The morning mist hadn't lifted yet.
The camp was half-asleep, numbed by fatigue, victory, the illusion of a respite.
Guts slipped a cigarette between his lips.
A breath. A dry crack.
The flame flickered, briefly lighting up his drawn features, then silence returned.
He took no pleasure from it.
Not really.
But it helped him breathe.
Like an old reflex.
Like another layer of armor.
This time, though, he wasn't alone.
Wilhelm had settled nearby, sword at his side, eyes lost in the flames of a dying fire.
He didn't smoke.
But he watched. And waited.
Crusch was rallying the troops.
Guts knew it. He hadn't asked. He didn't need to.
The orders were given. The march would be swift.
And bloody.
— You look like a man who's seen this before, murmured Guts without looking at him.
Wilhelm didn't answer right away.
A long silence. Then:
— No one ever comes back whole from a war against what they don't understand.
Even when they win.
Guts took a slow drag.
His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the sky was beginning to pale.
— I'm not here to understand, he muttered.
— No, Wilhelm confirmed.
You're here to kill.
He paused.
His gaze shifted toward Guts, lingered on his profile.
Something in his eyes caught his attention. That emptiness. That silent solitude.
So he spoke. Not to persuade.
But because he knew that silence too well.
— You know why I wanted so badly to kill that thing? he asked in a lower voice.
The White Whale.
Guts didn't answer. But he didn't look away either.
— Long ago… it took my wife. Theresia van Astrea.
The last Sword Saint.
She was strong. Beautiful. Stronger than me, truth be told.
A dry breath. Not a laugh. Just a painful memory surfacing.
— That day, I couldn't do anything.
I wasn't even there.
I couldn't save her.
Since then, that beast haunted my nights.
My life froze in that helplessness.
So I fought. Again. And again… until today.
He fell silent.
The quiet returned.
But another weight had slipped between them. Heavier. Older.
Guts lowered his eyes slightly.
In his mind — a scream.
Casca's scream.
Judeau's empty gaze.
Pippin's blood.
The betrayal.
The Eclipse.
The Hand.
Griffith.
He hadn't been able to save anyone either.
He understood.
Wilhelm had fought to exorcise a ghost.
So had he.
And for a moment, the old man didn't seem so old.
Almost… familiar.
The Whale was dead.
And Wilhelm was breathing a little easier.
Hell, this morning, felt a bit quieter.
Guts crushed the cigarette under his heel.
Then stood without a word.
But before turning away, he stopped.
His eyes still fixed on the darkness.
— She took your wife.
He took everything from me.
A breath. No emotion on his face.
But his voice carried ancient weariness, a fossilized rage.
— I hope you sleep better, old man.
Wilhelm didn't move.
But he nodded slowly.
The silence between them was broken by footsteps in the mist.
Crusch Karsten had arrived, followed by her escort.
Ricardo, large and cheerful, nodded at Wilhelm.
Felix trotted behind, arms crossed, ears low, avoiding Guts' gaze.
Mimi gave a bouncing wave, followed by her brother Tivey, visibly still half-asleep.
But it was Julius who drew the most attention.
Straight. Rigid.
His eyes locked onto Guts without blinking.
The same look he'd had in the arena.
But this time, without arrogance.
Crusch stepped forward, composed as ever.
— The troops are ready. What's left of the rear guard is under your command, Guts.
I'm entrusting you with the best I have… and the most loyal.
She glanced briefly at Julius.
He remained impassive.
— However, she added, I won't be coming with you.
Wilhelm straightened slightly, surprised.
— Lady Karsten?
She nodded slowly.
— My duty lies elsewhere now.
The Karsten estate must be secured. And the victory over the Whale… changed many things in the capital.
Rem stepped forward.
She didn't wait to be addressed.
She came to stand before Guts, firm, resolute.
Her gaze trembled slightly… but her voice did not.
— I'm coming with you. If you'll have me.
A short silence.
Guts stared at her.
His eyes were vacant, dulled, as always after death.
But something passed. A breath. An echo.
He answered in a neutral, almost tired tone:
— Then this time… you have to follow my orders to the letter.
What's coming… won't be easy.
Rem nodded.
— I will.
A silent pact. No oath.
Wilhelm turned his head slightly, as if to hide a solemn smile.
And in the background, Julius clenched his jaw without a word.
The group was formed.
Departure was imminent.