Chapter 15 – Better a Shadow
The morning was already well underway when Guts finally opened his eyes. A long night had passed, and the fatigue from battle had hit the Black Swordsman hard. Less than a week had gone by since his sudden appearance in this world, and every day since, he'd been haunted by the same thoughts.
Puck. Isidro. Casca. Schierke…
Even if he remained stoic in this strange world, something was beginning to rot inside his mind.
Why am I here?
How did I get here?
Can I ever go back?
Am I dead—trapped in some illusion?
Was I caught in the grasp of an Apostle?
So many questions, and no answer waiting at the end of any of them. Complaints that no one could hear. A world where no one could truly understand him—he who had lived through the Eclipse. A survivor whose only reason to keep moving had been vengeance. And now, even that was out of reach. In this new world, no Apostles. No God Hand. No Femto to scream his rage at.
Lost in these thoughts, Guts opened his eyes again, haunted by murmurs that wouldn't leave him alone. His gaze blank, fixed on the ceiling of the mansion, he remained tense—until he felt the soft warmth of a hand pressed gently into his own.
He sat up slowly on the edge of the bed, turning toward Rem, who watched him with a calm expression, equal parts distant and tender.
It was Guts who broke the silence.
Guts (deep, calm voice):
"How long have you been sitting there?"
Rem (without looking away):
"Since you collapsed after returning last night."
Guts (gritting his teeth):
"Tch… Slept like a damn kid. That never happens."
Rem:
"Maybe… it's because you're not alone anymore. For once."
A brief silence. Guts looked away, visibly uncomfortable.
Guts:
"I never sleep long. When I close my eyes… they all come back."
Rem (softly):
"The ones you lost? The ones you couldn't save?"
Guts (tightening his grip on the sheets):
"Yeah. The ones I lost. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn't save. It's a damn parade."
Rem looked down, her fingers tightening gently around his hand.
Rem:
"You don't have to carry it all on your own. Not here."
Guts (a short, hoarse chuckle):
"You say that like you know me."
Rem:
"I don't. But I know you protected us. The children, the village… me."
Guts (after a moment, eyes meeting hers):
"What about you? What are you carrying all on your own?"
Rem (after a pause, almost a whisper):
"The weight of being second best…
And the fear that I'll never be more than that."
Guts frowned, not in judgment—he understood. Too well.
Guts (slowly):
"Then I guess… you're like me."
Rem (gazing up at him):
"Maybe. Except… you keep moving forward."
Guts:
"Because I've got nothing else."
A sliver of light pierced through the curtains. No more words were needed. They remained there in silence—less alone than the day before.
Time skip
Morning light streamed gently through the kitchen windows. Guts, shirtless under a simple white tunic, clumsily sliced an unfamiliar vegetable.
Guts:
"Tch… Cutting a throat's easier than dealing with this slimy thing."
Rem (smiling, focused on the stove):
"Because throats don't squirm when you cut them?"
Guts (a faint grin):
"You'd be surprised."
A teasing voice echoed from the kitchen doorway.
Ram (arms crossed, leaning against the wall):
"So poetic first thing in the morning. Want to tell us war stories over tea, barbarian?"
Guts (without looking up):
"As long as I'm not the one being cooked, I don't see a problem."
Ram (mock gasp):
"Lucky for us, you're more useful with a sword than with a knife. Even Rem cooks better than you."
Guts (deadpan):
"That's not hard. She cooks better than anyone here."
Rem flushed lightly but didn't answer, too focused on her work.
Ram (peering over at his chopping):
"You know that's not a vegetable, right? It's perfumed soap."
Guts (dark glare):
"Tch… You're bluffing."
Ram (smirking):
"Wanna test that with your breakfast?"
Rem (sighs, amused):
"Ram, be nice…"
Ram:
"I am nice. My tongue's the problem."
Guts set the knife down with a grunt and stepped away from the cutting board.
Guts:
"I'll stick to carrying plates. That's more my thing anyway."
The long wooden table was set. Steam rose from the dishes—an odd blend of refined local cuisine and lopsided effort. Everyone was gathered: Roswaal, flamboyant as ever; Rem and Ram seated side by side; Beatrice, nose buried in her plate; and Emilia, composed but visibly tense. Guts ate in silence, his sword resting against the wall behind him.
Roswaal (sing-song tone):
"A delightful moment~ Peace after the storm, as they say~"
Ram (eyeing Guts):
"And our guest didn't burn the kitchen down. Progress."
Guts (mouth full):
"Next time I'll do it outside."
Roswaal chuckled, but silence quickly followed, broken only by the clink of cutlery. Then Roswaal straightened slightly, more serious.
Roswaal:
"But let's move on to important matters. Guts."
All eyes turned to him. He barely looked up from his plate.
Roswaal:
"You saved this mansion, the children, my dear Emilia… You proved your worth without a single vow."
Guts:
"I'm not asking for a medal. I did what needed to be done."
Roswaal (smiling more pointedly):
"Exactly. Which is why I'd like to ask something more. Emilia needs a knight. Officially."
A soft clink echoed as Guts set down his fork. Emilia lowered her gaze. Rem watched him carefully.
Guts (low voice):
"No."
Silence fell. Even Beatrice paused. Roswaal tilted his head slightly, still smiling.
Roswaal:
"Come now, don't be so quick to dismiss it. It's not servitude… It's loyalty. A symbol."
Guts (lifting his eyes, cold):
"I'm not interested in symbols. And even less in nobles trying to win hearts with hollow promises."
Ram narrowed her eyes. Rem remained quiet. Emilia's fingers clenched on her dress.
Guts (resuming his meal):
"I don't give a damn about titles. Or thrones."
Roswaal (tapping his glass lightly):
"But you do care about Emilia, don't you?"
Guts didn't answer. But his gaze flicked toward her—just for a moment. She lowered her eyes again.
Beatrice (muttering):
"Tch. He's making a big fuss over this…"
Ram (dryly):
"Maybe the 'Black Knight' prefers staying a ghost to becoming something real."
Guts (smirking at her):
"Better a shadow than a puppet in shiny armor."
Roswaal remained unfazed. He leaned back with a polite nod.
Roswaal:
"Very well. Consider it… an open invitation."
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