Continue On, Struggler | Chapter Four, The World.

…

Roxy ended up staying in Buena Village a decent while longer than Guts expected. A year had passed since they first met and she had yet to leave the village.

The Migurd spent most of that time working, usually helping farmers grow their crops. A drought did, in fact, hit the area, so her services were essential. The specifics eluded him, but as the months passed, it became harder to believe that money was the reason for her continued presence. Comfort was much more likely.

Guts saw proof of that whenever she came to the house.

The girl made a habit of being in Zenith and Lilia's company, coming to the house every few days. Most of the time, they talked about this and that. Others, Roxy would lend his mother a hand in the garden or the maid help with chores, like putting the laundry up to dry. Paul seemed to take a liking to the magician too, although they didn't interact nearly as much as the women did.

Quickly, and with startling efficiency, Roxy established herself as an indispensable facet of their lives.

For his part, Guts didn't mind her much either. They didn't talk much, but listening to her and the other adults talk proved to be a good source of information on the outside world. She even answered any questions he asked her directly, although he had to be mindful of what exactly he asked her.

For one, the scale of the word "demon" was a lot larger than he first figured. According to Roxy, there was a whole continent on the other side of the world that a majority of the world's demons called home, the "Demon Continent." She had been born there herself, so she was able to describe it vividly.

A lot of rocky deserts and even more monsters, with only a few cities and villages nestled in between. A harsh environment, meant for beings considered too harsh to coexist with. Or, at the very least, that's what the humans said when they forced them to live there.

Resentment stuck to Roxy's words like tar then. It was brief, barely a flicker, but he could tell how deep it ran just from the sound. He knew what it sounded like when people were raised to hate one another, having been born at the tail end of a war that spanned entire generations in his past life. Its very existence in someone like Roxy, who seemed more or less friendly with all humans, proved the veracity of his claim.

The Demon Continent, huh? He thought, sometime after. The mention of monsters piqued his interest—made him want to visit one day. Apparently, not only were they much more plentiful there but much more powerful as well. Sounds like my kind of place.

His blood soared at the thought.

…

Outside of Roxy, not much changed for Guts. He had turned four, but that didn't improve his physical capabilities much. His grip strength improved, meaning that he could trade the twig he had been using for swordplay practice with one of the smaller branches from his mother's trees.

Not much of an upgrade, but he'd take it nonetheless.

…

Guts practiced in private to avoid drawing suspicion. Doing so was easy. His father had a study that he rarely used, so Guts used it when he was off at work.

His body still hadn't gotten used to the motions. He knew them all by heart, but his body refused to cooperate with his memory. More often than not, if he swung too hard or if his balance wasn't perfect, he found himself being pulled into the weight of his swings.

Unfortunately, muscle memory didn't mean much when he was missing the muscle.

Swing. No, the footing was off there. Swing. Not enough force. Need to use more of my hips. Swing— Shit! Okay, maybe a bit too much of my hips there…

…

Guts found himself getting into a steady rhythm with his practice. It didn't go unnoticed.

Paul was the first to notice, surprisingly enough. One day, as his father practiced nearby, Guts took a few practice swings.

"Hey, you've gotten better, Rudy! Don't tell me you've been practicing without me."

Guts asked how he could tell. Paul pointed out the balance in his swings, said that it was better, and went back to his own practice. The lack of follow-up advice was annoying, but the observation seemed to put his father in a good mood. A grin accompanied each swing from then on, lasting the entirety of their time out in the yard.

The sight—a father's pride in his son—forced an image into his mind. Of that kid, the one that turned into Griffith that night. Dark-haired, silent, and clung to him and Casca at the whims of the moon.

The image soon turned into a question, one that sat gnarled and neglected in the recesses of his mind. Tucked away back when everything turned to shit.

What if…

Guts looked around him. Took in everything with a deep breath. The Sun, blazing lazily just above where the ground met the sky. The early-Spring green of the hills, trees, and shrubs—outlined in yellow-orange by the late day. Paul's swings, serious and intentioned, but meant for a training dummy. The house behind them, where he could hear traces of Zenith and Lilia working, attending to dinner and all the other housework.

Pft, like that would ever happen.

