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Kabuto S. Inferno: Intention of the cult? No. Intention of Zarakynel and/or Slaanesh? Quite possibly, looking at it from the perspective of the Great Game. That said, I don't intend for the Emperor to come until later. Like after Guts gets the berserker armor at minimum. Preferably around the elf island arc. So, Guts sacrificing his divinity and becoming effectively mortal to hold the poison at bay is what I'll have to go with. Plus I like the idea of having at least one primarch that can actually look at things from the perspective of a normal person. Or mostly normal, anyway. Doing little is what I plan on, for the most part. I want this to get to the Great Crusade so I will, unfortunately, most likely be skipping some stuff that's mostly unchanged if I'm able to and only focusing on the most important parts and the parts that are changed to a sufficient degree since I don't want to make a complete rehash of the manga. In fact, I was considering skipping the Black Rams section and Griffith being knighted, but I only decided to include it to further develop the differences in their relationship in this as compared to canon. As for the Demon Child/Moonlight Boy, I have ideas for that too.
Anthony: It might be awhile yet before the Emperor comes. So, maybe I should do some chapters from the future from after Guts has been found and has gotten his new legion?
FearedReader: I'm trying to get to the point where he's finally found, but it's probably going to take a bit. So for now, it's mainly focused on the planet, though I might write a chapter focused on the future every so often. Worst comes to worst, I can always write a sequel story, focusing on the Great Crusade era.
Spartastic 4: His primarch aura appeared briefly in the last chapter. It's what made those guys pass out after Griffith stabbed him. It's featured a bit more prominently in this chapter. So, in the future, essentially every time Guts looks like he's enveloped in shadows or looks particularly monstrous, that'll be a point where his aura is flaring up.
It was Guts' first battle with the Hawks, a sneak attack to burn provisions and powder barrels. He'd never been a part of a sneak attack that was so quick or skillful. He had been a bit bitter about his defeat at first but was growing to accept his new job as a permanent member of the Hawks. Guts and a younger member of the band had gotten separated from the rest of the Band and were being chased by cavalry. The poison was biting very hard today but it was still biting. So he sent the younger member ahead while he held off the forces coming after them. Rickert went to get help and Griffith personally rode to save him, much to Guts' surprise. Though he brought Pippin and Judeu with him.
Griffith had intended to lead the enemy forces surrounding Guts into a defensive line with the Band of the Hawk and cannons at the ready. However, it didn't pan out that way. So Guts and the others had to stand and fight back to back against a whole cavalry unit by themselves. A bit over a hundred men on horseback.
All four of them came out a little worse for wear but still alive. In fact they'd turned it into something of a competition to see how many kills they could get. Guts won, killing fifty men to Griffith's twenty six, Judeu's ten, and Pippin's nineteen. The rest all ran away. The cowards.
Later, while everyone else was celebrating in the fortress they were currently staying in, Guts sat on the wall by himself, holding his sword, and staring up at the sky. He still felt that same pull towards the sky as if something was calling him to the heavens above. If he closed his eyes he could almost picture a bright golden light in the sky — like a second sun or a more radiant and benevolent counterpart to the ugly purple blot in the night sky — and could almost hear a voice calling out to him. Yet he had no means with which to return the call. "I'm right here." He said hoping whatever was calling to him would hear. As per usual, it didn't work. There was no change in the call that would indicate it had heard him, or anything of the sort.
He heard footsteps approaching him. Looking, he saw Judeu, Pippin, and that same kid from earlier coming up the stairs towards him. "Ah, there you are." Judeu said. "What 'chu up to? It nice and cool up here? Come down! Let's drink! You gotta have fun when you can find it!"
"I'm fine here." Guts responded
"Uh… Guts… sir? Thank you for earlier… You helped me scrape through! My name is Rickert!"
Guts looked at Rickert in surprise. "Huh…?"
"I really respect you! I've never seen anyone but Griffith fight that amazingly!"
"All I did was my own job. No reason to thank me." Guts responded. He looked at Pippin and Judeu, "Same for you guys, right?"
"Well… Ah, we can leave it at that I guess. I'm Judeu. Nice to meet you. More importantly, come on! Things can't get goin' without the star!"
