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RonaldM40196867: Another Movie? Hell yeah, Berserk deserves a new movie! It deserves an entire new series that actually does it justice and stays true to the source material! I'd love to see it as a high quality anime! It's the greatest tragedy in anime/manga history that it hasn't gotten that! Well... The second greatest tragedy next to Kentaro Miura's passing.

"RAAAH!" Guts screamed out in fury as he cut down swaths of men and what could only be described as demons. He was at his full strength. The peaks of power he had experienced while he fought Zodd.

Flensing winds buffeted him, tearing at the skin of his exposed face with rocks, dirt, and fragments of bone and debris ripped from the ground. The very air screamed a war cry, as if it too was an enemy trying to kill him.

Mountains and valleys of skulls surrounded him on all sides. Some of the skulls looked human, others resembled animals, others still resembled monstrosities completely alien to him or anything he had ever seen. An entire ocean of blood stood behind him, fed by great rivers of the thick red liquid. The waves crashing against beach shores of ever more skulls broken only by rocky spear-like protrusions positioned seemingly stab at the waves as they crashed against them, as if even the mortuary land and sanguine sea waged war against each other.

Guts wore massive armor of brass with ornate demonic symbols and designs engraved into it. It was armor fit for a warrior king. The slab like plates were thick enough that no cannon could so much as dent them. The weight should have been measured in the tons but to him it was as if he were wearing a second skin. Spikes protruded from his pauldrons, with skulls impaled upon them like trophies. He had more skulls hanging from a belt around his waist.

His sword was a truly massive thing made of blackened demonic steel much like the cleaver Zodd had wielded. The blade was as long as he was tall, it was easily half a foot wide at its base, an inch thick, and its tip had a steep taper to a spear-like point making it perfect for stabbing as well as slashing and cleaving. Demonic faces and skulls were embossed on the massive flat of the blade. Its crossguard was a wicked thing of iron fangs facing outwards towards his enemies while the pommel was a vicious spike that could be used to inflict wounds as much as the rest of the blade.

The weapon seemed to adjust its weight according to his will, allowing him to make it as heavy or as light as he wished it to be. Thus it could be a brutal weapon of destruction capable of tearing down the sturdiest of fortifications and crushing the toughest of enemies under its immense weight, or it could be a nimble thing able to be wielded with the utmost speed, precision, and grace despite its immense size. Guts, of course, made it as heavy as he could reasonably wield thus turning it into a brutal implement of immense destruction.

Each swing contained such speed and force the air thrummed and trembled as the blade howled through the hostile winds, breaking the sound barrier with each movement. Skulls were crushed beneath him and the ground trembled and broke with each titanic blow he inflicted. Anything unfortunate enough to come in contact with the weapon was not only cut in half but was completely pulverized, becoming little more than a shower of blood and gore as the energy from the speed and weight of the demonic weapon made them explode. A rain of blood and gore that seemed to have no end as more and more threw themselves at him, weapons in hand.

Guts had no idea where he was or what these things even were, other than demons. He had no idea where the armor or the sword had come from, having no recollection of putting it on or acquiring the weapon. He didn't even know if he was alive and this was all real, or if he had succumbed to his wounds and this was some heretofore unknown layer of Hell. The blood ocean and fields of skulls certainly made it seem like he was in hell. All he truly knew was that these things were attacking him and he damn well wasn't about to let them kill him. So he had to kill them all first. It didn't matter how many there were, he would kill them all and keep killing for however long it took to exhaust their numbers entirely.

As the veritable war waged on, his enemies started getting bigger and more dangerous. Fewer humans appeared and were eventually replaced entirely by demons. Humanoid demons with long heads and horns wielding swords, axes, and other weapons, vaguely canine reptilian monstrosities, rhinoceroses with flesh of brass and blood of fire upon some of which rode demons seemingly exalted above the rest of the seemingly endless hordes.

It didn't matter.

He cleaved through a brass beast and slew the rider. Grabbing the broken corpse of the metallic beast with one hand he used his titanic strength to swing it around and toss it into the ever on coming army, slaying dozens as the corpse crushed them under its immense weight and continued to roll a short distance.

He lunged forth and impaled demon after demon upon his blade and used their corpses to weight his blade further as he swung it again. The corpses burst or were cleaved in twain as they collided with their unholy kin.

