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Disclaimer: Berserk and its related characters and situations belongs to Miura Kentarou, not me. I'm not making any money, from this or anything else, so suing me would really be a waste of your time. C&C is ALWAYS appreciated; flames will be cheerfully used to roast marshmallows. There is nothing glorious about battle. If you listened to the Bards, they'd have you believing that battle was one great, glorious adventure; where the pure of heart will always win, where your friends and companions will never die, where the only blood that is shed is that of the wicked. Bullshit, that's all I can say to that. The last time I heard a Bard singing a ballad like that, it was all Judeau and Pippin could do to keep me off his throat. They have never stood in the middle of a field of carnage, only heard soldiers speak of it. How can you ever describe the feeling of battle to someone who has never experienced it? It means something different to each of us. We all have our own ways of coping, of carrying on despite fear, despite pain, despite despair. In the moment when you face your enemy, and luck and your skill with a sword are the only things between you and death... there is nothing shining or glorious about that. And yet, for me at least, that one moment DOES hold something that draws me back to it again and again. A sudden sharp appreciation of the life I may be about to lose. A welling of determination, to prove myself the stronger fighter, to survive despite any odds that might be against me. At that moment there is something that grips me, that drives me to surpass my limits, that fills me with a rushing sensation which is almost addictive. In those moments, and only in those moments, I feel truly alive. Griffith doesn't know what he took from me when he made me Captain of the Hawk's Raiders. As well as he understands me, he will never quite understand that. Suddenly I was responsible for lives other than my own. Suddenly, throwing myself headfirst into the rush of battle was reckless and wasteful, and might mean I would get the rest of the Raiders killed. I tried my best, I really did, but the siren call of the fight was too strong for me to resist for long. There is nothing clean about battle. Within moments of the first engagment, you are covered in blood, and half the time you're not even sure if any of it is yours or not. Gore covers the grass in crimson washes of blood, and bodies are strewn everywhere over the fields. At the time you see nothing but the swing of the next sword coming at you, but later you will look around and realize that some of those blankly staring faces on the corpses belong to people you knew. People you cared about. People who might have been trusting YOU to lead them safely through the battle. Even in a battle that your side wins easily, your army will suffer losses. Adrenalin keeps you going, keeps the pain of any injuries from reaching you. I think it's the adrenalin rush that draws me so strongly, that pulls me into the battle until all I can see is the next target, and the next, and the next. I am no strategist; I can follow Griffith's orders, and for some reason the men of the Raiders seem to idolize me and would follow me into hell if I asked it of them; but I am not commander material. All I've ever asked for in life was a sword and room to swing it... and preferrably an opponent to swing it at, though I'm not picky. A practice dummy, or even shadowsparring will do, although that doesn't give me the rush that fighting a live opponent does. I'm a simple man at heart. I've been swept along in Griffith's dreams, and carried to places I never could have imagined three years ago. I don't fit into most of those places, but I serve a purpose for Griffith, and I have a war to fight in, and that is enough for me. There is nothing forgiving about battle. You get no second chances when you are surrounded by the enemy. Too many of the new recruits we get each year are nothing more than children, believing as all children do that they are invicible and that nothing can stop them from reaching their dreams. They've heard all the Bard's tales, they've spent a winter or two swinging a sword about inside a barn, and they think they'll be famous mercenaries by the end of their first battle. How do you tell them that everything they believe is bullshit? How do you tell them that the vast majority of casualties in any given battle are the green recruits? Recruits aren't counted as members of the Taku no Dan until their second campaign season, because so very few of them survive. Such a god damned waste of life... but we need the recruits to replace those who fall, and if we don't take them, someone else will. Some army that doesn't have a commander as smart as Griffith, or one whose commander cares little for the lives of his troops. At least in the Taku no Dan they have a chance, however small. God, they seem so young. Most of them are actually older than I am. I can't even imagine living such a sheltered life. I was born on a battlefield, I've spent most of my life on one, and I imagine that I'll die on one someday. And that's exactly the way I like it. If I had my way, I'd probably never leave it at all. There is nothing gentle about battle. There is no place within it for softness or sentimentaily. Before knowing Caska, I'd have said that a battle is a place women should never be. Hell, I'll still say it. She is the exception that proves the rule. We've never gotten along, and I'd probably never tell her, but I admire her for the strength and determination she must have in order to have succeeded as a mercenary. And not just any mercenary... as the second in command to Griffith, one of his top swordsmen - swordswoman? - and the finest strategic mind in the Band of the Hawks, save Griffith himself. I doubt there is another woman anywhere in the world who could do what she has done. When the fighting rages around you and your ears are filled with the ring of steel on steel and the screams of dying men, there is no time for emotion. Allowing your emotions to rule you is the fastest way to get yourself killed that I can think of. Women are more susceptible to giving in to emotion, but I have seen men do it as well. All of them die. I have heard people say that I succumb to a berserk rage when I fight... that's not true. There is rage there, certainly, but it is channelled. I do not let it blind me, I force it to work for me. In those moments I am hyper-aware of everything around me, every enemy who might potentially be within range, every ally who might be in the way of my sword swing. Very little escapes me; it as though my senses are suddenly ten times sharper than they are at any other time. A true berserker would kill anyone before him, regardless of whether they were friend or foe - I kill only my enemies. Still, people say what they will say. The Bards write their ballads not to portray a battle with realism or accuracy, but in such a way that it will impress and amuse their noble patrons. To my disgust, I have discovered that I have become a popular subject for those same damn ballads. Guts the Hundred Man Killer. They way they tell it, you'd think I'd gone out and found that patrol on purpose, just to make a name for myself. I only did what I had to do - and regardless of what I know Caska believes, I didn't do it for her. I didn't even do it for myself. I did it... because they were there, and I was there, and it had to be done. And because, as always, once I have a blade in my hand and an opponent in front of me, I am filled with the need to fight. Battle is dark. Battle is bloody. Battle is messy. Battle is merciless. Battle is painful. Battle is cruel. Despite all of that... there is nowhere else in the world that I feel more at home. In many ways, battle will always be my mother, my father, and my lover. It is certainly my life. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
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