They walked side by side, without a word.
Rem moved with a steady, graceful pace. Guts, on the other hand, dragged his massive frame like a walking wall, his coat whipping behind him, his black blade resting in its worn scabbard.
In the distance, Crusch Karsten's estate finally came into view.
Massive. Symmetrical. Worthy of a royal candidate.
The manor wasn't built to charm — it commanded. Polished stone, deep green banners, soldiers lined up in formation — every detail radiated order and control. No useless ornamentation, no excess. Just the essentials. Like a finely honed blade.
But nothing here intimidated him.
No noble, no general, no palace — nothing frightened Guts.
Not after what he had lived through.
He felt the tension rise as they approached the guards. Their eyes slid over his sword, his dark gaze. Some instinctively rested their hands on their weapons.
But he didn't flinch.
Not a single step of hesitation.
Rem, walking beside him, held her head high. She knew the contents of the letter. She knew Roswaal. She knew what they were here for.
Guts had one thing in mind:
"You'll have to convince Crusch Karsten to ally with Emilia.
She'll respect you if you speak plainly.
She'll follow if you prove you know this world better than she does.
Mention the magic ore of Elior.
Mention the appearance of the White Whale near Flugel's Tree.
Tell her you want to win this war — no lies, no masks."
He had memorized everything.
And he knew what to do.
He stopped at the large gates, where two guards immediately blocked their way.
Guard 1:
"State your names."
Rem bowed slightly.
Rem:
"Rem, servant of the Roswaal estate. Accompanied by Guts, special envoy. We request an audience with Lady Karsten."
The two soldiers exchanged a glance.
Guts remained silent. His gaze said everything:
"I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to convince."
One of the guards disappeared into the manor.
The other, still before them, kept his eyes fixed on Guts.
And Guts, still as a statue, was already scanning the architecture. The openings. The exits. The weak points. By habit.
Rem watched him discreetly.
She could see it.
This wasn't just the worn-down warrior from a few days ago.
Something had changed. He was tense, yes. But focused. In control.
She thought:
"He's ready."
And Guts, eyes locked on the doors that were about to open, thought simply:
Tch… Enough hesitation. I'm going in.
The great doors finally creaked open.
The guard returned, stiffer than when he left.
Guard:
"Lady Crusch will see you. Please follow me."
They walked through the manor's pristine halls. Everything spoke of discipline. No vase out of place, no servant late. Guts might have respected it… if he didn't already smell the stench of politics.
His boots echoed against the stone floor. Behind him, Rem followed, upright, composed. They arrived.
The room was wide, without ostentation. Two large windows opened onto an inner garden, chairs were arranged with care, and at the center...
Her.
Crusch Karsten.
Standing tall in her dark green uniform, waiting for them.
Her gaze — direct. Unyielding.
At her side, a blond man in light armor, a discreet smile, but a sharp eye — Felix Argyle, no doubt.
Crusch:
"Rem. And… Guts, is it?"
She studied them at length.
Guts nodded, without bowing.
Guts:
"I don't make a habit of bowing. But I came to talk. So let's talk."
A silence settled in.
Rem dipped her head slightly, a respectful nod for both.
Crusch crossed her arms. Her gaze slid to the sword, then back up to the warrior's eyes.
Crusch:
"I've been told you want an alliance. That Roswaal sent you. Why you? Why not him?"
Guts didn't look away.
He slowly pulled an envelope from his coat, sealed with Roswaal's crest, and placed it on the table.
Guts:
"Because he doesn't want to get his hands dirty. I do."
Crusch reached for the letter, opening it at a measured pace.
Silence.
Her eyes scanned the content. Slow, calculated.
Behind her, Felix said nothing, but his ears twitched with unease.
During the wait, Guts sat down without asking. His sword stayed on his back, but his gaze never left Crusch's.
He wasn't playing a role.
He was the role.
Finally, she folded the letter.
Crusch:
"The magic ore from Roswaal's domain… the White Whale near Flugel's Tree… You know what you're offering me? War."
Guts:
"No. I'm offering a hunt. And a victory."
A slight smirk curled Crusch's lips.
Crusch:
"And why should I fight for Emilia?"
Guts:
"You don't have to fight for her. You fight for your side. For your country.
And me? I've got a debt.
I'll pay it off on the back of that beast."
Felix:
"Nyahaha… He's intense, this one. But I like him. He seems to believe what he says."
Crusch looked at Rem, then back at Guts.
Crusch:
"Very well. You'll have a more in-depth meeting tomorrow morning.
Until then, a room will be provided. And someone will keep an eye on you."
Guts:
"I always sleep better when someone's watching."
Crusch:
"Then rest well. Tomorrow, we'll see if you're worth more than a sword and a letter."
Guts and Rem offered a brief nod before leaving the room.
Their heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, until fading into the manor's silence.
Crusch remained still in her seat, arms crossed. She hadn't moved.
But her eyes were fixed on the closed door.
Then, in a low voice, almost to herself — but loud enough for Ferris and the old man to hear:
Crusch (murmuring):
"If this plan came from Roswaal…
why hasn't Emilia said anything?
Why this silence...
Is she acting on her own will… or someone else's?"
She said nothing more.
But in her gaze, there was no fear.
No hesitation.