Sir Jerome." Yet you never seem to use it where it would be of use during our segments.

"I mean it," he insisted as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "When my business is concluded at the tower, and Commander Farnese gives us the order to leave, I'd love to take you back to Vritannis with me. I could buy you a house there too."

"That's very generous of you." I'm not sure how your wife would feel about that. Actually, I know exactly what your wife would think about that. "But I don't think the city life is for me. I prefer a cozier life."

His hands roamed up to grasp at her breasts. "Are you sure? You'd never have to want for anything again."

Well I don't plan on sleeping my way to a cushy life. "I have good people; I can't walk out on them." His hands squeezed her chest, he was getting close.

Jerome did cry out, but it wasn't due to his pent up sexual desire. Another voice was screaming as well, this one a distinct female. Luca moved her head to see a head wrapped in gauze peeking into her tent. You pick the most random of times to poke in, Elaine. Jerome quickly scrambled to get off of Luca and dress himself.

"Nearly scared me half to death!" he strapped his belt on. "Luca, who is this?"

Luca sat up as well, putting on a loose robe. "Oh, this is my sister, Elaine. She has a tendency to wander." Elaine seemed to be pulling off some of the gauze around her face, and Luca was quick to re-wrap it. "I'm afraid she's quite simple."

"She's your sister?" Jerome looked between the two of them, or at least the arts of Elaine's face that weren't covered. "You don't quite look it."

"I'm sorry, my half-sister. Father never learned to fear mother's wrath." Jerome didn't look too convinced, but he didn't raise any other argument against it. "She was supposed to have someone looking after her, but Elaine has always had bit of a free spirit to her."

"I see." Jerome finished dressing. "Is she going to go, or…"

"I'm sorry, but it looks like I'll have to look after her for now. Consider this session free of charge." Jerome accepted, sparing one last look between Luca and Elaine before exiting her tent. "Oh, Elaine. I don't suppose you can tell me where Nina ran off to?"

Elaine responded with her usual childish babble. "Aauuu."

Luca led the girl out of her tent and to the next one over shared by the girls Luca had taken to looking after. "That's what I thought."

There were four girls who Luca looked after in their business as prostitutes. The first was Lucie, the eldest next to Luca, and the most mature and responsible out of the girls. Then there was Pepe, a girl who was bit of tease, but still listened to what Luca had to say and tried to live by her example. The youngest of the bunch was Fouquet, a girl who tended to act like a child, but nowhere near the extent as Elaine who had a child's mentality. And lastly, there was Nina. A blonde youth with curly locks who was the most… entitled out of all of Luca's girls. Luca tried to encourage them all to act selfless to better themselves, but Nina hardly adhered to this doctrine. Nina had met a boy on the road to the Tower of Conviction, and seemed to want to slack off with him. Luca was not opposed to her girls finding love, but this boy had also given Nina a disease during one of their encounters and wasn't long for the world himself.

Upon entering the tent, Luca noticed all but one of her girls was in attendance. "That session seemed a bit short, Luca," Lucie observed. "Did Jerome's wife follow him all the way here?"

Luca presented Elaine to the girls. "Elaine!" Pepe took the girls hand and sat her down. "Wasn't Nina suppose to watch you?"

"Oouuuii." Elaine rocked her head in circular motions.

"She was," Luca said. "But unless she was with a very important client, I'd love to hear about it."

The three girls all shook their heads. "She said she was going out by the stream to take care of some… 'personal problems.'" Nina must have been referring to the disease she had gotten from that boy. She was bleeding on days that weren't her moon days.

"That explains it," Luca nodded sadly. "But she should know better than to leave Elaine unattended."

"Luuuucaaaa?" a man of at least sixty was poking his head in the tent. It seemed she had another client to deal with.

"I'll be right there, just wait in my tent, I'll be by shortly." Once he had receded Luca instructed her three remaining girls to watch Elaine until Nina got back, the girl was going to have to start picking up her slack. Or if the three girls wanted Elaine to interrupt this session, Luca would have no objection to that.

The Tower of Conviction, one of Midland's oldest constructions still standing, along with the Tower of Rebirth inside of the City of Windham. Like the Tower of Rebirth, the Tower of Conviction could be dated as far back to the time of Emperor Gaiseric, the one who united the continent in his conquest. Instead of an entire city, the Tower of Conviction had but a small town of St. Albion built around it, named in memory of the High Pontiff who funded the construction of the town. To protect against possible heretic attacks, a large wall was built around both the tower and town.