"Say what?" Guts asked.
"Tonight's party is also to welcome you to the group! You about to turn down our goodwill?" A bit quieter, Judeu added, "We really just want an excuse to go wild."
"Nobody asked you to do that!" Guts objected.
"Pippin!" Judeu called, looking over his shoulder.
Pippin stepped up and loomed over Guts. "What?" Guts asked.
Pippin grabbed Guts' upper body while Rickert and Judeu grabbed his legs. Guts struggled as the three of them worked together to lift him up.
"Wha… What the hell?! Let me go!" Guts shouted. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" He struggled, while trying not to seriously injure any of them. Right now he was strong enough to shatter limbs and pulp bodies if he wasn't careful. He didn't want to do that here.
"Gah… D-damn you're… Ugh… You're heavy… H-hey! Stop struggling!" Judeu groaned under the effort it took to lift and restrain him.
"Don't be shy." Pippin said, as they started carrying Guts down the stairs.
"Hey, here he comes!" One of the mercenaries exclaimed as Guts and the others reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Enough already! Put me down you bastards!" Guts shouted.
"I'm Pippin." The big guy said as he and the other two dropped Guts flat on his back.
"S-sonuva…" Guts growled as he got up before Pippin held out a cup to him.
"Drink." Pippin told him.
Guts stared at the drink uncertainly, remembering how his food had been poisoned. "Ugh…? Ah…"
He was going to refuse when one of the hawks raised his own cup and said, "Alright! Let's toast to the rookie with the bad attitude!"
Seeing everyone smiling and laughing while holding their cups, Guts hesitated. Pippin leaned in closer, pressing the cup up to Gut's stomach.
Guts reluctantly took the cup. Sniffing it cautiously, he didn't smell anything odd. So he took a small sip. It tasted like normal ale. A little stronger than most, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing had been slipped into it. So he relaxed a bit and actually took a drink.
"I changed my mind, rookie! You're one hell of a guy, taking on that many men by yourself!"
"You're awesome!"
"Well… A little impulsive maybe."
"There's some stuff only Griffith can see."
"I thought he was about to put you under when you slugged him though."
"Well, anyhow, you're trustworthy!"
"Here's to the future, Rookie!"
Guts spent the next few hours drinking with the rest of the Hawks. He remained very cautious about his drinks but nothing really came of it. Even the alcohol didn't really affect him due to his unique physiology. He didn't eat any dinner, however.
When the celebrations were over, Guts went back up to the wall and continued to stare up at the sky, not sleeping. He stayed awake thinking about the party last night, wondering whether or not he could truly trust these people. It they were as friendly as they seemed.
In the morning he had a short conversation with Judeu before someone came to let him know Griffith was calling for him.
Guts found Griffith bathing.
"Okayyy…" Guts said, raising an eyebrow at this. Why'd Griffith call him if he was in the middle of bathing?
"Hi!" Griffith greeted him. "Want to join me? It's the best way to sober up!"
"I'll pass…"
"Come on, don't be that way!" Griffith said, pulling the bucket he was holding back, getting ready to splash Guts.
"Hey! Cut it out, moron! We ain't kids!" Guts shouted right before getting a bucket full of water straight to the face, soaking him.
Griffith laughed, pointing at Guts. "Hahahah! What a face!"
"Jerk…" Guts muttered. He then quickly grabbed a bucket out of the barrel and flung the water at Griffith.
"Woop! Not quite!" Griffith said, dodging out of the way.
Guts grabbed a second bucket and managed to hit Griffith directly in the face with the next deluge of water.
From there it devolved into a splash fight until Griffith started to get tired out. Then they both sat down next to the well. "That was a good morning exercise. Whew." Griffith said.
Then Guts tipped over one last bucket directly onto Griffith's head before dropping it on him.
"Guts! Why you…"
"Now we're even." Guts told him with a smug smirk.
"Ah… phew…" Griffith was about to say something but stopped himself. Then he burst out laughing. "Okay, I give up. You really are stubborn, you know."
Guts noticed something odd hanging from Griffith's neck. A necklace or amulet of some sort. But there was something… off about it. "That's a weird necklace." Guts told him.
"Oh, this?" Griffith asked, grabbing the string and holding the necklace up a bit so Guts could see it.
