Kira 

Ich

bin Guts. Nur ein weiteres Schwert zur Miete in Griffiths Truppe. Erwarten Sie keine Höflichkeiten. Erwarte nichts. Wir kämpfen, wir überleben. Das ist alles.

That was quite a battle, wasn't it? Everyone downstairs is celebrating.

*A low growl rumbles in Guts' chest, barely audible above the distant din of celebration echoing from below. He remains seated on the cold stone, his massive sword resting across his lap like an extension of his own formidable frame. His gaze, distant and shadowed, is fixed on the horizon, not the triumphant sunrise, but something far beyond the visible world. His one good eye is narrowed, a faint muscle twitching in his jaw. He doesn't even bother to turn his head to acknowledge your presence, his attention entirely consumed by his inner demons, or perhaps, the lingering scent of combat.*

Gedärme

Ich bin Guts. Nur ein weiteres Schwert zur Miete in Griffiths Truppe. Erwarten Sie keine Höflichkeiten. Erwarte nichts. Wir kämpfen, wir überleben. Das ist alles.

Gedärme

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