Opinionated As Hell: The Blog

Lastly, Isidro seeks to surpass a legendary warrior he knows as the Century Slayer (that this is in fact Guts is a connection lost on Isidro). In this regard, the young boy has a choice in what he wants to become, something Guts never had. It was a life forced onto him. This returns us to the theme of Fate. Guts hasn’t had a say in virtually anything in his life because every single horrible thing that has happened to him has happened without his consent. Every single thing he does has been a response, a reaction not an action. It harkens back to Volume 1, where the old priest grieves his young nephew’s death on the battlefield. Guts defends the boy’s life choices on grounds that at least he died doing what he wanted. While it may seem like machismo, at its core the statement was a lament on Guts’ part. Guts hasn’t been able to live a life of his own because at every turn he’s been led astray by the guiles of Fate or his sense of duty to the people he must protect. His only recourse, thus, is to at least die on his own terms.

As such, Isidro’s choice and Guts simultaneous struggle against Fate explore an intertwining theme of carving out one’s own destiny and living on one’s own terms.

Serpico

Serpico is the new Judeau of the group in many ways. Like Judeau, he is the voice of reason and a friend to all members of the party. A shrewd tactician, he serves as the more pragmatic, diplomatic alternative to Guts’ kill-first-ask-questions-later approach. Serpico has devoted his life to his half-sister, Farnese, willing to go to any lengths to keep her safe. There is an argument to be made that his love for Farnese might be romantic in nature (they are half-siblings and if Berserk has taught us anything it is that stranger things have happened) which strengthens his parallel with Judeau since he too was a “brother” to Casca. Like with Judeau, Fate has thrown a wrench in his plans, this time instead of timings it the nature of their relationship that makes any chance of love between them “not in the cards.”

Still, there are two main differences between Serpico and Judeau. Firstly, while appearing unassuming, he is in fact a formidable warrior, fighting Guts on two separate occasions and living to tell about it—the ultimate bragging rights in the world of Berserk. In every single one of their exchanges, Guts has been forced to not only fight in earnest but to commend him on his battle prowess. Though Judeau was a great fighter he was never presented as a legitimate threat to Guts the way Serpico is.

Secondly, while Judeau never exuded any ruthlessness, Serpico is second only to Guts when it comes to the extent he will go to for Farnese’s safety. In a world rampant with selfishness and egotism, Serpico’s entire existence is based solely around safeguarding Farnese, a task he considers more important than his own well-being and worth any and all sacrifices. Even both men’s childhood was one of being “strays”, overbearing single parents, hardship and being forced into a life that neither seems innately suited for: Guts as a mercenary and Serpico as a glorified man-servant to Farnese. Neither man truly recovers from their childhood and are forced to grow a carapace of unfeeling detachment (although it seems more pronounced with Serpico’s in his diffidence and non-confrontational demeanor). Though highly intelligent and resourceful, both men lack a productive level of self-worth due to their parent’s unbending demand to be more than what they are. As Gambino burdened Guts with a huge sword that led to more pain and suffering, Serpico’s mother burdened him with a faux-nobleman “pride,” ensuring a childhood full of bullying and mockery.

Then, Just as Guts escapes a cruel single parent and is found half-dead by the same kind of people (a passing band of mercenaries) so is Serpico “rescued” from under his mother’s thumb when Farnese (belonging to the world of nobility) finds him nearly dead in a snowy alleyway. His body also has numerous scars that he endured because of or for Farnese. Above all, he has also devoted himself to someone who is unstable, vindictive and supremely jealous—just as Guts once devoted himself to Griffith.

As such, neither man has lived their life on their own terms; always flung in one situation after another out of their devotion to the people they value most. Yet a big difference between Serpico and Guts is that the former views revenge as a foolish thing and prefers to not make any waves. His childhood was the opposite of Guts—where Guts was raised by an abuse single father, Serpico was raised by a domineering single mother who kept insisting that he acknowledge and live by the noble blood in his veins. Like Guts, he also ends up killing his single parent. But while the former did so in self-defense and harbored no ill-will towards his father, the latter acknowledged hating his mother and sets her on fire on Farnese’s command.

Serpico in his relationship to Farnese echoes Guts in his relationship with Griffith, though not without important differences. Farnese’s first words to Serpico after saving his life were similar to Griffith’s words to Griffith “you belong to me”, words that Griffith would repeat to Guts on more than one occasion. Farnese would repeatedly torture Serpico when they were children and would later even drink his blood. Again, this is akin to Griffith sacrificing Guts as food for apostles down to his last drop of blood.

Farnese

Farnese is a product of a loveless, attention-less childhood where everything in her father’s huge mansion is a reminder of his withholding nature and his absence. Terrified and stifled in the darkness of her mansion, she discovers how fire changed the darkness around her, peeling it away from her. By chance she ends up setting a heretic on fire, which grants her the attention and adoration (of religious zealots) that she so craved her whole life. This allowed her to use fire as a form of self-expression, creating her own crematorium where she burned things that caused her pain or refuse to love her. In the repressed world of convents she becomes a zealot herself, blending perfectly with her sadomasochistic tendencies. When she is given the helm of a division of soldiers dedicated to torturing and burning heretics she finds her calling. Gaining the perfect sublimation tactic, Farnese is able to live her life as she wants up until she encounters Guts and her life changes forever.

As such, Farnese is the true wild card of the group and one of the most fascinating characters in Berserk. Pre-Albion Farnese was a foil to Guts in her religious zeal, her deference to God and her upper-class snobbery. Her sadism and pyromaniac tendency also seem to be a transmogrification of Guts, who whilst a violent man, is by no means a sadist. Both are abandoned, neglected children who keep indulge in one form of sublimation to keep their inner demons and insecurities in-check. Farnese gains a measure of acceptance by using the prosecution of pagans to satisfy her sadism and pyromaniac tendencies while Guts indulges his innate desire for violence through the more socially acceptable art of warfare. Her innate desire for violence and finding solace in it also mirrors Guts’ battle against the Beast of Darkness; both struggling mightily to hold onto what little is left of their humanity.

A crucial difference is that without her faith, Farnese appears to have little purpose or drive in life, relying on the authority of God—a stark contract to Guts who carves through life on his own strength and conviction. That is, Farnese externalises her strength while Guts internalizes it, a dynamic best captured when in the heart of battle against a deluge of demonic spirits Farnese attempts to pray only for Guts to shout at her to use her arms for action instead of meaningless gestures. Seeing Guts stand alone against a sea of monsters is what inspires her to follow him, his self-reliance and courage inspiring her.

Post-Albion Farnese remained in a kind of non-man’s land for some time. While some criticize this aspect of her, it makes perfect sense thematically. She appears to be in no-man’s land because she is in no-man’s land. Having given up on God and turning her life around is completely new territory for Farnese who spent a lifetime torturing and burning things that she didn’t approve of. On top of that, she is dealing with mythic creatures that she didn’t even realize existed as much as a few months ago. While all other members of the New Party have set tasks they must excel at, post-Albion Farnese spends a long time with little direction besides being around Guts and being an impromptu nanny for Casca. She finds a measure of direction in being Casca’s protector but remains lost in the shuffle for the most part. Her attempts at learning magic grant her a purpose in the New Party but she’s still not an expert like Schierke. Her main character thrust so far is how much she is trying to turn her life around in a positive direction and her role in a love triangle between herself, Guts and Casca.

That said, however, a more sinister thrust seems to be brewing because of her feelings towards Guts and how, slowly, they seem to be ebbing away at the new persona she has created for herself.

Central to Berserk is the idea that our personal demons turn us into real monsters and that the proverbial road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions. Griffith’s ambitions were inherently noble as he wished to be king chiefly on his own merit as a leader and soldier. Yet he succumbed to his inner demons and turned his dream into a grotesque, all-consuming monster. Guts, similarly, wages a heroic battle against demonic entities besetting the world but as the carnage grows, he finds himself at the crossroads of his inner demons that seek endless bloodshed i.e. the Beast of Darkness. The behelit is, if nothing else, symbolic of our inner demons and a moment of weakness where the floodgates are opened and the last shred of our humanity is ripped away.

Farnese, like Guts and Griffith, is at war against her inner demons. While her love for Guts has clearly made her a nobler, compassionate person, she harbors a visible jealousy towards Casca. When further examined, we realize that on each occasion that her jealousy manifested, Farnese unravelled on a level deeper than the previous one. Although Farnese undertakes Casca’s protection with selfless courage, her feelings towards the regressed Amazon grow more and more ambivalent the closer they get towards finding a cure.

The first time we see Post-Albion Farnese visibly bothered is when Guts and Casca cradle the Moon Child together. It is the first time she has shown negative emotions since the events of the Conviction Arc and it is no coincidence that it is a moment where Guts, Casca and the Moon Child form the picture perfect image of a happy family. It is only a panel but her reaction says it all being so palpable that Serpico noticed it.

The second time, her spirit inexplicably retreats back from an astral flight after she overhears Guts explain what Casca means to him. Again, for someone who has been keeping herself under-wraps for so long she ends up losing her grip in an instant. The scene is brief but this time she is self-aware, pondering aloud over her confusion and mixed feelings.

Things take a more ominous turn from that point onwards. The third time, is after a severely wounded Guts falls into the ocean trying to save Casca from drowning. With his scars reopening and aggravated by the salt, a distraught Farnese lashes out at Casca for not even understanding how much pain Guts endures for her. Crucially, she laments how despite Casca’s enmity, Guts remains devoted to her. This is the first time Farnese is candid about her jealousy, lashing out at Casca for her indifference to Guts plight. Arguably it is Guts’ indifference to Farnese that is the source of her pain. For a brief moment, she relapses into Pre-Albion Farnese: volatile and conflicted. Spent and in tears, Farnese then says “it’s not fair,” a curious word choice.

Shades of the old Farnese seep through again when Guts is healing from his battle against the Sea God. Using her nascent magical powers, Farnese begins pouring her warmth into Guts to soothe the wounded warrior. It is a genuinely tender moment that is ruined when Guts notices Casca ambling about. Farnese quickly leads Casca away on the pretense that his presence agitates her. Again, it is a curious (and cruel) choice of words, given how much Guts agonizes over Casca’s acrimony towards him. In reminding Guts of this fact, Farnese appears to germinate the idea that Casca is no longer the woman Guts once loved and what they once shared is perhaps unsalvageable—an underhanded attempt to slowly wean him off her. Cruelty and guile, again, are shades of the old Farnese.

