The alley was narrow, drowned in the shadow of tall stone buildings. Only a few rays of sun filtered through the tiles above, drawing golden lines across the dirty cobblestones.Far from the capital's bustle, it was a refuge. Raw, silent. Perfect.
Guts stepped into it without thinking, guided by instinct. He glanced behind him—reflex—then reached into his coat and pulled out a soft, half-crumpled packet. The wrapping was rough, oddly textured. Someone local had made it well.
He opened it slowly. Almost with reverence.A cigarette between his fingers.A matchbox in the other.
The first strike scraped loud against the wall. Wind nearly killed the flame, but he shielded it with his palm, lit the end, and took a drag.
The sizzle was quiet.But for him, it screamed of the past.
Guts (murmuring):"Same smell… Sharp. Faint. Bitter.Same sting in the throat. Scratches. Burns… Calms."
He closed his eyes for a second.It was like meeting a familiar ghost.A soft pain. A tangible memory.
Each draw brought back fragments he thought he'd buried.The ship's deck. Salt in the air. Casca's broken figure in the distance.Moonless nights. Isidro's muffled laughter. Farnese's lectures. Schierke's silence.All of it returned—and drifted away again in a single exhale.
Guts (thought):Some pleasures repeat. Again, again, never the same.Like time can't reach them. Like they're infinite.
He exhaled slowly. Smoke rose, swirling in the still air.His iron arm clinked softly as he leaned against the wall.
Alone. Free.Just for a moment.He savored it.
The smoke still danced when a voice rose behind him.Gravelly. Deep. A touch of surprise—and something else. Emotion?
???"…Wait a second… Is that a cigarette I'm smelling?"
Guts didn't respond at once.He took another drag, calm. Then glanced over his shoulder.
A man in armor was approaching. Tall. Solid. One arm missing beneath his cape.His visor was up, revealing a weathered face—tanned by years and strangeness.His eyes… had a spark. Something rare.
???"Damn... Ten years? Twenty? I'd forgotten what that even smelled like."
He stopped a few feet away, as if the scene were too unreal to approach further.
???"Man… Tell me you've got another."
Guts studied him. Then, without a word, pulled out the pack and flicked one at him.A sharp, clean motion.
The man caught it one-handed—like a gift from the gods.
Guts:"You got fire?"
??? (chuckles):"You look like the kind of guy who keeps everything for himself."
Guts struck a match and held it out. The man leaned in carefully.
The first drag felt sacred.He closed his eyes. Smiled.
???"Shit… Thought I'd never have this again."(He opened his eyes, looking at Guts with quiet respect.)"You're not from here, are you?"
Silence.Guts didn't answer. But he didn't deny it either.He took another slow draw.
Guts (thought):He's got the eyes of someone who's seen too much. Like me.And that missing arm… This world's taken as much from him as mine did from me.
??? (tapping the cig with his gloved hand):"I don't know where you're from. Don't even know if you want to talk.But… thanks for this. Really.Sounds dumb, but this cigarette… feels like meeting an old friend again."
Guts:"Smoking's not just a habit.It's a pause. A moment we steal back from the world."
??? (smiles):"Yeah. And it's the kind of thing no damn mage or noble will ever understand."
They smoked in silence.Backs to the wall.Two ghosts, no longer running.
Two men.Two worlds.One cigarette.
And in that forgotten alley of the capital, time stopped.
Guts finished his first in a rough exhale. Ash crumbled to the stones.Without a word, he lit another.Then, after a short pause, held the pack out again.
Guts:"Want another?"
??? (grinning):"Honestly? I'd say no to be polite, but I'm not a liar. So yeah."
He stepped closer, took it with surprising grace—despite having only one hand.
??? (glancing at Guts's arm):"You've got a prosthetic?"
Guts nodded.He raised his iron hand, flexed the metal fingers with a soft click.
Guts:"Homemade."
??? (lifting his stump, half-laughing):"Well damn…Guess we're both busted up.Too bad. I'd almost look cool with something like that.Instead, I look like a sorry bastard missing an arm."
Guts (light smirk):"You look like a guy who's still standing. That's good enough."
A small silence.Then the man took a drag, blew it out slowly, and eyed Guts with amusement.
???"Name's Guts, right?"
Guts (quiet):"Yeah."
??? (raising an eyebrow):"Seriously? Like 'guts'? Intestines? In old English?"
Guts (smirking):"You've got no idea how fitting it is."
??? (laughing):"Shit. You're my kind of guy.I'm Al. Just Al."
They shook hands.Steel met skin.A silent but solid bond.
Al (patting Guts's shoulder):"You know what, brother?I think I just found something I'd lost.A real friend."
Guts said nothing.He dragged on his cigarette one last time, eyes tracing the smoke up toward the gray capital sky.
Guts (thought):A friend, huh…I'd forgotten what that felt like.
But the moment was ending.
Footsteps rang sharply across the stones. Heels—precise, deliberate.An almost unnatural aura filled the air.
Then a voice.Sharp. Musical. Laced with venom.
??? (mock surprise):"What a charming scene.Two filthy men smoking in an alley.Is this the face of Lugnica I'm meant to defend?"
Guts straightened slightly.Al immediately lowered his cigarette like a kid caught stealing.
Before them stood Priscilla Barielle, draped in a blinding red dress, her gaze sweeping over them with theatrical disdain.
Al (under his breath, to Guts):"Here comes the storm…"
Priscilla stepped closer.Her heels clicking like a noble clock counting down to judgment.
She tilted her chin, eyeing them both like animals in a pit.
Priscilla (cold, mocking smile):"The capital is turning into a circus.Now we have beggars smoking in dark alleys. Delightful."
Guts didn't respond.He smoked.Didn't even look at her.
Al (awkwardly):"Hey, it's not what it looks like, Princess. Just… guy stuff. Nothing dirty."
Priscilla (scornfully):"You call this 'guy stuff'?You're missing an arm, and your friend looks like a walking tombstone."
Al's jaw tensed.Guts exhaled, watching the sky.As if she wasn't there.
Priscilla (offended by his silence):"No bow? No apology?Not even a glance for the stench you've brought to this place?"
Guts crushed his cigarette against the wall.Then finally turned—not to her, but to Al.
Guts (calm, dry):"She always talk to you like that?"
Al (grimacing):"Yeah… That's her way of saying she cares. I think."
Priscilla (coldly):"I don't care for broken things."
Guts (meeting her gaze, flat):"Then look somewhere else."
A heavy silence.The air thickened.
But Guts turned again.Lit another cigarette, slow and calm.
A breeze stirred his cloak.
Priscilla stood still, eyes blazing.
Then she laughed.Light. Clear. Icy.
Priscilla (to Al, cheerfully cruel):"Al~ The fun's over.We've a long day ahead, don't forget."
She spared Guts one last glance—smiling like a knife.
Al shrugged, awkwardly.
Al (to Guts, grinning):"See you around, brother. Next time, drinks on me.And we'll share a smoke… if you're still breathing."
Guts raised a hand in farewell, cigarette between his lips, wordless.
Then he turned.And walked away.
Back into the hum of the capital.The lanterns were starting to glow.
It was time to return to the inn.