Chapter 2: Uses of the Blade

1 Year Later

The cannons fired again, their thunder joined by the lightning crackle of arquebus fire, and Guts shrank away only a little now as the booms reached his ears, seeming to reach into his bones and shake them with invisible, clenching hands.

He was on the battlefield now, facing the looming walls of a castle that they were besieging. Gambino called this 'their little secret' to be kept from Daniel. Guts had very quickly decided that this would be a stupid secret to keep from him. As for Gambino, he stood behind the man, centered in a row of crossbows that held the rear line as Daniel and the vanguard that surrounded him went charging forward towards a sagging wall to keep the sappers that were working there protected.

Guts was too short to see what was happening, what kind of chaos the battlefield looked like at this point. A part of him was grateful for that.

But, as Gambino looked over at him, he felt like something would change quickly. "Guts! A spear! Give me a spear!"

Guts turned, picking up a weapon that was terribly unwieldy for him and got it over to Gambino as quickly as he could. Even still, it wasn't as quick as Gambino would have wanted. "C'mon, hurry up! You trying to get me killed?"

He grabbed the spear out of Guts' hands as he said this, thrusting it out against a horse and rider, the two seeming to block out the sun as they leaped over them. The tip of Gambino's spear slammed into the torso of the man astride his mount, sending Gambino to the ground and stopping the rider short in the air, separating him from his horse as it went flying past them into the back lines neighing in utter panic.

The man, gasping and groaning a last breath, fell over Gambino, Guts falling over as the man landed on his chest, the spear slipping out and dragging out some of the man's stomach. The entrails landed on Guts, the boy gasping as he shouted and began to try sliding out from underneath the corpse that pinned him.

He was almost out from under the body of the man when he looked up, and saw the butt of the spear, capped in metal, the second before it struck him in the cheek, stars flashing to cover his vision as pain, hot and coppery, filled his mouth.

"Get up!" Gambino shouted, a voice used to being heard over the battlefield thundering into Guts' ears. "Are you trying to get me killed here? That idiot Daniel might coddle you, but you both get your bread from me!"

As Guts extracted himself and got to his feet, his commander continued. "You keep this up and I kick the bucket, you're going to be a corpse on the road off this field!"

Gambino's tirade was interrupted by one of the other men a little down the line. "They're coming again! Form ranks and stand firm!"

Guts looked up as he wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Gambino as the feathers of darkness around his vision receded fully and his focus returned. There it was again. That feeling stirring inside him, almost stalking through his chest to try and claw its way out of his mouth.

Gambino, for his part, was unfazed. "And what are you looking at, soldier?" he said almost mockingly. "If you're going to be insubordinate, I'll toss you out here and now! And Daniel can try to get you back all he wants. He'll have to grovel for it."

Words failed Guts as he looked away, and Gambino scoffed as he turned his focus to the oncoming cavalry charge, keeping his spear handy as he readied his crossbow. "Shisu knew how to pick them, it looks like. A real pesky little bastard," he muttered.

Guts paid it little heed as he felt something swirl around in his mouth. Reaching in, he plucked out a tooth. It was a baby one, still. From what he'd learned from the medics, he'd get a new one. Once.

. . .

6 Hours Later

As the men retired for the day, the castle now under the control of House Chuder of the Tudor Empire, Daniel looked around the now nearly raucous campsite for Guts. He had figured that, knowing he would object, Gambino would have taken the boy out to the battle today anyway. Hopefully, his efforts to keep the men around him safe, making themselves known to him in the burning aches and twinges of pain that he didn't stifle and dispel, made sure that Guts was kept safe as well.

He made his way to his tent, now situated nearly at the dividing line between the soldiers and the camp followers, and parted the flap a little to look inside. He found Guts staring back at him, a very prominent bruise on his swollen right cheek, sighing quietly as he looked away, his hands clutching something.

"Hey Guts," he said as he entered the tent. "What happened?"