Blades and spears struck at him failing to pierce his armor as he entered the thick of the demonic forces and was surrounded on all sides. He retaliated by striking out at all sides at speeds that could only have been achieved by divinity. A god clothed in the flesh of a man. The immense reach of his blade and limbs made it near impossible for anything to get close enough to harm him. Even the polearms of the wiser demons were broken, battered aside, or ripped from their grasp from his strikes before he slew the ones who wielded them.

It was a whirlwind of carnage. A brutal ballet of death, destruction, and dismemberment. Limbs, heads, bodies, and blood flew endlessly in every direction as Guts slew the demons and more always came to replace them.

In the crimson sky was a single massive glowing orb like molten brass, in place of a proper sun or moon. Even without a proper pupil, it was like the eye of some great and malevolent deity staring down at him, silently judging him. Filled with infinite malice, infinite rage, unending hatred towards him and all things, and most disconcertingly of all… approval.

It approved of his violence and brutality. His ceaseless slaughter.

He put it out of his mind and kept killing. For what felt like days, years, centuries… He just kept killing as more and more enemies threw themselves upon his blade. The only respite he allowed himself was making his sword lighter for a time whenever his muscles began to ache from the constant exertion. Even then, however, he did not stop moving and killing.

The once skull-covered ground steadily became a charnel mountain of broken corpses, forming a new river of blood that further fed the ocean.

Then Guts saw something amongst the army of demons. Something much larger than even the brass bulls. Dwarfing even himself in size.

Standing at easily thirty feet tall was something reminiscent of Nosferatu Zodd. It had red skin, two massive bat-like wings, and large curving horns. It wore a massive brass chest plate and vambraces with some armor upon its goat-like hind legs. Its armor wasn't full-plate like what Guts currently wore. In one hand was a massive viscous battle ax, in its other was a long whip barbed with spikes and teeth, presumably from past kills.

With each step the behemoth took the ground trembled.

It roared its fury at Guts who roared back defiantly.

Guts charged through the horde of demons in front of him, barreling through them as if they were nothing as he rushed towards the giant intent on slaying it.

It raised its whip and lashed out at Guts, its immense size and length allowing it to strike out at him from a great distance. Guts dodged the whip. He had to dodge again as the demon struck again, uncaring of the casualties it inflicted upon the rest of the army.

It didn't take long for the Primarch to reach the monster.

Towering over him, it raised its ax and attempted to slam it down on him.

Standing on a rocky patch uncovered by skulls, the ground cratered as Guts braced his forearm against the flat of his blade and blocked the strike. Pushing against the ground he shoved the ax back.

Interestingly, the demon felt weaker than Zodd had despite its immense size.

Guts' duel with this demon went on for what felt like several minutes. Smaller demons tried to intervene and attack Guts or the larger demon but were quickly slain for their impudence. Eventually Guts managed to get past its guard and cleave it in half at the waist. As its torso still lived and continued to attack him, Guts got on top of it and impaled it with his sword to pin it to the ground before grabbing its horns before breaking its neck and ripping its head off of its shoulders with his bare hands.

Deep booming laughter like thunder rumbled through the cloudless sky.

Then he woke up.

Opening his eyes, Guts found himself in an infirmary covered in bandages. Some nurses informed him what had happened. After his battle with Nosferatu Zodd Guts passed out, nearly succumbing to his wounds. He had to be loaded onto a cart and be pulled back to the camp to have his wounds tended to. From there he and Griffith had been brought here for better treatment.

The pieces of his sword and the remnants of his armor had been collected and they were all in the process of being reforged.

When his men were finally allowed to visit him, he was told they had searched for the cleaver that Zodd had dropped but they couldn't find it. It was like it had just vanished. They had been planning on giving it to him, but they had to settle for finding the broken remnants of his sword and having it reforged.

Guts could feel the poison biting. So he had to make the potion and suppress it.

Days passed. The Band of the Hawk was chosen to guard the King during the Autumn Hunt once they had fully recovered.

During the Hunt, Griffith was shot with a poisoned arrow but was saved by his behelit.

Guts tried to track down the assassin but was unable to find whoever it was. It was concluded that it was an assassin from Tudor who was aiming for the Princess and that Griffith saved her life. This enshrined him as a hero of Midland.

After that Guts was called up to a study where Griffith was currently doing some paperwork.

"Hi." Griffith greeted him as he entered the study. "Sorry to call you up so late."

"I don't sleep anyway." Guts responded.

