Someone asked in the chat recently if there were any Berserk fanfics on the forum. There used to be quite a few! We even had a fanfic contest or two. Unfortunately, most vanished when one of the alternate "shootin' the breeze" forums was lost. But I dug through my files and found one that I'd written back in 2003. Looking at it almost 18 years later, I was impressed, but I knew it could be improved. So I threw out everything except the premise and setting and started writing it again, making it effectively a new story.
I figured I could try to entertain people here by posting a new chapter each week. It's more digestible that way, anyway. I'm still finishing it, but based on where I am in the story, I should be able to post the whole thing in one sequence over the course of 6 weeks. Enjoy!
A man rides alone down a deserted road. As the wounded sun fell before him, he lowers the hat over his brow. The head of his donkey dips as well, in pace with the setting of the sun, and he chides himself for pushing her too far today.
“There, there, lass,” he comforts his beast with his spare hand. “The village won’t be far along now. Just around that mountain ahead. We’ll soon have something warm in us to take this trek off our minds.”
Business along the road had been rotten. The dull clanging of his bell would normally draw the attention of all who heard it. They would crowd around him, eager to see what treasures his roving shop had brought. Today, his bell brought no one. He had foraged for food at mid-day but found nothing but empty forests and barren fields.
The new war had squeezed this once ripe land into a husk. After the burden of 100 years of fighting had lifted, the poorest folk in these territories had finally tasted peace. And then the Kushans arrived. Slicing through the continent, their armies spread like a sea of blood that no army could staunch. The sudden collapse in the heart of Midland sent shockwaves throughout the surrounding fiefs. Some heroic lords sent their men to aid in the crisis in Midland. Others were emboldened to seize territory in the chaos of the power vacuum. Until one by one, their grip on their fiefs was extinguished or disempowered. And with their dying breath, scattered their armies to the winds, along with their sworn oath to protect the lives of their subjects.
As the donkey ambled on, it came upon the remains of a crossroad sign, weathered and broken by time. He examined the horizon and continued on, fairly sure of his destination. A while later, the man saw a small stone protruding from the ground, of the kind used for marking mileposts or territorial boundaries. Something about the stone’s shape caught the man’s attention, and he drew his beast to a halt. He scrutinized the stone and its worn markings as their significance dawned on him. But a sharp voice cut into his investigation.
“Bring out your purses, boys! There’s a peddler in town,” the stranger bellowed, emerging from the wood, an axe lugged over his shoulder. Two more men approached from the other side of the road, similarly armed. “I don’t hear no bell. Aren’t we welcome to your wares?”
“I’ve not much left on me, and with the day shrinking, I’d prefer to be on my way—if it pleases you,” the peddler offered feebly.
“You’ll need our approval for that. We’ve been charged with protection duty by the lord of this land,” said the man with the ax. The tinker didn’t even have to consider the truth of this. He knew the lord and his successors were dead, along with any laws they upheld.
“You’re welcome to see what I have. I only ask fair trade, as any honest merchant would,” the peddler said, dismounting. He opened his saddlebags and pulled out some iron cookware, lying them in the road alongside bundles of herbs and cutlery before backing away.
“I can’t eat none of this,” said the man, knocking the pans away with his foot. He turned toward the donkey, gliding the blade of the axe along the beast’s back, the metal ringing melodically on the bristles of the coat, coming to rest at its neck. The beast stamped in place and snorted loudly. “Now, this I could eat.”
The peddler immediately strode forward, grasping the handle of the axe with both hands, yanking hard. In the same motion, he shifted his weight to his hip, shoving the man to the ground. The others laughed in surprise at their suddenly unarmed leader. But there was no mirth in the noise.
“Well… nothing fair about that trade,” the leader said, standing up and brushing his wrists on his trousers. He stood sidelong and hunkered down, entreating the peddler. “Now you’re armed. So go ahead and take a swing with it, now. I’ll bet you could take the whole head clean off with that axe. I’ve done it plenty of times. Come on, now!”
