Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter Eight, Sudden Change.

…

As expected, after Guts explained what happened between him and Sylphie, Roxy jumped on the opportunity to make the girl her student. Literally. She had been sitting on the ground at the time but sprung up to her feet when he told her. Like a startled cat. He couldn't help chuckling. Never, in all their years of knowing each other, had he seen the Migurd move so fast.

However, all of Roxy's excitement got stomped out pretty quickly. Near instantly. Because, when he brought Sylphie to her the next day, the magician let out a shrill shriek and ran to hide behind a tree. All the while muttering something about the girl being a "Superd."

Roxy's genuine fear left Guts at a loss at first, especially when the half-elf proved to be so painfully un-intimidating. Still, Sylphie quickly explained that it's happened to her before: people having that sort of reaction upon first meeting her. Apparently, it had something to do with her hair—which was the same shade of green as the Superd, a tribe of demons who "did a lot of bad things a long time ago" and so "everyone hated them."

Guts took that to mean one thing: "a lot of people are dead because of them."

It was the only conclusion that made sense, really. What else could explain Roxy reacting like that? She wasn't just scared of the little girl—there was genuine terror in her. Just at the mere possibility of her being a Superd. Her. Roxy. The Migurd. A Saint-tier Water Magician. Demonfolk herself. Yet she's the one who went running and screaming. Yeah, the Superd were killers. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

It ended up not mattering in the end. When Roxy stopped screaming, Sylphie was able to explain that she didn't have an ounce of Superd blood in her—something the Migurd realized herself when she noted the lack of a red gem on the half-elf's forehead: another defining trait of the infamous demon tribe. So, eventually, Roxy calmed and offered her services as a magic tutor.

That, however, led to a conversation about how the magician would be compensated.

"A-Ah, I'm sorry for not telling you about this earlier, Miss Roxy, but m-my family… We… We're not like Rudy's family," Sylphie explained, never meeting the Migurd's gaze. "We don't have a lot of money. I don't think we'd be able to pay you."

As expected, Roxy waved off her concerns. Told her that being able to cast spells without incantations would be payment enough. And that, even if she wasn't able to learn how to do so herself, she considered learning how a child managed such a feat just as valuable.

"Consider this the first lesson I impart upon you as your teacher," Roxy said at the time, her eyes closed and finger raised. Guts smirked. He couldn't help it. She was so obviously showing off, trying to make herself out to be the cool and collected type. "Money isn't the only thing people see value in. Most of the time, it all comes down to what you're able to do, and what others can't."

Sylphie's eyes grew wide, then glazed a little with tears. She pursed her lips, then smiled. Softly, and despite the tears. As if she just then realized what that meant.

"T-Thank you, Miss Roxy!" She said, bowing her head. "I'll try not to let you down!"

And, just like that, Guts got himself a new classmate.

…

In the meantime, Guts got better with the sword. That was no real surprise, though. Most of the motions were already ingrained in his brain. All he had to do now was get his new body up to snuff.

Regardless of the truth of the subject, Paul seemed to take pride in his progress—totally convinced that his son was some sort of prodigy. Not just with a blade, but with magic as well. Honestly, a part of him wondered why his parents were so accepting of that fact. Of course, it wasn't like they had a reason to suspect his true origins, but the lack of any and all suspicion felt odd. Like they were willingly turning a blind eye to it. But then again, maybe that was the sort of obvious thing that pride made you blind to.

Eh, whatever. In the end, Guts didn't think it was worth complaining about. He just found it odd.

His parents still treated him like a kid his age and that's all that mattered to him. Zenith played the affectionate mother and Paul tried to be the stern father, and sometimes they traded places, but really, they seemed content to just let him be a kid. On the other hand, Lilia seemed to know that something wasn't completely right with him, though; but from the looks of it, she didn't seem to hate him or anything. She might've just thought he was weird.

Not that any of that meant his life was free from all talks of his future. He had that talk with Zenith years ago, but every once in a while, Paul would ask him questions like: "Tell me, Rudy. What do you want to do when you grow up?" or "What do you like more? Swinging a sword or using magic?"

Today's question, though, was different.

"So, I heard something interesting from Laws today," Paul said, leaning forwards onto his practice sword so their eyes would meet. Guts, exhausted from sparring, had opted to sit; whereas, his father stayed up on his feet. Looking down on him.

He snorted. Then, asked, "Yeah, what's that?"

"That he's seen you hanging out with his daughter a lot as of late. That true?"

Guts narrowed his eyes at that. "Yeah? I guess you could say that. Why? Does it matter?"

"Oh, not really."

Bullshit.

"It's just that, y'know, he's not the only one I've heard it from," Paul said, smirking.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Hmph, that right?" Guts asked, eyeing his father skeptically. "From who exactly?"

"From Roxy, for one. Now that I think about it, she's mentioned Sylphiette a lot too. Hm… Wonder why that might be?"

Guts rolled his eyes. "Okay, I get it already. Roxy told you about what happened. Why's it matter?"

"Not quite getting it, huh? Guess there are things you don't understand, after all."

Guts frowned. He didn't like where this conversation was going. He especially didn't like the dopey smile his father had either. It pretty much guaranteed that he was being made fun of.

"I figured that you might've been doing it on purpose since you are my son and all, but it looks like it might just come naturally for us Greyrats."