Lastly, when Master Gedfryn hints that the Elf King can indeed cure Casca, Farnese can only watch dejectedly as Guts smiles for the first time in several volumes. Again, her jealousy and ambivalence towards Casca comes to the forefront where the happiness of the man she loves takes a back seat to her own feelings. Selfishness is another facet of the old Farnese.

This brings me back to her calling Casca cruel. If we consider the hand Farnese has been dealt by Fate, “cruel” is perhaps apt. For one, Casca unwittingly holds Guts in the palm of her hand where the warrior would lay down his life for her without a second thought, much to Farnese’s chagrin. Yet, Casca is also utterly dependent on her, earning her sympathy and pity. To make things worse, Casca’s protection was entrusted to Farnese by none other than Guts himself.

It is an emotional dead-end for Farnese. She grows jealous of Casca which makes her feel guilty, which makes her hate herself which in turn may very likely overtime make her hate Casca. Compare this to her volatile childhood days where her loveless life in the giant mansion drove her into pyromania. Devoid of love and attention, she grew volatile and acted like quite the monster, hurting people, burning them, all to push people away from her, which in turn made her all the more volatile.

Why this is relevant is because Farnese’s jealousy of Casca mirrors Casca’s jealousy of Guts during the Golden Age. Farnese worships Guts in much the same way Casca worshipped Griffith. She too views him as an ideal, a man who saved her and gave her a new lease on life. Her life earned a purpose through the act of following him to his destination. Above all, both Casca and Farnese love(d) a man who didn’t reciprocate their feelings and was with another woman instead. This in turn made them bitter as the purpose of their life seemed to diminish right before their eyes. Casca was lucky enough to find Guts always there by her side in the confusion but Farnese is utterly alone.

There is more though.                                          

We have to remember that Griffith and Casca’s roles reversed following his being crippled. Where once he had been quite literally her knight in shining armor, he now needed her to save him and look after him. Where once his hand could make protect her, he was now an invalid whom she had to look after. Where Casca worshipped him once, she now pitied him. Where she once would’ve died for him without a second thought, she now ached over whether to stay with him or leave with Guts—that she stayed out of pity didn’t help matters. Above all, for the first time ever, Griffith viewed her as a woman he could spend a (painfully ordinary) life with. Much like Casca, who found the purpose of her life diminishing before her very eyes, Griffith too needed someone by his side in the confusion.

But he was alone. And the rest is bloody history.

Farnese already harkens to Griffith in numerous other ways. She is an extremely beautiful and attracts many admirers but harbors a malicious, vindictive side. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, her sword and ornate silver armor is also reminiscent of Griffith. Even her armor’s color scheme is the same as Griffith at times i.e. silver, white and purple. Coincidentally, the first time she crosses paths with Guts, she is also able to take him down with a single sword strike—although in her case it is sheer dumb luck (and a timely interference from Serpico). In fact, her sociopathic tendencies match Griffith by being prone to cruelty, manipulation, violence and selfishness. She even mirrors his penchant for self-harm, repeatedly flogging herself or asking Guts to cleave her with his sword, puns intended. Her first encounter with Serpico is very similar to Griffith’s first encounter with Guts, mirroring his words “you belong to me.” She routinely tortured Serpico and even drank his blood much the same way Griffith “fed” on Guts and the Falcons. She and Serpico being siblings also mirrors Griffith and Guts relationship as that of brothers-in-arms and very close friends. That there have been hints of romantic love between Farnese and Serpico also serves as a parallel to the homoeroticism between Griffith and Guts.

With all the above in mind, it is highly likely that just as Griffith unravelled in the end, Guts-Casca-Farnese may be a retread of the Griffith-Guts-Casca dynamic. Farnese’s good intentions may very well pave the way to hell and what started out as benign emotions end up becoming a storm of demons. One need only remember how in Chapter 185 when Farnese was little she burnt a bird alive. Why? As she explained herself, the poor bird did not grow to love her. If we compare her words to those of Griffith’s prior to his second fight with Guts i.e. “if he will not be mine then his life is forfeit” then their already numerous parallels become all the more foreboding.

Farnese’s parallels to Casca are also fascinating since she too was once a woman at the helm of soldiers. In fact both are women warriors from opposite ends of the social (and racial) strata. While Farnese was a noblewoman who was essentially handed the command over a squadron of rich boy soldiers, Casca was an Arab/African/Indian peasant girl who joined a very blue-color band of mercenaries and climbed her way up the ranks based on her own merit. They also seem jettisoned once taken away from their position of authority with Casca reduced to an infantile mental state and Farnese lacking any particular goal in sight besides Guts.

Their most important parallel, however, is when it comes to the idea of “faith”. Like Casca, Farnese harbors an unflinching, unquestioning loyalty to God, taking no prisoners in her faith and willing to go to any and all lengths for said idea. In the end, the ideas they worshipped so devoutly turn out to be monstrous, damning them to a life path that is as precarious as it is uncertain i.e. Farnese in her new role with the New Party and Casca in her ruined mental state.

Schierke

Schierke and Guts mirror Skull Knight and Flora in terms of the basic function of the relationship. More importantly, they explore fatherhood from the perspective of a father-daughter relationship. Prior to joining Guts’ New Party, the male figures in Schierke’s life were either invisible or negative. In meeting the New Party, Schierke encounters the gamut of male figures, with an annoying brat in Isidro, a gentle nobleman in Serpico and a battle-hardened “macho man” in Guts.

Whilst initially uncomfortable around Guts, Schierke finds him alluring and eventually is won over by his constant availability, his gentleness, worldliness, his self-sacrifice and above all that he’s a good man—qualities that all daughters (and sons) should be finding easily in their fathers. In that sense, her crush on Guts is simply an aspect of their father-daughter dynamic.

Guts and Schierke are old souls. Far wiser than their years, they carry a certain gravity to them, upholding more responsibility without sharing their burdens with anyone. A poignant moment between the two occurs in Volume 28 where Schierke finally breaks down over Flora’s death after Guts encourages her to act her age and not take over so much responsibility lest she becomes yet another twisted adult in a story brimming with twisted adults. When the tears finally come, Guts quietly consoles her as she cries for the first time. Guts then encourages her further by openly admitting, for the first time in twenty-eight volumes, that he’s in immense physical pain. What was telling was that they’re both guilty of bottling up their feelings and have faced circumstances that forced them to grow up far quicker than they should have. But as she still has her childhood, Guts makes sure she gets to live it like any good father would. In openly dropping their guards and sharing their secret vulnerabilities and consoling each other, they become father and daughter. The father-daughter dynamic is enhanced further when he calls her “our girl” when beating up a drunkard for spoiling her new dress.

Another telling scene in their relationship was when during an astral flight with Farnese, she overheard Guts speaking to Roderick about what Casca means to him. Farnese and Schierke are pulled back to reality before Guts can finish his sentence, highlighting their deep-seated insecurities regarding Casca. Though upset, Schierke finds solace in having a connection to Guts that is solely theirs i.e. a conjoining of spirits when during the moments she prised Guts away from Berserker armor’s hold. It was a touching moment where Schierke accepts the fact that her love for Guts cannot be anything but platonic and that what they share is something entirely special nonetheless.

Rickert too is another facet of the bliss of ignorance. Guts does not reveal what transpired during the Eclipse, refusing to let the boy simmer in the same hatred that he himself had practically been baptized in to become the Black Swordsman. “Blind” to the past, the boy simply takes up a craft and becomes a blacksmith. The idea of a craft is important because aside from fighting we have no inkling if Guts is even capable of doing anything remotely positive. Where Guts was waging a Sisyphean war against the tides of Fate itself, Rickert was in an idyllic metal shop, honing his craft, caring after Erica and Casca, coincidentally becoming the only functional adult in the whole story given his progression from a little orphan boy, to an ex-soldier and finally a skilled craftsman who comes home to a partner (Erica) and a child (Casca). Add in a retired old parent (Godo) and we get a terribly warped image of a traditional nuclear family.

This tranquil life continues for the next two years until Guts finally reveals the true extent of Griffith’s treachery. Amazingly, however, Rickert is able to absolve himself of the kind of life-consuming hatred that Guts has succumbed to. As the Black Swordsman points out, the boy simply cannot loathe Griffith. Again, this harkens to the Greek tragedies where all misfortunes are a result of Fate and personal failings. While Guts’ intransigence in slaying Griffith is one reason he cannot put down his sword and live peacefully, the other reason is because the Brand of Sacrifice will not allow him have a tranquil life even if he wanted one. As such, Rickert is the ultimate foil to Guts due to his exceptional fortune and his ability to not let hatred govern his life. Nothing encapsulated this more than the slap he gives Griffith across the face when they do meet. The message was simple: I’m above hatred and above you.

Corkus

“If wanting was enough to make something happen then we’d all be kings. Listen! A real man has a responsibility to face up to reality, recognize his limitations and to make compromises. But you’re just too damn weak to admit that you’ve already exceeded your station and you look to the horizon, praying for what would never be because you’re just a coward!”

Corkus, Season 1, Episode 19

Corkus operated mainly as a foil to Guts. Both were defeated by Griffith before joining him, were fiercely loyal to the Falcons and were, on the surface at least, ornery men. Other than this, Corkus and Guts were worlds apart. He was the selfish, materialistic counterpart to Guts’ selfless man who aches for meaning. Corkus’ cowardice also acted as a foil to Guts’ immense will-power and courage.

More importantly, Corkus’ view of Griffith was absolute: Griffith is the untouchable, the epitome of a kind of god given talent and fortune. While all members of the Falcons shared this view, Corkus is second only to Casca when it comes to worshipping Griffith. For him, even considering being an equal to Griffith was ludicrous and so being enveloped in Griffith’s dream was a prestige enough. Like all members of the Falcons, he defined himself through his association with Griffith and was content in riding his coattails to the top.

Yet, the tragic fact is Corkus was once a leader of thieves who abandoned his own dreams to join the Falcons. By following Griffith, Corkus sought to achieve grandeur and wealth but at the cost of doing so on his own. That is, he was attaining his dreams vicariously through Griffith and settling for scraps instead of the lion’s share he would have earned had he the resolve to truly chase his dreams. That was his compromise: give up on his real dream for a sure-fire chance to have a portion of it.

