Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter Eight, Sudden Change. (Part Two.)

…

"It seems that I'm pregnant," Lilia said.

Dinner ground to a halt that instant, and in that instant, Guts saw more emotion in the woman than he'd ever seen before. The downcast eyes, the tense shoulders, and the pale hands clutching the hem of her dress; it all bled together. Mixed and mashed and clashed to create the image of a woman that did her best to hide away, despite standing right in front of them—a woman he didn't recognize at all.

A moment passed. A tense and silent moment that let everyone ask the obvious question: "who's the father?"

Then, came the obvious answer.

All eyes turned to Paul.

Lilia basically never left the house. Only ever went into town for emergencies. And if that wasn't damning enough, Zenith had announced her pregnancy a month ago give or take a few days—a timeline that would line up with exactly when his parents stopped having sex because of the baby.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind, though no one said it aloud. Paul and Lilia had an affair.

"Uh, sorry." Of course, that didn't stop the idiot from blurting it out himself. "This baby is, uh… probably mine."

…

"Miss Roxy, would you mind going upstairs?" Zenith asked, her voice causing everyone to flinch. It was low and cold and completely void of the usual vigor. It occurred to him that this was the first time he's seen his mother genuinely upset by anything. "And would you take Rudy with you?"

Roxy opened her mouth, but then closed it and nodded.

"O-Of course…" The Migurd stood and scurried over to Guts. "Come on, Rudy. We should let the three of them work this out themselves."

Guts frowned. He glanced over at his mother, but she wouldn't meet his gaze, nor did she meet anyone else's. At some point, she had shut them and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. And she sat there. Still. Unmoving. As if she was waiting for the right moment to explode.

His frown deepened. He could feel his own anger building—his own fists clenching. But, despite himself, he got up and let Roxy lead him toward the stairs. Because he knew she was right. This was something that they needed to work out themselves.

Zenith started as soon as the pair reached the stairs. Not quite screaming at first, but she didn't need to. She made herself clear regardless. Then, he heard it trickle in. The anger. The volume started to rise and then, all of a sudden, she seemed to shake the house with each word.

Guts heard every word. Every emotion. Not just the anger, but the betrayal and disbelief as well. New ones seemed to appear each and every step up the stairs.

When he and Roxy reached the top, Guts stopped and glanced behind him.

"It'll be okay, Rudy," Roxy said, worried eyes switching between him and down the stairs. Then, the Migurd did something she'd never done in the years they'd known each other, she put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away immediately, instinctively. But, instead of allowing that to dissuade her, she stepped out in front of him and squatted down so they were eye to eye. She smiled at him, despite the situation. "I know that look on your face."

"Huh?"

"That look on your face—I know it. I've seen it before."

He knit his brows together and frowned. "What look on my face?"

"Whenever you get mad and want to do something about it, you stare and make a face," she explained, and then dipped her head and stood. "But that's not something you should worry yourself with right now. Right now, we should focus on getting you to your room."

Guts was silent for a moment and then nodded.

Roxy turned and started back down the hallway.

He followed.

"Lord Paul and Miss Zenith will work something out, I'm sure," the Migurd said without looking back at him. "These sorts of things happen, even when people love each other. So, try not to worry too much, okay?"

Guts couldn't really say that the words reassured him at all, not when he could still hear Zenith, but he went to his room anyways.

Just then, right when the door to his room closed behind him, did he realize what he just did: he ran away.

…

Even from inside his room, Guts could tell the conversation hadn't gone well. Walls and distance muffled the specifics, but they didn't do much when it came to everything else. The times his mother raised her voice, the long pauses in between; those both rang true. As clear as day. Then, after they went on a while, he heard someone stomp upstairs and a door slammed shut. Coming from down the hall, in the general direction of his parents' room. So, he could guess who it had been.

His frown deepened. Having sat against the frame of his bed, waiting for the commotion to die down, he let out a heavy breath and rested the back of his head against it. Only one thought was running through his brain at the moment, which was focused on one man: Paul.

Man, what a dumbass.

Between this life and his old one, Guts had been alive for almost thirty years. In all that time, marriage wasn't a topic he thought about often, but he heard a lot about it.

During his time as raider captain for the Band of the Hawk, he'd hear his men talk about it. Wish for it. Want it more than anything else. For some of them, it bled into everything. All their dreams and all their regrets—it all led to some woman they wanted to marry. One they would get once they scraped together enough coin to call themselves something other than a lowly mercenary. Or, just thought herself too good for them in general. They, his men's stories, all had their differences—some big and some small—but they carried the same purpose. It was their purpose. It was the manifestation of their dreams—the reason they risked their lives in war, in the first place. Guts really couldn't understand it at the time, but he never sneered when they told him.