Guts was silent as Daniel sat down next to him, the sounds of a camp celebrating the only thing to fill the space of the tent for the moment.

"He took you out to the battlefield, didn't he?" Daniel said quietly.

Guts nodded silently.

Daniel looked down at Guts' hands. "Did you get something knocked out?"

Guts opened his hand, and Daniel saw the molar, still somewhat bloody, tiny even in the boy's hand. He sighed quietly. "That wasn't from an enemy soldier, was it?"

Guts shook his head. "Gambino." was the only word that came out, slightly wet as a few drops of blood flew from his mouth.

Daniel nodded. "I thought as much." he nearly whispered.

He shook his head slightly as he went rummaging through his pack for a moment, bringing out a tin of ointment and beckoning Guts over.

As he began applying it, weaving in far more subtle healing to bolster the ointment's effects, Daniel shook his head again. "I promised your mother I'd keep you safe. That meant training you when the time came so that you could keep up on the battlefield with me."

Daniel sighed quietly as he paused for a moment. "Gambino's forced my hand. We'll begin your training tomorrow. For real."

Guts looked up at him with wide eyes, Daniel gently guiding Guts to look forward as he finished applying the ointment. "But, fighting through pain requires the training to fight beforehand. So for now, you're going to rest tonight, and we'll wake up early in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay, Daniel." Guts managed as he tried not to rub the ointment that now smeared his cheek.

Daniel smiled slightly. "Good. Stay here, and I'll grab you and me some food and drink so that we can eat together."

With that, Daniel stood, walking to the door of the tent. At its boundary, he paused and looked back. "I'll see you soon," he said quietly, smiling as he exited.

It wasn't hard to find two bowls of food and some cups of juice, given freely from pots and jugs by the men who he had been with during their rather harrowing push towards the sappers. More than a few soldiers now greeted him with a smile, nod, or raised glass. He smiled and nodded back, but ultimately declined to spend a meal with them, making his way back to his tent. 'I wonder what Gambino thinks of my reputation among the men. I hope this doesn't get too out of control. I'd hate for him to try and deal with me.'

It wouldn't end well for Gambino. That much was certain. But for now, he only had to worry about making sure Guts ate and slept well tonight. That much he could manage with ease.

. . .

Daniel and Guts awoke the next morning, Guts finding himself amazed that his cheek was completely healed as they made their way towards the woods, canteens and lunch in hand.

As they passed by the blacksmith, piles of swords ready to be taken, Daniel paused as he considered giving Guts something more his size. Something that he could handle quickly on the battlefield.

'But… he has to be able to wield the Dragonslayer. He has to be able to become the Black Swordsman.'

So, with a quiet sigh, he picked up two arming swords, tucking them under his arm as he started back on his way.

Guts was, understandably, somewhat confused, a fact that was not helped when Daniel paused for a moment to take a small piece of wood that would have been destined for a campfire. "Why two of the big swords? And the wood?"

"Because unfortunately, there's nothing smaller for you that's going to be within easy reach on a battlefield. You're going to have to get used to taking and using something bigger than you are."

"As for the wood," Daniel continued, "that's for later after we're done for the day."

They made their way into the woods, Daniel stopping and turning to face Guts in a small clearing near the stream the washers used. "So," Daniel said as he set the wood aside in the cleft of two roots and took one of the swords in his hand, "let's begin with your first lesson."

He saw Guts jump as the sword flashed towards his arm, stopping short. "First rule of combat: always be at least somewhat aware of your surroundings. The battlefield is a chaotic place, with a lot of things that can get your attention. You can't afford to let it distract you from someone who's ready to stab you. At the same time, you can't just tunnel your vision into a single target. That leaves you open to someone surprising you. You have to walk a balance between focus and awareness. Do you understand?"

Guts nodded. "Don't just focus on one thing and don't get distracted too much."