As such, Corkus is the best example of the Bonfire of Dreams mentality that virtually members of the Band of Falcons had. They all lacked either the strength of character (Corkus) or ambition (Judeau) or vision (Casca) or charisma (Pippin) or self-determination (pre-departure Guts) to achieve their own dreams and so latched on to someone who embodied all the missing qualities that they perceived to be holding them back. Corkus’ tragic flaw was that, much like Jesse Pinkman from Breaking Bad, he was a leader who settled for being a follower. In contrast, Guts starts off as a follower who becomes, if not a leader, then at least his own man. He was willing to step off Griffith’s coattails and carve out his own path. This was the main point of contention between the two men as far as character arcs go.

This is best captured in the scene prior to Guts leaving the Falcons. Corkus lambasted Guts about impossible dreams and having the audacity to leave Griffith’s side. In particular he talks about realizing one’s limitations and compromising. When Guts asked if he ever even had a dream of his own, Corkus was visibly shaken. After all, it was a cruel reminder to a man who had settled for scraps instead of the lion’s share. His highly vitriolic goodbye speech to Guts was a repeat of his earlier point: Guts is not special like Griffith. Witnessing Griffith’s defeat only moments later must have made it all the more bitter because Guts proved that a) Griffith was very much flesh and blood, and b) maybe Corkus’ dreams were attainable after all had he not quit on them to join Griffith.

It is important to notice that Corkus’ attitude towards Guts following Griffith’s defeat and the fall of the Falcons is passive aggressive instead of overt hostility like before. The only time we see him interacting with Guts is when insists a little too much that Griffith’s fall was not because of him. It seems like a desperate attempt at denying reality and one wonders if he convinced anyone, least of all himself. For Corkus’ dreams to come tumbling down on account of a man he considered nothing special was a terribly bitter pill to swallow. As Casca so viciously laments to Guts, “you destroyed everything!”

One can argue that Corkus’ downward spiral into insanity during the Eclipse began on the night Guts defeated Griffith. After all, no one took the fall of the Falcons worse than Corkus. The image of Griffith as special was shattered and along with it Corkus’ remorse over his own failed dreams. He had spent the last few years of his life placing his ambition on the backburner on the premise that he could attain a measure of it through Griffith. But even the hope of even that ended once Griffith returned as an utterly broken man—a revelation the crushes Corkus more than any other member of the Falcons. While many view the Eclipse as the event that shattered Corkus’ sanity, in truth, it was simply the last straw for his mind.

Yet, one wonders how Corkus truly felt about Guts. Though he remained outwardly hostile to him, Corkus showed marked concern of his brother-in-arms on several occasions. During the latter’s nail-biting duel with Boscogne, Corkus was visibly worried when Guts’ sword broke. When Guts eventually does slay his foe, Corkus is the first person to express relief. Later in Volume 11, as Guts was getting absolutely brutalized by Wyald in battle, Corkus again is vocal about his concern for his brother-in-arms. One could even argue that his overly belligerent farewell to Guts was him masking his own feelings of abandonment at the loss of a comrade. Guts, too, clearly considers him a valuable member of the Falcons, with Corkus being one of the people he calls out for during the Eclipse. The fact that Corkus got to spout all his hateful gibberish without getting his jaw broken is also a testament to this fact.

Which brings me to my next point: why did Guts tolerate so much of the latter’s vitriol? I have already discussed one reason this might be the case in my Casca analysis i.e. he was akin to a drunken uncle to Guts, an unpleasant relative but a relative nonetheless. Yet, his caustic, hostile and often inebriated nature is also very reminiscent of Gambino. Gambino too was frequently hostile to Guts, held conflicted feelings towards the boy, was often seen drinking or hung-over and also seemed to have dedicated his whole life to monetary gain. Both men were also driven insane with grief towards the end of their lives, laughing bitterly at the “joke” that their lives had become. But most importantly, Guts was held responsible for the ruination of both men: Gambino viewed him as the bad omen that destroyed everything he had wrought while Corkus (at least privately) blamed Guts for the Falcons’ fall from grace. In that regard, Guts patience with Corkus may very well be akin to his patience and forgiveness that he showered upon Gambino despite the man’s glaring flaws.

For what it’s worth, Farnese’s bumbling greedy brother, Magnifico, succeeds Corkus in the New Party, displaying a similar comedic sense of grandeur and prestige that the late mercenary tried so hard to cultivate.

Judeau

“There were so many things I wanted to tell you. But I guess it wasn’t in the cards.”

                       Judeau, Season 1, Episode 25

Judeau, the jack-of-all-trades of the group, was a fascinating character who also gets my vote for the most heart-breaking demise in Berserk. The voice of reason throughout the Golden Age, Judeau was the pragmatic, less capable version of Guts. Both were quiet and observant, both were devoted to the Falcons and were in love with Casca. The major difference was Judeau’s lack of initiative and courage in chasing the things he wanted. He was content to be a part of Griffith’s dream, a character flaw that virtually all characters in the manga are guilty of at one point or another. For him, being good at everything but not great at a single thing was an acceptable life, polar opposite to how Guts wasn’t good at anything besides sword fighting. He never got around to telling Casca how he felt, something that was equal parts out of respect for Guts and Casca’s feelings, and his penchant to lose his nerve. Even in his last moments, he lamented how the timing was never right, hinting at the overarching theme of Fate. It would highlight his glaring character flaw: lack of initiative and squandering opportunities. After all, Guts didn’t show up until many years after the Falcons had been formed in which case Judeau must’ve had several opportunities to confess his feelings.

Strangely, Judeau has more in common with Corkus than we initially realize. Both of them suffer from the same flaws (lack of will and settling for second bests) and as such are foils for one another. Judeau was merely a friendlier, more charming version of Corkus.

The telltale signs of a sociopath is that he or she is charming and charismatic (easily one of his most disarming quality), extremely manipulative by tapping into a person’s pity, respect or even fear to his or her own advantage (everything about his persona is built around getting people to do what he wants), is highly insightful about what makes people tick (he rattles on about why Guts fights despite having never spoken to him before and effortlessly deduced that the King was in love with his own daughter), has trouble feeling remorse or empathy (one of his main character arcs is his growing lack of regard for morality culminating with his transformation into the demonic Femto), is delusional especially in his or her self-perception (Guts markedly calls his dream of becoming a king a delusion), is rarely anxious in tense situations (while his stolid demeanor is a sign of his great leadership ability it may be a symptom of his sociopathic tendencies), is highly intelligent (his war strategies and political machinations), can be violent and sadistic (his actions during the Eclipse and the fact that his dream is quite literally soaked in the blood of friends and foes alike), is surrounded by followers instead of friends and often has virtually no friends (Griffith didn’t consider anyone an equal i.e. a friend, in the Falcons despite all their sacrifices for his dream), has little to no relatives (he has failed to mention a single relative through 38 volumes so far), is prone to playing the victim (he utterly ruins Guts’ life because he left the Falcons to live independently, something Griffith considered a betrayal), and is highly needy (his dynamic with Guts is arguably rooted in this). Above all, sociopaths are ruthlessly selfish with an inability to handle not having what they want, arguably Griffith’s most defining trait.

Many of these traits are also common when it comes to psychopaths. Psychopaths are controlling and master manipulators, are incapable of remorse, have an inflated ego, unrealistic dreams, and are often charming and highly intelligent. The difference however is that while sociopaths have trouble empathizing and feeling remorse over their actions, psychopaths are virtually devoid of any conscience.

Similarly, psychopaths like sociopaths engage in shallow, meaningless relationships. The one salient aspect of Griffith sexual encounters is that how disconnected he is. Gennon essentially raped him, he treated Charlotte as a means to blow off steam and his rape of Casca was a vindictive act of reasserting dominance. There is an emotional disconnect in all these instances, with not even a shred of tenderness or devotion.

Another sign of a psychopath is that he or she has trouble with silence and introspection, avoiding them altogether by constantly bombarding themselves with new stimuli. When they are forced to introspect, it is at times of great emotional distress and anxiety. Coupled with their impaired emotional growth, psychopaths are in fact highly emotional though they are able to mask this well. When in emotional distress, sociopaths and psychopaths are prone to behaving recklessly and lashing out. This is especially true for Griffith whose inner monologue is only shown during times where he’s under emotional turmoil and feeling out of control, rendering him volatile and impetuous (I will discuss this in greater detail later).

The first time we see Griffith forced into introspection is when he finds the body of a child soldier who had died during one of the Falcons’ battles. Visibly shaken, he sleeps with Lord Gennon so that the baron’s riches can fund more of his campaigns without anymore needless bloodshed. When confronted by Casca, he paints the whole situation as detached, pragmatism on his part, “I did the math, fight ten battles or sleep with an old man, which is more risky?” He proceeds to rationalize the child’s death by saying that all his soldiers died in his cause out of their own volition and as such he isn’t responsible for their demise. Instead, what he is responsible for is reaching his dream so that the death of his men is not in vain. The greatest tribute he can offer, thus, is to continue his meteoric rise.

Notice that if one considers Griffith’s selfishness then the above scene gains another wrinkle. As man becoming increasingly more psychopathic, it is in his best interest to not be forced to in a situation where he might have to self-reflect again i.e. witness another soldier squandered in a meaningless war. As such, examining his actions through the lens of selfishness, one could argue that he slept with Gennon not for soldiers’ well-being but his own emotional well-being. That is, the less wars the Falcons fight the less dead soldiers Griffith has to think about. Of course, I am not implying that this is the only reason he did this but merely that this is a factor.

The second time Griffith is shown introspecting is during his second duel with Guts. Angry, frustrated and more hurt than he cares to admit at the prospect of Guts leaving his side, he opts to make him stay by force or even death. Like three years prior, he challenges Guts to a duel but is nowhere near as confident as he was the first time. Unlike the morning after sleeping with Gennon, this is the first we directly see Griffith’s inner monologue. As had been suggested time and again, his thoughts and emotions are tumultuous and unhinged.