The tower stood as a beacon of power for all who followed the Holy See doctrine; so why did the inside feel so hollow? Farnese wondered that as one of Father Mozgus' disciples escorted her and Serpico to the top of the tower which had later been renovated to an area of worship. "Blind faith," the words that wizard boy had said still echoed in her ears, and it was only further driven in after that Skull Knight had appeared. Things like that, they had no right to exist, there was nothing written in any Holy See text that justified what she had seen that night.

Serpico had found her later soon after the Black Swordsman, and the young wizard had taken their leave. Her faithful attendant since their youth had expressed the direst of concern when he came across her. Having been kidnapped by a heathen, Serpico had feared the worst, but she had assured him that no harm had befallen her; she left out the parts about those possessed animals and the Skull Knight, he would think her mad if she spoke of such things. After that, Farnese had ordered that any search party for the wizard and Black Swordsman be put on hold; their true destination was at St. Albion. For some strange reason, Farnese felt as though they were being watched as soon as they had arrived. Perhaps it was the eyes of God.

The way to the tower had been marked for them by Father Mozgus and his disciples, they had erected the wheels. It was a technique signature to the Father; it consisted of placing a human body on a wagon wheel and breaking their limbs so that they bent through the spokes. A pole was attached to the other side and the wheel was raised into the air. It was fitting work for the disciples who dressed the part as torturers. Farnese had only seen the disciples a few times since arriving at the tower; they consisted of a bulky one, a tall lanky one, a small imp, and a set of twins who all wore executioners masks. The one leading them now seemed to be the most normal of the bunch, dressed in a leather outfit that covered every inch of skin and a mask that resembled a bird.

Yes, he was the most normal one of the bunch. He also seemed to most polite and well spoken, offering to take them up to Father Mozgus. Apparently he had a disease that would burn his skin if exposed to direct sunlight. Father Mozgus had taken him and the rest of the men under his wing and helped show them the path of God. When they stood outside the monastery doors on the top of the tower, a loud series of banging could be heard from beyond the door. The disciple raised a gloved hand.

"Father Mozgus is performing his daily ritual of faith," the disciple informed. "While his methods are extreme, he is the holiest man I have met. Please, this way." The disciple opened the door and allowing them entry.

What they saw was Father Mozgus kneeling before an icon of the Holy See, his face planted firmly against the floor. He was pressing it so hard that his face seemed to contort in pain. Farnese realized that he had been slamming his face against the floor causing the thuds that they had heard before entering.

Mozgus finally broke from his practice and rose to stand. "Ah, you would think I would learn to bring a pillow for my knees. They aren't quite what they used to be." He adjusted the wide brimmed red hat and his stainless white robes. "God bless you, Commander Farnese."

"And you as well, Father Mozgus." She and Serpico made a move to kneel, but Mozgus waved that off.

"Oh, no! No! Please, the only one you should kneel before is our divine lord." Mozgus was a man of middle age, tall and stocky with a wide flat face and pale blue eyes. "I am glad that you made it to the tower safely, it would seem God has answered my prayers for you to have a safe journey."

Safe… "There were a few… complications along the way. Our hunt for the Black Swordsman led us to a wizard who we took into custody."

"Ah, wizards, nasty heathens, all of them," Mozgus said with disdain. "They seek to spread the lies of this world and drive us away from God's divine teachings. What became of this wizard? Knowing your reputation, I assume he was burned."

"I interrogated him," Farnese hung her head, unable to look the Father in the eye. "But he escaped. Please, I beg forgiveness." She was sure Father Mozgus would be displeased, she could feel Serpico's head tilt toward her in a concerned gesture. Instead of a berating, Mozgus placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Wizard's are a troublesome ilk. I know of all the witches you have burned back in Vritannis, your judgment would never be called into question. And it is not I whose job it is to forgive you, that is for our Lord to decide." He gave a wide, thin smile. "And I made it here safely as is."

It was better than she deserved. Father Mozgus had a reputation for passing harsh judgment on the wicked. The wheel skeletons were proof of that. "Blind faith." Why am I still thinking about that? Did it have to do with the fact that the wizard and Black Swordsman seemed so at ease killing those animals while she cowered in fear? She had been praying to God the entire time for a miracle to happen to rescue her, but all through that night, the two had continued to rely on their swords and in magic. Where was their faith?

"Thank you, Father Mozgus."

He detected her conflicted emotions. "What troubles you, Commander?"

