The mercenary camp was unusually lively this evening. Thanks to the money Griffith had gotten, the men could afford to breathe easy, confident of the next battle. They no longer needed to save money on everything! It was a celebration in the middle of the forest and yet Griffith wasn't there.

After looking in every corner of the camp down to his own tent, you were sure the white-haired man had vanished. The mercenaries shrugged when you asked them where your leader had gone. It was only when you bumped into Kaska on her way back to the camp that you knew the answer. She gently showed you the way, giving you a strangely sad look. Soon you found him, Griffith standing by the river, moonlit like an angel descending from Heaven. The young man was pulling a shirt over his wet body, not immediately noticing your presence.

"What are you doing here? I hope nothing happened at the camp."

Griffith said in surprise, wiping the water from his long eyelashes with his hand. You didn't immediately notice the several bloody scratches on the mercenary leader's body, the sleeve of his shirt turning pink from them. It wasn't like he'd met a beast in the woods or anything. Could it be that Griffith had inflicted such deep wounds on himself?

He pursed his lips as he gently covered the scratches with his other hand. The swordsman tilted his head and gave you a quiet look, silently asking you not to bring it up.