Seven Years Before

The sound was deafening. Stone exploded into dust. Armor clattered so loud that it was like thunder. Cannons roared as they puked out fire and death onto the armies below. Men screamed their hearts out as they clashed swords, blood spraying free into the air with every strike. Heads flew from bodies, as did arms, legs, internal organs, and everything else that should stay attached. Knights, weighed down heavy by their armor, tried to desperately climb up the rickety wooden ladders onto the castle's walls. Arrows turned them into pincushions. And after the man on top could no longer hang on, his tumbling corpse became a boulder to the ones below. The siege was hell on earth. Two armies savagely attacking each other like wild dogs. Axes split skulls like coconuts, swords bit into armor and sliced the soft flesh inside, and archers stung anything that moved with their deadly projectiles.

Throughout this chaos, a company of soldiers finally breached the gates. Their battering ram, fitted with the head of a hippopotamus, tore through the thick wood of the door. Splintering it and sending the remains collapsing down onto the defending army. Whoever these people were didn't matter. Not to the young woman stuck in the thick of it. Being perfectly honest, she completely forgot which army she was even fighting for. All she knew was that everyone inside the castle needed to die. For now, that would do. She would make her money, then move on to the next war. The gaudy commander on the horse, one of the few soldiers given such a privilege as the underlings around him were left to hoof it on foot, screamed about a prize for whoever got the general's head.

Simple enough. Find the biggest, most arrogant bastard in the place, and slice him open. Of course, she would need to do this in the middle of a massive melee where everyone was swinging metal at each other. Still, Guts was confident that her target would make himself known. The high ranking fighters always wanted to make sure the enemy saw them. Their attempts to scare the invading army away. It never worked though. Since a big target just screamed an even bigger payday to opportunistic mercenaries.

And her payday decided to show himself, just as predicted.

One of the invading mercenaries shot backwards as though a cannonball hit him. His jaw torn asunder by the massive war axe in the arms of the equally large warrior. He stood several heads above his subordinates, covered head to toe in thick plate armor. His face completely concealed with a spherical helmet. Two large holes that allowed him to see showed cruel, sadistic eyes. It was no doubt that the man was smiling under his armor. Completely drunk off of the violence. Even in the large courtyard of the castle, as the invaders spread out and tried to surround the enemy, not one man tried to approach the one with the axe. The others around Guts cowered like scared cats, meekly backing away as the monster of a man growled in excitement.

"It's Bazuso..." Guts heard one mercenary whimper.

"The Gray Knight Bazuso," another chimed in with his own yelp of fear.

"Didn't he kill thirty men at once?"

"I heard he once killed a bear unarmed!"

As the chatter continued, the noble on his horse kicked one of his soldiers on the shoulder. His animal trotted in place, and he had to hold tight onto the reigns to keep himself from falling off. His armor was so stiff that it felt impossible to move. He could not meet his knight in the eye, head stuck in place by the helmet he wore.

"What happened to the archers?" he demanded, not shy about the frustration he felt at being held back.

"They're still outside the castle gate, milord," the faceless knight answered, his vision locked onto Bazuso and refusing to move.

"No one's getting past me!" Bazuso roared in glee, hands gripped tight against his blood-stained weapon. "Anyone who wants their head smashed in, step right up!"

No takers stepped forward.

"What are you waiting for!?" the noble ordered, looking down at his unwilling army. "Defeat him and make yourselves famous!"

"I'm just a merc..." one man retorted, stuck in place from pure fear.

"Let him do it," another mercenary joked, earning a few hesitant chuckles from his companions.

"Unbelievable," the horseman groaned, unsure of how to continue. If victory was to be achieved, Bazuso needed to die. But it seemed that pure survival instinct overrode any sense of greed with these mercenaries. That was until the familiar clanging of armor scratched his ear. The noble shifted his body so that he could see the one that decided to take the chance. And was... unimpressed.

He was too short. Far too short. At best, he came up to a man's shoulders. He worse a plate-mail chest piece, but his arms were completely exposed. Which were far too thin for a man of even reasonable strength. And his pants were simple trousers you would find on any villager. Now he was used to mercenaries making due with whatever scraps they could find for equipment, but this boy took it simply way too far. The helmet the child wore completely obscured his face, which the noble thought was in an attempt to hide how young he seemed. If he had to guess, the boy probably did not even have his first facial hairs yet. Just a dumb young man led astray by the thought of glory in battle.

