Guts had been following the road to the city for three days, and with every step, it became clearer—this was an entirely different world from his own. The landscape was unfamiliar, but more than that, the creatures lurking within it defied anything he had ever known. Along the way, he had encountered beasts that should not exist—like wolves wreathed in floating chains, which lashed out like living weapons to strike from a distance. Then there were the monstrous humanoids—creatures that resembled trolls, yet bore an eerie resemblance to humans, far more intelligent and sentient than those he had fought before.
But it wasn't just the beasts that set this place apart. The bandits he had come across wielded techniques they called "martial arts," though to Guts, they seemed more akin to sorcery than any combat skill he had seen before. Despite these strange encounters, none of them had posed a real challenge to him. Not like the apostles once did. Perhaps he had grown stronger—far stronger than he ever realized. After all, he had slain Griffith and the so-called gods who once stood above him. Compared to that struggle, this world and its dangers felt almost... manageable.
As Guts continued his path through the road, the memories of Falconia and the God hand's downfall weighed heavily on his mind. The battle with the Idea of Evil, the force behind Griffith's ascension and the horrors of his world, still burned within him. Though he had torn through apostles, armies, and even gods hand, his rage was never truly quenched. Now, in this strange new land, there were new enemies to face, new nightmares to confront. Yet, something about this world felt… off. It was as if he had been placed here for a reason, but by whom or what remained a mystery.
He wandered for days, his path aimless but always moving forward. Villages burned, he see the fruit labor of nigun a magic caster he killed before, and Gut's arrival in each place left a trail of destruction—those who were on his way were met with Dragonslayer's wrath.
It wasn't long before rumors of the "Black Swordsman" spread through both kingdoms. Some believed him to be a cursed warrior, others thought he was a demon sent to punish the wicked. Either way, Guts cared little for the talk of commoners. He was searching for something—though even he didn't know what.
As evening fell and Guts approached the outskirts of yet another war-torn village, a familiar, nauseating presence sent a chill down his spine. He froze, every instinct screaming at him in warning. He had felt this kind of presence before—something vile, something inhuman. But when he reached for the cursed mark on his neck, it remained dormant. No sign of the usual torment. Still, unease coiled in his gut.
His grip tightened around Dragonslayer as his eyes swept over the scene. The village lay in ruins, its remains still smoldering from a recent attack. The stench of blood and ash hung thick in the air. Bodies were scattered across the ground—men, women, even children—caught in yet another ruthless clash between warring kingdoms. Death was everywhere, but Guts knew better than to believe the battle had truly ended.
But this time, the scene was different. There was a coldness in the air, a malevolent force that seemed to permeate the very ground beneath his feet.
From the shadows emerged a figure, cloaked in dark robes and adorned with strange, glowing symbols. The man stood tall, his eyes glowing a faint crimson under his hood. Behind him, more cloaked figures appeared, their presence unmistakable.
Who the hell are you?" Guts growled, his sword already halfway out of its sheath.
The lead figure chuckled, his voice cold and mocking. "Ah, so this is the infamous Black Swordsman I've heard so much about. Quite the impressive display you've been putting on across the kingdom."
Guts' eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question."
The figure raised a hand, and the air around him seemed to thrum with dark energy. "I am Khajiit, leader of a group that seeks the end of mortal kingdoms. This world is already teetering on the brink of chaos, and we aim to tip it over the edge. But you… you're something else entirely."
Guts could feel it now. The presence of this freak wasn't like the apostles he had fought before, nor was it the sinister energy of the God Hand. It was something in-between—dark, twisted, yet human. He had no time for riddles or vague threats. If they stood in his way, they would die.
In an instant, Guts charged, Dragonslayer roaring through the air. The ground beneath him cracked from the sheer force of his movement. Khajiit's eyes widened slightly as Guts closed the distance, but before the massive blade could connect, a barrier of dark energy sprung up around him.
Guts' sword slammed into the barrier, sending a shockwave rippling outward. The force of his swing cracked the ground, but the barrier held—barely.
Khajiit grinned, though there was a flicker of unease in his expression. "Impressive. I see now why the Theocracy's soldiers failed to contain you. But this ends now."
