The Karsten manor breathed discipline and order.
In the meeting room, tension already lingered in the air.
Crusch sat at the end of the table, straight and unyielding.
To her left, her feline advisor, Ferris—ever sarcastic, but strangely serious today.
And behind her stood an older man, silent, upright like a drawn blade—unnamed, yet his presence commanded respect.
He was just a servant… and yet, he carried more weight than any common soldier.
Facing them, Guts entered. Massive frame, weary but lucid eyes.
Rem followed behind, calm and watchful.
Crusch:
"Approach."
Guts didn't answer.
He walked slowly to the table, locking eyes with the old warrior behind Crusch.
They gauged each other.
Two shadows standing in a world of light.
Ferris:
"You're not much of a talker, are you, mister death-stare?"
Guts:
"Didn't come here to talk."
The old man in the back stepped forward. His voice was low, steady, without introduction.
Old man:
"Yet war is prepared with words. Not just blades."
When the silver-haired man spoke, Guts barely lifted his gaze. But that voice…
Not shaking. Not loud either.
Just… worn.
That voice… it has nothing left to prove. It has already lost everything.
He speaks like me. With an invisible sword stuck in his throat.
I don't know his name. But I recognize him.
He, too, has walked alone for far too long.
A silence pressed on Guts' thoughts. Brief. Sincere.
A mute recognition. A familiar pain.
Crusch crossed her arms, impassive.
Crusch:
"Marquis Roswaal sent me a proposal. A temporary, yet decisive alliance.
A military operation targeting a common enemy: the White Whale."
She paused.
Her gaze, cold but attentive, shifted toward Guts.
Crusch:
"He also mentioned sharing the rights to the magic ore from the Elior Forest.
A rare strategic asset…
But such decisions aren't taken lightly. They influence not only the royal selection but the future of the kingdom itself."
Guts (bluntly):
"We don't have time to dance around.
Take it or leave it.
Once the Whale falls, both our camps will come out stronger."
A tense silence lingered for a moment.
She still stared—not just at a messenger, but at a man.
Crusch:
"Fair enough. Perhaps you're right…"
They exchanged looks.
Wilhelm remained in the back, silent. Ferris avoided Rem's eyes.
Then Crusch leaned forward slightly.
Crusch:
"You came in Roswaal's name.
But I'd like to hear what you think of this mission.
You—not Roswaal."
Guts took a breath.
He knew what he was supposed to say.
But he chose not to lie.
Guts:
"I'm no messenger. I'm a fighter.
Roswaal gave me a target. I'm going to kill it. That's all."
Ferris grimaced, feigning amusement.
Ferris:
"Charming. Very diplomatic. Do you even know what the White Whale is?"
Guts:
"A beast. It breathes, it dies."
The old warrior behind stepped back slightly, arms crossed, a faint bitter smirk on his lips.
Crusch met his eyes briefly.
She knew what it meant to him.
She couldn't afford to ignore this chance.
Crusch (calm, almost admiring):
"You do have the merit of clarity."
She turned to Wilhelm.
Crusch:
"Wilhelm, if you would…"
Wilhelm nodded and stepped forward. This time, he spoke longer.
His voice, still rough, carried something else: an ancient, cold hatred.
A strange kind of beauty.
Wilhelm:
"The White Whale… took everything from me.
Since that day, I have hunted it without rest.
Every morning it still lived was an insult.
And every night I let it breathe… was a betrayal."
He lifted his gaze toward Guts, slowly.
A worn stare—but unshakable.
Wilhelm:
"If you fight beside me, know this:
It won't be a mere hunt.
It will be a duel.
An offering.
A farewell."
Guts said nothing. But within him, something heavy stirred.
Something old.
A kind of echo.
He too… lives for a ghost.
He nodded slowly.
Guts:
"Then we're two."
Ferris blinked, surprised.
Ferris:
"Oh? You've got a tragic story too, Mister Scarecrow?"
Guts:
"I've got several. None of them concern you."
A heavy silence returned to the room.
Crusch broke it with a clear voice.
Crusch:
"Very well. We have an agreement.
Tomorrow at dawn, our forces will assemble.
You'll receive the route to the rendezvous point."
Then, she hesitated slightly.
Crusch:
"There's one more thing I must mention."
All turned toward her.
Crusch:
"The other camp—Anastasia Hoshin's—has also been informed.
They won't sit out an event of this scale."
At that exact moment, the doors opened slowly.
And a cheerful voice echoed in the room.
???:
"Oh my… Am I late?"
An elegant silhouette entered the chamber.
Anastasia Hoshin had just made her entrance.