"Who's that?" the other mercenaries chimed in with their own commentary.

"Looks like a merc."

"Pretty young though..."

"Look at that sword!"

Indeed, the blade that sat on the mysterious one's back was much too large for him. Easily the size of a great sword to a normal man, this weapon dwarfed its owner. Yet the boy's hand rested against the hilt as though it was an old friend.

"Is that kid gonna swing that thing around?" a shocked knight asked in amazement. "That thing is downright huge..."

"He's just showing off," a man next to him responded, spitting on the ground as he waited for the inevitable to happen. "Kid is just gonna get himself killed."

"Lad, are you saying you'll defeat Bazuso?" the nobleman asked, trying his best to hold in his laughter.

"How much?" Guts answered, her head turned back towards him.

"What?"

"For metal-head here," Guts pointed towards Bazuso, who was half stunned that there was a man there that wasn't cowering in terror at his presence. "The thirty-man killer or whatever." She lifted up her hand, and rubbed her pointer finger and thumb together. "I'm a merc, unlike you knights, I can't live off glory. I get paid, got it?"

"Very well..." the nobleman said, brows raised at the bluntness of their conversation. And the high pitch of the stranger's voice. He really must have been quite young to sound so light. It almost reminded him more of an eight year old child over a young man. "In the event that you manage to kill him, I'll give you five pieces of gold!"

"Ten," Guts sniped at the chance to haggle.

"Seven and not one more!" her 'commander' snapped back, making it clear that the conversation was over.

"Cheap ass," Guts said under her breath, and stepped towards Bazuso.

While the noble tried to hide his laughs, Bazuso bellowed them out with pride. The contempt for his new opponent was worn on his sleeve. After a few heaving breaths, the large man finally spoke.

"You'll regret this, kid..." Bazuso snarled, looking down at Guts as though she was a mere ant among giants. "Gettin' your head knocked off for seven pieces of gold." When Guts failed to respond, Bazuso continued his verbal assault. "A greenhorn brat like you on the battlefield... Guess your side is running out of real soldiers!" Once again, only silence followed. "Or are they cowards who hide in the shadows of chil-"

Bazuso was cut off after Guts exploded in movement. In the mere blink of an eye, the massive sword she used slammed against the hilt of Bazuso's axe. Sparks flew off of the metal, and Bazuso was pushed back by the sheer force of the strike. The strength was simply... ungodly. And the barrage continued, this mere child swung again and again. Bazuso could hardly process what was happening. The other mercenaries gawked at the sight, and most commented on the fighting skill of this stranger. Things such as "He's so fast!" and "How can he attack like that!?"

Just as his brain finally caught up to the fight, Bazuso lifted his mighty axe into the air. With a war cry louder than an earthquake, he dropped the blade down towards Guts' head. Sheer brute force was all he could muster. Just violent, rage-filled frustration at being humiliated by a simple welp. But even this failed him. The boy's sword cut into the blade of his axe. His strike was stomped instantly. A massive crack now formed in his beloved weapon. Not even then was he given relief, as the boy reeled his body back for one final blow. Bazuso, in absolute desperation, swung his axe towards the boy's head, and collided with the helmet.

His axe burst into pieces. Scrap metal rained onto the ground, the boy's helmet following suit. Guts' blade ripped into Bazuso, and spilled blood from his body like a butchered pig. The sword went into his side, and he could swear that it touched his navel now. Blinding pain forced the man to his knees, and the dark waterfall that fell from his body signaled the end to the fight. But this did not stop Guts. Who instead yanked the sword from his body, and raised the blade to the sky.

"W-wait!" Bazuso begged.

His helmet split in two perfectly, as did his skull, and then his brain. Bazuso's head was perfectly cleaved, a distended eyeball now sagged from the eye hole to his 'protection'. The corpse of the one feared warrior fell back, and gave only a few more death twitches before laying still. Permanently. Guts rested the sword against her shoulder, and let out a breath she was holding. Blood dripped down from her short hair, which was cut similar to how a boy her age's would be. Still, it was difficult to disguise how soft her face looked. Even with the hardened eyes of a soldier.