His imagination couldn't bridge the gap, or replace the necessary faces. He wasn't Paul and Casca wasn't Zenith. This was never a life they could live.

Still, Guts had to admit, the thought was nice in its own right.

…

A few months passed and Guts continued to train his swing. Progress stayed slow, mainly due to his age, but he started using a bigger branch—one that went from his feet to his chest, although that didn't say much.

That caused Zenith and Lilia to take notice. The maid didn't seem to mind much, but his mother, whenever she found him practicing in the study, would shoot disappointed looks towards a stack of books on his father's desk.

The behavior was atypical for her, enough to get Guts curious after a while.

One day, he grew curious enough to check.

Climbing up onto his father's desk chair, Guts pulled one of the books towards him with his branch. It was heavy in hand. The outside was made of stiff leather, which made a wooden knocking sound when he tapped his knuckles against it.

Sturdy…

Guts didn't even bother opening it. He picked it up, clumsily tucked it under his arm, and went to go find Zenith.

He found Lilia first, tending to some laundry. She looked surprised to see him, or rather, to see him holding a book. He could tell. Her purple eyes would drift between him and it the entire time he asked for Zenith. Regardless, Lilia made no mention of it and pointed him toward the garden.

…

True to Lilia's word, his mother was in the garden, tending to a patch of flowers. She was so lost in her work that she didn't notice his approach.

"Mother?"

"Rudy?" Guts expected her to be startled, but if she was, she didn't show it. She regarded him as per usual, with a smile and warmth. "Did you need something from…?" Her voice trailed off when her eyes trailed downwards. "Hm? A book?"

Guts nodded and raised the book up for her to see. "I saw you looking at it earlier. Why? What is it?"

"Noticed that, did you? Nothing gets past those little eyes of yours." Reaching down, she took the book from him and patted him on the head. Her other hand hugged the book to her chest, tight. "This book…." Her eyes fell, and so did the corner of her lips, then silence. He watched. A battle waged through her expression—silent and spanning just a moment. "It, well, reminds me; back before you were born, your father and I would argue about what we'd teach you. Your father wanted to teach you the sword, and I insisted on magic, and no matter what, we couldn't agree."

She laughed a bit and smiled. In response to something other than the current moment, a memory probably. "Eventually, we settled on this. If you were born a girl, I'd get my way and we'd teach you to use magic. I bought this book," she held it out to him, "just in case. Then, you were born, and, well, I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

Guts nodded, understanding. The looks, and the disappointment, made sense now.

"Why magic?" The question came out for no particular reason. There was curiosity, but it was mostly out of confusion.

His not learning magic didn't seem that big a deal, but Zenith wasn't treating it that way. Not at all.

His mother shrugged, her eyes turning back to the house. There was distance in them. A wistfulness that he'd never seen those pools of blue take on before. "I guess… Oh, I don't know. I just wanted you to live a different life than me and your father."

"…"

Zenith must've taken his silence as permission to continue. "I've mentioned that I used to be a pretty famous adventurer, right?" Guts nodded. "Then, you should probably know I didn't exactly choose that life."

Guts listened attentively.

Her mother told her story. Born to lower nobles in some place called the Holy Country of Millis. She had been raised to follow—to follow the word of her parents, the church, and all of its teachings—and for the longest while, that's exactly what she did. That was until she turned fifteen, and she ran away from home. Tried to use the healing magic taught to her to make money. That failed. Led to her getting scammed out of money and being used as a meat shield by much more experienced adventurers. Which, persisted until Paul came along, rescued her, and all but forced her into joining his party—the Fangs of the Black Wolf.

"I wouldn't trade what I have for the world," she said, rubbing the top of his head, "so I'm grateful for my time as an adventurer, but if possible, I'd rather you not go through what I did to find your happiness.

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"Being a magician, a really good one, means that you got a good education. You'd have a bunch of ways to make money, all without having to risk your own life. Just look at Roxy, for example. She can help farmers grow their crops, or take up a job as a magic tutor for a rich family, or…." She cracked a smile, laughed a little, just when the hand on his head stopped moving. "I guess your mother can't help but worry, is all."

Guts was silent, then asked, "Do you still want me to be a magician?"