"Father Mozgus… were there ever times when you doubted your faith?"

He didn't seem offended, he actually seemed thoughtful. "There were moments in my youth where I felt that faith alone wasn't enough. Those were… dark days for me, but the Father of my monastery offered me some old texts to read. For days on end I poured my time into reading those texts. By the end, I came out convinced that faith required dedication, and by dedicating myself to God, I never once questioned my faith after." He smiled kindly. "Traveling here, I carried a text of the first edition of the Holy See Doctrine. It has remained preserved in the first temple for some time, but I was given permission to add it to the library here. You're welcome to read it."

"Have you read it as well?" Farnese asked. Could the same happen for her? Could her faith be restored by understanding like Mozgus?

"Oh no," he said humbly. "That text is meant for the High Pontiff to read, or any who are in a time of need. It is more than just a doctrine; it is first edition, written by our founder."

"Truly?!" she asked. For all her time in the Holy See, she never knew who founded their faith. It had mainly been out of fear of the idea that the initial ideas might have been misinterpreted and that she would burn for the acts she took. "Blind faith." "I will think on it, Father."

"Splendid!" Mozgus beamed. "Belief is our greatest ally! Through us does God's will come to fruition."

Farnese replied with the reply that had been drilled into her head for years. That feeling of being watched never disappeared. Was it God who was watching, or something else?

There it was, looming above all else like a man-made mountain, the setting sun cast an almost sinister glow against the smooth stone that was the Tower of Conviction. Some light and smoke came from inside the outer wall, but the liveliest of activity was outside of the walled town of St. Albion. Camps, tents, and people were all clustered around like cattle outside, and even from their vantage point on a small ridge, Harry and the others could see how things were going. Even though the tower promised refuge, perhaps they thought that now that they were near a holy place, God would shelter them.

"So that is the famed tower," Silat studied the structure. "It'd thought it be taller."

"Just one wall?" Isidro asked, he actually seemed to be in somewhat an agreement with Silat.

"You shouldn't be complaining," Guts told them. "The smaller the size, the less places we have to look." His sole eye wandered to the large series of tents that had been erected outside, stretching as far as a stream that served as a sort of border. "We should start searching the camp, that seems to be where the most activity is going on."

"That'd also make it the easiest for us to be spotted," Harry mentioned. "The both of us are still wanted by those Chain Knights, and if one of them recognizes us, we'll be swarmed."

"A wise observation," Silat spoke smoothly. "And there is the fact that I would stand out like a sore thumb among these people. A Kushan in a Holy See refugee camp, that wouldn't stir up any trouble at all."

"You're from an assassin clan; shouldn't you be good at sneaking around?" Harry asked his temporary servant.

"I never said that I wasn't. I was merely making an obvious statement for if I were to be seen."

"So that just leaves me then?" Isidro asked. "If you need me to search, I'm pretty sneaky, but I prefer a real fight."

"You're not going alone," Guts told him. "You'll be sticking with Harry. Two boys walking around is less likely to draw attention. That leaves Silat and I."

"You're comfortable being with him?" Harry asked. He was well aware of Silat's desire to fight Guts, and his oath to Harry was the only thing keeping that from happening. "I thought you said he was my responsibility."

"He is. But a kid holding what looks like a magic staff and walking around with a Kushan would draw more attention than a traveling swordsman would."

"And… if one of us comes across Casca, how would we let the other know?"

"…We'll both have another person with us. If that happens, we send them to search for the other."

It was flimsy, but it was better than going in blind. "You got that, Silat?" Harry asked.

"A simple task. Yes, I understand."

"Try not to stab me in the back," Guts warned. "It won't turn out well for you."

Silat actually grinned from behind the cowl that obscured his mouth. "If I were going to stab you, I'd want to look you in your eye."

"Looks like that leaves you and me," Isidro patted Harry on the arm.

"And me," Puck added with a salute. "If you guys require a messenger, then I am the elf to come to."

The four made their way down the ridge, splitting up once they entered the edge of the large camp. Harry almost missed Silat taking to the shadows, sneaking around like a cat on the hunt for a mouse. For added measure, Harry put his hood up and walked with his staff laid across his shoulders. Being seen walking with it might give the wrong impression to some of the camps inhabitants.

Isidro was the one who initiated conversation. "So after we find who you're looking for, do you think that Guts guy will teach me some of his fighting moves?"

Would he? Guts had given Harry some good pointers early on, would he do the same for Isidro if he helped to save Casca? "I can't really speak for him. Besides, you two have different styles of fighting, Guts is more force, and you seem more quick."