With Bazuso dead, the battle was over. Even though the castle still needed to be formally conquered, the defending army just had their soul torn from their body. All by a young child with a massive sword.

But unbeknownst to Guts, a special group of enemy soldiers watched the battle from the rafters above.

"Wow," one of the strangers said, "the enemy's got some good ones too."

"Who's stronger, you or him?" Another of the mercenaries piped in.

"There's no comparison, man," the warrior turned to his leader. A man dressed in a strange, silver armor. So elegant and pristine that one would think a prince wore it. His helmet was an oddity, however. Shaped like the head of a bird. The beak lifted up to show the fair face of the one under it. "Right Griffith?"

"This castle's done for," the man said, changing the subject. The gaggle of mercenaries moved on from the rafters, smoke and fire building as the enemy finished their raid. "Let's get out while we can."

The battle was over. Dead bodies laid around, fires burned freely, and siege weapons were abandoned like ancient ruins. Workers tried to move the rubble, but the damage was so extensive that it would take a long time before this castle was back to normal. As normal as it could be under enemy occupation that is. But none of that mattered to Guts. Her job was done. Bazuso was dead, and it was time to move on to the next fight. Such was life. But before that, she needed her money.

"This is half a year's wages and the reward for this battle," the nobleman, now free of his metallic prison and able to move his none helmeted head without restriction, said as he handed the sizeable sack of gold coins over to the mercenary hero. "Count it yourself."

Guts did not even bother. If she found out he screwed her on the reward, she would simply join the enemy next battle and cut his throat. Instead, she decided to turn and leave.

"You were fabulous though," he continued, a near serpent like grin on his face. He pushed his chest out, and held his head high. If she had to guess, he tried to look as 'commanding' as possible. "Luck or not, to think that a young man like you against that Bazuso. Well, frankly I'm shocked!"

She knew not to correct him in regards to her sex. The last thing a bunch of idiotic men drunk off war and adrenaline needed to know was that she was actually a 'weak little girl.' Of course, it wasn't like she could not kill them all if they tried anything, but she just got paid and was feeling optimistic about the day. Why ruin it with pointless headaches?

"How would you like to try serving me officially?" the noble requested, his hand held out in generosity. "I wouldn't mislead you. You will be paid three times what you earned today. And if you do well enough, I could very well promote you to squire. Most mercenaries only dream of such an opportunity!"

Guts pulled a gold coin from the sack, and bit into it. While she was sure they were real, it was simply a habit. When she was confident that it was gold, the familiar bend as the luxurious metal gave way under pressure confirmed it as such, she marched away from the sales pitch. Much to the surprise of the would be recruiter. Who was absolutely flabbergasted at such a response.

"My contract's up today, right?" Guts asked simply, and shrugged her shoulders. "And the fighting's all done here anyway."

"Hold on," the man said, still trying to salvage his chances at gaining a powerful asset, "why keep throwing yourself into such dangerous battlefields!? What about money? Status? Security? Please, at least stay for the night as my guest!" He punctuated his point by grabbing Guts' forearm. The girl froze solid. Disgusting, wriggling sensations shot up through her arm. Her breathing skyrocketed, and she tore the hand off of her in mere seconds. Much to the confusion of the nobleman.

"Do not touch me!" she barked, drilling her eyes into the man's skull. "Don't you ever touch me!"

Guts pushed forward, leaving the rest of the army to their own devices. The noble was screeching about how she could just die on a battlefield like a dog, which suited her just fine. There was always another war to fight, plenty of money to make. And if that asshole ever touched her again, she would kill him. Just like any other moron that decided to get in the way. This was her world. This was life.

The peaceful hillside contrasted with the carnage just a few miles back. Long, green grass swayed in the wind. The sky was clear and blue, the sun basking all around it in its warm light. The peaceful of the river next to her made Guts relax. The tightness in her body melted, and she simply enjoyed the ambience. Birds chirping, grass crunching underfoot, the breeze tickling past her hair. It was peaceful. A word she never got to think about much. But this was peaceful. Until the bandits at the top of the hill, hidden behind the remains of an ancient castle wall, noticed her.