"Huh?" Guts was at a complete loss now. He didn't have a single clue as to what his father was getting at. Paul was making it seem like there was some sort of grand observation to be had when there really wasn't. They were just two kids hanging out with one another. Nothing more, nothing less. "What're you…?"

"I don't know if you know this or not, but your father was a real hit with the ladies back in his day." His dopey smile grew even wider as he went on, "And since you are my son, I just figured that you might've been helping the girl out for a reason."

Suddenly—violently—his father's face looked a lot more punchable.

The implication disgusted him. To the core, it disgusted him. So bad it made him want to hurl. Stab needles into his ears, even. As long as it'd let him un-hear what just came out of his father's mouth.

Reborn into a new body or not, he was still a grown man on the inside and Sylphie was a child through and through….

Now, to be fair, that wasn't something Paul could've ever known. Honestly, that was the only thing keeping Guts from decking the man outright. Still, when the two of them got back to sparring, he figured that he was well within his rights to try and hit him good somewhere.

It was the least he deserved, honestly.

…

Roxy's hand fell to her waist, her staff in hand and stagnant. She let out a heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped and her face contorted into a kid-like pout. Overall, everything about her screamed defeat.

"Looks like it's no good."

Guts nodded and hummed in agreement, not knowing what else to say.

"P-Please don't give up, Miss Roxy…" Sylphie did her best to lift their teacher's spirits, but her voice betrayed her. The truth was hard to deny now. "It took me some time to get the hang of it too! You'll get it, I'm sure! You just gotta keep trying!"

Guts eyed Sylphie pointedly, knowing she just made a big mistake. He'd known Roxy for years now and so, he knew she'd take the girl's reassurances as pity—and pity wasn't the sort of thing she responded well to. Her pride, which most days stood taller than she did, wouldn't allow it.

"…N-No, it's alright, Sylphie," Roxy said, a lie so obvious that it made Guts shut his eyes in embarrassment. Her voice was so strained—her face was so defeated—that it looked like she was a mean word away from throwing herself off the nearest cliff. And, honestly, he wouldn't have blamed her at this point. "Most master magicians don't know how to do it either, so it's really no big deal if I can't."

Damn, you really aren't fooling anyone….

To sum up how things got to this point, Roxy couldn't use chantless magic.

Sylphie explained the process to the best of her ability and Roxy tried for weeks to get it right, but it was clear now that her efforts would take her nowhere.

Now, that usually wouldn't have been too big of a deal. Like Roxy said, there were only a handful of people who could do it in the first place, so her not being one of the rare few was fine. However, and this was unfortunate for her and her self-confidence, it took Guts less than a day to figure it out himself—meaning that, despite dwarfing her students in both age and experience, she was the odd one out.

In all honesty, in his opinion, the whole process was pretty simple once he had it all laid out for him.

Basically, and this took some help from Roxy to make it coherent, all Sylphie needed to do was imagine a Water Ball forming in her hand and it did. Something that seemed simple, but really wasn't.

Guts knew this because, after his own first few attempts, he fared no better than Roxy. However, his magic tutor suggested he try and cast Fireball instead, which confused him at first. But then, he remembered her lectures on affinity schools and the fact that he was terrible at casting Water magic. So, he tried to imagine a ball of fire forming in hand—an act that brought back memories of his old arm cannon. Then, as if a level was flipped, the gears in his mind started turning and he felt heat course through his body, into his hand. He recognized the sensation. It was the same as when he'd cast with a chant. That's when he opened his eyes and found a bright, little sliver of a flame burning in the palm of his hand.

And, just like that, Guts knew how to do something Roxy couldn't. Something she'd never be able to do if the last few weeks were any indication.

Honestly, that made him feel pretty good—about himself and about his magic in general. Frankly, when he first started learning it, he didn't think it was something he'd get much use out of. Useful to have if he ever needed fire or water, for sure. The same went for the healing spells Zenith promised to teach him at some point. That said, the fact was that he was still a swordsman by nature. And, be it habit or instinct, a swordsman never strayed too far from their opponent.

He'd seen magic used in his past life. Seen its power. Schierke had saved their group with it more than times he could count—he'd never deny that—but she needed time to cast it. Lots of time. And effort too. Not just from her, but from the rest of the group as well. He'd never be afforded those luxuries. He'd be in the thick of things. Always. That meant that, once a fight got going, his magic was always going to be useless.

Now, though, Guts found a way to put it to use. And, ever since then, his head raced from the possibilities.

He basically had a more versatile version of his hand cannon. One that didn't need to be reloaded after every shot and could shoot everything from balls of fire to gusts of wind to rocks the size of his head. Add in all of the ways he could use his magic to enhance his swordsmanship and, suddenly, he had a reason to look forward to his lessons with Roxy.

"Alright—" Without warning, Roxy clapped her hands together once, and all of a sudden, the Migurd was back to her usual self. Stoic and expressionless. "—that's enough of that, I think. How about we get started on today's lesson?" And ready to teach. "Sylphie?"

"Ready!" Unsurprisingly, the half-elf's mood brightened right alongside her.

"Rudy?"

Guts nodded.

"Good." Roxy nodded back. "I figured we'd start where we left off yesterday…."

…

Sylphie had changed at some point. It was something Guts realized one day without ever really meaning to.

"Those guys…" Sylphie grumbled, glaring down at the mud of her shirt. The two of them were at their usual spot, winding down after their lesson with Roxy. They spent that time like they usually did; Guts practiced with his sword and Sylphie with her magic. Although, now, it seemed like the dirt on her shirt was her main focus. "It's been months and they still won't leave us alone."