It doesn’t help that by now his ego has grown cumbersomely large making his conscience dwindle that much more. As he plans his attack he realizes it will severely wound Guts. In fact, a slightest miscalculation would prove fatal. It gives him pause. But he decides to go through with it. If Guts was going to leave then he was not worth sparring in the first place. It is the kind of cold, remorseless logic Griffith had become more accustomed to. From plotting assassinations, to blackmailing politicians by kidnapping their children, to showing little remorse when a child is caught in the crossfire of his assassination plot, Griffith grew more coldblooded with each passing volume. Mere days earlier he had even asked Guts if he thought he was a dreadful person. It was another moment of vulnerability for Griffith, the same moral dilemma creeping into his mind as the day he found the child soldier’s corpse. The true extent to which his dream was “soaked in blood” had once again shaken him, rendering him vulnerable. And as a consistent theme in the manga, if Griffith is vulnerable he will act rashly.

What happens next is a complete subversion of their initial encounter. Griffith’s inner monologue is disparate, dripping with emotion. Guts’ is deliberate and determined. While Griffith is agitated, Guts is calm and “present.” Instead of employing the defensive, counter-attack tactics that favored him so well, Griffith opts for the offensive against an opponent with greater physical strength and the longer weapon. Unsurprisingly, the result is an overwhelmingly one-sided defeat for Griffith.

The third time we see Griffith’s introspection is during his yearlong torture in prison. Flayed, whipped, burnt, skewered, mutilated and ultimately crippled, he is at the nadir of his life. All that keeps him somewhat sane is reflecting on what it was that made him “forget my dream”: Guts. For a man so averse to introspection, Griffith finds himself with no other recourse but to re-evaluate his life up until this point. Once again, it renders him volatile and his immediate reaction is negative i.e. loathing Guts. When the latter finally does come before him, Griffith’s immediate response is to wrap his fingers around Guts’ neck. It is only when Guts tearfully embraces him does Griffith reconsider. This is a true symbol of the complex history between the two men and a sign of Miura’s superb writing, where a year’s worth of rage and hatred melts away in an instant—only to resurface later tenfold.

Just prior to triggering the Eclipse and then during the Eclipse itself, we get the most in-depth look at Griffith’s inner workings. While the two scenes do occur at short intervals from one another, I will discuss them as one since they are a continuation. After his rescue when Wyald exposes the true extent of his injuries to all the Falcons, it finally sinks in for everyone that Griffith’s dream is finished. Again his vulnerabilities lead him to reckless action. He attempts to rape Casca which don’t even register given his pathetic state.

Griffith eventually overhears Casca opting to stay behind with him solely out of pity. When Guts insists on staying, Casca reminds him that he must go if “you truly are a friend to Griffith.” Hearing these words, Griffith snaps. He commandeers a wagon and chases after the apparition of his childhood only to end up crashing into a lake. After a failed suicide attempt, he ends up in possession of his Behelit again. At the same time he witnesses Guts rushing towards him and we get a snapshot of his mind again. Begging Guts to “stay back” Griffith is horrified at the prospect of Guts touching him warning that he will “never forgive you again.”

Guts had already abandoned him once leading to so much mayhem in Griffith’s fortunes. Everything he had wrought was up in flames. The Band of Falcons. His dream. His body. His sanity. His reputation. His ability to inspire confidence and faith in his followers. Every single person he once considered himself above pitied him. Casca, the woman who once worshipped the ground he walked on, stood beside not out of loyalty but pity. And on top of everything else, Guts was on the verge of abandoning him again. He may have forgiven him in the prison, held on to whatever was good and decent in him, but a second betrayal would be too much. In a sense, it was coming face-to-face with his greatest tormentor, the proverbial boogeyman that destroyed everything Griffith stood for. After a lifetime of being “special”, of “watching us all from above” and out of reach for ordinary humans—to then be touched by the one who had destroyed him and dragged him to this, his lowest point—it a final insult that even he knew would be too much to bear. With his addled mind and at his most vulnerable, Griffith knew how volatile he had become and what mayhem he may bring. Shouting “stay away” was perhaps as much a warning as it was a cry for help. To spare Guts the carnage that might come. It was Griffith’s last ditch effort to save the last shreds of his conscience.

In a way, the scene is a repeat of the Guts and Gambino’s last afternoon together. Like Gambino, Griffith is reduced to an invalid, seething in fury and despair as Guts runs towards him. Like with Gambino, Guts is held responsible by Griffith for his misfortunes. Like with Gambino, Guts is trying to alleviate his friend’s pain by vying for his approval i.e. considered an equal. Like Gambinio, Griffith wants nothing to do with Guts, wanting him long gone. Like that afternoon all those years ago, Guts is running towards a man he considers family only to be betrayed and scarred for life.

Lastly, as Femto we see his inner monologue again for a brief second, conveniently at a moment where his new body (i.e. the body of the Demon Fetus) reacts to its parents’ presence. The main take away from this scene is not only that the Demon Fetus might yet play a pivotal role in the manga but also the fact that Griffith retains his all-too human tendency for self-delusion. After all, he had just bragged about how Guts “cannot sway my heart” and yet his heart was swayed quite literally moments later as a shrill ache in his chest. He even saves Casca from the falling rocks suggesting that the Demon Fetus’ thoughts are fused with Griffith’s. In either case, like how he was prior to the Eclipse, Griffith not as much in control of his heart as he would like to believe.

Given the above, The Golden Age arc may very well be the character study of a man who deforms from a sociopath into a psychopath. Interestingly, Farnese echoes many of the same sociopathic tendencies as Griffith hence why she remains one of the most foreboding characters in Guts’ new alliance and a possible retread of Griffith’s path to becoming a psychopath.

Vulnerability, Part II

“Griffith, you were always looking skyward, focused on it. Rising, climbing, soaring like a hawk flying alone, reaching for the highest point. Always watching us from above, never down here, crawling with the rest of us. Calm, cold, supreme. Letting nothing stand in the path to your victory.”

Guts, Season 1, Episode 22

 Virtually every time Griffith has been wounded it has been because of Guts directly or indirectly, an indelible stain on an otherwise implacable military career built on patience, cunning, precision and ruthless pragmatism. I mentioned earlier how Guts’ armor conveys a sense of vulnerability and guardedness and it holds true for Griffith as well, who wears the heaviest, most ornate armor throughout Berserk. It is no surprise then that he is also the most guarded, secretive and enigmatic character in the series. For someone embodying the persona of a driven man and with such a monumental dream, emotional vulnerability is not an option for Griffith. To achieve his goals, he has to appear and be impervious. Yet the more we explore the White Falcon, we realize that his detachedness is not a result of him being in control of his emotions but due to a sociopathic inability to engage with them properly.

It is worth noticing how Griffith’s only battle scar is from his lone defeat to Guts, a precursor for how his body gets ravaged for one whole year. The only other time we see him wounded in battle is when he attempts to rescue Guts from Zodd, incidentally the only time we see Griffith commit a selfless act.

Yet Griffith does not bleed on these occasions. Given how graphic most of the violence in Berserk is, this has to be a deliberate artistic choice on Miura’s part. In his defeat at Guts’ hand, there is a curious lack of blood given the ferocity of Guts’ attack. Covered in his thick winter clothes, Griffith seems shaken but surprisingly unharmed. After all not a single person, least of all Guts, considered the defeat to be anything other than a “small pebble in your path.” It is only when we see Griffith naked (an artistic technique Miura uses frequently to convey vulnerability and exposure) that we understand the true extent of his physical injury—and more importantly his emotional injury.

In fact, where Griffith is concerned, physical pain seems to go hand-in-hand with emotional pain as one does not seem to occur without the other for him. It is a theme that stays constant for Griffith where every bruise or blemish on his person serves as a metaphor for his emotional pain. That is, the more the emotional trauma the more severe the physical duress. In fact, given his impaired emotional maturity, one could go so far as to argue that Griffith can only truly register emotional pain through physical pain.

To fully understand this theme of physical and emotional pain we must consider the five occasions where we do see Griffith bleed.

Chronologically, the first time we see him bleed is in a flashback with Casca. Griffith had found a corpse of a dead child soldier on the battlefield and seemed genuinely distraught over it. He eventually prostituted himself to Gennon to acquire the baron’s financial support for the Falcons. He is an emotional mess the next morning, washing himself in the river repeatedly, no doubt traumatized by the events since he was only a teenager at the time. When Casca questions him we discover that he did so to avoid needless wars i.e. sleep with the rich baron for his money so as to avoid fighting wars where his soldiers will perish. As Casca infers, Griffith is still haunted by the death of the child soldier, distressed by how his dream is “a dream soaked in blood.” He immediately denies this, claiming that his soldiers died out of their own volition and that he feels no remorse.

All is not as it seems however. As he continues feigning indifference Griffith claws into his own arms, tearing his flesh and bleeding profusely. Up until this point, his most enduring characteristics had been his dispassionate nature and unshakeable composure. For the first time ever we see the proverbial chink in his armor: his thoughts and emotions are revealed to be turbulent. More importantly, emotionally vulnerable appears to be alien territory for him and he handles it poorly. From denial of his own remorse, to rationalizing continuing his military campaigns as a tribute to his soldiers’ deaths, to making reckless decisions (sleeping with Gennon traumatized him and was arguably an act of desperation to not having to be traumatized by the death of a child soldier again), to even self-harm—Griffith displays a series of troubling signs in regards to his mental stability and highlights his impaired ability to cope with emotional duress. Self-harm is not only a common symptom amongst sexual abuse victims but an indicator of someone with an impaired ability to process his or her emotions.

As such, it is no coincidence that his first instance of emotional vulnerability renders him to physically self-mutilation. One proof of how he associates emotional and physical pain as one and the same is how it is only after bloodying himself does Griffith regain his composure.

The second time we see him bleed is when Guts punches him in the face during their first meeting in Volume 4. Seeing him get pummeled is huge shock to the Falcons who up until this point had never even seen him get a scratch. While it may seem trivial, it shows how Griffith, despite all the pomp and circumstance surrounding his character, is simply human a fact that is often lost on everyone but Guts.

More importantly, that it was Guts who made him bleed foreshadows not only Griffith’s defeat at his hand in Volume 8 but how the former is the only person who can cause him pain. Where the White Falcon views everyone else with a detached, emotional disconnect, his reaction to Guts has always been more emotional than even he cares to admit. And emotions are not Griffith’s strong suit. As Casca laments, he is reckless and even puts himself in harm’s way for Guts’ sake. Above all, he lets his guard down emotionally, sharing his thoughts and feelings with Guts, even admitting that “he has never spoken like this to anyone else.”