The other cloaked figures began chanting in unison, their voices intertwining as they called upon some ancient, dark magic. The air around them grew heavier, the temperature dropped, and dark clouds churned overhead.
But Guts wasn't one to wait for his enemies to finish. He swung Dragonslayer again, harder this time, and the barrier cracked under the pressure. Khajiit's grin faltered.
"No magic's gonna save you from this," Guts growled as he prepared for a third strike.
Before he could swing, the ground beneath him erupted in a torrent of black flames, forcing him to leap back.
Khajiit's subordinates had finished their incantation. They combined their mana and chanted in unison, "Fifth Tier Spell: Dark Flame!"
The sky darkened completely, as if night had fallen in an instant. Black flames spread across the ground, forming a massive circle around Guts, trapping him in a ring of fire.
"You think fire's gonna stop me?" Guts muttered under his breath, annoyed but undeterred.
Khajiit raised his arms, the flames roaring higher. "This is no ordinary fire, Black Swordsman. This is darkness itself—it will consume everything. It cannot be extinguished by mortal means."
Guts' eyes flared with anger as he gripped Dragonslayer tightly. "You think I care about that?"
With a mighty roar, he charged straight through the flames, ignoring the searing heat and dark energy clawing at his body. His sheer force, combined with inhuman strength, allowed him to push through, his sword cleaving through the magic as though it were nothing.
Khajiit barely had time to react before Guts was upon him, but he had one final trick up his sleeve.
He raised his hands once more, shouting, "Come forth, Death itself! Obey my command—Rise, Skeletal Dragon!"
The ground split open as an enormous undead dragon burst forth, its hollow eyes burning with eerie blue flames. A deafening roar echoed through the battlefield as the skeletal beast spread its massive wings.
Khajiit smirked. "Let's see you handle this, Black Swordsman."
But Guts wasn't impressed.
Without hesitation, he leapt into the air, Dragonslayer flashing in the dim light. With a single, devastating swing, he brought the sword down upon the dragon's skull. Bone shattered instantly. The undead beast barely had time to release another roar before its entire body was cleaved in two, crumbling into dust.
The battlefield fell silent.
Khajiit's smirk vanished, his face twisting in shock. "Impossible—"
Guts didn't let him finish. In the next heartbeat, Dragonslayer was already swinging toward him.
"Your turn."
In one swift, brutal motion, the Black Swordsman swung Dragonslayer once more. Khajiit barely had time to register the attack—his mind reeling at the sheer, inhuman speed. No martial art, no magic, nothing he knew should have allowed a human to move like that. And yet, before he could even attempt to defend himself, the massive blade came crashing down.
Dragonslayer tore through his barriers, shattered his defenses, and cleaved straight through his body. A wet, sickening crack echoed through the air as flesh and bone were split in two.
Khajiit let out a pathetic, wailing scream—"Motherrrrrrrrrr!"—before his mangled form collapsed, lifeless.
The pale mage's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as the remaining followers of the mage watched in horror.
Guts turned to them; his face twisted in rage. "You're next."
The cloaked figures scattered, their will to fight shattered. Guts didn't bother chasing them—shooting them with the crossbow on his arm was a far more efficient way to conserve his strength. After all, these people were nothing more than worms in his path. Yet, whoever they were, they clearly knew something about the chaos consuming this world. They understood why the borders were at war and who was pulling the strings.
As the flames around him slowly died out, Guts sheathed Dragonslayer and began walking toward the city leaving the ruins of battle behind. But just before he could leave, he sensed someone approaching at high speed. He turned, eyes narrowing. It was a woman with short top blonde hair, clad in armor so revealing it barely covered her breast—almost as if she were naked. Guts had encountered many assassins in his life, but there was something off about this one. She didn't just look dangerous—she looked like a complete freak.
Clementine, the ex-Black Scripture assassin and one of the deadliest members of Zuranon, moved with blinding speed. Her grin was wide, eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she closed the distance between herself and the man. Her twin stilettos were poised to strike, sharp enough to pierce the toughest armor, and her movements were fluid—like a gust of wind, weaving through the battlefield with terrifying precision.
She darted around the man, her blades aiming for the joints in his armor, for his throat, and for any weak points she could find. "You're a big, slow oaf! How do you think you're going to beat someone like me, huh?!" she taunted, her voice almost playful, as her blades danced around him.