"Of course, I do." She surprised him with her bluntness, but she seemed just as surprised by the question. "But I wouldn't want to stop you from doing something for my sake—I mean, that's exactly why I left home in the first place."

Suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"How about this? Grow up, find a life you're happy with, and then I can say that I did my job as a mother. Deal?"

Guts didn't know what to say. He stared up at his mother—the midday Sun highlighting her face, her smile—and saw one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen: a mother who loved her son.

It was everything—novel, stunning, and beautiful all at once. Left him absolutely speechless.

He defaulted to a simple nod.

…

Ever since Zenith took him out into town, Guts found himself leaving the Greyrat estate more and more.

Alone.

His parents didn't seem to mind. In fact, the first time he asked his mother, she almost seemed relieved.

All that being said, Guts never wandered far and kept track of any and all landmarks that he could use to orient himself. That way, he never lost track of where the house was.

The land around the house wasn't all too interesting. A lot of open farmland with spots of brush mixed in. Decent enough scenery, but not interesting enough to warrant exploring.

In the end, he only ever came out here to practice.

Overhead swing. Thunk!

The impact ran through the branch and into his hands. He staggered back, having swung harder than he should have. He forced himself to balance and stay on his feet.

When he settled, his breath was ragged and his hands were numb with pain.

Too strong there.

His makeshift weapon slipped from his grip—his palms too thrashed to keep it in hand. A glance down confirmed their condition, burning bright red and littered with scratches. He clicked his tongue. Zenith was going to give him an earful for this, no doubt.

He glared at his opponent: a lone tree on a hill tall enough to be considered a cliff. Its age was apparent, standing taller and stouter than him by a large margin. So much so, that he could stand under it and look up into its green, summer leaves and feel towered over. That he could swing at its gnarled, wild-growing trunk with all his might and never see it so much as shake.

Quite the formidable enemy, he had to admit, despite its inability to move.

Guts took another look at his hands and decided that it was best to take a quick breather. Spend the rest of his time out here swinging at imaginary targets instead. These injuries would earn him a lecture, he figured, but probably no more than that. Any further and Zenith might see it fit to let him suffer through his injuries, instead of healing them with her magic. That, or take his wandering privileges away.

The thought of needing permission annoyed him to no end, though.

Leaning back, he let himself fall to the ground. When the hell did I become such a mama's boy?

Guts knew the answer. He just didn't like to think about it.

It had been that talk they had, the one about his future. It affected him, clearly. Her warmth pulled the air from his lungs; her smile stole the words from his tongue; and, in all, she made him feel like every bit the child he was supposed to be.

Zenith had shared something close to her heart—something meant for her beloved son. A sentiment even he could find the beauty in but was turned bittersweet by reality. He was her son, but he also wasn't. He was the boy named Rudeus Greyrat, but he was also Guts, the Black Swordsman. A fully grown man who had lived his own life, possessed his own memories. Fought, loved, hated, and died.

At that moment, Guts felt like Zenith's son, but he also felt like a thief. A leech. A parasite. Someone taking advantage of her, wearing the skin of the son she should've had.

Usually, he wouldn't be the type to give a damn. In any sense. Yet, just like how she cared for him unconditionally, it seemed that he wasn't free from the gnawing, itching feeling that told him: "care about this woman, she loves you."

To him, Zenith was his mother and Paul was his father, but he could never truly feel like their son.

That's why he didn't like to think about it.

…

"Rudy?"

A voice, feminine and aloof, pulled him from his mulling and the subtly shifting leaves above. He had been staring at them for a while now, he realized, much longer than he wanted. The midday Sun trickled through them, aligning perfectly with his eyes. Shadow and light flickered on-and-off thanks to a light breeze.

"What are you doing out here?" He felt her approaching, the sound of her footsteps being dulled by the grass. "This is a bit far from where you usually sulk, isn't it?"

He could hear the smirk in her words. It hung off them, poked at him like a blunt blade. Teasing, more irritating than painful, and delivered so flatly that it betrayed its nature.

Guts turned his head to face her. Cheek pressed to the grass, he found the magician down at the bottom of the cliff, staring up at him. There was sweat on her brow. Hard work or the heat? Might've been both with that get-up of hers.