“I won’t! I won’t spill blood here,” the peddler yelled, the axe held halfway in the air. “I saw it before you stopped me. That way stone—there. This land is under protection. And you all should be wary of it too!”
The leader was a showman, pivoting from one charade to another. He placed his hand over his brow, searching in mock seriousness.
“Where?! Which stone?! This one over here?” the man held up a pebble from the road, putting it to his eye for a close inspection. “If you ask me, you’re focusing on the wrong thing. For instance, you spent so much time focusing on the rock, but overlooked Harker sneaking up right behind you.”
Gloved hands grasped the peddler’s arms, and his feet were kicked from beneath him. He fell to the ground and dropped the axe to steady himself. Harker jammed his foot into the peddler’s ribs, then bent to pick up the weapon and hoisted it back over to the leader, who grasped it from the air with a single hand.
“I already told you. We’re the protection around here. There’s no one out here but us. Well—not anymore. So who’s gonna stop me from gutting you right here and dicing up this walking meat into four meals for me and my boys, huh?” The peddler merely heaved, unable to breathe, his eyes cast down, resigned to his fate.
The leader tilted his head derisively, drawing his axe above his head. But as he swung down, he found himself off-balance. The heavy axe had fallen with a thump behind him. His two hands were still grasping it, separated cleanly at the wrist. The leader’s voice shuddered with shock. He whirled to face his attacker, but saw only a hint of steel flashing through the air. The second thrown sword buried itself in his skull mid-flight, yanking the body violently off the road, coming to rest somewhere in the trees beyond.
“He’s talking about me,” said a figure, emerging from the darkness of the forest. “This territory is under my protection.”
The three remaining men’s hands were white-knuckled as they clasped their weapons, their legs for some reason refusing to obey the animal instinct they felt to retreat.
“Look, he threw his only weapons,” Harker muttered through his teeth, observing the man’s empty hands. “You two’ve got polearms! Put ‘em to use! Don’t let him get close, and I’ll stick him with this.”
Harker drew out his crossbow, squatting to fit the bolt. But when he looked up to take aim, he saw only a red mist—the remains of an eruption from where his accomplices had stood. Their bodies hung limply from where the wild man clutched their faces, one in each hand, their heads squeezed into pulp like ripe grapefruit. He smiled at Harker as he ripped their torsos free, sending them whirling from their bodies like leaves caught in a breeze. Those same hands crushed Harker’s bow into splinters and lifted him by his neck. He dared a look into the man’s eyes. They were unnatural, like an animal’s. And then Harker felt the moment his neck was crushed. His head and body fell to opposite sides of the lone, standing figure. The tall man walked into the forest and emerged with two blades.
The peddler had finally caught his breath, and he limped along the road in the direction he had come. The man advanced toward him, but stopped haltingly, glancing at the way stone along the path.
“You’ve placed yourself beyond my reach. Clever,” the man said. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, casting the grim scene in a pale light. The figure standing before the peddler would tower over any man, and his muscular frame spilled out from animal fur coverings. Lank hair was pulled away from his face and ran freely down his back. This wild man would have dismembered him if he hadn’t remembered the way stone and its significance. He couldn’t be sure what he’d heard about this dangerous man in the previous village was true, but his life now hung in the balance on that rumor.
“Please, I meant no harm to this place. I’m just a simple peddler, passing through to the village nearby,” he said.
“You knew about the way stone. You should have known not to bring violence here,” the wild man said, turning his back to the man. “Do as you will elsewhere. But cross the stone again, and I will know.”
“What about my animal, my wares?”
“They’re on my side.”
And with a single punch, he knocked the donkey to the ground. The peddler gave a startled yell at the sudden violence. The heavy beast fell over and struck the road with a dull thump. Then he watched the man lift the animal by its legs, flip it over onto his shoulders as if it were an injured fawn, and carry it toward the woods, disappearing into the darkness where he had first emerged.