Somal and his lackeys had been the ones who put them there. It was just something those dumbasses did every once in a while: stomping up to them, picking a fight, and losing. No punches ever got thrown, though. Just a lot of name-calling and sometimes mud-slinging. So, Guts was always hesitant to think of them as actual fights. As insults and balls of mud went, he could deal with those just fine. The little girl with him, though…. Well, at least she actually threw things back now.

Guts shrugged. Not to say he was indifferent to the fact. Their little pissing contests got in the way of his training, after all. But if he did any actual damage to the kids, they'd run to their parents, who'd give Paul an earful. Then, Paul would probably give him an earful in return for escalating things and that'd be even more annoying than having his training interrupted. So, all in all, he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. Besides, those mud balls were good for practicing Water-God techniques.

"I wish I could be more like you, Rudy." The girl's words were paired with a heavy sigh. Guts, still focused on training, watched her sit and pull her knees into her chest from the edge of his vision. "Stuff like this doesn't bother you at all."

"Yeah, and? It bother you or something?"

Sylphie nodded and hid her head behind her knees.

"Why? It's not like they ever actually do anything."

"Still, I dunno…. It just makes me really mad, I guess? L-Like, whenever I see Somal now, I feel like going up to him and just… well, y'know."

"And what's the problem with that?" Guts asked while taking a step forwards and letting loose a downward swing. "It's not like he wouldn't deserve it."

"I-I guess, but being that mad at somebody is bad, right? At least, that's what my parents told me when I was little. That I shouldn't ever hit someone because they made me mad."

"That right? Well, what if Somal hit you first? Or, what if he said something mean about your parents and that's what got you mad? Would it be wrong to hit him then?" He asked, swinging again. "I mean, didn't you already do something like that with me?"

"N-no! That was different!"

"How?"

"That— I-I mean, I wasn't trying to hurt you then! I just—"

"—You, what? Wanted to make me feel bad? How's that any different?"

The question gave Sylphie pause, telling Guts all that he needed to know. She never even considered it. Not once. Not ever.

Guts snorted. "Just because our parents say something, doesn't mean it's always right."

"I… I guess that's true." Sylphie folded easily. Too easily for his liking. That was basically the same as her saying she disagreed but didn't have the spine to stand by it. Whatever, he thought. Sometimes he forgot he was speaking to an eight-year-old girl—an eight-year-old girl who had basically spent her whole life glued to her parents' side because of the color of her hair. She would figure out that he was right eventually. She just had to grow up a little more— "E-Even then, I still think you're wrong."

Huh?

"I still think hitting people is—"

Her answer caught him off guard. And, having already started taking another swing, the momentum and weight of his practice sword caused him to stumble. Not enough to make him fall flat on his face, but enough to be noticeable.

"—Ah, are you okay?!"

Guts cursed as he stood back upright.

"I'm fine," he said while waving the girl off, who had stood up to check on him. "You just caught me off-guard."

"Ah, I did?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

It was true too. She did surprise him.

"Oh… Did I say something wrong?"

Guts shook his head and got back into a swinging stance.

The girl did have a backbone, it seemed. Honestly, it was refreshing to see the girl use it every once in a while.

…

Zenith was pregnant.

The news didn't surprise Guts. Zenith and Paul had been trying for another baby since he was born. Or, at least, that's what the noises seeping through the walls at night told him. Honestly, with how often they went at it, the time it took in between felt more surprising than the pregnancy itself.

He was going to be eight in a matter of months. For a young couple like them—who went at it basically every night, it felt like—one would think a second baby would come pretty easily for them, but the opposite turned out to be true. He even caught Zenith muttering and sighing about it every once in a while.

Then, about a month ago, his mother started changing.

Guts spent most of his past life in the company of mercenaries, so he had no idea how to tell if a woman was pregnant until it became obvious. So, when the first symptoms came: the tiredness, the vomiting, and the sudden change in how she ate—he honestly thought she was just sick. A trip to the city later, however, proved him wrong.

So, Zenith was pregnant. His mother was going to have another child. That meant that he was going to be an older brother soon.

The Greyrat family was going to get another member soon….

…Not that it mattered to him. That just meant there would be another person living with them in nine months. No big deal, really. At the very least, it'd give his mother someone else to dote on. He didn't dislike her at all, but he was well past the age where he needed to be babied.

Regardless, the rest of the family jumped into action at the news. Preparation for its birth started as soon as Zenith got back. "Boy or girl?" Possible names. Those were the sort of things that came up first. Then, Roxy asked if she should move out to make room for it. It went on and on from there.

Things were changing, rapidly and with great excitement.

That all came to a halt a month later.

…

"It seems that I'm pregnant," Lilia said.

Dinner ground to a halt that instant, and in that instant, Guts saw more emotion in the woman than he'd ever seen before. The downcast eyes, the tense shoulders, and the pale hands clutching the hem of her dress; it all bled together. Mixed and mashed and clashed to create the image of a woman that did her best to hide away, despite standing right in front of them—a woman he didn't recognize at all.

A moment passed. A tense and silent moment that let everyone ask the obvious question: "who's the father?"

Then, came the obvious answer.

All eyes turned to Paul.

Lilia basically never left the house. Only ever went into town for emergencies. And if that wasn't damning enough, Zenith had announced her pregnancy a month ago give or take a few days—a timeline that would line up with exactly when his parents stopped having sex because of the baby.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind, though no one said it aloud. Paul and Lilia had an affair.