Daniel glanced up and to the side thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "That'll work for now. We're not trying to turn you into a warrior just yet. Right now, we're just trying to make sure that you're able to survive on the battlefield."

With that, Daniel set the point of the sword on the ground, gripping the blade as he presented the grip of the sword to Guts. "Go ahead. Give it a try."

Guts took the hilt in both hands, and Daniel let the blade drop, the tip smacking gently into the ground as Guts strained to pick it up and get it steady. After a few moments of effort, and a shift in his stance guided by Daniel, he brought the sword's point up just past his head, the tip swaying slightly from side to side.

"It's… heavier than I expected." Guts said, straining slightly from the effort.

"If you want to go into battle and live, it's a weight you have to get used to," Daniel said, keeping Guts steady for a moment as he raised the tip of the sword. "You'll have the strength to wield them far more effectively as we continue."

Daniel stepped away as he readied his own sword. "Now we get into the second rule of combat. There is no part of your weapon you can't use to defend yourself. You don't just have the blade, you have the crossguard, the pommel, and even the hilt itself to some extent. Even so, let's just start with some basic swings and thrusts."

. . .

Guts let the sword slip into Daniel's hands as he took a seat on the ground with a heaving sigh. "That was… hard. And boring."

Daniel chuckled as he sheathed the sword. "It gets a little more exciting when someone's trying to kill you."

He set the swords against the tree trunk that they'd used to practice Guts' strikes and sat against it as he picked up the piece of wood he'd taken with them. "I think that will do us for the day. So take a break with me."

As Guts sat beside Daniel and unwrapped his lunch, the man took out a small, unadorned knife from its sheath, and began to cut into the small branch.

After a few ravenous moments of eating and drinking, Guts looked over at Daniel. "What're you doing?"

"Whittling the wood to make something," Daniel replied somewhat offhandedly, carving off a finger-length chunk that he began to slice away at. "After all, every blade has a different purpose. Even the same blade can have different uses. An ax can chop through wood or men. A sword can be used as a means to murder the man in front of you or defend the innocent behind you. And a knife…"

He paused as he sliced another shaving of wood away, revealing to Guts the still rough outline of a sword. "A knife can either be used as a means of last resort or a tool for expression."

Daniel studied the little oaken blade for a moment before looking over at Guts. "This'll be a necklace for you, given some time spent over the next few days. Think of it as… a good luck charm. A symbol of protection for whenever you go onto the battlefield."

Daniel set the carving project aside for a moment as he took his lunch and canteen. "For now though, I'm starving."

As they ate in relative peace, Guts looked over at Daniel after a moment. "So… why do you wear black? Doesn't it get hot?"

Daniel chuckled as he nodded. "Yeah, I'll admit, it does get rather toasty in this."

"But," he continued after a moment, "there's a reason for it. It conceals your blood as it soaks into it. Keeps your enemies second-guessing, and your allies' spirits high. At least, that's the thinking behind it."

"Which leads into one more rule of combat today," Daniel said, a serious tone to his voice. "Never get into a fair fight unless you know you can win it. There's little room for honor on an actual battlefield. Only survival. So do what you can to live. It's what everyone else will be doing anyways."

Guts nodded, turning back to his meal and pondering on the things that he had learned today.

. . .

3 Days Later

As Guts woke up finding himself alone in his and Daniel's tent, something that wasn't terribly unusual. He was probably helping out around the camp somewhere as they continued to move towards a place to work where the last army they had fought with had directed them to. It was a long way away, but the pay was worth it, according to what little he'd heard.

He dressed for the day, stuffing the now completed necklace that Daniel had made for him down his shirt as he took the sword that Daniel had said was now his and held it by its scabbard. He was getting used to the weight now. Whether Daniel believed that or not was another matter entirely.

He parted the flap of their tent, stepping out into the crisp air of the edge of summer heat dulling towards a fall chill as he looked around, several camp followers looking at him and waving. He waved back, smiling slightly. It was the polite thing to do, as Daniel had taught him.