Then, he had Casca. He understood it better then. Even entertained it for a moment. And, at some point, he craved it nearly as dearly.

But then….

He could feel it—something smoldering inside him as his mind touched those memories. Embers poked back to life. Hatred he thought long since smothered by the darkness that brought him to this world in the first place. Griffith. The name alone was enough to move him.

Guts got up. Breath short and rapid. Phantom pain dug into the side of his neck. His body shook as his mind filled with memories. Of everything. Of Griffith, of the Band of the Hawk, of the Eclipse, of the God Hand, of the Sacrifice, and of all of those dreams snuffed out in a manner of moments. Of fires drowned in a knee-deep sea of blood and gore, and crimson faces who seemed to mock him with their indifference. He could still feel it. Hear it. Smell it. The sounds of a feast being had around him as—

—Then, one image came to mind. Stopped him dead in his tracks. A fire that burned still, despite all of it. His own dream. Casca.

Guts grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and made for the door—knowing what needed to be done.

He knew how both sides felt, to betray and to be betrayed. The anger and pain that came with both. The difference between the weight of others' selfish desires and the weight of his own stupidity, and how both could drag him into the ground if he wasn't careful. If he didn't fight. If he didn't run, walk, or crawl against the oncoming winds. As hopeless as it felt most days, as many times he almost snuffed it out himself by being a dumbass, he'd do everything in his power to keep it burning.

And, if either Paul or Zenith felt anything similar—if this was their dream—then it wasn't going to go out tonight. Not because of something like this.

Guts needed to do something. He couldn't just sit and let things sort themselves out. He'd done enough of that already. For eight years, that's how he lived.

He had never been a kid in the first place, so why the hell was he acting like one now?

…

Guts marched down the stairs to confront Paul and Lilia. He knew better than to try the alternative—he knew himself better than that. He was and had been a lot of things in his two lives, but he'd never been the type to waltz into a woman's room and talk away their problems. No, if there was a problem, he'd face the source of it head on. Pass or fail.

He found Paul and Lilia still at the dinner table. Both in their usual spots. The prior at the head and the latter a couple of chairs down. They both flinched when their eyes met his.

An eight-year-old kid made two adults do that. Guts wanted to roll his eyes and shake his head at how pitiful this situation was. Instead, he snorted, marched up to the table, and got up onto his usual seat so he could meet their eyes.

"Why?" He asked. Neither answered and just stared, confused and dumbfounded. Seeing this, he pressed his advantage. "The two of you hurt Mother. Tell me why. Now."

Again, the two flinched. A reaction that confused Guts. It was understandable at first, but now, they were acting way too intimidated by him, an eight-year-old. …Bah, whatever. It was beyond the point and beyond being his problem. If they felt that bad about it, then that's exactly what they deserved.

"Rudy…" Paul spoke first. "Look, Lilia and I… We…" His eyes darted between him, Lilia, and the maid's stomach. "Back before your mother and I got married, she made me promise that she'd be my only woman."

"And?"

"A month ago, I broke that promise." His father lowered his head as he admitted that. He had his hands up on the table—his fingers interlaced and squeezed so tight his knuckles turned pale. "Since your mother is going to have a baby, I… She and I haven't…" A sigh, followed by him lowering his head further. "Please don't blame Lilia. All this is my fault."

Guts narrowed his eyes. His father was lying. And it was so obvious, it made Guts ball his hand up into a fist. But, before he could call the man out on it, he heard wood scraping against wood—a noise so sharp it stung.

Guts turned towards the source, Lilia. She stayed sitting, but she was noticeably further away from the table than before.

…That's how it is, huh?

Paul was covering for her. Why—? Wait, no, the answer was obvious. Bastard or not, the baby in Lilia's stomach was still his baby. Everyone knew what the obvious solution to all this was: sending Lilia away for good. Back to her family. However, from what Guts knew about the maid (which wasn't much), they lived a ways away in some other country. That meant that if she was leaving with any immediacy, she'd be doing so alone—a dangerous enough prospect in itself. But, now, she was with child. And it'd be long into winter when it was time for her to have it. So, his father's reason for lying was obvious.

Sending her off now would be a death sentence. If not for her, but for her baby. His baby. Maybe even both.

That being said, a lie was a lie and Guts wasn't about to let them get away with it.