The peddler stood for several minutes staring in the pale light at the chaos, then turned to face the open road, stepping listlessly into the night, back in the direction he had come.
I figured I could try to entertain people here by posting a new chapter each week. It's more digestible that way, anyway. I'm still finishing it, but based on where I am in the story, I should be able to post the whole thing in one sequence over the course of 6 weeks. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1
A man rides alone down a deserted road. As the wounded sun fell before him, he lowers the hat over his brow. The head of his donkey dips as well, in pace with the setting of the sun, and he chides himself for pushing her too far today.“There, there, lass,” he comforts his beast with his spare hand. “The village won’t be far along now. Just around that mountain ahead. We’ll soon have something warm in us to take this trek off our minds.”
Business along the road had been rotten. The dull clanging of his bell would normally draw the attention of all who heard it. They would crowd around him, eager to see what treasures his roving shop had brought. Today, his bell brought no one. He had foraged for food at mid-day but found nothing but empty forests and barren fields.
The new war had squeezed this once ripe land into a husk. After the burden of 100 years of fighting had lifted, the poorest folk in these territories had finally tasted peace. And then the Kushans arrived. Slicing through the continent, their armies spread like a sea of blood that no army could staunch. The sudden collapse in the heart of Midland sent shockwaves throughout the surrounding fiefs. Some heroic lords sent their men to aid in the crisis in Midland. Others were emboldened to seize territory in the chaos of the power vacuum. Until one by one, their grip on their fiefs was extinguished or disempowered. And with their dying breath, scattered their armies to the winds, along with their sworn oath to protect the lives of their subjects.
As the donkey ambled on, it came upon the remains of a crossroad sign, weathered and broken by time. He examined the horizon and continued on, fairly sure of his destination. A while later, the man saw a small stone protruding from the ground, of the kind used for marking mileposts or territorial boundaries. Something about the stone’s shape caught the man’s attention, and he drew his beast to a halt. He scrutinized the stone and its worn markings as their significance dawned on him. But a sharp voice cut into his investigation.
“Bring out your purses, boys! There’s a peddler in town,” the stranger bellowed, emerging from the wood, an axe lugged over his shoulder. Two more men approached from the other side of the road, similarly armed. “I don’t hear no bell. Aren’t we welcome to your wares?”
“I’ve not much left on me, and with the day shrinking, I’d prefer to be on my way—if it pleases you,” the peddler offered feebly.
“You’ll need our approval for that. We’ve been charged with protection duty by the lord of this land,” said the man with the ax. The tinker didn’t even have to consider the truth of this. He knew the lord and his successors were dead, along with any laws they upheld.
“You’re welcome to see what I have. I only ask fair trade, as any honest merchant would,” the peddler said, dismounting. He opened his saddlebags and pulled out some iron cookware, lying them in the road alongside bundles of herbs and cutlery before backing away.
“I can’t eat none of this,” said the man, knocking the pans away with his foot. He turned toward the donkey, gliding the blade of the axe along the beast’s back, the metal ringing melodically on the bristles of the coat, coming to rest at its neck. The beast stamped in place and snorted loudly. “Now, this I could eat.”
The peddler immediately strode forward, grasping the handle of the axe with both hands, yanking hard. In the same motion, he shifted his weight to his hip, shoving the man to the ground. The others laughed in surprise at their suddenly unarmed leader. But there was no mirth in the noise.
“Well… nothing fair about that trade,” the leader said, standing up and brushing his wrists on his trousers. He stood sidelong and hunkered down, entreating the peddler. “Now you’re armed. So go ahead and take a swing with it, now. I’ll bet you could take the whole head clean off with that axe. I’ve done it plenty of times. Come on, now!”
“I won’t! I won’t spill blood here,” the peddler yelled, the axe held halfway in the air. “I saw it before you stopped me. That way stone—there. This land is under protection. And you all should be wary of it too!”