"Training." He pointed at the branch next to his left, not bothering to get up. The leaves were much more interesting anyways. "Going to see Mother, I guess?"

"I am." Suddenly, the Migurd made herself visible, poking her head into the corner of his vision. "We crossed paths this morning and she asked me to stop by for dinner." Her face fell in a mix of exasperation and defeat. "I kept insisting otherwise, but your mother can be really stubborn."

Hmph, that's Zenith for you….

"You know, you never answered my question." Roxy's face left his peripheral vision. His eyes tracked her as she walked around him and up to the tree. She stopped at its trunk and, with her legs tucked underneath her, sat down at its base. "It's not every day I see you out of the house, all on your own especially."

"I told you I was training, didn't I?"

She shook her head, her hat swayed with the motion. "That's not much of an answer."

"I just pointed at a branch, I'm tired, and there are nicks in the tree you're sitting under."

"…And?"

"I figured the answer would be pretty obvious."

She smirked. "I mean, you're not wrong, but it's more fun to get you to say it."

He frowned. "Not really?"

She pouted and rolled her eyes. "Fine, since you're set on being cagey about it, you were practicing your swordsmanship, right?"

He hummed to confirm her guess.

"Then, did something go wrong? You didn't seem too happy just a moment ago."

He showed her the palms of his hands, not wanting to reveal what actually troubled him. They were no longer as red as before, but the damage done was still clearly visible.

"H-Huh?!" The sudden rise in volume surprised Guts. "Why are your hands all red? Just what kind of training have you been doing out here?!"

He raised a brow. He didn't understand all the shock and confusion. "I told you, I've been hitting that tree you're sitting under."

"Yeah, I know! But why would you let your hands get like that? Doesn't that hurt?"

Guts opened his mouth to explain. He was conditioning his hands—developing calluses, basically. A swordsman needed to do it to keep his hands from developing blisters, which could happen even if he were to wear gloves.

"…"

However, right as he was about to say all of that, he realized that there was no way a kid his age would've any of that.

"I just felt like it." So, he lied through his teeth instead.

"You felt like hitting a tree until your hands got so raw, they turned red?"

He nodded, scrambling for an answer that wasn't completely stupid. "When I watch my father train, he hits a dummy. I figured that I'd give it a try too."

"…I guess that makes sense."

Wait, you actually bought that?

"Next time, hit something a little softer, will you? Lady Zenith's gonna get really mad at you if you don't, got it?"

Too tired to argue, he nodded.

"Good." Wow, don't you sound so proud of yourself? "By the way, I assume all this training means that you're trying to be a knight, like your father?"

"A knight?" The word felt foreign on his lips. He had been lowborn in his past life, spent the entire time understanding that the word didn't apply to him—could never apply to him. Then, he remembered that he was a different person now. Rudeus Greyrat. Son of a knight, Paul Greyrat. That meant he could be a knight too, if he wanted. "Nah, not really."

"…Why? Don't think you'd be cut out for it?"

Guts shrugged.

"Then, why train at all?"

"I don't know." That's when Guts realized that he had the branch back in hand. He held it just like a sword, out in front of him, both hands at its base like it were a handle. "It's just something I feel like I need to do."

"Because of Lord Paul?"

Guts shook his head.

And, he didn't know why, Roxy smiled. "You know, you're pretty strange, Rudy."

"Like you're one to talk." He rolled his eyes at the implication. She giggled in response.

What was so strange about a boy who wanted to swing a sword? In comparison, she was a demon woman who didn't look older than a teenager, lived on her own as a roaming magician, and was in possession of enough power to wipe this whole village off the map, but used her powers to water plants instead. He couldn't even compare to her weirdness. She was, by far, much stranger than him.

A question came to mind as he listed off the Migurd's abnormalities in his head, one that he had been meaning to ask her for a while now.

Seeing no better time, he asked, "By the way, who taught you how to read?"

…

Roxy.

…

"By the way, who taught you how to read?"

Admittedly, the question surprised Roxy. In all their time together, which totaled over a year now, Rudeus never asked something like that. Never even hinted at being interested in her background, much less reading or writing. If anything, he chose to not speak with her at all.

