Guts was caught easily. Really? Sneak all the way to the inner-gate (somehow) just to launch a full frontal assault once he caught sight of Griffith? Griffith wasn't sure how Guts of all people had made it in secret so far; he wasn't exactly know for his stealth or ability to blend into a crowd. He seem to have some sort of weak enchantment on the brand (weak to Griffith at least) but that was no explanation for how he had gotten into the city without Griffith having an inkling. But he supposed Guts could've picked up some skills in subtlety.

The only thing Griffith truly couldn't figure out was if Guts was alone in this. He'd like to think all of his citizens loved him and wouldn't think to rebel, but he wasn't naive. However, Guts was a bit of a lone wolf, while he'd traveled with people before, they were nowhere to be found. Not even Casca, to whom Guts had grown so attached to. Perhaps they were all dead…

Well, be it one man, be it one hundred, it didn't matter. Griffith's power, while limited in his physical form was still beyond anything of this world. The elves and magic users stood the best chance, but those would all be dead, or close to it save a few hermits and secret places, But Griffith was flushing those out with every passing year.

Guts was still glaring at him. It had taken the combined effort of his generals to subdue Guts, even then the only way they got him to stop was but removing the cursed armor. The Berserker armor allowed the wearer to not feel any pain, useful when Griffith's very presence caused a great deal of pain via the brand, and for everything else.

Now Guts was bloody pile on the floor, held down by an apostle while glaring at him with that one eye. It made Griffith nostalgic, if he could feel such things. So much tenacity, struggle for life, it was admirable if not misguided.

Still, Griffith didn't want him dead, not yet at least. They had much to discuss, things to catch up on. It had been nine years since he left. How the time flew, although it looked like nine years had passed for Guts, he looked horrible.

Why hadn't he spoken yet? Normally he was so vocal around Griffith, wouldn't shut up, now he- oh, was he in that much pain? Why not just pass out already?

Griffith walked closer to inspect his old friend, with each step, Guts became even more in pain. Until finally, "Why won't you die, you bastard." Guts spit out before his face slouched to the floor.

Griffith turned to two guards, human ones. As much as his apostles were better suited to deal with Guts' strength, Griffith didn't want to have to deal with them wanting to eat Guts. As it was all of the demons were in a tussle with the discovery of one of the sacrifices. It took more concentration than normal to keep them in check with Guts at the heart of the city. So far there had been no incidents, but Griffith figured it was only a matter of time before one of them was stupid enough to disobey their king. Then he'd just make an example of their disobedience.

Once the Guards had a handle on Guts, Griffith went back to his many Kingly duties. What a start to the day, he thought.

…

The two guards tasked with bringing Guts to receive medical treatment didn't know what to make of the man.

"Think he's a giant?" One asked.

"No, too short, not hairy enough."

"Short? He has to be at least seven feet tall!"

"Over six feet at the most. You only think he's taller because you're so short."

"Still, he had inhuman strength, did you see how fast he swung that giant sword? It must've weighed over 300 pounds!"

"Maybe he's an apostle."

"But His Majesty's powers didn't affect him."

"Yes they did, did you not see how he was cowering?"

"No you idiot, that not what that was, you could see his mind was fighting his body, that's not how an apostle would react."

"WEll then genius, what do you think he is?"

The man paused, glancing over the wounded swordsman. "There was that rumor, right before all of this craziness started, of a traveling swordsman who was a harbinger of death. They called him the Black Swordsman."

"Now you're just telling stories to scare kids. The Black Swordsman isn't real."

"You think you're in a place to tell me what's real or not? I can tell you he's real because I met him."

"You met him?"

He nodded. "I was still more boy than man, but I'll never forget it. He was tall and grim, always muttering to himself. And carried a sword taller than himself." He motioned with his head, "It looked like that sword."

"The Holy See spoke of the Hawk of Darkness. That was him, right?"

"Yeah, he was at the Tower of Conviction, that massacre, and that port city, I forget the name. Everywhere disaster struck, he was seen."

"Does that mean disaster will strike here?"

"Of course not," He assured, "Our King will protect us."

"Then why is he being kept alive?"

"I don't know."

Both of the guards glanced at the unconscious man they carried. Even in this state they felt as if he could kill them with little effort.

"Will people in the Medic Hall be safe? I know there are jails, but…"

"He looks like he could rip the doors off the hinges." He finished.

The wounded man let out a groan that caused both of them to jump and almost drop him.