The leader was a showman, pivoting from one charade to another. He placed his hand over his brow, searching in mock seriousness.
“Where?! Which stone?! This one over here?” the man held up a pebble from the road, putting it to his eye for a close inspection. “If you ask me, you’re focusing on the wrong thing. For instance, you spent so much time focusing on the rock, but overlooked Harker sneaking up right behind you.”
Gloved hands grasped the peddler’s arms, and his feet were kicked from beneath him. He fell to the ground and dropped the axe to steady himself. Harker jammed his foot into the peddler’s ribs, then bent to pick up the weapon and hoisted it back over to the leader, who grasped it from the air with a single hand.
“I already told you. We’re the protection around here. There’s no one out here but us. Well—not anymore. So who’s gonna stop me from gutting you right here and dicing up this walking meat into four meals for me and my boys, huh?” The peddler merely heaved, unable to breathe, his eyes cast down, resigned to his fate.
The leader tilted his head derisively, drawing his axe above his head. But as he swung down, he found himself off-balance. The heavy axe had fallen with a thump behind him. His two hands were still grasping it, separated cleanly at the wrist. The leader’s voice shuddered with shock. He whirled to face his attacker, but saw only a hint of steel flashing through the air. The second thrown sword buried itself in his skull mid-flight, yanking the body violently off the road, coming to rest somewhere in the trees beyond.
“He’s talking about me,” said a figure, emerging from the darkness of the forest. “This territory is under my protection.”
The three remaining men’s hands were white-knuckled as they clasped their weapons, their legs for some reason refusing to obey the animal instinct they felt to retreat.
“Look, he threw his only weapons,” Harker muttered through his teeth, observing the man’s empty hands. “You two’ve got polearms! Put ‘em to use! Don’t let him get close, and I’ll stick him with this.”
Harker drew out his crossbow, squatting to fit the bolt. But when he looked up to take aim, he saw only a red mist—the remains of an eruption from where his accomplices had stood. Their bodies hung limply from where the wild man clutched their faces, one in each hand, their heads squeezed into pulp like ripe grapefruit. He smiled at Harker as he ripped their torsos free, sending them whirling from their bodies like leaves caught in a breeze. Those same hands crushed Harker’s bow into splinters and lifted him by his neck. He dared a look into the man’s eyes. They were unnatural, like an animal’s. And then Harker felt the moment his neck was crushed. His head and body fell to opposite sides of the lone, standing figure. The tall man walked into the forest and emerged with two blades.
The peddler had finally caught his breath, and he limped along the road in the direction he had come. The man advanced toward him, but stopped haltingly, glancing at the way stone along the path.
“You’ve placed yourself beyond my reach. Clever,” the man said. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, casting the grim scene in a pale light. The figure standing before the peddler would tower over any man, and his muscular frame spilled out from animal fur coverings. Lank hair was pulled away from his face and ran freely down his back. This wild man would have dismembered him if he hadn’t remembered the way stone and its significance. He couldn’t be sure what he’d heard about this dangerous man in the previous village was true, but his life now hung in the balance on that rumor.
“Please, I meant no harm to this place. I’m just a simple peddler, passing through to the village nearby,” he said.
“You knew about the way stone. You should have known not to bring violence here,” the wild man said, turning his back to the man. “Do as you will elsewhere. But cross the stone again, and I will know.”
“What about my animal, my wares?”
“They’re on my side.”
And with a single punch, he knocked the donkey to the ground. The peddler gave a startled yell at the sudden violence. The heavy beast fell over and struck the road with a dull thump. Then he watched the man lift the animal by its legs, flip it over onto his shoulders as if it were an injured fawn, and carry it toward the woods, disappearing into the darkness where he had first emerged.
The peddler stood for several minutes staring in the pale light at the chaos, then turned to face the open road, stepping listlessly into the night, back in the direction he had come.