"Uh, sorry." Of course, that didn't stop the idiot from blurting it out himself. "This baby is, uh… probably mine."

…

"Miss Roxy, would you mind going upstairs?" Zenith asked, her voice causing everyone to flinch. It was low and cold and completely void of the usual vigor. It occurred to him that this was the first time he's seen his mother genuinely upset by anything. "And would you take Rudy with you?"

Roxy opened her mouth, but then closed it and nodded.

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"O-Of course…" The Migurd stood and scurried over to Guts. "Come on, Rudy. We should let the three of them work this out themselves."

Guts frowned. He glanced over at his mother, but she wouldn't meet his gaze, nor did she meet anyone else's. At some point, she had shut them and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. And she sat there. Still. Unmoving. As if she was waiting for the right moment to explode.

His frown deepened. He could feel his own anger building—his own fists clenching. But, despite himself, he got up and let Roxy lead him toward the stairs. Because he knew she was right. This was something that they needed to work out themselves.

Zenith started as soon as the pair reached the stairs. Not quite screaming at first, but she didn't need to. She made herself clear regardless. Then, he heard it trickle in. The anger. The volume started to rise and then, all of a sudden, she seemed to shake the house with each word.

Guts heard every word. Every emotion. Not just the anger, but the betrayal and disbelief as well. New ones seemed to appear each and every step up the stairs.

When he and Roxy reached the top, Guts stopped and glanced behind him.

"It'll be okay, Rudy," Roxy said, worried eyes switching between him and down the stairs. Then, the Migurd did something she'd never done in the years they'd known each other, she put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away immediately, instinctively. But, instead of allowing that to dissuade her, she stepped out in front of him and squatted down so they were eye to eye. She smiled at him, despite the situation. "I know that look on your face."

"Huh?"

"That look on your face—I know it. I've seen it before."

He knit his brows together and frowned. "What look on my face?"

"Whenever you get mad and want to do something about it, you stare and make a face," she explained, and then dipped her head and stood. "But that's not something you should worry yourself with right now. Right now, we should focus on getting you to your room."

Guts was silent for a moment and then nodded.

Roxy turned and started back down the hallway.

He followed.

"Lord Paul and Miss Zenith will work something out, I'm sure," the Migurd said without looking back at him. "These sorts of things happen, even when people love each other. So, try not to worry too much, okay?"

Guts couldn't really say that the words reassured him at all, not when he could still hear Zenith, but he went to his room anyways.

Just then, right when the door to his room closed behind him, did he realize what he just did: he ran away.

…

Even from inside his room, Guts could tell the conversation hadn't gone well. Walls and distance muffled the specifics, but they didn't do much when it came to everything else. The times his mother raised her voice, the long pauses in between; those both rang true. As clear as day. Then, after they went on a while, he heard someone stomp upstairs and a door slammed shut. Coming from down the hall, in the general direction of his parents' room. So, he could guess who it had been.

His frown deepened. Having sat against the frame of his bed, waiting for the commotion to die down, he let out a heavy breath and rested the back of his head against it. Only one thought was running through his brain at the moment, which was focused on one man: Paul.

Man, what a dumbass.

Between this life and his old one, Guts had been alive for almost thirty years. In all that time, marriage wasn't a topic he thought about often, but he heard a lot about it.

During his time as raider captain for the Band of the Hawk, he'd hear his men talk about it. Wish for it. Want it more than anything else. For some of them, it bled into everything. All their dreams and all their regrets—it all led to some woman they wanted to marry. One they would get once they scraped together enough coin to call themselves something other than a lowly mercenary. Or, just thought herself too good for them in general. They, his men's stories, all had their differences—some big and some small—but they carried the same purpose. It was their purpose. It was the manifestation of their dreams—the reason they risked their lives in war, in the first place. Guts really couldn't understand it at the time, but he never sneered when they told him.

Then, he had Casca. He understood it better then. Even entertained it for a moment. And, at some point, he craved it nearly as dearly.

But then….

He could feel it—something smoldering inside him as his mind touched those memories. Embers poked back to life. Hatred he thought long since smothered by the darkness that brought him to this world in the first place. Griffith. The name alone was enough to move him.

Guts got up. Breath short and rapid. Phantom pain dug into the side of his neck. His body shook as his mind filled with memories. Of everything. Of Griffith, of the Band of the Hawk, of the Eclipse, of the God Hand, of the Sacrifice, and of all of those dreams snuffed out in a manner of moments. Of fires drowned in a knee-deep sea of blood and gore, and crimson faces who seemed to mock him with their indifference. He could still feel it. Hear it. Smell it. The sounds of a feast being had around him as—

—Then, one image came to mind. Stopped him dead in his tracks. A fire that burned still, despite all of it. His own dream. Casca.

Guts grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and made for the door—knowing what needed to be done.

He knew how both sides felt, to betray and to be betrayed. The anger and pain that came with both. The difference between the weight of others' selfish desires and the weight of his own stupidity, and how both could drag him into the ground if he wasn't careful. If he didn't fight. If he didn't run, walk, or crawl against the oncoming winds. As hopeless as it felt most days, as many times he almost snuffed it out himself by being a dumbass, he'd do everything in his power to keep it burning.

And, if either Paul or Zenith felt anything similar—if this was their dream—then it wasn't going to go out tonight. Not because of something like this.