"Lilia, was that the truth? This all his fault?"

The maid was silent for a long while then shook her head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Paul tense.

At least she's not trying to weasel her way out of this. "This all your fault then?"

Lilia shot Paul a glance before answering, "…I'm the one who seduced Master Paul. I was unable to control my desires and made him betray your mother's trust."

"Lilia, what're you—?!"

—Bang! Guts slammed his fist into the table with all his might, not even turning towards his father.

"And that's what you told Mother?"

She stared at him for a moment—in disbelief—then her expression steadied. She nodded. "Yes, I… I told Mistress Zenith everything. That I had been the one to seduce Master Paul, that it was my fault that he broke his promise to her, and that I knew of that promise and chose to betray her anyways." Her eyes stopped meeting his halfway through. "To atone, I offered to continue my service here until her baby was born and leave thereafter, but… that's when…."

…So, that's how it is then. "If that's true, then when is my father covering for you now?"

"I believe Master Paul feels responsible. When Mistress Zenith gives birth, it'll be winter and that'll mean…." Lilia looked away from him entirely now. "Master Paul probably believed that if he could convince you that he was the one at fault for what happened, it would help in convincing your mother of the same. Probably in hopes that it would be enough for her to allow me to stay, but…."

"…But what? You think differently?"

"Truthfully, I think myself undeserving of such mercy." Emotion bled into her voice now. Guts recognized it. Resignation. Not acceptance. She didn't want to die, but to keep living, she needed something she didn't think herself worthy of: his mother's forgiveness. So, in response to that, her usually steady voice had grown shaky and unstable. "If that's the punishment Mistress Zenith thinks appropriate, then I'll accept it without protest. It's the least that I deserve, in truth."

"Look, Rudy." Paul interrupted yet again. Guts had to fight to keep from looking at him as he spoke. "Don't just listen to Lilia, alright? It's true that she came onto me, but no matter how you look at it, I'm still at fault for not refusing." His voice stayed steady and firm all throughout, and from his peripheral vision, Guts saw his father's eyes stay fixed on him. For the first time in the whole conversation, the man was acting his age. "You and I both know that Lilia doesn't deserve to die because of me being an idiot."

His father stood from his chair, slammed his palms onto the table, and bowed his head so low his forehead nearly followed.

"So, please, I know that this is a lot to ask, but help me convince your mother to let Lilia stay. At least until winter passes. She won't—"

—Thwack!

Guts couldn't help himself. He climbed up onto the table, stomped over to Paul, and put his fist into his jaw. There wasn't enough force behind it to put him on his ass, but he still recoiled enough to make Lilia gasp.

"Rudy, what're you—?!"

Guts grabbed his collar with both hands.

"—And what about mother?" He asked through grit teeth. On the brink of screaming. His father just stared back at him in response. Shocked. "You can say all that about a maid, but not Mother?"

Whatever. Fuck it. Guts was beyond caring about this idiot.

He was angry. Angrier than he's felt in years. He could feel it. In his jaw, in his brow, and in his shaking hands. He could feel it crawling up the length of his spine, building up all over the rest of his body. Tension. Like he was a second away from something tearing.

Why? The hell he was so angry at Paul for? Didn't he come down here to help this idiot? So, why—? No, never mind, he just answered his own question. Paul was an idiot. He had wanted to help, but stupid shit kept spilling from his mouth. Over and over. Like any of it actually mattered.

The man fucked another woman and that's all he cared about? The maid? Being a "good" person towards her? Taking responsibility on her behalf?

What about his wife? The woman he supposedly loved? The woman who still loved him despite all his faults? The mother to his only child? The fuck did she do to deserve getting treated like an afterthought?

"Who exactly is the one who got hurt here?" he asked, just barely holding himself back.

Guts's breathing quickened. He felt sick to his stomach. He actually compared himself to this piece of trash. Thought that they might have been kindred spirits—one screw-up to another. After all, he's done worse things to Casca. He abandoned her in a cave for years to chase revenge, he was too rough with her on more than one occasion, and he even once tried to force himself on her. Evil spirits possessing or not, he was just as big—if not a bigger—dumbass than Paul, but even then…

Wanted or not, ashamed of himself or not, at the very least…

"The hell are you even doing down here?!"

Guts promised to be right by her side.

…

Chapter End.

A/N: I wanted to do this chapter in two parts, but then I realized that I also wanted to get something out before the end of the month and I still had two thousand plus words to edit. As well as another scene I wanted to add to the chapter's end. So, it's coming out in three parts. Sorry about that. Lmao.