But Guts was no stranger to speed or skilled assassins. His eye followed her movements with grim determination, his mind sharp despite the rage boiling inside him. With each strike Clementine attempted, Guts shifted, his massive sword always keeping her at bay. Though she was fast to human standard, to him she just averages speed., Guts was experienced—he had fought beings far stronger and quicker than any human, and her attacks, while precise, were predictable.
Clementine grinned as she feigned a strike towards his neck, only to suddenly dart low, aiming for his legs. "Gotcha!"
In that moment, Guts moved with brutal efficiency. He didn't swing Dragonslayer—he didn't need to. Instead, with lightning speed, his hand shot out, catching Clementine by the throat in mid-dash. The assassin's eyes widened in shock as Guts' iron grip closed around her neck like a vice.
"What the hell—" she sputtered, trying to slash at his arm with her stilettos. But it was too late.
With a snarl, Guts lifted Clementine off the ground, her body kicking and flailing as she desperately tried to escape his grasp. Her hands clawed at his gauntlet, but the force of his grip was inhuman. Her wind-like speed meant nothing now.
"You like to play with your prey?" Guts growled, his voice low and filled with contempt. "Let's see how much fun you have when it's your turn."
Clementine tried to speak, but the pressure on her windpipe made it impossible to utter a sound. Panic set in as she realized the strength of the man before her wasn't like anything she had encountered. She had killed countless people—soldiers, mages, even adventurers—but this man, this monster, was something else entirely.
Guts stared into her eyes as she struggled, his expression cold and unforgiving. "You've got the look of someone who's enjoyed killing. How many lives did you take today? How many villages did you burn?"
Clementine's eyes darted frantically, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her strength began to fade. Her legs kicked helplessly in the air, and her knives dropped from her hands, clattering uselessly to the ground.
"Thought you could dance around me, huh?" Guts' grip tightened, and Clementine's vision began to blur. "You are just pathetic worm bitch."
With one final squeeze, Guts crushed her windpipe. The life faded from her eyes, and her body went limp in his grasp. He held her there for a moment, staring at her lifeless form before tossing her to the ground like a broken doll.
Guts looked down at her corpse, he was barely breaking a sweat from this fight. The fight had been over before it even started. As fast and skilled as the woman was, she had underestimated him, just like everyone else had. He had faced far worse—Femto, apostles, the Godhand—and had come out alive every time.
He bent down, retrieving Dragonslayer, and slung the massive blade across his back once more. The battle was over. Clementine had been one of their most dangerous members, but there would be more—others like her, hiding in the shadows, pulling the strings behind the wars and the chaos in this world. But he doesn't really care about this freaky organization or whatever they were doing, his goal was to find out about this world and its relation to idea of evil.
But for now, there was quiet. The only sound was the crackling of the remaining fires in the village, the aftermath of yet another slaughter in this endless cycle of violence.
Guts walked away from Clementine's body without a second glance. He had no time for mercy or regret. His journey continued, and whoever stood in his way would meet the same fate.
As he moved toward the next horizon, one thought remained clear in his mind: he would find the source of the chaos in his life and end it—just as he had done to the Godhand. And if that meant fighting through armies, magic, and monsters again, then so be it. He had been forged in blood and fire. Nothing would stop him now and he had nothing to lose.
….
After obliterating Zuranon, Guts found himself standing amidst the carnage of yet another battlefield toward E- Rantel Blood soaked the ground, the remains of the dark cult scattered at his feet. He had no idea how many more enemies lay in wait or how many factions operated within this strange world, but his instinct told him this wasn't over. His mind barely registered the ache in his body anymore; pain had become a constant companion.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped Guts out of his thoughts. From the treeline, a group of armed figures emerged, their weapons gleaming in the fading light. Their posture and gear told him they were experienced fighters—adventurers, most likely.
At the front stood a blonde woman, her attire resembling the aristocratic fashion of his world. Beside her was a towering woman wielding a massive hammer, and slightly behind them, a masked child in a black and red dress. From the shadows, two more masked figures—similar in appearance—watched in silence.