However, he still could not see Daniel around helping any of the camp followers, as he sometimes did. 'Maybe he's helping the soldiers.'

Thus, he began to wander towards the soldier's area. Most of them simply glanced at him for a moment longer than they usually did before looking away, though some nodded to him, and he nodded back. Another gesture of respect.

"Guts!"

He jumped slightly at the familiar voice, his gaze sweeping to Gambino, who looked down at him with no small amount of bemusement in his expression. "Nice sword you got, kid. Looks a little big for you."

Guts nodded. "Daniel and I are training."

"Daniel is off making sure Duncan and Terrence are able to fit in their new armor. You won't be training with him today."

Guts' brow furrowed, and Gambino tilted his head back slightly as he continued to regard the boy, a curious gleam in his eyes. "Way I see it, you two are frolicking in the woods until I see otherwise. So…"

Gambino turned, nodding to an open clearing surrounded by some tents. "Let's see if you're able to even survive on the battlefield without someone clutching you to their chest."

Guts' frown deepened as Gambino beckoned him on, grabbing a sword leaning on a crate that its owner was sitting on, drawing the attention of the man as Gambino unsheathed the sword, more than a few eyes settling on the pair, and especially on Guts, as they came to the center of the circle.

"Alright, kid. Show me what you got. If you can even unsheathe your sword, I might actually be impressed." Gambino said as he rested the sword, seemingly so small in comparison to him, on his shoulder.

Guts pulled the sheath of his own sword part way off, throwing it off completely with a single mostly smooth sweep.

Gambino chuckled at the sight. "Fancy move. But fancy doesn't win a fight on its own, kid."

Gambino settled into a low guard as Guts raised his sword to a high one. "Come on."

Guts took a deep breath as his eyes darted towards the man's legs in the instant before he charged, making a wide swipe. Gambino stepped back as he parried the blow, the tip of the blade swinging up at Guts' chin.

Guts leaned back, the blade barely missing as he charged in trying to take advantage of his size as he took the blade into his free hand halfway up its length, mimicking something he'd seen Daniel do with a sword before he'd started his training.

Gambino, however, chuckled again as he danced to the side, swinging down at Guts, the blow barely being deflected as the boy stepped back, letting go of the blade as he shook a hand that had been cut by his own blade from the force of the impact.

"Come on, Guts." Gambino sighed as he shook his head. "Is that all you've got? If I'm supposed to command you in battle while you're doing that, I might as well give up now."

Guts said nothing as he took the hilt of his sword in two hands again, his chest heaving as he tried to pick the sword back up again. After a moment to regain his strength, he charged in again, swinging up towards Gambino's face. As Gambino leaned back, Guts swung down, growling slightly as the man juked to the side.

The growl became a gasp as Gambino's free hand grabbed Guts' head, bending the boy over as his knee slammed into the boy's chest, sending him into the grass.

"Get up!" Guts managed to hear Gambino say over the heartbeat pounding through his head. "We're not dancing out here! This is a matter of life and death."

"Come on, Gambino," Guts heard one of the men sitting on the sides say, "go easy on the kid. He's still figuring it out."

Gambino scoffed as Guts came to his feet. "Please. We're mercenaries, Horace! He can't just keep leeching off us forever. He needs to prove himself before long, anyway."

"Sure, boss," Horace replied as Guts raised the sword again, the tip beginning to sway slightly. "But couldn't Guts use something more his size to start out?"

"No!" Guts shouted before Gambino could reply, missing the muttered "Well, stubborn kid, aren't you?" from Horace. The weight was reassuring now. The power behind each swing an expression of defiance against everything that he was sure would seek to hurt him.

"We don't have any kiddie swords in this camp, anyway," Gambino said somewhat derisively. "If Guts wants to be an idiot, then he'll get what's coming to him."