It looked so weird. Like a face that had been all jumbled up.
"I bought this from an old gypsy fortune teller ages ago. The Behelit, also known as the Egg of the King… You see, it's said whoever possesses this is destined to obtain the world in exchange for his own flesh and blood."
"The world?" Guts asked, looking at the Behelit.
Griffith took it off and tossed it to Guts. "Here!"
Guts caught it. Looking at it, he saw one of its eyelids open to look at him.
Guts face automatically contorted in a scowl, almost instinctively, and he had an urge to destroy it right then and there. Yet he didn't. He passed it back to Griffith.
"I don't know what makes it do that, but it's almost like it's alive." Griffith said, as he took it back.
"It's creepy. Something's wrong with it." Guts stated, looking the behelit — which was still staring at him — dead in the eye. He could have sworn he saw its lips curl up in a subtle smile.
"You think? Hm. I find it neat."
' He really is tough to read… but probably just a kid. ' Guts thought.
"I still haven't heard your answer." He stated.
"Hm?"
"During the battle, I asked why you came back to save me. You never gave me an answer."
Griffith was silent for a moment, gripping the behelit. Finally he said, "Having acquired such an excellent soldier, I didn't want to lose him in such a petty battle." He then stood up. "Guts, come along with me. This is no more than a single step. The Band of the Hawk… All the victories on the battlefield… are just the outset. Just the beginning. This is where it starts to get interesting. You can bet your life on that. I will get my own kingdom." He said with absolute conviction. He then paused. "Guts, tell me, was I right?"
"About what?"
"About you. Do you feel the same pull, the same call to greatness? Do you believe you're meant for bigger and better things? Are you like me?"
Guts was silent for a moment. Looking away from Griffith. "I've never told anyone this, and I don't know why I'm telling you now, but… Yes… I do feel it. That calling. The ambition. The destiny I feel written in my very bones. But… No. I'm not like you. You were right before. I reject it."
" Why? I truly just can't comprehend it. You and I, we're both meant for greatness and we both know it! Yet you refuse destiny's call. I need to know, Guts… Why?"
Guts didn't answer immediately. "I have my reasons… I don't want to talk about it. All I'll say is this. I'm no better than the sword on my back. Interpret that how you want."
Griffith looked down and sighed. "I see… The meaning is lost on me, I'm afraid. But if I am allowed to interpret it however I want… I believe fate brought us together for a reason, Guts. Two men who feel the pull of destiny, meant for greatness."
He turned away from Guts and continued. "You say you're no better than the sword on your back. Well, then I choose to interpret that as such, if you'll forgive me speaking metaphorically. You are the sword, Guts. Powerful, capable of causing immense destruction. But not just anyone can wield you. You're too big, too dangerous, too heavy, too unwieldy for lesser men to even lift let alone swing. You need someone of similar stature and greatness who is strong enough to wield you. To make you live up to the potential you would otherwise reject. I am that man. You are my sword, brought to me by the hand of fate. So I will wield you and ensure you live up to your fullest potential. You will fight for my cause. Because you belong to me . And when I have my kingdom, you will be there standing at my side. Ready to be unsheathed to strike down our enemies "
Guts stared up at him. "Maybe… Careful not to get crushed under the weight…" Guts stood up and walked off.
Later that day, Guts was informed by Rickert, who accidentally knocked him into a river, that he was given command of twenty men.
Time passed. Guts eventually told Griffith about the poison and how his condition was slowly deteriorating. They tried to find a cure or antidote. From common apothecaries to the prayers and ministrations of the Holy See, nothing seemed to work.
A year and a half into Guts joining the Hawks, they found something. After visiting a random village during one of Guts' worst days, the villagers told them of a blind witch doctor who lived in the forest nearby who they thought might be able to help. Apparently the witch doctor didn't like large groups of people and would disappear without a trace if too many people came looking for him at once or if people came looking for him with hostile intentions.
So Guts and Griffith went into the woods alone, both leaving their weapons and armor behind. Though both kept daggers on them, just in case this was a trick or a trap.
"This isn't going to work. You know that, right?" Guts asked as they marched through the forest.