"Hey, I see somebody!" one of them whispered to the rest of his gang. Most sat downhill from him, letting the poor sap act as watch for the day. Soon enough his fellows climbed the hill up to him, and they all stared down at the familiar looking stranger.

"That's the guy that killed Bazuso yesterday!" a rat faced young man declared as the small group of three men at the top of the hill grew to five members. His body low and sitting on his knees. "What's he doing here?"

"He's an enemy, isn't he?" a brawny looking, blonde haired soldier asked as he looked around at his compatriots.

"Nothing to us now," a dark skinned man answered back, eyes locked onto the mark.

"But I bet his pockets are loaded!" the rat faced one snickered. "He's got the reward for killing Bazuso. What once was lost is now found, you know?"

The rat man twisted his body back towards a downright beautiful man that merely bathed in the sun. His long silver hair mixed with the green grass, as his head laid comfortably against his forearms. A woman's face could not even match his perfection. Soft skin, slender frame, tender voice. It was as though he was a fairy tale character brought to life. His armor and sword were lazily splayed out beside him. Eyes shut, and mind drifting off into a peaceful nap, he could not even be bothered to weigh the consequences.

"Do as you will," he said without a care in the world.

"Alright!" the rat chuckled. He got to his feet, and motioned for his fellow viewers to follow behind him. "You guys come with me."

"To go kill him, Corkus?" the blonde man asked, though it was a rhetorical question as the man also stood up.

Corkus stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a light giggle come from the mercenary sitting on a turned over tree. It was an oddly soothing sound, like silver bells ringing. Though bells did not have condescension.

"What's so funny Casca?" Corkus demanded from the only female warrior in the entire army. He had to admit, Casca was hard not to respect. She was deadly with a blade, and was so devoted to Griffith that it bordered on religious. Her skin was dark, almost like a Kushan now that he thought about it. And while she was still young, it was clear that she was maturing into an attractive woman. If her personality were better, Corkus would dare say that she would be a decent catch for a man.

"You aren't up to killing him," Casca responded simply.

"We'll see about that," Corkus grunted. "My plan all along was to kill Bazuso and be famous one of these days. Think I'm just going to sit back and let this bastard we've never even heard of snatch that money away?"

"Then you'll die," Casca finished, a light smile to her lips.

Corkus was silent. His words died with Casca's prophecy. There was no way he would die. He was with Griffith. They were the best army in the world! No debates, no question. They could handle some snot nosed punk that got lucky. Bazuso was all bluster anyway, anyone even half decent would use the brute's strength against him. It was nothing special. This kid was just a walking sack of gold waiting to be robbed.

"Just you watch..." Corkus hissed as he and his troops went on into danger without a second thought.

"That Corkus..." a yellow-haired boy said as he whittled down a small wooden block of wood. His knife was dull, but still sharp enough to shave off bits and pieces. Really, it was a plus the blade wasn't sharp. It meant he could take his eyes off his hands while they went to work. He didn't have to worry about slicing open a finger as he watched his friend march towards certain death. Whoever could kill a man like Bazuso was good. Really good. Someone so good that a simple ambush was not going to scare them away from the reward money. "You sure about this, Griffith?"

Griffith never even bothered to raise his head. Content to simply listen as Corkus and his men got on their horses, and charged forth.

Guts went still. Reflexes kicked in, and her nerves went into overdrive. Something was off. She could not tell what, or even why, but it was bad. Her fists tightened, and her eyes snapped around for any sign of trouble. Just as she was convinced that it was simply her imagination, it hit her ears. The gallop of horses. Hooves crushing grass, and it was getting closer. Fast. Then she saw them. Four horsemen, armored from head to toe. And they were coming straight for her. It did not take too much to think about why they were coming.

"Robbers," Guts huffed out as she gripped her sword.

One of the men shouted a command to another, clearly the leader, and one of the bandits broke off from the pack. His horse bee-lined towards her, and the rider's sword was out of its scabbard. Guts had her eyes on the sword arm of her opponent. Kept her hand tight on the handle of her weapon. And, when the bandit was close enough to strike, let out a powerful swipe at his midsection. Much like with Bazuso, this poor man was nearly torn in two from the blow. Blood showered the green grass below, and internal organs poured free from the new wound. Before the rest of the raiders realized it, their friend was dead.