Guts shook his head and charged in again with a shout, the blades beginning to clash more and more as the onlookers, now spectators, shouted out advice to him and Gambino in mostly equal measure, cries of "Use your hips, kid!" and "Don't hold back!" almost bouncing off Guts' focus. More attention was paid to Gambino's words, muttered just loud enough for him to hear over the ringing steel. "No good. Not enough projection. Coward."

The last word stabbed into his chest in a way that the sword never could, and he redoubled his efforts, the blade in his hands moving faster and faster.

"There!" Gambino shouted as his blade dipped for a low strike, his sword flashing forward. Guts felt the hot pain of a slice across his cheek from a narrow miss, the warmth of the blood dripping down his face and into the grass.

His anger came to him, focussing him in a way that nothing else could. The strike, meant to humiliate, had opened up Gambino. He had a shot if he acted now.

Time seemed to slow as he darted into the opening, his sword held up against his chest as he stabbed up, past Gambino's arms, towards that smug, stupid face.

Gambino began to lean, but his head jerked aside as the edge of Guts' sword sliced from the base of his jaw up to his cheekbone. Guts felt a soaring feeling in his chest as he saw the blood flying out from Gambino's face, the man stumbling back a few steps.

That feeling vanished as he saw the rage flicker and roar to life in the man's eyes. "You…" he muttered as he stepped forward, Guts' sword dropping from the shock as he stepped back.

"You rat of a runt!" he shouted as he slashed across Guts' face, cutting deep into the bridge of the boy's nose.

The pain was unlike any that Guts had felt before as he hit the ground, the sword slipping out of his hands as he felt the men around them begin to rush towards him. "Hold on, Gambino!" he heard one of them say. "He's just a kid! There's no need for that!"

He felt two of the men pick him up. "Careful!" another man shouted. "Damn." he heard a third say in amazement. "It's all the way to the bone."

Before he was carried off, he heard the man who held his arms speak. "That was kind of childish, wasn't it? Sir."

Then, he was carried off, missing Gambino's next words. "Yeah… maybe it was… I guess I pushed him a little harder than I should, didn't I?"

. . .

Guts lay in the tent, his eyes closed as he knew the sun began to set, or at least felt like he did, his face feeling like a blanket of fire had draped itself over it. It seemed to be all he could focus on, even with the work the medics had done in cleaning the wound, stitching it, and bandaging it so that his nose would still be able to heal and work.

He heard the flap open and close, a sigh following it a few moments later. "I heard about what happened with Gambino earlier today." he heard Daniel say.

Guts opened his eyes as he looked over at the man taking a seat next to him. "Yeah." he managed to say weakly.

"You did quite a number on his pride, kiddo." Daniel paused as he smiled. "But honestly, he probably deserved to be taken down a peg or two."

Guts watched Daniel's eyes drift down to his hand, also bandaged. "And when did that happen?"

"I tried to do something I saw you do. When you take the sword blade in your hand."

Daniel nodded. "It's useful, I'll admit." he paused for a moment before he chuckled. "You'll want to use gloves next time you do, though."

As they prepared to bed down for the night, Daniel left the tent to talk with some men who were in front of their tent, Guts listened to what they said. "Did you hear from the older guys where we got that kid?" someone said.

"I was one of them. And yes, we did get him from under a corpse-tree. What of it?"

"Come on. The kid's a bad luck charm." another said. "I was here the same as you when Guts pulled that stunt that ended up with Shisu dead."

"That wasn't Guts' fault. In fact, weren't you one of the ones who shied away? After all, I was the only one who went in and tried to do something."

The rest of the conversation became distant to him as he looked up at the sword that Daniel now said was his. The one that had cut Gambino. With everything he had, he reached out to the sword, grasping the hilt and hugging the blade to his chest.

It was silent after a while, and he heard Daniel enter the tent again. "Guts," he said quietly as he laid beside him, "don't listen to what they said. They're wrong. It doesn't matter where you came from. Only what you want to be."