Griffith chuckled. "Very true… Wait there a minute. I'll be done shortly."

Guts looked at the books on the shelves.

"There's more again… Have you even read all these?" Guts asked.

"Hmm… Well, most of them… To become great, one has to be able to do more than fight. You really should educate yourself more, Guts… Having said that, most of these are just light reading. History, religion, philosophy, chemistry, tactics… And then there are the quirky ones like cosmetics or cooking."

"Bleh…" Guts griped.

He knew how to read, of course. Griffith had taught him to read and write fairly early on. So he often helped Griffith with excess paperwork and reading reports. It was also useful for the logistical side of things. It wasn't his forte, but Guts helped with the logistics too. He had a hand in a little of everything. Paperwork, logistics, planning, tactics, strategy, scheduling. He hated most of it. He could sit and devise strategies for a coming battle and be fully engrossed in the conversation, but when it came to the more mundane things he quickly grew bored. He understood the importance of it all, however. So he bore with it and did whatever he could to help ease Griffith's burden in those regards. He just wasn't happy about it while he did it.

Griffith grabbed a book and opened it up, turning it to show Guts. "Even things like this!"

Guts looked and saw it was full of people having sex in different positions.

"Want to borrow it?" Griffith asked jokingly.

Guts rolled his eyes and took the book.

He walked over and sat down in a chair that was specially made to withstand his weight. Griffith had it custom made for him, so they could sit and talk while Griffith was working on occasion. While casually flipping through the pages he asked, "So, you need me to do something?"

"Hm…" Griffith hummed to himself. He was silent for a time. Eventually he turned to look at Guts and said, "I'd like you to kill a man for me."

Guts' eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by this.

Guts closed the book, set it down on the chair, and stood up. "Kill? Who?"

"The man second in line to this Kingdom's Throne. General of the White Dragons, Count Julius."

'That guy?' Guts thought to himself, confused.

Griffith opened a drawer. "The reason…" He withdrew the same arrow he was shot with during the hunt. Guts recognized it immediately. "Is this… The arrow's coated with the extract of the calabal bean. An ordinary person would never typically possess it… As poisons go, it's highly deadly."

Griffith rolled the arrow between his fingers, examining it. "I checked with each doctor in town and only one of them handles this. Furthermore, only one person has purchased it recently… Apparently this man is said to be the best bowman among the White Dragons."

He set the arrow down. "I paid off one of the maids to investigate him. This evening she happened to see him coming out of Count Julius' office looking like he'd been severely berated. She wasn't able to catch any of the details of the conversation… But they were discussing the disturbance of the assassination attempt."

Guts listened silently, his full attention on Griffith.

"I still haven't talked about this with anyone. This is… An assassination. It's fundamentally different from crossing swords with an enemy in battle. It's dirty work. Failure isn't possible at all. Nor is your face being seen. Or, well… You being seen in general I suppose, considering your stature… It's for those reasons that I'm asking you to do this. You are the only one I trust to complete this task under these conditions, without being caught. Can I count on you?" Griffith asked him.

Guts was silent for a moment. He didn't like it. He was not suited for this. But for Griffith… "It ain't like you." Guts said, catching Griffith off guard. With a smirk he continued, "Just cut to the chase and order me to do it. Like always."

And so, Griffith did.

Later Guts was standing on the roof of the Count's castle, wearing a hood and cloak. On his back was a longsword Griffith had given him explicitly for the job. The wounds left by his own sword would be recognized as no other sword left wounds quite like it. So it had to be a normal sword.

Guts looked down towards his quarry from the top of the roof he had scaled. He hid behind a chimney. "Julius… Lucky me…"

He reached towards the borrowed longsword but paused as he noticed what was happening. Julius was sparring with someone. A boy.

'Who's that kid…?' He wondered to himself.

Julius knocked the boy down.

When the boy failed to get back up, Julius grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back up by force. "STAND!" Julius shouted angrily. "What's the meaning of this?! You call yourself a son of royalty?! NOW STAND UP! STOP RESTING! Your enemy won't wait for you in battle!"

"Highness… Please, let that be enough for today…" Pleaded an old monk.

"BEGONE WITH YOU, HASSAN!" Julius shouted. "Adonis must someday become the leader of my White Dragon Knights and command the mightiest force in the land! And that's not all! As royalty, he may possibly wed Princess Charlotte and gain control over all of Midland! It's what a son of royalty is destined to do! The importance of this duty is different from that which befalls other men!"

