NiTN Outline Season 3 - II (Patreon)

Episode 2: And Glory

the campfires of the band of the hawk flickered like stars against the darkened plains. laughter and the clatter of mugs echoed faintly across the camp, but guts barely noticed. he sat on the outskirts, away from the noise, the dim light catching the edge of his sword where it leaned against a nearby rock.

his hands rested on his knees, fingers drumming lightly, but his mind was elsewhere. griffith’s words from earlier that day still rang in his ears.

griffith: [calm, assured] “each of us has our role, guts. a place in this world. and yours—yours is here, with me. with the hawks.”

guts had nodded at the time, but the unease had only grown since. my role, he thought bitterly, staring into the fire. it sounded so certain when griffith said it, like everything had already been decided. but guts wasn’t sure anymore.

he shifted, glancing toward the center of camp where griffith sat, his silver hair catching the firelight. casca was there too, her expression guarded but softer than usual. griffith was speaking to her, his gestures measured, his voice carrying faintly over the distance.

guts looked away.

the decision came quietly. there was no grand moment, no flash of revelation. just a growing certainty that he couldn’t stay.

he didn’t pack much—just the essentials. his sword, his armor, a few supplies. the others didn’t notice as he moved through the camp, their attention focused on the celebration. only casca, standing near the edge of griffith’s tent, caught his eye.

she didn’t say anything, didn’t ask where he was going or why. she just looked at him, her gaze steady and knowing.

casca: [quietly] “you’ve made up your mind.”

guts nodded, his hand tightening on the strap of his pack. “yeah.”

she hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “griffith will—”

“he’ll manage,” guts interrupted, his tone softer than usual. “he always does.”

casca looked away, her arms crossing over her chest. “and you?”

guts shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, humorless smile. “i’ll figure it out.”

he left before dawn, the camp still cloaked in shadow. his footsteps were quiet, his movements deliberate. he didn’t look back, not even when the faint sound of laughter reached his ears, carried on the early morning wind.

the road stretched out before him, wide and empty. for the first time in years, he felt the weight of solitude settling on his shoulders. but beneath it, there was something else. something lighter.

freedom.

he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, a spark of determination flaring in his chest. whatever was out there—whatever he was searching for—he’d find it.

griffith noticed the absence almost immediately.

the band of the hawk had grown used to guts’ presence, his larger-than-life aura that seemed to dominate every room, every battlefield. but this was something different. the space he left behind felt like a void, and griffith couldn’t ignore it.

he stood at the edge of camp, his eyes scanning the horizon. casca approached quietly, her footsteps soft against the grass.

griffith: [calmly] “he’s gone.”

casca didn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on the same distant point. “he needed to leave,” she said finally, her voice low.

griffith’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his cloak. “the hawks are stronger together. with him, we could…”

“he wasn’t yours to keep, griffith,” casca interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended.

griffith’s head turned, his blue eyes piercing as they met hers. for a moment, neither of them spoke.

griffith: [softly] “perhaps.”

the absence lingered. the hawks continued their rise, their victories piling higher, but for griffith, something was missing. guts had been more than just a soldier—he had been a constant, a force that anchored griffith in ways he couldn’t fully articulate.

the nights grew quieter, the battles colder. and somewhere in the depths of griffith’s mind, a small seed took root.

dreams require sacrifice… right?

guts hadn’t stayed to see where griffith’s would lead. but griffith would make sure the world remembered his name.

---

the air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the sickly-sweet stench of rot. guts wrinkled his nose as he stepped over the twisted remains of what used to be a villager, the dirt beneath his boots sticky with gore. the village was dead, or close enough that it didn’t matter. broken houses leaned drunkenly against one another, and the only sounds were the low, wet gurgles of something feeding just out of sight.

his sword rested heavily on his back, a comforting weight. he adjusted it as he walked, his sharp eyes scanning the ruins. a figure stumbled into view—a woman, filthy and wide-eyed, clutching a bundle of rags to her chest.

“you—” her voice cracked, and she froze as she saw him, her gaze flicking to the massive sword hilt over his shoulder.

guts raised an eyebrow. “you’re still breathing. good for you.”

she didn’t respond, just backed away, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. guts sighed, rolling his shoulders.

he didn’t know why he was here, not really. maybe it was boredom. maybe it was that small, nagging voice in the back of his head that told him to keep moving, keep fighting, or risk sinking into whatever void was waiting for him at the edges of his thoughts.

he hated that voice. but he listened to it anyway.

a sound cut through the quiet—a low growl, deep and resonant, followed by the wet slap of something heavy hitting the ground. guts turned, his hand instinctively going to his sword.

the creature stepped into the open, its massive form barely fitting between the ruins of the village square. it was grotesque, its body a writhing mass of flesh and sinew, its head a grotesque fusion of a wolf and a man. jagged teeth jutted from its oversized maw, and its glowing yellow eyes fixed on guts with predatory hunger.

“well,” guts muttered, unsheathing his blade. “you’re uglier than most.”

the apostle snarled, lunging forward with terrifying speed. guts barely had time to dodge, rolling to the side as the creature’s claws gouged deep furrows into the ground where he’d been standing.

“come on, then!” guts shouted, a manic grin spreading across his face. “let’s see what you’ve got!”

the creature obliged, charging him again. guts swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade connecting with a wet crunch as it bit into the apostle’s shoulder. black ichor sprayed from the wound.

the creature didn’t slow, though.

it lashed out, its claws raking across guts’s chest. He flew, his body sent hurling as he sprawled into the side of a crumbling house.

he coughed, spitting blood, and struggled to his feet. the apostle was already regenerating, the gash in its shoulder closing with sickening ease. guts gritted his teeth. his sword wasn’t enough—it never was against these things.

the house behind him groaned under its own weight, the damaged wall crumbling inward. guts barely noticed until the debris settled, revealing something hidden in the shadows: a blade.

no, not a blade. a slab.

the sword gleamed faintly in the dim light, its massive form almost calling to him.

“that’s more like it,” guts muttered, dropping his old sword and reaching for the hilt of the monstrous weapon. his hands wrapped around it, and… something just felt right.

the apostle roared, charging again. guts stepped forward, the massive blade rising in a wide arc. it met the creature’s claws with a deafening clang, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the air.

“you’re not getting back up this time,” guts growled, his grin returning.

the apostle snarled, its glowing eyes narrowing as it circled him warily. the fight wasn’t over, but for the first time, guts felt like the playing field was even.

as the creature lunged again, guts surged forward to meet it, the giant sword cutting through the air like a storm. this wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was a reckoning.

and guts was ready.