"S-so?" Isidro sputtered. "What's wrong with being quick, it helps keep you alive in a fight."

'I'm sure he's referring to the fights he's never been in.'

"What about you?" the copper-haired boy asked.

"What about me?"

"When we have our spar, I'm sure to pick some tricks up from you. Well, not that hokey-pokey stuff you do with your staff, but actual skill with a sword."

"Well…"

"Ah, come on; don't be like a stuck-up adult. You're not that much older than me, don't boys our age usually want to help each other out when it comes to fighting?"

"Is that how it was in your village?" Harry asked, regretting asking it when he saw Isidro avert his gaze.

"Well… yeah, I guess. But all the kids back in my village were a bunch of weaklings anyway; they wouldn't have lasted long against me."

"…We'll see how this goes," Harry told him, feeling some sympathy for the younger boy and understanding why he was so keen on following him and Guts around.

"Ah-ha, yeah!" Isidro exclaimed. "I'd knew you'd come around eventually. When I become famous, I'll be sure to mention you, and how you helped get me to where I was going."

"Sounds great…" he made sure his head was turned so Isidro could not see him roll his eyes. His gesture of exasperation, led him to discover a knight on horseback, patrolling around the camp. The banner he carried was from the Holy Iron Chain Knights. "Oh, perfect."

"I know, right?" Isidro asked, not noticing the knight that was making his way over to them. "Legends stick with us even after we're all gone and-,"

Harry grabbed him by his arm, dragging him along and away from the knight. "-Yeah, you can tell me all about it when we get out of here."

"Hey! Don't drag me man!" Isidro complained. "That knight guy is looking this way."

"Damn!" Harry parted his way through the crowd, letting Isidro go and keep up at his own pace. His hood got knocked askew when shuffling through the crowds of people between tents. He kept walking until a soft, but firm grasp held him by his ear.

"There you are!" it was a woman's voice, and she sounded irritated. For a second, he thought it was that Farnese girl, but he was quickly proven wrong when he saw it was a young woman with long brown hair, not the twin tails of blonde that Farnese wore. She also dressed like a commoner, not some noble's daughter. "You think you can just run off without paying for your session?!" the knight was only a short distance away now.

"What's she talking about, Harry?" Isidro whispered to him. His eyes suddenly widened. "Don't tell me you used a trick of yours to sneak off and make a man of yourself with this fine woman!"

"Of course not!"

The knight stopped right in front of them. "Problem here, Luca?"

"This young boy thought he could have a session with Pepe and not pay for it," Luca explained. "I'm lucky I caught him before he could get away."

"You have the situation under control then?"

"Yes, Sir Jerome, I have it under control." The knight gave her a look before riding off further to continue his patrol. "Whew!" Luca let Harry go, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "You played along nicely."

"Uh… you too?" Harry asked, not sure what this woman was up to. "Why did you do that just now?"

She pointed to his neck where the brand was burned into his skin, thinly concealed by the rune. "I saw that symbol on you. And there's only one person I know who has one just like that."

"Does she have black hair and dark eyes? Maybe acts like a child?" Harry asked his hopes now high.

"I don't think I said it was a girl," Luca noted. "But yes, that describes her perfectly. Who is she to you?"

"She's my… sister."

"You're sister?"

"Well, my half-sister."

Luca chuckled. "You know, I told a lie just like that not too long ago to that very same knight. Who is she to you and answer honestly this time."

"Casca is-,"

"-Casca?" Luca repeated. "So that's her name."

"Yeah, well she… she's like a sister to me I guess," Harry told the woman. "And she's very dear to a friend of mine. We found out she was missing and came as fast as we could. She isn't in her right state of mind as you probably saw, and there might be a way to help her." His thought drifted to Flora, if he could convince Guts to come to the spirit-tree, the elderly witch might be able to restore Casca to her old self.

Luca's kind eyes searched his own for any trace of a lie, and Harry returned her gaze, that was as much of the truth as he would disclose. "Your friend," Luca began, "where is he?"

Harry turned to Isidro. "Take Puck and go find Guts, bring him right back here."

"You got it!" Isidro took off, pushing past people and ducking through the crowd in search of the Black Swordsman. When he found out, Guts would be here in no time, his desire to be back with Casca would let nothing stand in his way. This sense of actual hope drove away from the feeling that something, somewhere, was watching them.

A/N: That's about it for this chapter, thank you for reading.