"Don't say that. I haven't given up hope on finding a cure yet and you shouldn't either. Besides, I have a good feeling about this." Griffith told him with a smile.
Guts sighed and shook his head. "I think you're too optimistic. This poison… Whatever it is, it's not natural. Normal poison doesn't turn your blood purple or make you keep vomiting it up years after it should have already been out of your system. So I don't think there is a cure."
"That's why we're here. This is an unorthodox potentially occult poison and thus we have to resort to unorthodox possibly occult means to fight it. It's worth an attempt at least, no?" Griffith said.
Guts didn't respond. The two of them continued walking through the forest until they saw a cozy wooden hut with a decrepit old man standing outside. The old man had old threadbare clothes covered in patches and stitches where crude repairs had been made. His head was bald, he had a long pure white beard, a crooked back, a simple wooden staff, and rags wrapped around his eyes.
The two of them approached the old man. "Hello there. Are you the doctor the villagers told us about?" Griffith asked in a friendly tone.
"I am… The elves told me you were coming. A radiant hawk with a single crimson teardrop around his neck and a giant tenebrous hound wounded and bleeding purple malice…" The old man said.
"Elves?" Griffith asked.
"Oh yes. I'd introduce you but one of you is quite, eh… intimidating , shall we say, so they're feeling a bit shy at the moment… Ah, no matter. I won't turn away those in need… Come in. Come in." The old man opened the door and motioned for them to follow him inside.
Guts and Griffith shared a look before following the old man inside. Guts had to bend down to be able to fit into the modest hut.
The old man motioned them over to a table where he was already sitting. "Come, sit…"
Both of them sat at the table with the old man. The chairs were too small for Guts but he put up with it.
"So, to what do I owe this visit?" The old man asked.
"Guts here, the 'tenebrous hound' you mentioned, is suffering from a rather unique poison. We've tried everything from going to normal apothecaries to petitioning the Holy See for assistance. Nothing's worked. We were hoping you might be able to." Griffith explained.
"Bah, the Holy See… Of course those zealots couldn't help you… You, Guts, let me see your hand for a moment."
"Don't touch me." Guts growled.
"No touching. You have my word." The old man said, raising his hands placatingly.
Guts frowned but reluctantly held out his hand.
The old man reached out his own hand, but keeping his word he didn't touch Guts. Rather he hovered his hand a few inches above Guts' hand. Guts felt an odd tingling sensation in his palm. After a moment the old man hissed and pulled his hand away, shaking it as if he'd just been burned. "Powerful… Powerful… Far too powerful for a mere mortal such as I."
"So, are you saying you can't help us?" Griffith asked.
"No… But what I can do is limited… The poison eating away at you. It was made by a cult, I assume? A well established one. And it's been within you for years since you were young."
Guts glared at the old man. "How do you know all that?"
"It's in your soul. I am merely making assumptions based on what I saw within you and the knowledge I have. This poison is not physical, but spiritual. It's operating more like a curse than a poison, and is slowly damaging the connection between your body and soul. Your soul is powerful, though. A god of the astral world wrapped and molded into mortal flesh by a being of shining golden power. So you are fighting this curse. But there is an issue. Since you ingested the poison at such a young age and while your body was developing, your soul has to split its energy three ways. It has to fight the poison, develop your body, and maintain your power. As such, the poison is making progress, slowly but surely, and is slowly growing stronger. At this rate you will be dead in two years time." The old man explained.
"So are you able to help me or not?" Guts demanded.
"No, but I can teach you to help yourself. To redirect the power of your soul to fighting the poison. However, it's been too long. The poison has grown too potent. It can't be cured. Or if it can, I know not how. Nor do my little friends. This method will simply bring it to a pause, preventing it from growing or gaining any further ground. But it will come at a cost. The power your divinity grants you. You will be as a mortal man. A particularly large mortal man, with a powerful aura to display the barest hint of your divinity, but mortal all the same."
"You're speaking as though Guts is a god." Griffith commented.
"He is. And that crimson tear around your neck marks you as one as well. Two deities have graced my home this day. A god yet to be born, and a god already born yet poisoned. The hawk and the hound. It is an honor, truly."
Griffith's expression was unreadable as he gripped his behelit.