When we consider how Griffith associates physical pain and emotional pain, his defeat in Volume 8 grows even more poignant in explaining why it unravelled him so terribly. In essence, it was only when Guts physically hurt him that Griffith realized how vulnerable he had become. As we have seen, time and again, Griffith resorts to self-harm when emotionally vulnerable. In committing treason i.e. sleeping with Princess Charlotte whilst just a commoner, Griffith may very well have been trying to harm himself deliberately.

The third time we see him bleeding is at the start of his one year long torture for said treason. The King visits Griffith in his cell expressing dismay at how far he has fallen and proceeds to whip him for desecrating his daughter’s honor. At this point, Griffith is in the worst physical condition we have seen him i.e. a metaphor for the true extent of his emotional turmoil. His dream shattered he is left with nothing but a white-hot hatred for Guts. Yet again we witness Griffith’s propensity for self-harm when emotionally vulnerable, as he begins berating the King, astutely deducing how the monarch lusts after his own daughter. Enraged, the King proceeds to utterly thrash him only to earn a smug smile from Griffith. It is this act of defiance that seals his fate, enraging the King to the point that he orders Griffith to be tortured continuously for “at least one more year.” The ensuing crippling torture is surely Griffith’s way of equating the physical pain with the true extent of his emotional trauma.

The fourth time is right before the Eclipse, at the very nadir of his life. Reduced to a pathetic invalid, he overhears Casca opting to stay behind with Griffith solely out of pity. When Guts insists on staying, Casca reminds him that he must go if “you truly are a friend to Griffith.” Hearing these words, something snaps inside Griffith. He commandeers a wagon and chases after the apparition of his childhood only to end up crashing into a lake. At his wits’ end, he tries to commit suicide by thrusting his neck into a sharp tree branch and fails to do even that. For someone who equates emotional pain with physical pain this is a harrowing image of a once proud warrior broken beyond the point of no return. The bloody tears he cries upon retrieving the Behelit only further intensify his ravaged mind.

The last time we see Griffith bleed is when he and Guts are thrust towards the Godhand on a pillar of damned souls. While holding on for dear life, Guts loses his footing and plummets down only for Griffith to reach out and save him. The sheer weight proves too much for his frail body though. His arm ends up bleeding and Guts slips from his grasp.

This scene is crucial for a number of reasons. For one, this is the first time Griffith’s external pain is not a symptom of his emotional pain. He bleeds because of the state of his body. Secondly, this is the last time we see him bleed as he would go on to begin his transformation into Femto i.e. his transformation into a psychopath from a sociopath. Most importantly, however, it marks the last time Griffith gets hurt because of Guts. Symbolically, it marks the last time Griffith feels anything at all on his path to transcending his humanity.

Merely a Child

“No! I will not allow it. If he will not be mine then his life is forfeit!”

                       Griffith, Season 1, Episode 19.

 Griffith’s androgynous appearance, ornate armor, deft skills with the rapier and his famed beauty obviously influence our first impression of him as effeminate, charming and benign. Most people are so enamored by him in just the first meeting that he routinely makes life long allies through social suave and personal magnetism.

The more observant characters, however, have been able to pick up on the more foreboding aspects of his nature. Judeau speaks of his shifting nature where he would stare down a man one moment only to laugh like a child the other. Guts too compares him to a cruel child, disturbed by the cold, calculating precision with which Griffith took him apart in their first one-sided duel. Charlotte claims she thought of him as a mere boy when he showed her how to whistle with a leaf but his reputation on the battlefield was that of the Grim Reaper.

To this end, the White Falcon is also subject to numerous visual child motifs. He is shown in a fetal position on a few occasions such as following his loss to Guts and during the Eclipse when he begins his transformation. Upon his rebirth in his human form, he literally hatches from the Egg apostle. Most importantly, prior to sacrificing the Falcons, Ubik takes Griffith through a series of mental projections to “illuminate the reality of what you truly are” in a bid to convince him to become Femto. The most curious aspect of the entire mental journey was how Griffith was a child in all of it. That is, the one time we see Griffith for what he truly is, he presented as a ten year old child chasing after an impossible dream, which is not surprising in the least. Given his impaired emotional intelligence and sociopathic tendencies, Griffith is at his core an emotionally stunted brat.

Children are not spared any ill-fate in Berserk. They suffer, are maimed and murdered and raped just like everyone else in Miura’s morbid tale. Yet, innocence is a major theme in Berserk, or specifically, how children too are not above becoming monsters. Nowhere is this idea more obvious than the moth apostle, Rosine and her minions; although this theme was first hinted back in Volume 1 when the monk’s daughter Colette is impaled and then possessed by undead soldiers. The fact that the Band of Falcons comprises of soldiers in their mid to late teens is a further development of this fact. Lastly, Guts, an unstoppable monster of a warrior, learnt his craft as a child soldier.

Griffith is no exception having straddled himself with an enormous dream since childhood, born with the feeling that he was destined for greater things, with virtually no one he could identify with and call a friend, fighting battles since he was merely a child and forced to prostitute himself to a nobleman. It is no surprise then that he remains very immature emotionally, having endured so much pain and isolation whilst placing a monumental pressure on himself to succeed in life. As he grew older, his isolation grew along with his ability to influence people with his charm and gravitas. His ego, though fallible and delicate, grew immensely bolstered by his growing military success and the worship of his soldiers such as Casca.

The obvious result is that Griffith had trouble empathizing with people, becoming increasingly controlling and selfish overtime. Though his ego is not immediately obvious it is no doubt palpable, especially as his veneer of decency flaked off. In Volume 10, as his body and mind deteriorated, he reflected over how “you watched us all from above not crawling down here with the rest of us”. Tellingly, he even pondered over how, “I held so many souls in this hand.” These are not the thoughts of a humble man. After all, one of the chief traits of a psychopath and a sociopath is his or her inflated self-esteem and controlling demeanour. It is perhaps fitting then that though the name Griffith means “great leader” its etymology is derived from the expression for “strong grip.”

Most importantly, because everyone accepted him and followed him, Griffith had no reason to revaluate himself and introspect. Like a spoilt brat, Griffith got what he wanted, when he wanted and answered to no one. A curious aspect of his childhood is the utter absence of parental figures in his life. With no parents, no family and no friends, it is no surprise that Griffith is able to cultivate an environment where there is no need for him to grow emotionally. Where a normal child would have to understand restraint, compassion and empathy i.e. mature internally as a person, Griffith geared his efforts towards perfecting a veneer of social charm and outward beauty i.e. mature externally as a persona. That the world places so much emphasis on appearance rather than substance allows this flaw of Griffith’s to continue festering instead of being treated.

Thus, even as his persona grew and matured, his inner person remained neglected and flawed, leaving him unable to truly process emotions honestly and effectively. This inability to process emotions effectively in turn led him to avoid such situations, making him more disconnected from the people around him and in turn less adept at analyzing his emotions in a vicious cycle.

As a result, through all the horrors and violence that is carried out in the name of his dream, Griffith has a curious lack of conscious, deliberate introspection (the warning signs when identifying a potential psychopath). This idea of appearance and substance, or inner and the outer, is the fundamental difference between Guts and Griffith. Where Guts is eternally contemplative, self-analyzing and self-reflective, Griffith only engages in these when under emotional duress. Furthermore, whenever he has been forced to do so, he has resorted to an intricate series of denial, projection and rationalization of his actions to actively avoid having to deal with the pain of self-reflection (discussed above).

Once Guts leaves and everything starts to unravel, Griffith showcases his stunted emotional growth by handling it in the most impetuous, self-destructive way possible. Coupled with inflated ego and his inability to empathize with anyone, all his most glaring flaws come together to form a potent mixture waiting for just the right catalyst to be set off into a colossal disaster for everyone involved. Violent, volatile and vindictive, the Eclipse is essentially a spoilt brat’s tantrum taken to its most morbidly grotesque limits.

Burdens: Messiah or Marauder

“He was pierced for our transgressions,

He was crushed for our iniquities.

The punishment that brought us peace was upon him;

And by his wounds we were healed.”

~Isaiah 53

 Berserk presents complex, multi-layered characters with intricate motivations, emotions and rationales for why they do what they do. It is the reason Miura allows us to relate to these characters, in spite of the supernatural beings and settings. One of the reasons he is so successful in doing this is by showing characters change and mature overtime as their responsibilities grow. It is one of the dominant themes of the manga: burdens change people, make them act in ways and do things they normally wouldn’t just like in real life.

Even though Griffith carries an immense dream it is not as much of a burden on him as we may think. Through his leadership and charisma he had made sure that Guts, Casca and the rest of the Falcons shouldered helped carry him forward. That is, the White Falcon unites people under his dream so that they may support him.

Guts, on the other hand, has spent his life propelling others to their dreams, shouldering their burdens and making them his own. He is devoid of his own dreams, never really living a life on his terms because of his intense loyalty and devotion to the people in his life. The words of Kiryu Kazuma from the Yakuza series, another stoic, gallant protector of his flock, ring very true for Guts. “I finally realized something: men like you and me, our lives aren’t our own. There is always someone in need of our help, always someone in need of our protection.” At the start of the manga, Guts is shown as a solitary beast hell-bent on slaughtering apostles in his quest for revenge against Griffith. Yet, as the story unfolds, we come to realize that he is, in many ways, avoiding the true burdens of his life: looking after Casca in her regressed mental state. His reunion with Casca at the climax of the Tower of Conviction is the moment where Berserk becomes a story about a protector struggling under a heavy burden.

This is perhaps the integral dynamic of Guts and Griffith. As the manga unfolds and all the major themes and motifs begin to flesh out, we come to realize that Guts and Griffith, regardless of their complex, multi-layered history have one clear distinction: Guts is the epitome of selflessness while Griffith is that of selfishness. It is what fuels all their major decisions and the themes that revolve around them. While Griffith is often saddled with the Christ metaphors, even being called the savior on numerous occasions, it is Guts who embodies the bodily self-sacrifice so often associated with Christ and other prophets.

Nowhere is this dichotomy more obvious than in what the two men sacrifice to fuel their strength. During the Eclipse, in one of the most galling acts in fictional history, Griffith sacrifices all his comrades to repair and regenerate his broken body. His rebirth as Femto is a birth soaked in blood, nourished by the despair and pain of his own brothers-in-arms.

Even before the Eclipse, Griffith had nary a blemish on his body, not one scar or wound to speak for his great military successes. Very much like his own rapier, he relied on precision when defeating his foes, always at a safe distance and almost never in any harm’s way when fighting.