Guts needed to do something. He couldn't just sit and let things sort themselves out. He'd done enough of that already. For eight years, that's how he lived.

He had never been a kid in the first place, so why the hell was he acting like one now?

…

Guts marched down the stairs to confront Paul and Lilia. He knew better than to try the alternative—he knew himself better than that. He was and had been a lot of things in his two lives, but he'd never been the type to waltz into a woman's room and talk away their problems. No, if there was a problem, he'd face the source of it head on. Pass or fail.

He found Paul and Lilia still at the dinner table. Both in their usual spots. The prior at the head and the latter a couple of chairs down. They both flinched when their eyes met his.

An eight-year-old kid made two adults do that. Guts wanted to roll his eyes and shake his head at how pitiful this situation was. Instead, he snorted, marched up to the table, and got up onto his usual seat so he could meet their eyes.

"Why?" He asked. Neither answered and just stared, confused and dumbfounded. Seeing this, he pressed his advantage. "The two of you hurt Mother. Tell me why. Now."

Again, the two flinched. A reaction that confused Guts. It was understandable at first, but now, they were acting way too intimidated by him, an eight-year-old. …Bah, whatever. It was beyond the point and beyond being his problem. If they felt that bad about it, then that's exactly what they deserved.

"Rudy…" Paul spoke first. "Look, Lilia and I… We…" His eyes darted between him, Lilia, and the maid's stomach. "Back before your mother and I got married, she made me promise that she'd be my only woman."

"And?"

"A month ago, I broke that promise." His father lowered his head as he admitted that. He had his hands up on the table—his fingers interlaced and squeezed so tight his knuckles turned pale. "Since your mother is going to have a baby, I… She and I haven't…" A sigh, followed by him lowering his head further. "Please don't blame Lilia. All this is my fault."

Guts narrowed his eyes. His father was lying. And it was so obvious, it made Guts ball his hand up into a fist. But, before he could call the man out on it, he heard wood scraping against wood—a noise so sharp it stung.

Guts turned towards the source, Lilia. She stayed sitting, but she was noticeably further away from the table than before.

…That's how it is, huh?

Paul was covering for her. Why—? Wait, no, the answer was obvious. Bastard or not, the baby in Lilia's stomach was still his baby. Everyone knew what the obvious solution to all this was: sending Lilia away for good. Back to her family. However, from what Guts knew about the maid (which wasn't much), they lived a ways away in some other country. That meant that if she was leaving with any immediacy, she'd be doing so alone—a dangerous enough prospect in itself. But, now, she was with child. And it'd be long into winter when it was time for her to have it. So, his father's reason for lying was obvious.

Sending her off now would be a death sentence. If not for her, but for her baby. His baby. Maybe even both.

That being said, a lie was a lie and Guts wasn't about to let them get away with it.

"Lilia, was that the truth? This all his fault?"

The maid was silent for a long while then shook her head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Paul tense.

At least she's not trying to weasel her way out of this. "This all your fault then?"

Lilia shot Paul a glance before answering, "…I'm the one who seduced Master Paul. I was unable to control my desires and made him betray your mother's trust."

"Lilia, what're you—?!"

—Bang! Guts slammed his fist into the table with all his might, not even turning towards his father.

"And that's what you told Mother?"

She stared at him for a moment—in disbelief—then her expression steadied. She nodded. "Yes, I… I told Mistress Zenith everything. That I had been the one to seduce Master Paul, that it was my fault that he broke his promise to her, and that I knew of that promise and chose to betray her anyways." Her eyes stopped meeting his halfway through. "To atone, I offered to continue my service here until her baby was born and leave thereafter, but… that's when…."

…So, that's how it is then. "If that's true, then when is my father covering for you now?"

"I believe Master Paul feels responsible. When Mistress Zenith gives birth, it'll be winter and that'll mean…." Lilia looked away from him entirely now. "Master Paul probably believed that if he could convince you that he was the one at fault for what happened, it would help in convincing your mother of the same. Probably in hopes that it would be enough for her to allow me to stay, but…."

"…But what? You think differently?"

"Truthfully, I think myself undeserving of such mercy." Emotion bled into her voice now. Guts recognized it. Resignation. Not acceptance. She didn't want to die, but to keep living, she needed something she didn't think herself worthy of: his mother's forgiveness. So, in response to that, her usually steady voice had grown shaky and unstable. "If that's the punishment Mistress Zenith thinks appropriate, then I'll accept it without protest. It's the least that I deserve, in truth."

"Look, Rudy." Paul interrupted yet again. Guts had to fight to keep from looking at him as he spoke. "Don't just listen to Lilia, alright? It's true that she came onto me, but no matter how you look at it, I'm still at fault for not refusing." His voice stayed steady and firm all throughout, and from his peripheral vision, Guts saw his father's eyes stay fixed on him. For the first time in the whole conversation, the man was acting his age. "You and I both know that Lilia doesn't deserve to die because of me being an idiot."

His father stood from his chair, slammed his palms onto the table, and bowed his head so low his forehead nearly followed.

"So, please, I know that this is a lot to ask, but help me convince your mother to let Lilia stay. At least until winter passes. She won't—"

—Thwack!

Guts couldn't help himself. He climbed up onto the table, stomped over to Paul, and put his fist into his jaw. There wasn't enough force behind it to put him on his ass, but he still recoiled enough to make Lilia gasp.

"Rudy, what're you—?!"

Guts grabbed his collar with both hands.