Another mercenary tried his luck with Guts, charging forward and swinging a chain mace over his head like a mad man. To his credit, the spiked heads of the weapon cut open Guts' cheek. Blood trickled down her face, and Guts answered the strike by taking off the attacker's entire arm. Flesh and bone disintegrated in the presence of the great sword. And the soldier's arm spun in the air from sheer momentum before it splattered onto the ground.

"This guy's really strong..." Corkus huffed out, cold sweat pouring down his face as two of his men died in mere seconds. He did not even bother to think about his pride. Or his bravado from earlier. This went completely tits up, and he needed help. His voice shook as he called up to the rest of the mercs above. "Hey! Dante and Errol are both down!"

"Look at that," a soldier above said as he watched the battle below. "Corkus started this squabble and now he's chickening out."

"Told you so," Casca said to herself as the pained screams met her ears.

"Casca," Griffith suddenly said. Casca jolted at the sound, her back stiffened and head spun back around to him. "Go take care of it."

"H-Hold on!" Casca jumped up from her seat and turned herself completely towards Griffith. "Why should I go!? It's Corkus' fault!"

Griffith slid his eyes to Casca, who lost all semblance of rebellion. With a weary sigh, she placed her helmet atop her head get to her horse. She just knew this was going to end badly. When it was over, she was definitely kicking Corkus' ass. Assuming there was anything left after that psycho got his hands on him.

Back at the battle, Corkus was sheepishly looking on as the stranger stared the horsemen down. He did not want to admit it, but this kid scared the absolute piss out of him. His guys were veterans. Hardened soldiers that were no strangers to fighting. But now they were scared children, stumbling in the dark. While the scary monster was looking right at them.

"Hey, Riguel!" Corkus called out to the man next to him. "Go get him!"

"Why me!?"

Before their terrible plan could even begin, Guts came towards them. Without a moment's hesitation, she swung at Corkus, who reeled back in fear and raised his sword in a futile attempt to block the strike. But just as he was convinced that death was a blink away, Corkus was saved. Guts lunged back as crossbow bolts shot at her. While it was only a mere two projectiles, she could only avoid one. The other dug itself deep into her bicep. Pain was excruciating, but manageable. Guts saw the shooter ride up to the brawl. It was another mercenary, a horsemen like the rest of them. A crossbow dangled lazily in his arms. If she had to guess, he was sent to save the blithering fools before she was finished with them.

"Ca-Casca!" Corkus moaned, relief washed over him like a wave. "H-Here to help...?"

"Only because Griffith ordered me to," Casca spat at the terrified young man. Her horse trotted forward, and Casca gave a simple "Stay back" to the rest.

Guts tore the bolt from her arm, blood flowing free from the wound. The one they called Casca threw the crossbow back and gripped his sword. It was a standoff, one waiting for the other to respond. There they stood for a moment that they swore lasted an eternity. Neither wanting to attack first, but neither wanted to wait for the strike. Casca's horse moved before Guts even heard the warcry. Sword met sword as Casca's thinner blade bounced off of Guts' much larger one. Sparks exploded out like rain, and Guts felt herself pushed back. Honestly, it was amusingly ironic that she was forced back like how Bazuso was, but it did not last long. The sheer power behind the swing sent Casca's arms flying back. Ricocheting right off and tapping her helmet.

Right before Guts could seize the moment, Casca steadied herself. Then the dance of blades began. A strike would be met by a parry. A parry led to a counter strike. The counter strike led to another parry. This went on as the two women desperately tried to kill each other. Eventually, one of Guts' attacks got lucky, and Casca's helmet was torn right off of her head. Her girlish face was exposed to a very shocked Guts.

"A woman!?" she could not help but think. Sure, she was living proof that some female warriors were out there, but Guts was convinced that she was the only one in the country. Surrounded by hairy, stupid, violent, smelly men that only thought with their crotch. Savages that would kill and rape like it was a childhood game. How was such a... feminine person with these fools!? It didn't matter. She needed to die. They were robbers, bandits, just unfortunate thieves that picked the wrong target. It didn't matter that there was someone like her out there in this horrid world.

Guts had no time to ponder this, as Casca lunged forward and continued the fight.

