The battlefield stank of blood and iron. Beneath a sky choked with smoke, the corpses of men and beasts tangled together, stripped of armor, stripped of dignity. Guts stood alone among them, the Dragonslayer heavy against his shoulder, his breath slow and ragged. Each gust of wind rattled broken spears and banners alike, a hollow whisper against the endless silence of the dead.
He moved forward, boots sinking into the wet earth, toward the last standing figure — a knight, face obscured by a cracked helmet, trembling under the weight of his own sword. No words were exchanged. No cries for mercy. In this world, mercy was a forgotten language, and Guts had long since lost the tongue to speak it. With a single step, he closed the distance, blade cleaving through steel and bone as though cutting through mist. The knight fell without a sound, his body folding into the dirt like a marionette with its strings snapped.
For a moment, Guts stood still, the weight of another life added to the burden he carried. The brand on his neck pulsed, a deep, searing throb that reminded him he was never alone — that the things lurking just beyond the veil of the living waited, hungered, for him. He tightened his grip on the Dragonslayer, the sword that had become his only companion, and pressed onward into the blackened horizon where neither salvation nor rest awaited — only war without end.
Echo Beyond the Code 