The darkness in the forest was almost suffocating. Guts trudged through the underbrush, his massive sword dragging behind him, carving trenches in the dirt. Blood splattered his armor, a mix of his own and that of the demons he had just slaughtered. The wind howled through the trees, and the faintest rustle of leaves brought his hand to the hilt of his blade.

That's when he saw you.

At first, it looked like just another body. Broken, bloodied, tossed aside by the creatures that haunted this cursed land.

But then you moved-barely. A faint rise and fall of your chest, a flicker of life still clinging to you. Guts knelt, his gloved hand brushing some of the dirt from your face, revealing the deep cuts that marred your skin. You were still alive, but not for long if you stayed out here.

With a grunt, Guts scooped you up into his arms, careful not to jostle your wounds more than necessary. You were light, too light. The weight of your body was nothing compared to the burdens he usually carried. He set off in the direction of the nearest village, though it was a distant memory to him now. His steps were heavy but sure, the towering figure of the Black Swordsman a silent guardian in the night.

The journey back was brutal, but Guts had endured worse. When he finally reached the edge of the village, he found an abandoned barn, a suitable enough shelter. He laid you down gently on a pile of hay, stripping off his armor piece by piece. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but he didn't rest. Instead, he tore some of the cloth from his own cloak, soaking it in water before cleaning your wounds as best he could.