"—And what about mother?" He asked through grit teeth. On the brink of screaming. His father just stared back at him in response. Shocked. "You can say all that about a maid, but not Mother?"

Whatever. Fuck it. Guts was beyond caring about this idiot.

He was angry. Angrier than he's felt in years. He could feel it. In his jaw, in his brow, and in his shaking hands. He could feel it crawling up the length of his spine, building up all over the rest of his body. Tension. Like he was a second away from something tearing.

Why? The hell he was so angry at Paul for? Didn't he come down here to help this idiot? So, why—? No, never mind, he just answered his own question. Paul was an idiot. He had wanted to help, but stupid shit kept spilling from his mouth. Over and over. Like any of it actually mattered.

The man fucked another woman and that's all he cared about? The maid? Being a "good" person towards her? Taking responsibility on her behalf?

What about his wife? The woman he supposedly loved? The woman who still loved him despite all his faults? The mother to his only child? The fuck did she do to deserve getting treated like an afterthought?

"Who exactly is the one who got hurt here?" he asked, just barely holding himself back.

Guts's breathing quickened. He felt sick to his stomach. He actually compared himself to this piece of trash. Thought that they might have been kindred spirits—one screw-up to another. After all, he's done worse things to Casca. He abandoned her in a cave for years to chase revenge, he was too rough with her on more than one occasion, and he even once tried to force himself on her. Evil spirits possessing or not, he was just as big—if not a bigger—dumbass than Paul, but even then…

Wanted or not, ashamed of himself or not, at the very least…

"The hell are you even doing down here?!"

Guts promised to be right by her side.

…

Zenith.

…

Zenith had been content to cry herself to sleep. It's all she could think to do. After what she learned tonight, of her husband's infidelity and best friend's betrayal, what else could she do?

What was she going to do? The question made her mind go to dangerous places. Divorce was the first and foremost, but she forced it out as soon as it entered. She loved him too much to do that. Even now. She knew better. For all Paul's flaws, for all the hurt she felt, she knew herself better than thinking she'd actually do it. It just wasn't what she wanted. Not at all.

Paul was a boar, despite his upbringing. A lecher through and through. An idiot who only seemed to create more and more tricky situations for their party to wriggle free of. That was the man her husband was—that was the type of man she had given her heart to. Some past version of herself might've been foolish enough to think otherwise—that there was a knight in sterling white armor hiding under all of the muck and garbage—but she had grown up a lot since then.

Zenith knew exactly what she had gotten herself into when they got married. It's why the promise was so important to her in the first place. Not because she believed he'd actually stay true to it, but because it felt good. To hear. To know. To feel. That, even if it was for a little while, she had been worth it to him. Then, he actually went and broke it.

It hurt. It hurt more than she could ever imagine. It hurt, even more, to know that it was Lilia with who he had broken it. She considered the woman her closest friend—employer and employee only in name and convenience. Sometimes, it felt like Lilia understood her more than Paul or Rudy did. Yet, in spite of all that, not only did she help Paul break his promise—she had been the one to goad him into it.

In the moment, after hearing her explanation, Zenith wanted nothing more than to kick both out. But, when the time came, all she did was stand from her seat and start crying.

For the first time in a long while, Zenith felt the same as when she first ran away from home to become an adventurer: naive, stupid, and taken advantage of.

…

Bang!

A door slammed shut and stopped Zenith's crying. A part of her immediately thought to dismiss it as Paul lashing out at something, but then, she heard footsteps rush down the hallway and down the stairs—footsteps that were far too soft to belong to a fully grown man.

"Why?" She heard after some silence. That voice… It was Rudy's, but why was he—? "The two of you hurt Mother. "The two of you hurt Mother. Tell me why. Now."

…

Rudy had always been a peculiar boy.

Back when he was first born, he made so little noise that she and Paul had worried that there was something wrong with him. But, eventually, those worries went away as he got older and got more active. He became quite the pain in the behind too.

After he learned to crawl, he developed a habit of slipping away from her and Lilia. Only to wind up in the strangest of places. They both chalked it up to a child's curiosity at first, but then, one day, Lilia found him out in the yard, swinging a stick around like a sword in a clear attempt to mimic his father. That's when she really started to worry.

Not that Zenith disliked the idea of her son picking up a skill. If Rudy wanted to become a swordsman like his father, then she'd support him without hesitation, but he fixated on it like nothing else. She ignored it for a time, but more and more, she found him swinging around makeshift swords. He'd disappear and then reappear sweaty and exhausted with scratches and cuts littering his palms. It became clear then. He wasn't playing around. He was training. And something about the thought terrified her. Made her think about the future—his future. Maybe it was just her motherly instincts kicking in, overreacting, but she didn't like the idea of him having to use those skills. Ever. Much less for a living. She was far too familiar with that sort of life to want the same for him.

Those concerns wavered whenever she watched him train. She could see it in his eyes. In the way his body shifted and moved with each swing. The ease. The comfort. He always looked comfortable when he practiced. More comfortable than she'd ever seen him, even more so than when she held him—a fact that never failed to upset her. How, as a mother, could she even think about taking something like that away from him?

Strangely enough, Zenith would get the chance to talk about it with him.

One day, while she was working in the garden, Rudy barged up to her with a book raised over his head. It took her less than a second to recognize. It was the textbook on beginner magic that she and Paul kept in the study—the one that she had always secretly wanted Rudy to stumble upon, be curious enough to thumb through, and lead him down the path of being a magician. That never really panned out. So, at the time, she was just curious as to why he had it when they hadn't even taught him how to read yet.