The rest of the mercenaries looked in, spellbound by the battle. These two were perfectly matched. Neither gave ground, and neither gained it. An endless cycle of clanging metal. Until Guts inched her way towards victory. The fatigue swam through Casca's arms, each blow by Guts shook her bones like jelly. No matter how skillful Casca was, Guts simply refused to create an opening for her to strike. It was a pelting rain of swings that she could just barely avoid.

"Casca's being driven back!?" The rest of Casca's group watched in horror as their female commander was given no breathing room. "The only one of us that can beat her is Griffith..."

"So strong..." Casca's mind repeated these words. Over and over again. As every strike from the enemy's massive sword sapped away her strength. He was simply driving far too hard. Casca could do nothing but hold the sword in front of her, and hope that the blade did not snap. That was until one final swing sent Casca to the dirt. Flat on her back, she watched as her killer lifted the sword into the sky. Casca pushed her back off the ground with her elbows, but did not bother to try to get up.

"I'm dead."

A spear flew between Guts and Casca. Guts lowered her sword as, once again, a new opponent joined the fray. This time it was a guy dressed in armor that gleamed so bright that she was sure that it was to blind enemies. Either that, or it was noble's attempt at looking 'regal'. Even his horse wasn't immune to this, the same glittery armor bedazzling it as well. The man's face was covered by a helmet that almost reminded her of a bird. Who was this guy? There was no way this group of bumpkins were tied to nobility.

"Griffith!" Casca cheered, a wide smile on her face as her savior came to her rescue.

"Griffith?" Guts whispered to herself. She took stock of all the mercenaries around her. Almost as soon as the fancy guy made himself known, everyone celebrated like the fight was already over. Where there were once tense faces and quiet anxiety, there was only boisterous shrieks of pure joy. Some guys even went back up the hill, laughing and joking as though none of this even happened. Guts had to admit, it was kind of insulting.

"Ha!" Corkus shouted out towards Guts, who was utterly confused by everything around her. "End of the road for you!"

"Be careful," Casca said to Griffith, butt still planted in the grass. "This guy's tough!"

Merely watching the man approach was a strange sight. It was almost ethereal. As though Guts was about to challenge God himself to a duel. But no matter, her hands held her sword steady. She was ready for whatever this pansy boy had in mind. She'd cut his head off, and the rest would scatter like roaches. That was how it always worked.

"Would you lower you sword?" Griffith asked smoothly. His voice like sweet honey to the ears. Guts tightened her grip. No distractions, no tricks. Just tear this guy open and spill his innards out for his buddies to see. "I guess not."

Guts went forward-but Griffith was too fast. His thin cutlass caught her blade. With the perfect shift in momentum, Griffith slid the attacker off of his weapon. Then, just as Guts was trying to figure out what in the hell just happened, Griffith sent his sword deep into her shoulder. From the way blood drizzled down, bright red and in perfect sync with her heartbeat, he got an artery. And he knew that. Griffith galloped his horse forward, removing the sword and letting it spurt blood freely.

"He's quick..." Guts said as she fell to the ground. As her vision darkened, all she could hear were the cheers of the mercenaries around her. If they were going to rob her, they had better hope she died. Because if she got back up, they were all dead. Especially if any of those primates touched her. She would cut their hands off, and anything else she felt like cutting. Her thought went up in smoke as her body finally shut down into unconsciousness. A pool of blood forming under her.

Casca got to her feet and approached Griffith's horse, her brain consumed with pure excitement. She could hardly believe that Griffith was there to save them yet again. And against such a horrible opponent at that. There was absolutely nothing that man could not do. Not one thing.

"Amazing..." she could not help but let her exhilaration sink into her voice. "With just one strike."

"He was a fool," Corkus chimed in, waving his hand in the air. "Only an idiot would take on Griffith like that."

Casca's sword flew to Corkus' throat, her hand stern and solid. The arrogance once again fell out of Corkus' mind as Casca kept her steel just within throat silting distance.

"Who do you think Griffith put his life on the line for anyway?" Casca berated Corkus. She pressed the tip of the sword against Corkus' skin, drawing a drop of blood. "If you don't know how deep the water is, don't jump in."

"R-Right!" Corkus pleaded. "This was my mistake!" He turned his head to Griffith, who watched the scene from afar. No doubt trying to suppress a chuckle to himself. "H-Hey, say something, Griffith!"