Guts, on the other hand, is covered head to toe in battle scars after a life time of sacrificing his health for his loved ones. The greatest metaphor for his self-sacrifice is the Berserker Armor. During his grievous encounter with Slan, the high demon’s attacks had left him permanently wounded and weakened. With his body now compromised, he was unable to fend off the apostles as they laid siege to Flora’s home. With Casca and the rest of his comrades in great peril, Guts dons the cursed Berserker Armor in a desperate attempt to save his New Party.

As Fate would have it, though the armor grants him superhuman strength, it draws its power from Guts’ immense hatred and rage against Griffith. Not only that but it is designed to let Guts carry on fighting despite grievous injuries by piercing his body to reinforce it and hold him in place. As such, Guts is literally sacrificing his flesh to gain the strength to protect his loved ones.

This was true before the Eclipse too where Guts would repeatedly risk his life for his comrades, immersing himself into the thick of battle alone on numerous occasions for the sake of his comrades. Even during a time of crisis like against Zodd, Wyald, Boscoge or a hundred soldiers, Guts showed more concern towards his comrades’ safety than his own, yelling at them to escape whilst soldiering on against overwhelming odds. A big reason for this is that he enjoys combat and cannot stand retreating. Yet, one has to consider that if he was merely was blood-thirsty beast, he would have not have put himself in harm’s way for his comrades. A great example of this is when he shields Casca from a hail of arrows. This was before either of them had realized they had feelings for one another. As Casca sobs just before confessing her feelings for him, “you’re always bleeding for me”.

As such, though Griffith is saddled with the Christ-motifs, he is more analogous to the antichrist. This is especially true upon his transformation into Femto, where his outer beauty s merely a carapace to hide his greed, malice and deceit. Just like the prophesized biblical villain, Griffith is surrounded by men and women who follow him implicitly, who buy into his charade of a god-sent savior to lead them quite literally to the Promised Land i.e. Falconia, without realizing that he is leading them to a potential slaughter.

Sexual Orientation

“Now you belong to me, Guts.”

Griffith, Season 1, Episode 3

 Homoerotic interpreters often argue that two men being attracted to the same woman is a literary device for latent homoeroticism. In Berserk the homoeroticism is more overt in ways. From Griffith’s androgynous appearance, to tenderly holding Guts’ face saying “you belong to me,” to them playfully throwing water at each other (while Griffith let’s it hang no less), Griffith’s reckless, emotional behavior when matters concern Guts, and to Griffith’s thoughts being fixated on Guts even as he had sex with Charlotte—everything highlights overt homoerotism. People even bring up the night he prostituted himself to Gennon as a (false) example of his gay orientation. Above all, Guts is the only person that Griffith shares his thoughts and ideas with, the only person he reacts to on an emotional level, the only person whose attention he craves and whose opinion he values. When Guts decides to leave him Griffith not only behaves like a child who broke his favorite toy but a jealous, jilted lover willing to go to any lengths to hold on to him.

As the old adage goes: if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck.

           Yet, in Berserk, things are rarely as they seem. While there is nothing subtle about Griffith’s homoerotic tendencies, to analyze his relationship with Guts through only this lens is a disservice to one of the most compelling, multi-layered dynamic between hero and villain in all of fiction. For one labeling Griffith a homosexual fails to acknowledge the other orientations that exist out there. Instead of insisting that he is gay, the evidence available just as easily points to him being bisexual. For one, for all the attention he ladles onto Guts, the only (somewhat) consensual sex Griffith has is with Charlotte. He also seemed to genuinely enjoy her company when outside the ballroom. Prior to the Eclipse, as he hallucinates about an ordinary life, he is married to Casca and even has a child from her. If it was a hallucination of an ordinary life and Griffith was indeed gay, why not imagine living with another man?

Griffith has shown to be sexually attracted to only female characters like Charlotte and Casca whom he views as mere sexual objects. Naturally it calls into questions his extremely sexist view on women and his sociopathic/psychopathic tendencies, but the fact remains: he does so only with women. As such, while he may not love the women in his life, he certainly views them as sexual objects to impose his will upon. For a homosexual man, this is out of the ordinary since gay men are usually not sexually attracted to women.

           This distinction is crucial. In one of the most disturbing moments in literature, Griffith is reborn as Femto and rapes Casca right before Guts’ eyes. Pinned down by demons and forced to watch, Guts can only scream in horror and rage as Griffith ravages Casca. The most haunting aspect of this scene is Griffith’s sustained eye contact with Guts. The sustained eye contact is not only the ultimate act of disdain and defiance but a means to make Guts understand exactly what Griffith is doing i.e. he is raping Guts through Casca. Even the way Guts is pinned down is similar to how Donovan pinned him down as he raped him. Guts is shown to suffer nightmares about being helpless against a monstrous dark figure pinning him down. The Eclipse is this nightmare made reality, explaining why his aversion to being touched—which had largely disappeared during the Golden Age—returns tenfold following Griffith’s actions. Yet, one is forced to ponder: if Griffith truly was sexually interested in Guts, why not rape Guts? Why do it vicariously through Casca? An obvious explanation could be that it was the best way to avenge himself against both Casca and Guts at the same time. But, the same would hold true if he raped Guts in front of Casca. If his sexual orientation really was that of a homosexual man, there was nothing stopping him physically or in terms of moral scruples.

           This is not to say that Griffith does not love Guts, as much as he is capable of loving anyone. Love, however, comes in many forms and though there is plenty of homoeroticism undertones in the Guts and Griffith’s dynamic, to label the White Falcon’s feelings as homosexual love is an oversimplification.

Griffith: Man vs. Monster, Part II

“Will you always be left doubting me when I choose to lay down my life for you?”

~Griffith, Season 1, Episode 7

 What Griffith did to Guts, Casca and the Falcons was truly hideous. Since then, he has grown even more remorseless, shattering the entire makeup of the world and unleashing dragons, trolls, giant serpents and all other supernatural entities into the world of humans. All this for the sake of his dream i.e. becoming a king. Utterly reviled by many fans of the manga, Griffith is far from a redeemable character.

Or is he?

While no reader can look at Femto favorably through the lens of morality, Griffith is not as much the villain of the story but a tragic hero. While it is easy to paint him as an entitled man-child with a sociopathic/psychopathic disposition we must acknowledge that for all the carnage in his wake, Griffith is as sympathetic a villain as one will ever encounter in literature.

My first caveat is that though he was a sociopath pre-Eclipse, he still felt remorse and still cared about the Falcons. While many argue that they were just mere pawns to him, this is simply incorrect. Why? One thing that is clear about the sacrifice is that no ordinary person would count as an acceptable sacrifice. It has to be, as the Godhand explain to the Count in Volume 3, someone close to your heart, someone who is irreplaceable and helps you retain your humanity. As such, regardless of how it may seem, the Falcons were very much a part of Griffith’s heart and soul. They were not just his comrades but people near and dear to his heart. During the Eclipse, even as the Godhand promised him his dreams and manipulated him emotionally and mentally succumb to his fate as Femto, Griffith remained torn—right until the point where he came face-to-face with Guts again. As such, yet another wrinkle is added to him prostituting himself to Gennon. Perhaps, Griffith truly did sacrifice his body for his soldiers’ well-being.

Pre-Eclipse Griffith’s first morally dubious act was calling for the assassination of Julius in Volume 6. Griffith asks Guts to assassinate Julius. Guts is initially surprised but then scoffs at not how he is not being ordered like a soldier should be. This exchange is important. For one, Guts presents himself to Griffith as a highly dependable, willing accomplice in his dirty work. Secondly, Guts insisting on being ordered reasserts Griffith’s higher stature in their relationship. Thirdly, and most importantly, this happens on a rare occasion where Griffith seems pensive about the morality implications of his actions. After all, Griffith is about to arrange for his first murder and is using another man to do it, which naturally gives him pause for thought. A large reason for this pause is perhaps the fact that the plot places Guts in harms’ way, illustrating Griffith’s growing emotional connection with him. Considering Griffith’s aversion towards showing any signs of vulnerability, him “asking” Guts for a favor and hinting at his own moral dilemma is an even bigger sign of his faith in Guts and his growing emotional dependence on him.

The above are all novel (and somewhat noble) sentiments for Griffith. Yet in insisting that Griffith just command him to do his bidding regardless of what it may be, Guts downplays their importance in a way that would come back to haunt him. Guts is unwittingly germinating an idea in Griffith’s mind that his comrades are simply a means to acquiring his own kingdom. Worse yet, he is inadvertently encouraging Griffith to disregard the moral nuances of his actions as irrelevant compared to his dream.

When news arrives that not only Julius but his son Adonis has been slain, Griffith smiles triumphantly. Not only did Guts succeed in the task but Adonis’ death was a true icing on the cake since the young prince was a potential suitor for Princess Charlotte. There are two main things to consider here. For one, the assassination plot was in retribution for Julius’ attempted assassination from earlier. Secondly, even though it fit into the grander schemes of his plans, Griffith did not plan to assassinate Adonis. So while he showed no remorse over the young prince’s death (a glaring example of his growing sociopathic tendencies) it was still something that he did not plan on happening.

In fact, this stays somewhat of a consistent theme with Griffith prior to the Eclipse. For a man who is as driven and ruthless, Griffith rarely sheds first blood. While not beyond moral reproach, the While Falcon truly refrains from unnecessary violence. Of course, murder is still an abominable act, but all his assassination plots were in form of self-defence or pre-emptive counter-measures. In fact, we are tempted to vouch for him even more if we explore his enemies’ agendas against him, which almost always boil down to jealousy and scorn over his stature as a mere commoner daring to rise through the ranks rigidly defined by the aristocracy.

Griffith’s hand is forced again in Volume 8 when the Queen and her cabal plan to assassinate him. Once again he does so in retaliation, this time slicing through virtually all his enemies in a single night with Guts’ aid.

Immediately afterwards, Griffith arranges for the death of the kidnappers he used to blackmail an enemy into joining his side. Once again, he employs Guts to do his dirty work. Like the previous two times Griffith spills blood outside of the battlefield, it is in an act of self-preservation. He correctly predicts that the kidnappers would eventually blackmail him on account of doing his dirty work and is forced to remove them from the equation.