Guts looked at him for a moment before looking back at the old man. "What do I have to do?"
"Close your eyes." The old man told him.
Guts did so.
The old man then proceeded to try to teach Guts how to meditate. It was a futile effort and after about an hour Guts started to get frustrated. "This is getting us nowhere! If you can't help, we're leaving!" Guts stood up and started marching towards the door.
"Wait!" The old man called out. With an exasperated sigh he said, "It would be better if you learned to do this properly, but if you're so impatient I have a way to speed things along. Give me just a few moments and I'll prepare something for you."
Guts sat back down as the old man stood up and began making something. After about thirty minutes he came back holding a cup with a strange liquid. "This will put you in a meditative trance. Drink it and I will guide you through this process."
Guts looked at the cup then looked at Griffith.
"Go ahead. I won't let anything untoward happen to you."
Guts reluctantly took the cup and downed the contents. After a few minutes he did indeed slip into a trance just as the old man said.
"Do you hear my voice?" The old man asked.
"Yes… What's happening to me?"
"Just as I said, you're in a trance. This is not the right way to do this, but it will have to suffice. Now focus and allow me to guide you through this." The old man said.
When Guts opened his eyes two hours later he felt different. Weaker. Slower. Mortal. Truly mortal. But the poison, he no longer felt the gnawing sickness of the poison. It had worked exactly as the old man said it would. "The… The poison… I don't feel it anymore." Guts said.
Griffith, who had been sitting there waiting, looked at him. "You don't?!" Clearly surprised.
"No. But do not let yourself be deceived, it's not gone. It's still there hiding within you, dormant for the moment. Remember, hound, this is no cure. It is merely a technique that will buy you time. Before you would have died within two years. Now, you should survive almost indefinitely. But this state renders you mortal and to truly be free of this poison, you will need more than just this. I was trying to teach you to do it properly so you could do this again, so you could do this again should it prove necessary. But I can at least teach you to make the potion to put you in a trance. The ingredients are fairly common, yet you may not always have them readily available."
The old man taught the two of them how to make the potion.
When they were done, Griffith took out a small bag of coin and left it on the table. "Here. For your services."
The old man bowed, "I have little use for currency. I live off of what I can find in the forest and what the kind villagers bring me. But I'll accept it. Thank you."
As Guts and Griffith turned to leave the old man called out, "Just a warning, hound. I see an ill omen in your future. Beware the Eclipse. The blackening of the sun will only bring suffering for you. Beware Brutus' blade, and the pain of Caesar… I wish you luck."
Closing the door behind them Griffith looked at Guts. "An eclipse? What was that about?"
Guts shrugged.
Later, Guts discovered he had a much harder time lifting his sword. His overly thick armor made him tired, wearing it in battle. He couldn't react or perceive things as fast. He was not as durable either. His growth had slowed to the point it was barely noticeable leaving him frozen at nine feet tall. The only thing that hadn't changed was his mental abilities. His intellect, eidetic memory, and strategic prowess.
The only benefit he found was that for the first time he could actually work out properly and build muscle. Something he found he actually enjoyed quite a bit.
To be free of the poison was worth it, though. He would accept all of this gladly to never bleed purple or vomit the toxic substance again.
They didn't stop searching for a true cure to restore his immense strength and power but it was no longer a top priority as it was no longer killing him.
Three years into fighting alongside the Band of the Hawk, Guts had been promoted to be the second in command and Griffith's advisor.
One day he stood by himself, too big and heavy to ride on horseback, staring down the Black Ram Iron Lance Heavy Cavalry of Tudor. Three thousand men, laying waste to the army of Midland. If they weren't stopped, Midland would lose this battle.
Guts drew his sword and charged.
"Nonsense! A single swordsman against the Black Ram Iron Lance Heavy Cavalry?! So be it! We'll mow him down!" The commander of the Black Rams shouted, raising his lance.
Guts swung his sword and cleaved one of the Cavalry in half. From there he became a veritable whirlwind of blood and death. Hacking and stabbing through the men and their horses As he did men that got too close to him fainted from the sheer overwhelming pressure of his presence. It was like a black suffocatingly intense aura of danger and malice radiated from him to the point it was almost like a physical force in its own right. Horses bolted, terrified as their riders struggled to regain control of them.