The tall woman with the hammer was the first to speak. "You there! You've got a lot to answer for," she said, her rough voice filled with authority and suspicion. "I'm Gagaran of Blue Rose, one of the top adventurer groups in the Re-Estize Kingdom. We've been tracking Zuranon for weeks, only to find you standing here alone—surrounded by the villager corpses."
The aristocratic woman beside the tall one try to calm her "calm down Gargaran, we could not make any mistake move again him. And we not quite sure if he was one of them. " from behind her come two woman who use mask, both of them are similar in appearance and sound.
Guts narrowed his eyes. He could feel their hostility radiating toward him. It was clear they didn't see him as an ally, and from their point of view, he might as well have been part of the slaughter. His grip tightened on Dragonslayer, his thoughts already racing toward the next fight.
"Leave me alone," Guts said, his voice low and gravelly. "Or all of you suffer the consequence."
"Like hell you're not!" Gargaran shouted, already charging forward, her massive hammer raised above her head. "Only someone as powerful as that group could've done this!"
In an instant, Gargaran brought her hammer down toward Guts with all her might. The ground beneath them shook with the force of her swing. But Guts didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped into the attack, his massive gauntleted fist smashing into the side of the hammer.
The weapon shattered upon impact, pieces of it splintering and scattering across the battlefield. Gargaran's eyes widened in shock as her adamantite weapon—something that had felled monsters and enemies alike—was broken so easily. Before she could even process what had happened, Guts followed up with a vicious kick to her face. The blow sent her crashing to the ground with a groan, blood dripping from her nose.
"Stay down," Guts muttered, stepping past her.
But the rest of the group wasn't about to let him leave so easily. Another figure leapt into the air—a masked kid in a black and red robe, her form graceful and fast. In her hands, she held several crystals, glowing with intense magical energy. "You're not getting away," she hissed.
"Crystal Lance!"
The air around her shimmered as she unleashed her Tier 5 magic, several crystalline spears forming in an instant and hurtling toward Guts. The power of the spell was immense, enough to kill any normal human instantly. But Guts was far from ordinary.
With a single, fluid motion, Guts swung Dragonslayer, the enormous blade cleaving through the air. The moment the blade met the magical lances, the spell shattered, its power dispersing harmlessly into the air. Evileye froze, her eyes wide behind her mask.
"That's impossible," she whispered. "Tier 5 magic… He should be dead!"
Guts didn't give her time to react. He charged at her, his speed astonishing for someone carrying such a massive weapon. Evileye, a vampire with heightened senses and agility, struggled to keep up with his movements. Despite her centuries of experience, her body couldn't match this raw power. She barely managed to dodge his initial strike, the sheer force of it tearing through the ground where she had stood moments ago.
"How… how is this possible?" Evileye muttered to herself, panic rising in her chest. She was a vampire, with strength, speed, and magical prowess far beyond that of a normal human. But this man—this monster—was faster, stronger, and seemingly unaffected by even her strongest magic.
She jumped back, creating distance between them, her mind racing. None of her comrades knew her true nature. She had always worn her mask to conceal her vampiric identity, hiding her true face from the world. But now, for the first time in centuries, she felt fear—a primal fear that this man could actually kill her.
Guts glared at her, his eyes cold and calculating. "You're not human," he growled. "You reek of something else."
Evileye flinched, realizing he had sensed her true nature. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to maintain her composure. "It doesn't matter what I am. I won't let you harm any more people!"
She raised her hand to cast another spell, but Guts was already moving again, faster than she could react. This time, she barely managed to summon a magical barrier before his blade came crashing down. The force of the strike sent shockwaves through her body, and the barrier cracked under the pressure.
Before she could blink, Guts was in front of her, his free hand grabbing her by the throat. Evileye gasped as his iron grip tightened, her magic sputtering out as she was lifted off the ground. For the first time in years, she felt powerless.
"I told you to stay down," Guts said coldly, his voice like gravel. His eyes bore into hers, piercing through the mask she wore, both literal and figurative. He could see through her lies, her illusions, her magic. And he didn't care.
With a flick of his wrist, Guts threw Evileye to the ground. She crashed into the dirt, coughing and struggling to breathe. Guts stood over her, his sword resting against his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
The rest of Blue Rose watched in stunned silence, unsure of what to do. Gargaran, still bleeding from her face, struggled to her feet, staring at Guts with a mixture of rage and fear.