"Why the sudden interest?" Roxy asked. "Are you thinking about learning?"

The boy nodded. Contrary to the look on his face, which was aloof and carefree as usual, his tone of voice showed that he was taking this seriously. So, she decided to do the same.

"Then, why don't you ask your parents? You're almost old enough to go to school, right?"

"I am?"

Ah, I suppose that's not something a child would know…

"Did your parents do that with you?"

The question stung, made her flinch a little on the inside. Rudeus didn't know, so she did her best not to mind it.

The opposite happened, actually. Her parents didn't send her anywhere. She ran away. Learned to read, write, and hone her skills with magic via her own resources. A fact that never failed to swell her pride.

"Ah… No, nothing like that. I told you I grew up on the Demon Continent, right?"

Rudeus nodded.

"Then, here's something for you to keep in mind: the people of the Demon Continent are a lot poorer than the people here in Fittoa, and my family was even poorer than that. My parents were only able to teach me the basics since that's all they knew to do."

"But didn't you go to school?"

He remembered? That's surprising. "Yes, Ranoa Magic University. I used what my parents taught me to learn magic and became an adventurer. Eventually, I earned enough money to leave the Demon Continent and, later, fund my education. So, everything I have now, I earned for myself."

"Really?" Oho, looks like I actually managed to impress him. "That would've taken a lot of money, wouldn't it?"

"You'd be surprised how much money you can make as an adventurer, even if you aren't skilled in anything in particular." Roxy could see the interest in Rudeus's eyes grow with each word. "That being said, if you ever want to make enough money to cover the tuition at Ranoa Magic University, I suggest finding a party and exploring a labyrinth. They're a lot more dangerous, but they pay well if you manage to get to the end."

As she explained that all, a thought occurred to the Migurd. "Rudeus, do you want to try your hand at being an adventurer?"

Rudeus's response wasn't immediate, instead falling into silence. Eyes aimed away from her. Lips pursed into a thin flat line. He was clearly contemplating his answer.

If this had been their first time speaking, Roxy would've found all this much odder than she did now. Children his age never put that amount of thought into anything, much less their future. However, Rudeus Greyrat had always been rather odd.

The boy didn't display boundless amounts of energy or the infectious curiosity typical of other children, but Roxy would never call him aimless and lazy. Every time she saw him, he sequestered himself into lonely corners and focused on whatever he wanted to focus on. Usually sword practice. And, whenever he set his sights on doing something, nothing could pull him away.

Roxy once joked to Lady Zenith that it'd take a dragon tearing through the village to pull him away from practice. Her friend laughed a little and said she doubted it.

Then, the Migurd asked if she didn't find that at all strange. The mother smiled and said, "Well, that's just Rudy."

It actually reminded Roxy a bit of herself, back when she was a kid.

To the outside world, they were normal. There didn't seem to be anything different about them. But on the inside? There was something missing—something that kept the both of them separate from everyone else. Made them different.

Or, at least, that's what she liked to think.

As she made the comparison, it occurred to her that she didn't know the boy very well. That she was assuming a whole lot, without knowing a whole lot in return. A boy his age could value his privacy, right? He could swing his sword in hopes of emulating his father, couldn't he? There didn't need to be anything wrong with him for him to do that.

Still, selfish as it was, she liked thinking about him that way. A kindred spirit. So, that's what she was going to do.

"Maybe." Rudeus shrugged. "I don't know." Still, on his back, he pointed the branch in his hands up toward the sky like a sword. "I don't hate the idea."

Roxy's eyes widened. There was something in the boy's eyes that she'd never seen before. It burned hot, replacing the typical green malaise. Steady, resolute in something—maybe in himself, or maybe in the branch he was holding in place of a sword. It was clear from that moment on that, despite the uncertainty, he was placing his faith in something.

She couldn't help herself.

"Hey, Rudeus," Only one thought ran through her mind as she spoke. A question. "Do you want me to teach you how to read?"

It felt like she had gotten a glimpse of who the boy really was, deep down, buried under who she knew him to be.

Quite simply, she wanted to see more of it.

…

Chapter End.