"I saw you looking at it earlier. Why? What is it?"

Zenith couldn't tell as to why—maybe it was just holding in those worries for such a long time—but she ended up spilling them all to him. It was far from her proudest moment, as a fully-grown woman and as a mother, but she liked being able to speak so honestly with her son. Even if she found the whole thing to be incredibly selfish of her. Then, he asked:

"Do you still want me to be a magician?"

Her son had asked it so earnestly that she couldn't help responding in kind.

"Of course, I do."

Out of consideration for him and his dreams, Zenith told him that she'd be okay with any path he went down. It didn't matter to her as long as he was happy doing it. He nodded and seemed to understand. Yet, he still went and somehow convinced Roxy Migurdia, a Saint-Class Water Magician, to teach him how to read and write. All entirely behind their backs! Then, one day, the Migurd came running into the house, claiming that her son had some innate talent for casting magic!

In the moment, after the initial shock had worn off, all she could think to do was smile at Rudy knowingly.

What else could she do after hearing something like that?

…

The last time Zenith moved with such haste was back in her adventurer days. Before she even realized it, she jumped up from her bed and was standing at the top of the stairs.

"Rudy…." Paul's tone forced her to a standstill. "Look, Lilia and I… We…" It was a trained response, she recognized. Another holdover from their past. An instinctual spike of fear that told her something bad was about to happen. He sounded flustered, completely at a loss on what to say next. That never boded well. In those situations, he'd always just start talking—saying the first things that came to mind and hoping he'd find the right answer in the mess. Usually, though, he just made things worse. "Back before your mother and I got married, she made me promise that she'd be my only woman."

"And?" Rudy asked.

Zenith gulped hard at that. Was that really her son? It didn't sound like him. He usually spoke with so little emotion that it was hard to tell what he was feeling most of the time. Always aloof and carefree. Now, though? His voice was biting and accusatory, almost like the snarl of a ready hound.

"A month ago, I broke that promise. Since your mother is going to have a baby, I… She and I haven't… Please don't blame Lilia. This is all my fault."

…

Her eyes burned again. That was a lie. Paul was lying. Paul was lying to Rudy. Their son. A part of her wasn't surprised, or at least didn't want to be. When she interrogated Lilia, the maid admitted to being the one to seduce Paul. He tried to cut in then, probably to tell her the same thing he just told Rudy, but Zenith shut him up before he could. She had to. She knew her husband too well. He was an idiot, but he did his best to be a good person. He'd never try to actively hurt her, and he'd never let Lilia go through with her suggested punishment.

The woman wanted to leave for home as soon as Zenith's pregnancy ran its course—that most likely looked to be right in the middle of winter. No one said anything, but all three of them knew what she was trying to do.

To Lilia, it felt like the only way she could atone.

To them, it felt like suicide.

Paul wasn't the kind of man who'd let something like that happen. Not for something he played a part in as well.

Zenith, though? She wasn't the kind of woman who could expunge the thought from her mind entirely. For the longest moment, anger held her so tight, she actually considered it.

She listened to the rest of their conversation, her eyes fixed on the gap between her feet and the stairs. The first step down—it felt like it was taunting her, reminding her that she could run down there and put an end to what she was hearing. Now. At any point. But all she did was stand there.

Lilia's story didn't change. Selfishly, a part of Zenith wanted to feel good about that fact. Paul was handing her an easy out, but her friend wouldn't take it—practically risking her own death so as to not deceive Zenith any further.

Even then, Paul wasn't dissuaded from his attempts to convince Rudy. "So, please, I know this is a lot to ask, but help me convince your mother to let Lilia stay. At least until winter passes. She won't—"

There was a sudden commotion. Wood scraped against the wood and something banged against wood, and then—SMACK!

"Rudy, what're you—?!"

"—And what about Mother? You can say all that about a maid, but not Mother?" Another stray, selfish thought crossed her mind as she rushed downstairs. "Who exactly is the one who got hurt here?"

That was the first time Zenith's ever heard her son speak like that.

"The hell are you even doing down here?!"

When she entered the dining room, Rudy had Paul by the collar. Anger twisted his boyish face into one of utter contempt, all the while his green eyes burned with a level of anger that didn't seem possible for a six-year-old boy.

And it was all for her sake.

It was all she could think about. How her getting hurt led to this. To her son lashing out and raising his voice. Acting entirely unlike himself.

It warmed her heart to see. And, that warmth thawed her from her frozen state. She couldn't let this go on any further.

She needed to act—now—and not just in favor of what she thought was right. She needed to go after what she wanted.

If Rudy was willing to go far for her sake, what kind of mother would she be if she didn't try and meet him halfway?

…

Guts.

…

Guts reared back to punch Paul again. And after he punched him, he planned on doing it again and again until the man had the decency to stop looking shocked. Like Guts hitting him was some sort of overreaction or grand betrayal. No. Truth was, he earned that first punch and then some. He practically begged for it with that dumbass speech of his. But now, the look in his eyes told him that he wanted more and more.

Guts had recognized it immediately—that look. The bastard gave him the same one years ago, back during their last argument. He had hated it then, and he despised it even more now that Paul didn't have a leg to stand on.

Somehow, someway, the man actually found a way to convince himself that he was in the right here.

Guts grit his teeth.