"We're done here," Guts said, turning away from the adventurers. "Don't get in my way again."
As he walked off, leaving the battered members of Blue Rose behind, Evileye watched him with wide eyes. Her mind raced with questions. Who was this man? How could he have such strength, such power? And why couldn't she, a vampire, even land a single blow on him?
But one thing was clear: Guts was no ordinary warrior. He was something far more terrifying—a force of nature, a beast of darkness. And whatever his purpose was in this land, nothing would stand in his way.
Evileye struggled to her feet, her mind still reeling from the encounter with Guts. She had faced monsters, demons, and some of the most dangerous magic users in the world, but never had she encountered someone who could neutralize her magic with nothing but brute strength. The power in that swing… it was as though his sword sliced through reality itself. Her pride as a vampire and a powerful magic caster had taken a blow.
Gargaran wiped the blood from her nose, her eyes narrowing as she watched Guts Walk away. "Who the hell is that guy?" she muttered. "He just destroyed us like we were nothing."
Tia and Tina, the twin rogues of Blue Rose, appeared from the shadows, looking at the destruction Guts left behind. "Looks like we've bitten off more than we can chew," Tia said, her usual playful demeanor replaced by caution.
Lakyus, the leader of Blue Rose, stepped forward. She had observed the battle from a distance, knowing there was something far beyond normal about this man. "We misjudged him," she said, her voice calm yet laced with tension. "He's not Zuranon, but he's not an ordinary human either."
Evileye was silent, her mask hiding her conflicted expression. She couldn't shake the image of Guts' eyes. They were full of pain, anger, and an almost inhuman resolve. He wasn't like anyone she had encountered. It was as if he had walked through hell itself—and survived.
"We need to report this," Lakyus continued. "Someone that powerful… If he's not Zuranon, then who is he? And what's his goal?"
Gargaran spat blood onto the ground and gripped her broken hammer's handle. "All I know is that I'm gonna break his face next time."
Tina raised an eyebrow. "Didn't he just break your hammer?"
Gargaran growled in response, but before the conversation could go further, Evileye spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. "We're not ready to face him. Not as we are."
Lakyus nodded in agreement. "We need information first. Whoever he is, we need to know what he's after before we decide anything."
As Blue Rose regrouped, tending to their injuries and forming a plan, Guts continued to walk through the wreckage of the village. His thoughts were heavy, filled with memories of the past battles—Griffith, the Apostles, the Godhand. It didn't matter how many people he cut down; his world was always filled with more evil, more war, more bloodshed. It never ended. His body ached, but the pain was a familiar friend. What kept him going wasn't some noble cause—it was survival and vengeance again the one who wronged him.
He had no interest in Re-Estize, Zuranon, or any of these factions. But it seemed like no matter where he went, conflict followed. If people wanted a fight, then he'd give it to them, just as he had for years.
…
As Guts walked along the dusty road, his keen senses picked up the sound of a struggle in the distance. The shrill screech of a giant griffin filled the air, followed by the panicked cries of a traveler. Without hesitation, Guts broke into a sprint, his massive blade, Dragonslayer, at the ready.
In the clearing ahead, a massive royal griffin stood over a wagon, its talons tearing into the wooden frame as it tried to reach the terrified traveler inside. Guts didn't waste time. With a single, brutal swing of Dragonslayer, he decapitated the griffin in one smooth motion. The creature's massive head hit the ground with a sickening thud, its body following soon after. Blood sprayed the dirt road, but Guts barely acknowledged it as he cleaned his blade.
The traveler slowly emerged from behind his ruined wagon, his face pale but filled with gratitude. He wore the clothing of a seasoned traveler, with a badge denoting some rank or position pinned to his chest.
"Th-Thank you!" the man stammered. "I thought that beast was going to be the end of me!"
Guts sheathed his sword, his expression stoic as always. "You're safe. Move on."
The traveler composed himself, stepping forward. "I must repay you for this. My name is Ainzach. I'm the guild master of the Adventurers' Guild in E-Rantel. Please, allow me to at least offer you a proper reward."
Guts gave him a disinterested glance, but something about the mention of a guild piqued his curiosity. He was still new to this world, and if this Ainzach could provide him with information, it might be worth following him to the city.
