Emilia: "We're going in circles... Still nothing."
Puck: "And I'm getting hungry. No clues, no apples, total disaster."
They were standing in front of a stall filled with colorful fruits, but none of them looked in the mood to eat.
Vendor (frowning): "Hey! You planning to buy something or just here for the ambiance? This ain't no tea salon."
A scruffy man with green hair and barely any patience left.
Guts (calmly): "We're looking for someone. Maybe you've seen her."
Vendor: "Oh yeah? You paying for that info? All I see are people eyeballing my apples and wasting my time."
Emilia (embarrassed): "I'm sorry... I don't have any coins on me."
Vendor: "Then scram. Come back when you know what real work is."
Guts didn't flinch. He was ready to turn away, but a familiar voice cut through the air:
Plum: "Hey, mister!"
She ran up and clung to Guts' cape, beaming.
Guts (surprised): "Huh? Weren't you with your mom?"
Vendor (startled): "Wait, you know them?"
Plum: "This nice man helped me when I got lost!"
The vendor's face changed in an instant—irritation giving way to awkwardness, then to an improvised customer-service smile.
Kadomon: "Ah! Haha... Should've said so sooner. Kadomon, pleased to meet you. If you need help, I'm your guy."
Guts (sighing): "That's a sudden change of heart... We're looking for a girl. Blonde. About fifteen. A little thief."
Kadomon: "Hmm. Sounds like Felt. A real pain, that one. If I had to bet, I'd say she's holed up in the northern district."
Guts: "Thanks for the tip, old man."
Kadomon (offended): "Old man?! I don't even have gray hair! How old are you anyway?"
Guts: "Twenty-four."
Kadomon (stunned): "Twenty-four?! No way..."
Emilia (whispering to Puck): "I could've sworn he was at least ten years older..."
Puck (smirking): "Age is fuzzy when your sword's bigger than your body."
Kadomon (clearing his throat): "Anyway. Come back when you're ready to buy for real."
Guts (throwing him a look): "We'll see."
Emilia (bowing politely): "Thank you again, Mr. Kadomon."
Time skip
They finally reached the district Kadomon had described.
The crowds and shouting of the market felt far away now.
Here, the walls stood out of habit. The windows—either boarded up or empty—stared blankly at the streets.
The sky, tinged red by the sunset, bled onto the crumbling facades.
Guts led the way, his pace steady.
Emilia followed, hesitating. Places like this, she only knew through stories—districts where misery clings to stone, where the gazes are too long, too silent.
No hatred. No threats.
Just... tired witnesses.
Guts didn't even glance around.
He'd crossed hundreds of streets like this. The stink of grime, muffled dust, the eyes of children who no longer asked for anything.
It didn't faze him. That was the problem.
This world might be different, but misery wore the same face.
He'd thought it when he first arrived. He thought it again now.
That same absurd question: "Why me?"
And the same absent answer.
Emilia: "You look... troubled, Guts."
Guts: "Huh? Nah... Just memories."
Emilia: "Were they good ones?"
Guts: "Not at all."
She had heard that tone before.
No complaint, no anger. Just that quiet weariness stuck somewhere between the throat and the stare.
She had no idea what he'd been through.
But she knew how to recognize someone carrying too much.
And somehow, she wanted to carry a little bit of it with him.
They kept walking. The ground changed. Dirtier. More worn.
Guts stopped in front of a man leaning against a wall—blurry eyes, too bright for the rest of him.
Guts: "Seen Felt? Blonde girl, small, thief."
The man stared a moment, then nodded slowly.
Man: "She's holed up over there. Old building at the end of the street. Picked the wrong mark this time."
Guts: "Thanks."
The man chuckled, without humor.
Man: "You were in a company too, right? I can tell. That dead stare, but still breathing."
Guts paused.
Guts: "Yeah. I was. But that's over now."
Man: "We all say that. Then we keep walking the same. Good luck."
They walked on.
Emilia: "You... you were a mercenary?"
Guts: "I was."
Emilia: "And you... went to war?"
Guts: "Too many times."
He said it with almost mechanical calm. Like describing a meal. Or the weather.
He'd been raised on the battlefield by Gambino—his mentor and tormentor. War was all Guts had ever known.
But Puck could read that kind of silence. It wasn't humility. It was weight.
Puck (thought): This guy... reeks of blood. Not just blood. The rest too. Fear, rage... the screaming. But he's not raising a hand against her. That's enough, for now.
Guts stopped. In front of them stood a building.
A ruin, sunken in its own shadow.
Emilia: "Is... this the place?"
Guts: "Yeah."
She stepped forward. He raised a hand.
Guts: "Stay here. It might be messy inside. I'll get your insignia back."
He didn't have to do this. She knew it.
He could've walked away a long time ago.
And yet... he stayed. He helped.
She stopped him with a gentle voice:
Emilia: "Wait. My real name... is Emilia."
He stopped. Turned his head slightly. Then nodded slowly.
Guts: "Then... see you soon, Emilia. Puck."
He stepped toward the door, lifting his massive sword slightly in anticipation, and knocked.
The door creaked open, revealing a tall, tanned old man with an imposing frame.
Old Man: "Huh? Who the hell are you?"