Paul reached up, probably to pry off the hand holding him in place, but Guts was already moving to hit him again. If he was going to wipe that look off the bastard's face, he knew he needed to strike first—

"—Rudy!"

Guts's fist stopped immediately. Paul's hands stopped too. They both recognized who had called out to him, that much was clear.

Slowly, carefully, Paul's eyes drifted to somewhere behind Guts.

Guts followed the man's eyes and found his mother. Standing at the foot of the stairs with concern running deep in her blue eyes. Concern seemed to run deep in every part of her. In the tight frown her lips had themselves pressed into, in the stiffness her shoulders had locked themselves into, and in the outstretched hand she reached out to them with.

At that moment, time seemed to run still.

And within that stillness, confusion washed over him.

Zenith was worried. But who was it meant for? For him? For Paul? For both of them? He couldn't tell, but it was enough to get him to relax his grip on Paul.

The man pulled away immediately, leaving him and his mother to stare at one another.

She shook her head and smiled at him. "You don't have to go that far," she said without having to say anything at all.

Tch. Guts clicked his tongue and shot another glare at Paul before hopping off the table. A part of him considered heading straight back to his room. He had a feeling as to where this was going and he didn't want to see it come to fruition. Zenith didn't have the look of a woman who was about to give Paul and Lilia what they deserved.

However, he had been the one who inserted himself into this shit show to begin with. He figured that he might as well see things through to the end. Even if he ended up disliking the results.

As soon as Guts moved away from the table, Zenith made her move. However, instead of coming to him or Paul, she went over to Lilia.

They didn't say anything for a while. Zenith seemed content to stare at the side of Lilia's head, a tight-lipped frown giving away her search for the right words to say. Lilia seemed altogether reluctant to raise her head and meet his mother's eyes.

Then, a few tense moments later, Zenith let out a heavy sigh.

"Lilia, I want you to stay with us," she said.

Silence and stillness followed, both signaling the shock that filled the room.

Guts just furrowed his brows and frowned. More frustrated than surprised.

For her part, Lilia seemed surprised enough to compensate. Her head snapped up. Violet met blue and made one thing clear: she disagreed with the idea wholeheartedly.

"But Lady Zenith, I—" she began.

The maid stopped when his mother placed a hand on her shoulder. "—It's okay. Honestly, I can't really put into words how much what you did hurt me. Not only did you break my trust, but you helped my husband break a promise that meant the world to me."

"I did!" The way Lilia jumped to agree with her surprised Guts. He'd never seen or heard the maid act that way before; even in the most stressful situations, she always seemed able to keep calm and collected. Not this time, though. And that said a lot. Paul seemed to come to the same conclusion because he saw the man gulp hard from his peripheral vision. "You and your family have shown me nothing but kindness over the years and I still betrayed your trust. Forgive me for my impudence, Lady Zenith, but how could you possibly want me to stay after something like that?"

Suddenly, a smile appeared on Zenith's face—a smile that Guts recognized immediately. She used it a lot with him, almost always whenever he'd hurt himself and she needed to use healing magic on him. It did its best to be gentle and reassuring, but there was an undercurrent of worry that only made it more striking.

"Because that's what I want."

As always, seeing it stripped Guts of all desire to argue.

"Before I think of you as a maid, I think of you as a friend—no, a member of this family. I think about you leaving and I…. I don't know. I get this feeling that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I let you do something that foolish."

The woman really was too kind for her own good.

As Lilia listened, tears began to well up in her eyes. He could see it in her—her fighting to disagree—but eventually, she fell forwards into her mother's chest and started sobbing.

Guts huffed and—not knowing what else to do—started to head for his room. If you were going to forgive her, you should've just saved me the trouble and done so from the start.

"Hey, Rudy," Zenith called out to him in a low whisper as he passed by. She winked at him once their eyes crossed. "Thank you for standing up for me."

Geez. He rolled his eyes, not feeling satisfied at all. You are way too nice, woman.

…

Guts couldn't sleep. He laid his head down and closed his eyes, but the stillness made him antsy. A silence fell over the house, seeped into his room, and drilled tension into his ears like he hadn't felt in years.

He knew. He'd felt this way before. He had to get up. He had to move. Otherwise, he'd be buried by it all.

So, that's what he did.

He got up out of bed, grabbed his practice sword, and snuck out of the house. Led by the moonlight, he went to the one place he could think of.

Thunk!

The wooden sword shook as it struck the tree trunk, using every bit of strength his body could muster. Years of practice had long since taken the sting off, but his persistence had numbed his hands to the point where he struggled to maintain his grip.

The crescent moon had been halfway in the sky when he first started. Now, it neared the horizon.

Guts didn't care. Not about his labored breathing, not about his sweat-drenched body, not about the weight that tugged on his eyelids—he couldn't care. He knew better than that. All he needed to focus on was the Sun and the fact that it would rise soon.

Thunk!

Otherwise…

Thunk!

He'd hear it.

Thunk!

The whispering hiding in the silence.

Thunk!

"Idiot."

Thunk!

"Coward."

Thunk!

"Hypocrite."

Thunk—!

Guts fell. On the follow-through of his last swing, he lost his balance and fell forwards. He landed on his side. Too tired to even feel it.

Rolling onto his back, he let his head lull to his left, towards the moon, and asked himself a question:

"The hell are you even doing here?"

…

Unsurprisingly, the next day, Guts's training with Paul was a lot more heated than usual.

Not that he was complaining. The feeling was mutual, after all.

…

Chapter End.