"I don't need a reward," Guts said gruffly. "But information would help."
Ainzach's face brightened. "Of course! If that's what you need, I can help. Please, come with me to E-Rantel. The guild will surely be able to assist you."
Guts nodded in agreement afterall that city was his destination, and together they traveled to E-Rantel. The city was bustling with life, a stark contrast to the ruins and destruction Guts was so used to seeing. As they approached the Adventurers' Guild, Guts couldn't help but notice how different this place was from anything he'd encountered before.
Inside the guild, Ainzach led Guts to his office, offering him a seat. "You're clearly not from around here," Ainzach began. "But the way you handled that royal griffin… that was beyond impressive. We could use someone like you in the Adventurers' Guild."
Guts leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I'm not interested in joining anything. I'm just looking for information."
Ainzach nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on Guts' massive sword. "I understand, but joining the Adventurer's Guild would grant you access to resources, quests, and, most importantly, information. You'd have the chance to learn everything you need about this region."
A warrior of his caliber was an undeniable asset—one the guild could not afford to overlook. Ainzach knew that having someone like Guts on their roster would strengthen their influence and reliability. However, a nagging doubt lingered in his mind. Could this man be a spy from a rival nation?
The Adventurer's Guild remained neutral in the political struggles of the human kingdoms, yet Ainzach himself was fiercely patriotic toward Re-Estize. The idea of unknowingly aiding a potential enemy unsettled him. But as he studied Guts, he saw no signs of deceit—only a hardened warrior, carved from battle and tragedy.
For now, he would take the risk.
Guts remained silent, weighing the offer. He had no interest in guild ranks or pointless quests, but access to their information network could prove useful. This world was unfamiliar, and the more he knew about it, the better his chances of survival. Besides, he was broke. Having a job—even one he didn't particularly care for—was better than wandering aimlessly without coin. "If I join, I get information. That's all I care about," Guts said finally.
Ainzach smiled. "Of course. Given your strength, you'd normally be placed in the highest rank, Adamantite. However, due to the limitations in this region, I can only offer you the rank of Mythril. Even that rank doesn't do justice to your abilities, but it's the best we can manage right now."
Guts shrugged. "Don't care about the rank. Just get me what I need."
Ainzach nodded, clearly relieved to have such a powerful asset under his guild's name, even if it was only temporary. "I'll ensure that the guild provides you with all the information we have on this region and any potential threats. In the meantime, feel free to take on any quests that catch your interest. You may even uncover more clues about your situation that way."
Guts stood up, his towering form casting a shadow over the room. "Fine. But don't expect me to stick around for long."
Ainzach smiled and handed Guts a Mythril adventurer's dog tag. "Welcome to the Adventurers' Guild, Guts."
With that, Guts left the guild, his mind already focused on the next step. He would use this guild as long as it served his purpose, and once he had what he needed, he would continue his quest. For now, this city—and this world—would have to deal with him.
With the newly granted mithril adventurer's dog tag hanging from his neck, Guts wandered through the streets of E-Rantel, searching for a place to bathe and a roof to sleep under. He hadn't had a proper wash in over a week—not since the attack on Falconia—and exhaustion gnawed at him. Sleep had been scarce since arriving in this strange new world, and the weight of battle still clung to his body like an old curse.
The city of E-Rantel was remind him when the time he serve as mercenary in Midland. Thick stone walls loomed over its perimeter, reinforced by sturdy watchtowers manned by vigilant guards. The streets bustled with activity despite the evening air growing cool—merchants peddled wares beneath lantern-lit stalls, adventurers clad in various armors haggled over weapons and supplies, and townsfolk moved through the city square, some casting curious glances at the towering warrior clad in black. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted from nearby inns, mixing with the less pleasant odors of unwashed bodies and manure from passing carriages.
As he walked, Guts caught a glimpse of his reflection in a shop window. His armor, once battered and torn from his battle against Femto, was slowly repairing itself. The Berserker Armor's uncanny regenerative properties were at work, mending the deep gashes and fractures it had sustained. He frowned slightly, watching as the living metal shifted and restored itself—an eerie reminder of the armor's true nature.
Shaking off the thought, he refocused on his immediate need. First, a bath. Then, a bed. Even a man like him couldn't fight endlessly without rest.