"You've made your point, Casca," Griffith said, relaxing his hands as his horse stood still.

Casca merely gave a 'hmmph' before lowering her sword and looking back towards their attacker. Something about him was strange. Very strange. The ferocity was certainly up there, but it was something else. Something that almost seemed... familiar to Casca. She obviously never saw the guy before in her life. But it was a thought she could not help but have as what was left of Corkus' raiding party decided to strip the stranger of his possessions. First the sacks of gold, then the sword, then they decided that the armor had to have been worth something. They flipped the body over, now on his back as he hazily looked up at the clouds. The clasps for the chest piece came off easy, and then her undershirt was pulled off with nary a care for her dignity. The trousers were soon to follow as well. Leaving Guts just as naked as the day she was born.

"Uh boss..." the darker skinned man said as he looked down at Guts. Unsure of just what he was looking at. "You might want to see this."

"Nobody wants to see that, man," Corkus said, his pride wounded from Casca's scolding. "Just strip the guy and-"

"Girl," the grunt cut his boss's words short. Soon, all eyes were on Guts, who was still in a daze from the blood loss. Which only got worse as the wound was left untreated. Her chest was swollen, just starting to fill out as the maturation process was just beginning on her. It was not much, but it was already clear enough evidence of the true sex of their assailant. And that was not even to mention the lack of a certain body part that males possessed. Nor the hips attached to that region being much more flared out than a man's. While the face was certainly androgynous enough to hide her true identity, the rest of her screamed out the truth.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Corkus whined, a sad laugh emanating from his broken shell of a body. He just wanted this day to be over. That was a woman? That absolute maniac? What kind of sick joke was this? "We got our asses kicked by a girl..."

Griffith stared down at Guts, silent and contemplating. He turned his head to Casca, who had a hand covering her mouth as she could not even begin to form a coherent thought.

"Treat her wounds," he ordered simply. "She is to be kept alive, and no harm shall come to her in our company." He slithered his eyes over to Corkus, who felt an ice cold spike shoot up his spine. "Is that understood?"

"Yessir..." Corkus meekly responded, rage boiling his blood in its veins.

"But Griffith!" Casca was quick to fire back at the suggestion. Her mind finally finished putting itself back together. "Are you sure that's a good idea? She's really dangerous."

"It is an order, Casca," Griffith insisted. It was clear that this was not a suggestion.

Casca did not respond. She only looked towards the warrior woman, who was being lifted by up two of the men. They carried her up the hill, towards the doctors that would treat her wounds. Why did Griffith want her alive? As a prisoner? Who would even pay for a lunatic like that? But why was a woman like her even fighting as mercenary? Casca had her reasons for being with Griffith, but this was nowhere near the same thing. Once again, that same dread filled her stomach from before. This was a bad idea. And it would only end badly.

"I'm not doing it."

Casca was stern as she spoke. She did not even bother to whisper to Griffith, who simply nodded his head. With how cramped the tent they stood in was it would have made no difference. The ogress they had captured was still completely unconscious. Covered in bandages, and writhing in her sleep. Casca was no longer in her armor, and neither was Griffith. She was dressed in a dirty tunic and trousers, while Griffith's was far more laundered. His pants were pressed, and he had no wrinkles on his shirt. Right down to his boots, which shined bright even in the dim tent.

"It is an order, Casca," Griffith repeated, calm and casual. He merely shrugged his shoulders at the young girl in front of him. The way she grit her teeth was a clear indication that this was asking a lot, but if their new guest was going to survive then it needed to be done.

"I can't lay with a woman!" Casca shouted, her face bright red. The whole idea sounded so... humiliating.

"You are to keep her warm," Griffith clarified, and placed his hand on Casca's shoulder. "That is all. She will not survive at this rate. The blood loss was simply too much for her body to handle. Without warmth, she will die. And I refuse to let that happen."

"Why not ask one of the men to do it!?" Casca demanded. She stamped her foot as she tried her best to not budge on the issue. Part of her knew that if Griffith ordered it, then there was no way out. It needed to be done. But why was he going so far for just one vagrant they found on the side of the road? Because she could fight, like her? Dante and Errol were with them for years, and this stupid beast cut them down like dogs. And Griffith wanted to heal her up?