The tent was silent for a moment before Daniel shifted over onto his side. "Here. Lean up against my back. It'll keep what little blood might get into your nose from going down your throat."

Guts shifted position, sitting up some as he put the sword in his lap, holding on to the hilt. 'What do I want to be?' he wondered.

The question gnawed at him as the night wore on, sleep eluding him as much because of it as because of his wound.

'I want to be able to kill anyone who wants to hurt me.' he concluded after much thought. 'I want to use my sword to keep myself safe.'

Guts took the wooden sword pendant in his hand. 'I want to keep him safe, someday.'

With that, he drifted off to sleep.

. . .

1 Week Later

The road was long towards the army of the Tudor House of Berine, and the castle that they were laying siege to, and they had stopped to rest after a grueling march, the battle now only a day or so away.

Guts found himself mostly relegated to helping out the camp followers with different tasks as his wound healed and his bandage came off. Now, the stitches were gone as well, the wound still red and craggy from the scar tissue.

Daniel, who had been accompanying him and helping with most of his tasks as he could, now helped him with retrieving buckets of water from a stream that they camped nearby. Granted, that help looked like him doing most of the work while Guts took the time to practice swinging his sword, but Daniel was understanding, if nothing else.

As Guts finished his hundredth chop, he set the sword down, looking down at the gloves that Daniel had gotten him. They hid the calluses that he'd built up over the last week of training with Daniel on how to better use his weapon.

"It's easy to get lost in thought while you're doing it, isn't it?"

Guts looked over at Daniel as he set his water bucket aside. "Well… I just don't need to think much when I'm swinging the sword."

Before Daniel could reply, he looked behind Guts, and the boy turned to see Gambino looking over at them, a hand resting on his sheathed sword. "Well, you two are taking your sweet time loading up the water," he said conversationally, the expression on his face one of weariness.

He rubbed the rather prominent scar on his face as he looked at Guts, then his sword, then back at the boy. After a silent moment, he reached into his pocket, digging out a container that he tossed over to Guts.

As Guts caught it, Gambino spoke. "It's medicine for your wounds. Use it or lose it."

With that, he turned and began to walk away.

Guts regarded the gift, given so suddenly, with no small amount of shock before he looked back up at Gambino. "Gambino!" he called out, causing the man to pause as he looked back.

The words he wanted to say next came hard, though, and it was silent for a moment more before he spoke again. "Thank you," he said.

Gambino scoffed before he walked away. "I'll accept that when the stew's on with that water you're getting."

Guts watched as Gambino disappeared before he began to apply the ointment, wincing as it stung. Daniel watched him as he did so, the man glancing back towards the way where Gambino had disappeared to. 'I wonder… is the medicine as much for him as it is for Guts?'

Daniel sighed quietly. That was a question that, more than likely, would be waiting for an answer for an awfully long time.

And, as he gazed at Guts while getting the water buckets ready to be carried back to camp, it was a token gesture that would be overshadowed by far, far darker actions. 'Not if I have anything to say about it.' came, once again, the familiar words.

. . .

Restful sleep was, these days, always elusive for one Daniel Theisman.

He found himself standing, unsurprisingly, on a vast battlefield. The bodies that lay strewn about, however, were no knights in plate and mail, no horses. Many of the corpses weren't even human. At least, not anymore. The ruins in the distance, once a great hive of humanity, reached higher and wider than any castle he could find in his waking moments. The plumes of smoke and tongues of flame higher still.

He looked down at himself and found that he was wearing an ash-grey uniform, similarly grey armor covering his chest and shoulders adorned with purple and gold, the trimmings of command. At his hip were weapons that would be the undoing of most anyone or anything that stood against him here, power sword and laspistol clacking slightly against the armor on his legs as he walked forward almost on instinct, the dictates of a dream brushing against his will here.

What world was this? He knew the Echo, knew the galaxy, but the planet's name escaped him…

'Cusaria VI. My last stand with the Ashdrakes.'