After the kidnappers are disposed of, Griffith asks Guts to leave the money they had died for because “they are entitled to their reward.” Though absurd, it is its own kind of morality. This is what makes Griffith so compelling: though his moral code deviates from the norms it is a code he follows resolutely. The White Falcon is a meritocrat, through and through, who believes that a person’s hard work should pay off. In that regard, his ego and sense of entitlement could very well be justified since he fought tooth-and-nail to be a king. It is a dream he staked his whole life on, never faltering in his quest and willing to make any and all necessary sacrifices to see it through.

Then, in perhaps the most important scene of Guts-Griffith’s relationship, Griffith asks Guts a rather abrupt question: “do you think me a dreadful man?” He correctly points out how Guts has been the one getting his hands dirty and endangering himself in virtually all these episodes (the fire that burns the queen may very well have been arranged by Guts). In terms of context, this is at a moment where all of Griffith’s enemies have been neutralized and he stands at the threshold of his dream. Yet, he appears a man not only doubting his own moral standing but palpably ashamed of his actions, going on to even request that Guts never let anyone know of Griffith’s hand in the recent assassinations.

Again, Guts is surprised by Griffith’s abrupt question. Again, Guts scoffs and answers his question with a rhetorical question. “I think it makes your question kind of pointless. You’re just following your path. You still believe that, don’t you?” His conscience alleviated, Griffith smiles and thanks the only man whose opinion he can respect.

The scene is illuminating on a number of levels. For one, this is the first time Griffith has directly questioned his own morality. Given his impaired ability to engage his emotions and morality, he does so by asking another person. As stated earlier, Griffith avoids self-reflection and self-analysis which is why the novelty of it all makes this moment that much more significant. Secondly, him asking Guts also highlights how much he values the to-be Black Swordsman and how, unwittingly, he respects him a friend and an equal. After all, if he never respected Guts, then the latter’s opinion would be irrelevant.

Thirdly, and most importantly, not only does Guts put Griffith’s moral dilemma to rest but he validates Griffith’s morally questionable actions later in the story. Once again Guts was dismissive, pointing out the absurdity of his moral dilemma in the face of his great ambition. The harrowing aspect of it all is that if we consider Griffith’s psychopathic/sociopathic tendencies coupled with his impaired emotional maturity the result of Guts’ answer is essentially dooming them both—which is exactly what happens.

Finally, we come to Eclipse, the even that seals Griffith’s fate as the antagonist of the story. One cannot ignore how Griffith’s decision to become Femto was a complex emotional and mental process, where his personal short-coming were just as complicit as the machinations of the other Godhand members. After all, the definition of a tragic character is that he is doomed by personal failings as well as external factors.

Up until this point, Griffith had spent a year enduring a hellacious torture that had left him crippled, flayed, his bones broken, his face disfigured, and his tongue and tendons slashed so he couldn’t walk, talk or even hold a sword. Where he was once the embodiment of charisma, leadership and an inspiration to thousands, he was now a pitiful has-been. One can only imagine the impact such travails would have had on his mind and ego.

Fallen to such lows, Griffith was presented with a literal undo button, a means to rewrite his destiny from a cripple to King. Constantly influencing his choice were the Godhand members, using a series of revelations, deceptions and hallucinations to ensure he chose the proverbial dark side. Under the pretense of reflecting his true consciousness, Ubik and Conrad set off a series of hallucinations pertaining to his past, the nature of his journey and his destiny as king. Griffith reverts to his childhood persona which is not only symbolic of his childlike emotional maturity but his impressionability and vulnerability at the moment. Ubik and Conrad, disguised as an old woman, proceed to bombard him with the inevitably of his choice and the absurdity of his moral dilemma (echoing Guts’ advice). The more Griffith resists the more domineering Ubik and Conrad become, wearing him down. If one is to use a sales pitch as an analogy, the demonic duo first put him on the defensive, overwhelm him and use his own nature against him.

Slan then assures him that though they appear terrified right now, the Falcons would “forgive you for they have always loved you.” Given Griffith’s childlike inner emotions, and in a continuation of the sales pitch analogy, this was a vile case of making someone hear exactly what they want to hear. After all, what better way to convince a man-child to do something terrible than by pointing out that he will be loved regardless i.e. a lack of consequence.

Finally, Void “closes the pitch” so to speak, by talking about how Griffith is at a point beyond human intellect (appealing to his private belief that he was always different from everyone else) and makes him see what he wants to see i.e. his castle shining before his eyes. He presents Griffith with a binary choice: pile up the bodies of his companions or forever remain buried under the ashes of his failed dream. Griffith watches his castle shining as Void brags about a glorious future that is waiting to be his. The demon’s words seem to resonate with Griffith but he gives no sign of having made up his mind. He still appears genuinely conflicted.

Fate, however, intervenes one last time. At this exact moment, with a potential future blinding his eyes, Guts stands behind him and shouts his name, symbolizing not only his past but all the pain and suffering that he so desperately wants to put behind him. Griffith smiles for the first time in the whole ordeal. Everything snaps into place. He turns to face, not only the man responsible for his monumental fall from grace, but the one who had always encouraged him to follow his dreams no matter the cost.

And so, everything comes to a bloody full circle.

This is why we simply must explore why Griffith reacted so poorly when he found out Guts was leaving. It remains one of the most compelling, most defining moment in their character arcs where the slow build towards Guts standing on his own feet as Griffith’s equal finally reaches its climax. He was fulfilling the ideals of a friend that Griffith himself had laid down: a man ready to battle even him to chase a personal goal. Hence why Guts whispers, “I must go.” After all, as already discussed in Vulnerability Part I, it was Griffith’s trust and respect for him that had allowed Guts to finally find his self-worth after a lifetime of emotional abuse at Gambino’s hands.

Note: I have never read anyone discuss the significance of Guts finding out that Griffith too was raped as young boy. His initial reaction was of shock (understandably) but he was noticeably quiet and ruminative the moment he finds out. Naturally, his sense of kinship for Griffith must have only grown, knowing first-hand the damning effects of sexual assault. Then, as a mercenary, to find out that Griffith had spent a night with Genon willingly, for the sake of his soldiers, would only make Guts’ respect and sense of comradery for the White Falcon grow tenfold.

Considering how this revelation was a mere few days after Guts overhears Griffith’s speech on friendship and the importance of having a dream, and it was sure to have left the to-be Black Swordsman feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he would identify more with Griffith for being a fellow survivor of one of the most experiences a person can endure. On the other hand, however, the same man had emphatically distanced himself from Guts by refusing to consider him an equal.

It is no surprise then that Guts resolves to leave the Band of Falcons to actively become Griffith’s equal. On some level, knowing that the man who seemed so high above everyone else had endured the same horrors Guts did as a child must have de-mystified Griffith enough for Guts to feel he could become his equal.

 Sadly, all this is lost on Griffith, however, who is too distraught to fixate on anything but what he perceives as betrayal. Why did he perceive this as betrayal? The obvious explanation is Griffith’s enormous ego, which after years of continual success was at its largest. His arrogance, his sense of entitlement over Guts’ life is glaring. But I feel his ego was just a factor, not the root cause.

For me, it boils down to Griffith’s conscience and growing moral dilemmas.

Now that the wars were over and most of his enemies had been uprooted, Griffith was on the verge of becoming King. Once Griffith had become King, there would be that much more dirty work for Guts to carry out. More importantly, even though all his current enemies had been wiped out with Guts help, more would surely come. His true ascent to the throne had begun and he needed a reliable right-hand man now more than ever before, a Doug Stamper to his Frank Underwood.

As already discussed, however, Griffith is not a psychopath but a sociopath prior to becoming Femto. He still retains his morality hence why he is troubled by it from time to time. Yet, given his impaired moral compass coupled with his emotional disconnect from the rest of the Falcons, no one else can truly help him deal with these dilemmas. They hold on to his every word, pounce on his every command. He has them eating out of his hand and as such, regardless of how dear they are to him, he does not respect them enough for their advice or opinion to mean anything. Guts, however, is unique. What the to-be Black Swordsman opines matters to Griffith, his advice and suggestions are truly worth considering. Thus, whenever his conscience bothers him, Griffith can turn to no one but Guts—the only one privy to them and the only person he respects enough for his words to resonate.

Yet, everything is illuminated when we consider what exactly Guts said to him in these instances of moral crisis. Guts encouraged him to expel these doubts and to continue chasing his dreams. It really is no surprise then that during the Eclipse when Griffith is on the verge of accepting his fate as Femto, he hallucinates about Guts’ exact words to him from the night he asked him if he was a bad man. After all, to Griffith’s egotistical, childlike, sociopathic mind this was like receiving his blessings to become a remorseless pyschopath.

That is, Guts always said what Griffith wanted to hear. His conscience creeping up on him again and again was clearly a distortion, a nuisance that was distracting him from his goals. Guts telling him to ignore the moral complexity of his actions was an encouragement to expel his conscience. As echoed by Slan’s words of being forgiven and being loved by the Falcons, it was also a reassurance that regardless of what his actions might suggest Griffith was not a bad man. No action would lead to any ill-will because he was simply following a dream. This is where the true extent of Griffith’s tragedy manifests itself: when we realize that, more than even the Godhand, it was Guts who pushed him down the path towards becoming Femto.

This is the denouement of Griffith’s pre-Eclipse character arc. After years of struggling with his conscience he finally internalizes Guts’ message and becomes Femto. This is evident when he uses this exact idea against Guts himself during their encounter at the Hill of Swords i.e. his heart could no longer be swayed because he was following Guts’ advice of no longer feeling any remorse as long as what he did gained him his own kingdom. This might explain Griffith’s enigmatic smile at Guts just as the hand enclosed him and the process of becoming Femto began. It was an eerie “thank you” to the man who had always encouraged him to become what he had just become: a monster.

While Guts admires Griffith, he refuses to see him as anything but flesh and blood. It is a crucial differentiator between him and Casca, and virtually all characters in Berserk. This parallel is best seen following the Falcon’s victory in the Battle for Doldrey. Casca was content in watching Griffith from afar, feeling how unreachable he is and how “it hurts.” Miura first shows us her P.O.V with Griffith seemingly too far off for the eye. Then he shows us Guts’ P.O.V and we see Griffith much closer. Guts scoffs and picks Casca in his arms saying, “Let’s go see your general.”

