The sea was calm.
Too calm.
Guts stood alone on the deck. He didn't know why he wasn't sleeping. Only that his eyes refused to close. Below, the sailors snored — drunk or dead tired. No sound, save for the soft slap of water against the hull.
No moon.
No wind.
Nothing.
Then the fog fell.
Thick. Sudden. Unreal.
He squinted. Just a moment ago, the horizon had still been visible. Now — nothing. Just a wall of white, dense and suffocating, swallowing the world whole.
His muscles tensed. He didn't move.
Another illusion?
He'd seen worse — demons, monsters, dreams haunted by the dead. Maybe this was just one more. He waited. The fog thickened, silent and cold.
And then — no more deck beneath his feet.
The wood vanished. Replaced by stone.
He didn't fall. He didn't hear a thing.
Just… he was somewhere else.
Standing in the middle of an unfamiliar street. Cobblestone under his boots. Strange buildings. People… who weren't exactly normal.
Giant beasts — lizards — pulled carts through the roads. Other odd creatures strolled by as if this was everyday life.
He frowned.
Not a dream. Not an illusion.
So what was it?
The townsfolk gave him a wide berth, eyeing him with silent suspicion. He ignored them.
No apostles in sight. Not yet.
He started walking. The city felt too clean, too quiet. The kind of quiet that buried problems beneath a polished surface.
Then — a scream.
A child, sprawled in the middle of the road.
A runaway cart, charging straight at him.
Panicked lizards.
He hesitated. Just for a second.
Screw it.
In one motion, he snatched the kid up and stopped the beasts.
Gasps followed. Whispers.
He grunted.
Guts: "Tch. Drawing too much attention."
He set the child down and walked off without another word.
Heavy footsteps followed.
He stopped.
Three guards approached. One gripped his spear too tightly. Too tense.
Guard: "You there, outsider. We've got a few questions for you."
Guts turned his head slightly. Not enough to show his face.
Guard: "Where're you from? You're not local."
He didn't answer. Just studied their posture. Too stiff. Not veterans.
Another guard: "Walking around with a siege weapon on your back, not saying a word — people talk."
He finally turned. Just enough to let them feel that if they stepped any closer, they wouldn't get a second chance.
Guts: "Didn't steal anything. Didn't break anything. So?"
A tense silence.
Then — a calm voice cut through it:
???: "That's enough."
Everyone froze.
A man approached. Dressed in white, with blazing red hair and a relaxed air. Too relaxed.
The guards stepped back instantly.
Guard: "S-Sir Reinhard!"
Guts eyed him. This guy didn't need to shout to command respect. No weapon in sight either. He had that presence — the kind of man who had never lost a fight… and didn't need to prove it.
Reinhard gave a slight bow.
Reinhard: "Apologies. Times are tense. My men worry easily."
Guts remained silent for a second. Then shrugged.
Guts: "I'm used to it."
He turned and walked away.
Reinhard watched him go, arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips. Not mocking. Almost… intrigued.
Not an ordinary man, he thought.
Guts kept walking.
Same shit. Different world.
Just another day in another place.
The Black Swordsman did what he always did: survive.
But here, the rules were different.
And rules — he hated them.