He pointed his blade at Adonis once more. "Come at me! Try to get through my defenses at least once!"

The boy raised his sword and attacked.

Julius knocked Adonis' sword from his hand and sent it spinning end over end through the air. Adonis flew back, crashing into the stone railing of the balcony.

Julius looked down at his son in disapproval. "Very well… Enough for today."

Adonis panted in exhaustion while clutching a wound in his upper arm, looking up at his father.

Julius grabbed a wet towel from the old monk and threw it to Adonis, much to the boy's surprise.

"Don't cool down too much. It affects tomorrow's training." Julius said before turning and marching off.

"Are you alright?" The old monk asked, coming to Adonis' aid. "That is a grievous wound. I will tend to it right away."

As the old monk started bandaging the boy's arm, he said, "Young master, do not be disheartened. Ever since the countess died, your father has tried desperately to do all he can on his own to raise you as a knight. Please do not resent his actions."

Guts sat there for a moment, thinking back to his training with Gambino. They weren't fond memories.

He sighed. "Can't be careless at a time like this…" He muttered to himself before standing up.

Guts snuck into the Count's private chambers through a separate balcony.

He opened the door and quickly snuck in before Julius could realize what was happening.

The count noticed some candles on a candelabra flickering from the breeze of the opened door. He looked up at it.

"The wind?" He wondered aloud to himself.

Then Guts emerged from the shadows in his peripheral vision, hood raised to obscure his face.

"An… An intruder?!"

Guts took a step forward.

Count Julius tried to turn and grab a sword held by a nearby empty suit of armor, but Guts was upon him before he could reach it. He slashed the Count's chest open with a single swing of his blade.

His hood flew back from the rush of air of his movements. Not that it wasn't already obvious who he was from his size alone

Count Julius gripped Guts' cloak as he died. "B… Baron Guts…" He wheezed. "You're… Griffith's…"

He was unable to finish speaking before all his remaining strength left him and he died.

Guts stared down at the corpse for a moment before hearing the door open.

"An… Intruder!" A voice exclaimed in horror.

'Ch… I've been seen…' Guts thought to himself.

Heedless of who it might be, he raised his sword and charged impaling the hapless witness through the chest.

It was only after the fact that Guts realized it was the Count's son. The dark combined with his rush to eliminate any witnesses had prevented him from realizing before it was too late.

Guts' eyes widened in horror at what he had just done.

The boy's legs gave out and he slid down the wall Guts had pinned him against. Gurgling, he reached out to Guts as tears streamed down his face.

Guts grasped his hand. "H… Hey…"

The boy rasped and gurgled.

"H…"

The boy let out a final death rattle before going limp. He was dead.

Guts stood back up and covered his mouth in horror.

Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "What disturbance is this? Is anything the m—"

Guts was already moving before the guard could finish talking. He decapitated the first guard. The second one just barely managed to react in time to swing his sword at Guts. The blade bit into his arm and left a nasty cut. Guts slammed the guard into the wall and proceeded to stab him in the throat, preventing him from screaming.

Heart beating in his chest Guts knew he needed to get out of there. He only had a few minutes at most before someone figured out what was happening. He couldn't let himself be seen at all. Even a glance would be enough to give away who he was.

Having no other recourse if he wanted to get away without being seen, he rushed back into the Count's private chamber, sprinted back up the stairs to the balcony, and leapt back up onto the roof. From there he snuck as fast as he could across the roof while still remaining relatively quiet.

He made it about halfway to the way he came in before the alarm was raised. He grit his teeth.

He had to change his plans.

He snuck slowly across the roof in a different direction, trying to stay as low as possible to minimize the chances he would be seen.

He was looking for a gap in the patrolls or some kind of blind spot he could exploit to get away.

Eventually he found something. If he was a normal person, he likely never would have even noticed it. There was an incredibly thin blindspot from an area just barely neglected by the highly alert patrols. Based on the pattern, he would have about 10 seconds to drop from the roof, cross a distance of roughly 120 feet, and scale a wall. Fortunately, the wall was only fifteen feet tall, on the inside. He was nine feet tall or so and he could jump about eight feet without his sword or armor weighing him down, so he could get just high enough to grab the top and climb the rest of the way up.

All in all, it was barely a gap, no normal person would have even been able to consider exploiting it, and all it would take would be a single stray glance from an a nervous guard and he would be fucked.