He walked past one of the burning, shattered hulks of war machines that dotted the landscape, seeing comrades from long, long ago, their guns twisted and broken, their bodies mangled in similar fashion. He remembered the last command he'd given them. "Stand. The Emperor may be reborn, but our faith must never falter, our aim never sway. Chaos will not let us do so and still allow us victory."

Even recalling the words, he tasted ash in his mouth almost as if he'd caught it drifting down from the air. They had won. But at such cost…

"You waste yourself in your place, Lord Saint."

The voice, deep and firm, was familiar, the words driving a spike of fear into his chest as he turned around and glanced at the man who had died on this battlefield by his hand. The man who had been a second to that thing.

The man that stood before him wore simple armor that covered his body, his head bare and revealing a face that was also too familiar to him. Almost, but not quite human, the most prominent features he had were the pale white eyes that had shadows shifting behind them set, almost sunken, into his eyes and the horn-like wave that crested atop the dark skin of his head. Upon his brow in the center of his forehead was a glowing symbol, two cupped hands below three blade-like claws that stopped just above the ethereal palms.

"No…" Daniel said, drawing the laspistol with no small amount of effort, the dream seeming to resist him for a moment. "You're dead. I slew you and scattered your soul across these stars, Khiram."

"Perhaps, my Lord," Khiram replied as he took a step forward. "But it does not change the fact that you waste yourself by floundering from Echo to Echo, immersing yourself in the chaos when you could rise above as you once have. Unite them."

"No," Daniel said again, more firmly. "I'm not that… thing anymore."

"Lord Hollow Saint…"

The laspistol growled, a shaft of angry red light that would have melted any other man simply glinting off the man's armor. "Don't say that. That's not me. That's… that's…"

Khiram simply shook his head. "No. You have lost your way. Come back. Take up your sword for the cause of Unity."

Daniel's only answer was a barrage of las-fire, useless as Khiram advanced towards him, Daniel feeling that the man's eyes were locked onto his. "Stay back. Stay back!" he shouted in increasing desperation before he tripped on a body and tumbled onto his back.

Khiram's advance was implacable, stopping in front of a fallen Daniel as he simply reached out, the hands of his brand, lost to Daniel, glowing on his palm as he slowly grabbed Daniel's forehead.

"No. No! Stop!"

The hand connected, and Daniel felt an explosion of pain as he screamed. The eyes opened, and he knew they all looked down at him, the questions and cries and accusations only moments behind.

He woke up with a start, gasping for breath in the tent as he sat up, hands moving towards his head as it burned like it did in the dream. He was silent for long moments as he tried to get his bearings. Where was he? A tent. That's right. The tent, here on the continent, on his way to besiege a Midlandian castle.

"Daniel?"

He looked over at Guts. His blood froze as he saw the slight glow reflecting off Guts' wide eyes. It was there. He could see it. The brand of the bared blade. The mark of his sins.

"What is-"

"Don't…"

The two paused for a moment before Daniel continued, the glow fading and the darkness returning only with some effort. "We both know you saw that," Daniel said as he took several deep breaths. "Whatever else happens, that stays between us, okay?"

"Uh…"

"Swear to me that it will," Daniel said, Guts caught off guard by the unexpected intensity of the man's words.

"Oh… okay. It will."

It was silent again before Daniel sighed quietly. "Okay. I'm sorry for waking you up, Guts."

He settled back into his sack, now soaked with cold sweat. "Get some sleep. We're going to be arriving at the front lines tomorrow. You'll need all your strength."

"Okay."

As he heard Guts roll back over, and soon begin breathing deeply and evenly, Daniel knew sleep would elude him tonight. He couldn't go back to the eyes. Not willingly, at least.

But the morning light would still come. And he would still be able to fight. 'It's all I have left to do. Fight. So that no one could become what I was.'

And he thought of the crimson egg, still so far in the future for the both of them. And the man that kept it.