None were spared his wrath, whether they stood and fought, were unconscious, or had lost control of their horses. His oversized sword chopping through them or knocking them around like rag dolls.
His commanding presence aside, Guts didn't fight like the primarch he was meant to be. Rather, he fought like a very skilled, very strong, very dangerous mortal man. Even as he intentionally let himself be covered in the blood and gore of his enemies to make himself appear more intimidating than he already did.
That's not what those around him saw, however. To them he was a monstrous giant slaughtering them single handedly. The commander, trying to maintain control, ordered them to surround him, hoping that by out flanking him and through sheer force of numbers, they would be able to stop him.
Nor was it what the King of Midland, overlooking the battlefield, saw. He saw Guts similarly to the Black Rams. A truly terrifying giant, shredding through men and horses as if he were a wolf from the pits of Hell and they were little more than lambs to be crushed and shredded in his jaws. He was very glad this giant was attacking the Black Rams and not his own men.
Then Griffith and the others came riding onto the battlefield on horseback. That had been the last straw. They had already been fighting this… this monster . This bestial demon wearing the skin of a man come to drag them all into the bloody screaming maw of Hell. Now on top of that, the Band of the Hawk, the Grim Reapers of the Battle Field, had come and had joined the demon's wanton slaughter. It was too much for them.
Guts, not wanting to take all the glory for himself, let things progress naturally from there. He still contributed to the battle, but his aura was no longer so intense. He couldn't control it, not consciously, but his emotions and desire to let the others shine caused it to reduce. Thus all the attention naturally shifted from him to Griffith. A bright regal knight in shining armor. A brilliant hawk of light to the nightmarish blood soaked hellhound that was Guts. Though no less impressive or imposing.
A dichotomy that was not lost upon the King of Midland who was watching the battle.
It didn't take long for the Black Rams to be routed, fleeing for their lives.
When the battle was over, after washing the blood and gore off in a river, Guts came marching into the King's castle beside Griffith who was riding on horseback. Guts himself was too large and heavy to ride a horse, especially while carrying his sword which added even more weight on top of his superhuman bulk. So if he needed a horse at any given time he had a custom chariot that would be pulled by two horses. He used it in battle sometimes, but it was mainly for traveling. He didn't need it right now, however, and using it now would not have been appropriate. So he just marched.
As they entered the castle, other members of the band came rushing towards him.
"Captain!"
"Captain Guts!"
"You were great Captain! Charging out there alone!"
"God, it was terrifying to see and we're on your side! I can only imagine how the Black Rams felt!"
"I'm still shakin' just thinkin' about it! You're the star of this victory!"
"That's the leader of the Hawk's Raiders for you, right Captain Guts?"
"That's our boss for you, right?! Yeahhh!"
Guts took off his helmet and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry about that guys. I went and charged out there by myself."
"C'mon, what's that for?!"
"We get to brag about our commander to all the other units! Damn straight!"
"Time to drink up! A toast to Griffith's second in command!"
As they were walking Casca came out and said, "Captain Guts."
"Big sis, Casca—" One of the mercs said before another cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth.
"Unit commander, Casca!"
Guts looked up at her in silence.
"We need to talk. Could you come with me for a bit? Captain Guts, sir?"
Guts looked at the other mercs and said, "You guys get started. I'll be there later." He then walked up the short stairs and followed Casca.
As soon as they were out of earshot of everyone else Casca turned to him and asked, "What are you trying to do?"
"About what?"
"Don't play dumb with me! Your job was to lead your unit alongside mine to provide flank support for the main body's charge into the enemy! Damn it, Guts, you helped Griffith come up with the plan in the first place! But you… you broke off from your unit and charged the enemy head on, all alone?! Were you trying to be a hero or something?!"
She pointed at him and poked him hard in the stomach. "Everyone knows about your condition and how strong you used to be whenever the poison wasn't affecting you, but not everything's about you! Your selfish behavior could have exposed the entire Band of the Hawk to danger! You should try remembering your place!"
Guts turned away from her. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll try to be careful from now on."