And yet, it was the best option he had been able to find even after minutes of looking for a way out of here without getting spotted.

He grit his teeth and kept his eye on the patrol, keeping a close eye on any variations in the patrol patterns.

Once he was confident enough that this was the best opportunity he had, he jumped off the roof.

The instant his feet touched the ground he broke into a dead sprint, trying to cross the gap as quickly as possible. He pushed himself as hard as he could, in his mortal state. If he was at his peak, this wouldn't be even remotely an issue but as he was now? He was still stronger and faster than a normal man but not enough he could be fully confident in his ability to cross this gap without being spotted in the extremely limited time he had.

He leapt with all his might and reached the edge of the wall. Grabbing on, he pulled himself the rest of the way up before immediately diving off the other side.

There were shouts from the edge of the wall. He'd been seen!

Nothing he could do now. He just had to hope he'd been quick enough they hadn't managed to get a good look at him and his immense size. If he was lucky, maybe it would be dismissed as the guard being on edge or the shadows playing tricks on him. Guts had no choice but to hope.

As he hit the ground, he immediately rushed into the foliage of the forest. He spotted a sewer grate. Not his first choice for an escape route…

Hearing footsteps and voices, he peaked out from behind a bush at the source and saw guards coming down a set of stairs. One was carrying a lantern.

"I'm telling you, I saw something! He fell over there!"

Not wanting to get caught, he kicked the rusted bars to clear a path and slid inside.

As he crashed into the stinking water, his mind whirled with thoughts of the boy he had just murdered.

As he pushed himself to his feet, that moment kept replaying itself in his head over and over and over… His sword stabbing through the child's chest and pinning him against the wall. Then watching the boy bleed out and die on his blade.

Guts felt horrible. Worse than he had ever felt about killing anyone ever before. Even killing Gambino hadn't felt as horrible as this.

He felt like a monster… A murderer…

Guts lumbered through the sewers and back to the castle.

The entire time, the only thing going through his mind was how he had just killed that boy…

Guts reached the castle and made his way to the dining hall.

He opened the door and saw the Band of the Hawk having dinner. It didn't take long for them to notice him.

Casca got up and marched over to him. "Guts! Where have you been all day?! It's been a rough day thanks to you!" She demanded as she marched up the stairs towards him. "And why do you look like that? Did you fall in the moat or something?"

"Griffith?" He asked, simply.

"Eh…?" Casca was caught off guard by his blunt question.

"Where's Griffith…?"

"Griffith… Is at a dinner party hosted by Princess Charlotte at Promrose Hall… You were supposed to receive an invitation too baron, but no one could find you."

"Allright…" Guts muttered before turning and walking away.

"Hey wait, I wasn't fini—" Casca paused as she noticed the deep cut on Guts' forearm and the blood on his hands.

Guts barely registered this as he continued on his way. He headed straight for Promrose Hall to find Griffith.

Marching up the stairs towards the hall, Guts found Griffith standing with the Princess in front of a fountain.

"I'm a bit tired…" The princess said.

Griffith smiled and removed his cape, draping it over the edge of the fountain for her. "Please, have a seat."

She sat down. "Thank you…"

Guts stared up at them for a moment longer. He took a step, about to approach them.

"Wait." A voice told him before someone grabbed his wrist.

He looked down and saw it was Casca.

"You mean to go up there like that? Don't embarrass Griffith. If you've got business, wait until they're done talking."

He looked at her, silently. Not moving.

"You're hurt. Kneel down and hand me that knife on your belt. I'll need it."

Guts complied, not in the mood to argue.

Casca took his dagger and cut a strip from the sleeve of her shirt. She then proceeded to start bandaging the cut on his forearm.

"Is this all right? Stealing the host away?" Griffith asked the Princess.

"I don't mind! They will all enjoy themselves regardless. I… find I dislike these parties. They're just a bother. Besides, in reality… Tonight's party is my father's arrangement to divert everyone's attention in the castle even but a trifle from the weariness of the war." The Princess explained. "If we must hold a party like this… It would be so much better to just end the war itself."

Griffith was silent for a moment before saying, "'Why is it that men enjoy little more than shedding blood?' Your highness asked that at the hunting grounds."

The princess seemed confused but nodded. "Yes…"

"It could certainly be that men possess that savage side. But that is a tool by which they secure and protect a precious thing… I suppose it's a double edged sword."

