The Swordsman’s boots pounded against the ground of the forest, scattering snow and dead leaves as he went. He turned his head back and forth, hunting with his single eye as he rushed through the quiet of the snowbound trees.
Overhead, Puck flew by in a green blur. The opposite of Guts’ implacable straightforward motion, the tiny sprite zig-zagged back and forth, peering in bushes and flying up to spy from above.
“This is bad. This is really bad! Stupid sun!” Puck howled at the red disk, sinking below the western hills. “Stay up! Just a little longer…”
The sun didn’t stop, sinking until it was a bare sliver across the highest mountain. “Oooooohhhh…” Puck whined.
Then something else caught his eye. A large, black mass, spreading through the snowtopped trees, making noise as it went. Loud noises. Metal noises. Voices talking to each other, as they marched. “An army?” Mused Puck.
He flew in for a closer look, and his blue eyes widened. “Oh no. No, this is bad…”
Puck zoomed away, screaming as he went. “GUTS! HE’S COME BACK! HE’S BACK, AND HE BROUGHT FRIENDS!”
And far below the tiny green streak of the elf’s wake, a beautiful young man in white, featherlike armor looked up and smiled. His hair was white as the snow around him, and he rode a white horse.
He smiled. And motioned the host forward, toward the direction of Puck’s fading trail.
And Hell followed after him…
Puck found him crouched at the edge of a frozen lake, still as death. He was half-crouched, with his right arm extended out, reaching out… Reaching toward the woman slumped in the middle of the ice.
She had brown skin, and black hair, and was wearing a ragged dress of roughspun cloth. Though it was cold and she was shivering, she pushed herself out farther onto the ice, ignoring the creaking sounds it made as she went.
“Ba!” She yelled at Guts, her voice full of idiocy, and her expression full of fear and resentment.
She was Caska. Poor, mad Caska.
She falls in, she’s likely dead. Thought Guts. Even if I can get to her in time before she drowns, it’s too cold. She’ll likely get lung-rot…
The ice creaked, louder. He could see a fine line of cracks spreading out from where she was sitting…
His outstretched hand flexed. Clenched into a fist.
Can’t let her die!
In a smooth motion, he stood up, started out onto the ice as Caska squealed and floundered to get away, and there was a CRACK!
And Puck swooped out of the sky, wailing “GUTSGUTSGUTSGUTSGUTS-OOF!” As he slammed into Caska, sending her spinning across the ice toward the Swordsman, himself flipping over and skidding several times before slamming into a snowbank!
Guts caught her up, and pulled her away as the ice crackled, and threw her back on shore. Before she could struggle, he grabbed her hands and held on, as she wailed in fear. His eye shut, he let her go on for a moment, breathing hard to calm himself down.
She was safe. Safe. That’s all that mattered.
He looked over at the snowbank, and the small green legs, kicking feebly out of it. “Hey. You did…good. Thanks, Puck.”
“Hoof!” The little sprite pulled himself out, and shook the snow off of his turnip-sized head. “R-really? Wow! Coming from you, that means…”
The Swordsman wasn't listening. He grimaced, as Caska shuddered, and stopped struggling. He shifted his right hand to the back of his neck, as pain flickered down his spine. He held it there a second, then looked at the blood on his palm.
Then he looked down at the dark stain spreading on Caska’s dress, and nodded, his face stone.
The Brands were bleeding. Something was near.
“Guts? Guts… Oh. Right. WA! This is no time to be sitting here! He’s coming!”
“Already?” Guts asked, mopping the blood on his trousers. It hadn’t been that long since the last confrontation on the field of swords. The start of it… and the interruption by Zodd.
He didn’t wait for the answer, as his teeth spread into a tight, clenched grin.
“Good.”
He pushed Caska toward Puck, and flipped his cloak back. With a whispering of cables and gears, his metal left arm whipped over to his back, and drew the massive sword from its harness. He brought it around, cape billowing in the wind, and settled into a two-handed grip, as the first snowflakes started to whip down around him, a black mass of leather and iron in the white.
“Let’s finish this!” He bellowed…
“GRIFFITH!”
And from across the lake, mounted figures road out of the trees, and started forward…