"You always say that. They're just words… And you'll do the same thing all over again. Practically nothing has changed about you in the past three years. Ever since that time you went off on Griffith… You're satisfied as long as you get to cross swords with the enemy. You don't think about your comrades one bit… YOU'RE JUST A MAD DOG!"
Guts grabbed her wrist and loomed over her, a scowl on his face. She began trembling visibly, nearly overwhelmed by the same aura of malice and danger Guts had been exuding earlier on the battlefield. It was less intense than it had been on the battlefield but it was still more than enough. "Say it again… SAY THAT ONE MORE TIME!"
"That's enough, you two." Griffith said, coming up the stairs towards them.
"G-Griffith." Casca said, shaken.
"I'll have a talk with Guts." Griffith stated.
Guts released Casca's wrist and she took a second to regain her composure before walking down the stairs past Griffith. "You're too soft on him, Griffith." She said as she passed him.
When she was gone, Griffith rubbed the back of his head and exhaled. "Whew… You two really don't get along. Here it's been three years already…"
"I think about them…" Guts stated. "I do think about my comrades. I'm not who I used to be."
Griffith was silent for a moment before saying, "I remember three years ago, that fight that decided you would join the Band of the Hawk rather than wandering battlefields. That fight was enjoyable… It was how fight's should be."
Guts considered that.
"Come on, let's go. The wine's all about you this time." Griffith said, patting him on the side.
"Griffith… I'm sorry… About today's battle…"
"Don't be. In this case it worked in our favor. We were able to cause a route. Had it gone as planned, we would have only caused a retreat. Because of you, Tudor was thoroughly humiliated in this battle. Which just makes us look all the better. Besides, I trust you know what you're doing strategically." Griffith paused for a moment and gave Guts a wide smile. "Plus because of your display, the King has decided to recognize the both of us for our efforts on the battlefield today."
Guts blinked surprised by this turn of events. "Wait, what?"
"I talked to the king while you were washing the blood off of you. We're both going to be knighted. More than that, we'll both be granted titles of nobility!" Griffith told him.
"I… Griffith, you know I—"
Griffith raised a hand and cut him off. "When I fulfill my dream and have my own kingdom, you will be knighted and granted titles regardless. You are mine, Guts. You are my sword and I your wielder. Both destined for greatness, and this is just another step on that path to greatness. So you won't turn this down… Now, come on. Otherwise everyone else will drink all the wine and there will be none left for us!"
Griffith headed off to join the others in celebrating their victory.
Guts stayed there for a moment, staring after him. Then he sighed and followed Griffith.
Later both he and Griffith were knighted. Griffith was given the title of Viscount while Guts was granted the title Baron.
Welp, Zodd's a comin'. I have an idea but I don't know if it's good. If it's well received I'll implement it. If not, I won't. Potential spoilers for the nature of the relationship between the Chaos Gods and the Idea of Evil further on, you've been warned.
(Lore Spoilers below, continue at your own peril.)
Anyway, so unsurprisingly Zodd is either a Bloodthirster or a powerful Daemon Prince of Khorne. I'm sure just about everyone and their grandma expected that. Well, each of the Chaos Gods has at least one of their demons or demon princes given to the Idea of Evil as servants as a sign of fealty to the God of Chaos Undivided. So Zodd is Khorne's emissary, ambassador, or something to that effect. The point is, he's a Daemon of Khorne sent to serve the Idea of Evil but otherwise his personality is basically exactly the same as canon, just with a bit more emphasis on blood and skulls. And maybe he uses axes more than his giant cleaver things.
With that in mind, would it make sense for him to petition/ask Khorne to temporarily suppress the poison so he can fight Guts at his full strength? Would Khorne even do it? Suppressing poison in an enemy just to give a Bloodthirster a chance to have an "honorable" or "worthy" duel rather than fighting a weakened opponent? Would Zodd even bother? He would be aware of what Guts is and that he should be much stronger than he is during their confrontation.
The poison would come back as soon as the fight was over. Suppressed doesn't mean cured.
Just asking because I thought it would be a bit more interesting to have a young inexperienced primarch, with only medieval age weapons and armor, fight a greater daemon of Khorne rather than copying the manga almost word for word. Plus it would fit in with Zodd wanting a challenging fight and being at least somewhat honorable.