"There's no way he's human. Tossed around like a rag doll, still alive, and coming back to consciousness not ten minutes later."

"Some sort of beast." The other agreed.

They deposited him in a jail cell in the Medic Hall. Said medics looked very surprised. And concerned.

"His grace the king has requested this man retrieve medical treatment."

"Man?" One of the medics said, "He looks more like ground beef."

"He's very dangerous. Keep him contained."

The medics did as they were told, and the guards escaped as soon as they could. At least, they thought, the inhuman sect of the army would be responsible for getting the beast of a man under control should he become… out of control.

…

Now the medics were faced with a thousand questions. How had this man survived? His injuries were bad, but he had seemingly survived worse in the past. His arm removed, cuts and wounds that should have been lethal. They worked diligently for a while until everything recent was cleaned, stitched, and bandaged up.

And that was when the screaming started.

Outside the window they could see a large winged demon carrying away a woman, her body nearly ripped in half. She wasn't the one screaming, no it was the ones who had witnessed it.

In a flash, the demon was shot down by an arrow. King Griffith was there as well and slew the demon once and for all, stabbing it through the head. He then removed his cloak and placed it on the woman's mangled body.

The man they were patching up began to stir, pulling their attention back to him. Thankfully they were done, and quickly put the restraints on him before closing the cell door.

He didn't wake up, but kept seemed to be having nightmares. What did a man like that have nightmares about, they wondered, what could he have to fear?

…

Guts woke up in pain. He was used to that, especially now after so long in Falconia surrounded by all sorts of nasties. Even with the seal, it was a lot to deal with, what with all of the monsters, demons, apostles, and a member of the God Hand. So yeah, Guts was used to it.

What he wasn't used to was not being able to move, they hadn't removed the rest of his limbs had they? No, it hurt too much, all over for that. He looked down at his body to see the bandages and restraints wrapped around. Then he remembered his his fight with Griffith, if one could call it that. Even Guts had to admit it was rather pathetic. Still, Guts was just a man, and he had been able to take out a few apostles before the generals had intervened.

A girl's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"So," She said, "You're him."

Guts turned his head as far as he could to see the girl staring at him, She had crazy eyes and long straight hair, around Isma's age maybe. Well, at least how old Isma was…

"I saw you a long time ago, but I didn't think you'd survive this long. In fact, what little I could see of your future was just blood and death." She smiled, "You had a companion, a little owl from the forest?"

Guts didn't respond, not understanding any of it.

The girl giggled, "I mean a witch, I gave her that nickname. We were almost friends, to be honest I'd rather it'd be her here instead of you. Where is she?"

"Schierke?" He asked flatly, "She's dead."

The girl's smiled faltered. "She died? How-"

"Does it matter?"

Readjusting her face, the girl changed the subject.

"I never introduced myself, how rude of me. I'm Sonia, the Seer of Falconia, Official Medium of the Reborn Band of the Falcon."

Guts ignored her; he was tired and hungry, and sleep seemed the most inreach at the moment. He closed his eye. This annoyed Sonia.

"It's rude not to-"

"Sonia!" A voice called. A man, young by the sound of him. "I've been looking everywhere for you! You can't just run off…" The man finally saw whom she was talking to. "You… You're the one…"

Guts cracked open his eye to see just who was talking. He was probably a guard of some sort, judging by the sword on his hip.

"This is the Black Swordsman, Mule. We met his traveling companion all those years ago."

"Did we?"

"Well, we did. The girl, she died." Addressing Guts she asked, "What about the boy."

"Dead."

"Sonia why-?"

"Griffith told me to invite him to dinner."

"Sonia! Don't speak of the king so casually."

Guts let out a sharp laugh.

"And you! I don't know why his grace is allowing you to live, but you should count yourself lucky!" Mule(?) said with some forced bravado.

Lucky? Lucky?! Guts would certainly count himself lucky, if it was in the sense that unlikely things were likely to happen to him. He didn't want to deal with this now, so he closed his eye again since he couldn't turn over.

"Mr~ You can't go to sleep until you answer my question."

"No."

"Then I guess you won't eat." She smiled brighter and waltzed out the door, "Come on Mule, I think there's going to be cake for dessert."

Mule followed her quickly, obviously wanting to be away from Guts.

Guts let out a sigh. Finally some peace and quiet. And pain. In sleep he probably wouldn't feel it, which would be nice. But for some reason the growing feeling above all the others was the hollow one of loneliness.