"It would be improper to have a man sleep with a woman that did not choose it," Griffith said, his eyes drifted down to Guts. She thrashed some more, and mumbled something, but it was difficult to make out. Whatever dreams she was having, they were most definitely not good ones. He guessed that the only reason she was not screaming was because she was simply to weak to. "Besides, she might kill whoever I put with her."

"But I get to be the sacrificial lamb...?" Casca groaned, a hint of shame in her voice as she watched the strange woman. It would be inaccurate to call it sympathy. Her emotions were a ball, a complex system of ins and outs. Ups and downs. Apprehension mixed with fear mixed with rage. With bewilderment and empathy thrown in right on top. She still hated her. Casca doubted any force on Earth would ever change that, but Griffith wanted her alive. And Casca knew how rough life could be for a woman, especially one that is forced to fight like men.

"You had older siblings, yes?" Griffith asked innocently, a wide smile on his pretty lips. "Pretend you are a little girl again, and you just had a nightmare."

"Alright, I get it," Casca said, a palm planted wide on her face at the ridiculous idea. "I just... I would be lying if I said that any of this felt right."

"It is just until she awakes," Griffith clarified, "after that? You may despise her as much as you wish. But until then you must keep her alive. That is all."

"You make it sound easy," Casca snipped in her mind, but she never thought for a moment to actually voice this to him. Still, she lost quite a bit of blood. Who knew what that could result in? This woman was on her death bed as they spoke. And Casca did not want to wake up one morning to have corpse rotting next to her.

But Griffith ordered her warm, so Casca would make sure she was warm.

The first night was... rough. Very rough. The stranger's thrashes were one thing to see, and another to feel. In fact, Casca was sure they only got worse when she touched her. Her exposed flesh pressed against the bandages, and the chill nearly froze her solid. How could this woman be this cold and still be alive? It was far worse than she thought. She was lucky there was no campaign to prepare for, since she doubted any sleep would come from this. The constant muffled yelps and jerky movement prevented Casca from ever relaxing enough to drift off. How many nightmares could be in a person's head?

"No..." Guts mumbled, the first coherent word she could muster in several days. Cold, clammy sweat soaked her body. "Don't... don'ttouch!"

Casca's ears perked at the words. Something about her touch finally forced words out of the stranger. She wasn't sure if this meant her condition was improving, or that the prisoner was about to roll over and strangle her to death. But they didn't stop there.

"I'm sorry," Guts cried to herself. Thoughts nonsensical to those outside of her mind. "Please forgive me..."

What was wrong with this lady? Mercenaries definitely had regrets, but this one seemed like they picked every bad decision they could. Casca curled her lip at the strange conversation went on. This one seemed so cold blooded, but in her sleep she was a crying child. Maybe it was the wound forcing the words out. A delirium brought out by blood loss. Still, it was not her business to listen in.

"Stop selling me..." Guts whined, body paralyzed and brow tightened so hard that it was about to tear her skin apart. "I'll be good... please don't let them touch..."

Casca's mind nearly exploded. Was she hearing that right? This girl, the monster that could kill two horsemen in seconds, who killed the Gray Knight Bazuso and wielded a sword large enough to chop a horse's head clean off, was a whore? She was sold to men? How even old was she? There was no way that this person was any older than Griffith. She did not look old enough to be a woman, but one just maturing. It just seemed unreal. Is that why she became a mercenary of all things? How was that even possible? Who could have taught her how to fight like that? But there was only one question Casca could actually push herself to ask.

"What are you...?"

A/N

Yeah, this is the part where I start taking liberties. Plus, some clarification is going to be needed on how things are gonna happen.

1. I am not going to be adapting chapter by chapter anymore. Originally, that was the plan. But then I realized that would take a long time. Plus, I wouldn't be able to shift things around as much if I stuck dead straight with the flow. The idea is to hit the highlights of the manga, with obvious deviations as necessary. Because the Butterfly Effect will kick in and things can shift drastically due to events changing bit by bit over time.

2. Guts' childhood is going to be vague. Simply because it is extremely unpleasant, and I would rather keep most of it to implication. Since reveals would be more impactful when things are finally addressed.

That's about it for now.