Berserk, Total War: Second Son of Nobles

"Captain Griffith, what should we do?"

A team member's voice came from the back of the team with a slight tremor.

"Don't act rashly. The purpose of our trip is to exchange prisoners, not to engage in conflict with them."

He raised his hand and pressed the sword at his waist. The leather wrapped around the hilt was polished to a shine from years of use.

"Tell everyone to stay calm and stick to the plan."

At this moment, the gate of the military camp burst open.

The heavy iron door made a harsh sound as it rubbed against its hinges. A group of Black Watch cavalrymen poured out like a tide. The sound of their horses' hooves rolled over the ground like thunder, raising a large amount of dust.

They fanned out, surrounding Griffith and his group. The centurion in the lead rode a jet-black warhorse, its mane shining in the torchlight.

The centurion pulled the reins, and the warhorse raised its front hooves high and neighed.

He glanced down at Griffith, his gaze slashing across his face like a knife, and then landed on the carriage surrounded by mercenaries.

"Where are my soldiers?"

Griffith didn't answer immediately, but turned sideways and pointed at the carriage behind him.

The curtain of the carriage was half-drawn, and a curled-up figure could be vaguely seen inside. Beside it stood two mercenaries holding pistols, the tips of their guns gleaming coldly in the firelight.

"In the carriage."

The centurion narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingered on the carriage for a few seconds, and then he waved his hand:

"Send some men over to take the soldier to the doctor."

"Wait a minute!"

Griffith suddenly raised his hand, his voice was not loud, but it made everyone around him look at him.

He looked at the centurion, his eyes firm and calm.

"I need to see our people first, otherwise I can't give you this prisoner."

The centurion's expression instantly darkened, his brows raised high, like two unsheathed swords.

"Are you negotiating terms with me?"

“This is not a negotiation.”

Griffith met the other person's gaze and spoke word by word.

"This is a recognition of your Blackwatch's credibility. Now that we're here, we won't break our promise—but we also hope that you'll keep your word."

"We can show you our captives first. But if you want to play any tricks, don't blame us for being rude."

His eyes swept across the dark mass of cavalry around him, and finally fixed on the centurion's face.

"I believe you don't want to see unnecessary bloodshed either."

The centurion was silent for a moment, his eyes shifting between Griffith and the carriage.

Finally, he raised his hand and gestured:

"Lift the curtain."

The two mercenaries immediately stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain of the carriage.

In the dim carriage, Grill was tied tightly with thick ropes, with his hands tied behind his back.

"Greer, is that you?"

A sergeant suddenly shouted. He was the captain of Grill's team and was staring at the figure in the carriage with anxious eyes.

"it's me!"

Greer finally squeezed out a clear syllable from his throat, his voice hoarse as if it had been sandpapered.

The sergeant made a forceful gesture to the centurion in the distance. The centurion nodded after seeing it, and the suspicion in his eyes finally faded a little.

"We can make an exchange."

The centurion finally spoke, his tone still tough.

"But you must promise to leave immediately after the exchange. You are no longer welcome in this area."

"We just want our brother back."

Griffith responded calmly.

"At the same time, we will not attack you after the exchange and will leave immediately. This is our promise."

The centurion snorted and said nothing more. He turned his horse and galloped towards the camp.

Time passed minute by minute, and when the camp gate opened again, the figures of Gorkas and others appeared in sight.

They were escorted by several Blackwatch mercenaries, but their handcuffs and shackles had all been removed, and everyone's face was filled with fatigue and vigilance after surviving a disaster.

"Griffith!"

Gorkas saw Griffith standing at the front of the team at a glance, and his eyes lit up instantly. At this moment, Griffith was like a torch suddenly lit in the darkness.

He wanted to rush forward immediately, but the escorting mercenary hit him hard on the back with the butt of his gun, forcing him to lower his head and continue moving forward.

Griffith waved his hand, signaling the team members to be quiet. He turned to the mercenaries behind him and said:

"Get Greer out of the carriage."

Two mercenaries immediately stepped forward, untied Grill's ropes, and helped him out of the carriage.

Grill's legs were weak from being tied up for a long time. He staggered as soon as he landed and almost fell. Fortunately, he was supported by the mercenary next to him.

After both sides exchanged the prisoners, the atmosphere was eerily quiet. No unnecessary words, no angry shouts, even the sound of breathing was very quiet.

The Blackwatch mercenaries carefully lifted Greer, placed him on a stretcher and carried him back to the camp.

Gorkas and others immediately climbed onto the carriage. They didn't even look back, as if staying for another second would put them in deeper danger.

The coachman whipped the horse, and the carriage made a "creaking" sound as it drove away into the distance.

After returning to the camp, Gorkas sat down by the fire, grabbed a piece of roasted black bread impatiently, and began to eat it greedily.

Someone joked:

"Why, the prison over at Blackwatch doesn't provide food?"

Gorkas stuffed his mouth with bread and swallowed it before complaining to the people around him:

"Don't even mention it. They don't give us anything to eat."

"It's obviously you who doesn't want to eat it!"

The mercenary who had also been captured nearby immediately exposed him.

"Then after you recruited that group of people, they thought you were noisy and stopped giving you food."

Gorkas blushed and was about to retort, but Jiedu added fuel to the fire:

"Yes, yes, yes. I heard that some mercenaries, after being captured by unruly mercenary groups, are tortured and forced to confess, which is considered the least severe punishment. They might even be thrown into the pot to make soup..."

"Stop talking, stop talking!"

Gorkas quickly covered his ears.

"Whatever soup it is, I'm hungry now. Give me something to eat quickly!"

The camp erupted in laughter. Even the usually serious Bibin was amused and patted Gorkas on the head.

"Alright, alright, eat more and replenish your strength."

Griffith did not join in. He sat alone in the tent, listening to the laughter outside. The firelight shone through the cracks in the tent onto his face, and the interweaving of light and dark looked like a flowing painting.

He looked at the black wooden identity badge of Overwatch in his hand, which had been rubbed to a shine. That was his former identity and the only trace he left in the strongest mercenary group on that continent.

"Can I... really realize my dream?"

Outside the tent, Jiedu opened the curtain and walked in, holding a bowl of hot soup in his hand:

"Griffith, drink some hot soup to warm yourself up."

Griffith held the bowl of soup, his vision blurred by the steam.

He looked at the still flickering bonfire outside the tent and listened to the faint laughter coming from afar. Suddenly, he felt the flame in his chest that was about to go out began to beat again.

"yes......"

He murmured softly.

"I can definitely do it."