"Precious thing?" The Princess inquired. "Like family… Or a sweetheart?"

"There are some like that. But for a man… Before he can obtain those two… Perhaps he must come upon one other precious thing." Griffith told her.

"One other precious thing?"

"For no other's sake. To accomplish it for him… For himself. A dream."

"Dream…"

Guts listened to Griffith's words. Taking them in.

"One who dreams of world domination. One who devotes his whole life to the thorough tempering of one sword. If there is a dream which takes one his whole life to find… There are also dreams which, like storms, devour tens of thousands of other dreams. With no relation to social status, class… background. Whether it suits them or not, people yearn for a dream. Sustained by a dream, hurt by a dream, revived by a dream, killed by a dream. And even after being abandoned by a dream, it continues to smolder from the bottom of one's heart… Probably until the verge of death. A man should envision such a lifetime once. A life spent as a martyr… To the god named, 'dream'..."

Dreams… What dream did Guts have? There was the drive to conquer written in every fiber of his being, which he constantly beat down and suppressed. But that wasn't a dream. Not his, at least. It was just an instinct. Something he was born with.

He came to the startling realization, he didn't have a dream at all.

"Ultimately, to be born and to then simply live for no better reason… I can't abide such a lifestyle."

"Forgive me. I've chattered on so. It must have been a boring topic for a lady."

"N… No!" The Princess said nervously. "This… This is the first time I have ever talked with a man this way… Lord Griffith… You are a wondrous person. The first time I ever laid eyes on you, I thought you were the son of some aristocrat. You seemed so magnificent for someone so young. When I heard that you were common-born, it was very difficult to believe somehow… It is as if… you are nobler than any of the nobles in this castle. But, at the hunt when you taught me the sound of the reed whistle, you seemed very… simple and carefree… You were just like some village child used to playing in forests and rivers… And right now… You say the kinds of things to me a philosopher would say… A wondrous person…"

Griffith gave her a small graceful smile.

"I imagine all of your friends, too… Must have come so far with you, attracted by that charm."

Griffith paused for a moment in thought. "They are… Excellent troops. Together we have faced death so many times. They are my valuable comrades, devoting themselves to the dream I envision… But… To me, a friend is… Someone who would never depend upon another's dream… Someone who wouldn't be compelled by anyone, but would determine and pursue his own reason to live…"

Those words cut Guts deeper than any sword. Because he knew he didn't fit that definition. He had started to consider Griffith his friend. His brother. But, Griffith…

"And should anyone trample that dream, he would oppose him body and soul… Even if the threat were myself… What I think a friend is… is one… who is my 'equal'."

If Griffith's words had cut him, that had driven the point home… Guts wasn't Griffith's equal… The only way in which he surpassed Griffith was physically. In killing… Guts wasn't his equal… He was just… Griffith's sword… A weapon of war, being wielded to strike down his enemies… That's all he was and all he had ever been… A monster, a freak, a Devil's child… A weapon… A stark contrast to the perfection and nobility of Griffith…

In that moment, Guts saw the divide between himself and Griffith quite clearly.

"Such amazing confidence." The Princess muttered in astonishment.

Griffith jumped up onto the edge of the fountain. "Yes… That is how I have achieved everything so far. There were days when I had not even a slice of bread to eat. But now… I can even talk like this to you… The princess of a whole kingdom."

The Princess looked at him in adoration.

Casca turned away, though Guts barely noticed.

"What is your dream?" The princess asked him.

"Your highness!" A voice shouted, interrupting the moment.

The Princess stood up and Griffith climbed down from the fountain. "What is it?" The Princess asked.

"It… It's a disaster! Your uncle! Count Julius has died!"

The Princess gasped in shock. "What did you say?!"

"Assassination! Someone snuck into his manor! Even his son, Master Adonis, was…!" The noble woman couldn't even bring herself to finish her sentence. "The whole castle is in an uproar!"

Casca looked at Guts who had already turned and started walking away. "Hey?" Her eyes were drawn to the cut on his forearm. He said nothing in return and just kept walking.

Primarch though he may be, Guts is no Konrad Kurze or Corvus Corax, Stealth is not his forte. Anyway, this is a bit more similar to the original manga than I intended it to be, but oh well. I was considering trying to change Griffith's dream speech a little so that the wording applied a little better to a Primarch version of Guts, but I decided against it. I don't believe I can match the original, and I decided the original works pretty well given Guts' personal view of himself regardless.