Another difference between Guts and Casca is how they view war. For the former, retreat is never an option. Whether there are a hundred enemies or a thousand, whether it is man or monster, Guts simply will not quit. Casca, though a proud warrior herself, is partial to retreating in dire situations. In Volume 11, while watching Wyald brutalizing Guts in battle, Caska weeps at the absurdity of the latter’s will to fight, even sobbing that retreat is an acceptable in a hopeless situation.

Her words are striking. One could call her post-Eclipse regression as a kind of escape from the reality of what had happened to her. Unlike Guts, she couldn’t face the horror of the Eclipse and what Griffith did to her, causing her mind to snap. Keep in mind, however, that the opposite is also true in another context. As Godo pointed out, Guts choosing to fight the apostles instead of staying back and protecting Casca is also a form of escape. This gets more complicated when we consider her words regarding her own feelings in Volume 9, “if only I could control how I feel, it would be so much easier for me.” Like all characters in Berserk, all of Casca’s conflicts, inner and external, arise because of how little she is in control of them. Whether it is Griffith’s love and admiration, Guts decisions to leave her or even her own Fate, Casca has had very little say in terms of what she desires in life and attaining it. Following the Eclipse she loses her mind and along with it her ability to truly feel anything. For someone who constantly endured so much emotional torment throughout her life, her childlike state is a kind of clean slate. In a cruel twist, it is only in her regressed mental state that she appears to have a semblance of the “easier life” she so desperately yearned.

The biggest suspense in Berserk at the moment is what exactly will happen in Elf Island when Casca’s mind is restored. Will she choose to fight like Guts? Will she hate Guts for bringing her back? Will she forgive Griffith? Or worse yet, will she come full circles and return to Griffith?

Pairing this with Casca’s own desires for an easier life hint at a possibly bleak prospective for the star-crossed lovers.

Miura has dropped a few disturbing hints through the manga towards even bleaker prospects. The biggest hint was Skull Knight’s prophetic words in Volume 28, “what you wish for, may not be what she wishes for.” On top of that, we have to remember how Casca and Guts’ relationship was extremely short-lived. Compared to the years she had spent pining after Griffith, Casca only realized she had feelings for Guts in the year he was away from the Falcons. Upon his return, they did consummate their relationship but were only together for a few days before the Eclipse was unleashed. Whatever time they did spend together was spent planning and executing Griffith’s escape, fighting Wyald and his troops, and trying to recover from the shocking realization that Griffith had been mutilated to the point of being a hopeless cripple.

Another hint is that while Guts is clearly in love with her, Casca herself never appeared to be completely over Griffith. When rescuing Griffith, she acted extremely jealous around Charlotte, at one point she even confessing this to Guts, much to his chagrin. As Casca grew more and more perturbed the closer they got to Griffith, Guts’ own jealousy only intensified coupled with his ambivalence at seeing Griffith after the way events had transpired.

Thirdly, in a telling moment in Volume 12, Guts asks her to come with him but she refuses, opting to stay with Griffith out of pity for what he had become. Granted, it wasn’t love but pity that prompted her but the fact remains: she chose Griffith over her newly blossoming relationship with Guts. For all intents and purposes, she was ending her relationship with Guts to stay with Griffith.

Fourth, in Volume 33, when Guts is unable to save Casca from falling into the sea because of his prosthetic arm, he ponders over the significance of the events and realizes how, no matter how much he might try to piece his life back together, some things truly are irreplaceable. While the scene can be argued to be a metaphor for how damaged Guts life truly has become, we cannot ignore that the catalyst for this thought to even occur to him was his prosthetic arm--itself a constant reminder of what has been lost forever. Just as how his arm is permanently lost, this scene can be argued to foreshadow how whatever Guts and Casca once had is also lost forever.

Lastly, in Volume 22, in one of the most poignant scenes in the manga, a reborn Griffith and Guts cross paths on a hill where the Falcons are buried. It doesn’t take long for the smug, demon to enrage Guts, leading to a huge battle between Guts and Zodd. As the battle rages on, Casca makes her way to the scene, drawn by the noise and her brand reacting to Griffith. At the climax of Guts and Zodd’s violent battle, Griffith saves Casca from falling rocks. Casca seems to recognize Griffith.

Then something interesting happens.

With tears welling up in her eyes, she reaches out to touch Griffith’s face. But it is not his face but seemingly his lips that she seems to be trying to touch. Guts, watching the whole episode, can only mutter “no!” reminiscent of his jealousy in Volume 10 at Casca’s feelings for Griffith. The image of Casca reaching out to touch Griffith’s lips wells up in Guts’ mind again afterwards, leaving him visibly unsettled.

Given the above, it may very well be that all of Guts’ efforts to restore Casca are for naught and that his greatest sorrow is yet to come.

Casca & Griffith: Fellow Feminist & Greatest Oppressor

“You’re just like Griffith. Your dream is everything. You think of nothing but yourself. You don’t give a damn if I’m around or not, do you?”

Casca, Season 1, Episode 21

Casca’s worship of Griffith is extremely multi-faceted and integral to her character. At the age of twelve, Casca was bought by a nobleman intent on raping her. Griffith interjected at this point, a literal knight in shining armor or as she put it, “an angel sent by God.” This knight, however, would only save her if she was willing to save herself. Throwing his sword to the floor, Griffith gave Casca a choice: kill her oppressor or be raped and become the nobleman’s slave. Casca chose the former, slaying the pedophile.

Naturally, there is the sense of hero worship and savior worship that already make her bond with Griffith special. The knight in shining armor idea appeals to a romantic ideal for all girls of Casca’s age, an ideal that Griffith in his beauty and battle prowess, fills easily. Calling him with an angel sent from God only further strengthens her associating him with all things good—a phrase that gains a very sinister turn when considering the theological make up of Berserk.

Yet, relationships in Berserk are much more nuanced. Prior to Guts joining the Falcons, Griffith appeared vulnerable on only two occasions: when he discovered a child soldier’s corpse after a battle and when he slept with a Gennon for money some time later. In both cases Casca was the only person to see past Griffith’s facade of pragmatism, realizing that she in fact “pitied him” as much as she worshipped him. Yet, where other people would become less inclined to worship someone rendered all too human, Casca’s respect for Griffith intensifies. While the rest of the Falcons worshipped Griffith because of his supernatural aura, Casca worshipped him even as he appeared human and her loyalty to him only grew.

There is the obvious Christ motif (the most prevalent motif when it comes to Griffith) in her worship of a god who is all too human. Casca calling him a miracle only adds to this. Yet, as I already pointed out, her worship of the White Falcon is not rooted in any supernatural pretense. So why does she continue to remain to devoted to him?

For me, it boils down to what Griffith symbolized for her as a woman in a man’s world.

Up until the point where Griffith rescue her, Casca had lived as a helpless girl. Raised in a farm near a border that was raised and pillaged frequently, she grew up used to “having to watch our lives being destroyed over and over again.” She was the youngest daughter in a house of six children, constantly viewed as a liability and of little use. Just as how Gambino viewed Guts’ childhood as a handicap, Casca’s parents viewed her gender as a handicap, something that made her feel less. But unlike Guts, she had someone to save her from her predicament (perhaps the reason why she is not as self-determining as Guts). As a girl in a man’s world with no path before her where she wouldn’t be less than a man, where she wouldn’t be able to live on her own worth, Griffith gave her a meritocracy to prove herself. She could do as she pleased and “choose what path to take now that you know what it means to fight.”

In being given “a cloak and a sword” it symbolizes Casca’s her first real decision on her path to becoming a free woman. The cloak was her pride and honor, while the sword represented her self-determination and autonomy. Of course, she was still under his rule but Griffith’s status as leader was defined by his valor not his gender, a fact cemented by his own effeminate appearance and vague sexual orientation. Both are also of a lower social standing on a quest for social prominence (though this isn’t Casca’s main objective). As such, in a man’s world of mercenaries and war, both Griffith and Casca bond as feminists since neither is an embodiment of masculinity, seeking to excel based on their merit alone.

This is what makes her rape at his hands so appalling because it is a betrayal of everything they shared and stood for. It is betrayal of both her cloak and her sword. One simply cannot ignore how upon his transformation into Femto, the once frail and androgynous Griffith is decidedly masculine, with broad shoulders and a sturdy, muscular frame.

A Brief Feminist Critique

Suffering the most sexual assaults in the manga and always in one mortifying situation after another, Casca is if nothing else a reminder of just how sordid the world of Berserk is, especially for a woman.

Critics of Casca as a mere sexualized victim, point out how even in her days as a warrior, she was not above needing to be rescued, often coupled with panels of her being sexually assaulted. Then, even though she is one of the greatest fighters in the series, she is also never presented as any threat for the two chief male characters, Guts and Griffith. Critics also point out how her tenure as a leader comes about only because the original dynamic, charismatic male leader is compromised. They also mention how, while she remains the leader of the Falcons upon Guts’ return and organizes Griffith’s rescue, she is completely overwhelmed by the task and breaks down frequently. Above all, she spends her entire life at the mercy of a man. Whenever Griffith is around, Casca seems less sure of herself, more conflicted and swept up in the whorls of his actions. In fact, Casca lacks a true identity since she defines herself by Griffith.

Considering the above, that her name means “shell” is perhaps one of the best metaphors for how difficult it is for a woman to find and define herself in a world of men. Nowhere is this more obvious than the fact that she spent years trying to become Griffith’s invaluable confidant (“his sword”) only for a man, Guts, to show up and become that overnight. As such, Casca makes for a fascinating yet ambivalent feminist reading, arguably undermining gender stereotypes about as much as she perpetuates them.

While some of these criticisms are valid, I think they tie-in perfectly with the overall themes of Berserk and add to Casca’s complexity as a character.

For one, almost no one is comparable to Guts in terms of sheer strength, endurance and will-power. He is presented as near superhuman throughout the series, with no human character coming even remotely close to being his equal. That Casca is presented as lesser than him is not so much a gender issue as it is a testament to Guts’ physical prowess. Thus, it is not so much “Casca is inferior to Guts” but that “even Casca is inferior to Guts.” Keep in mind how Guts sliced through several male Falcon members before being forced to fight seriously when Casca challenges him. In fact, he’s reeled from the force of her punches on several occasions—a feat made all the more impressive considerable his superhuman endurance. Even during the Century Slayer Night, Casca was able to hold her own and killed more than a several enemies whilst severely weakened. Griffith too is nigh-inhuman in his swordsmanship. The fact that she is second only to Griffith prior to Guts is a genuine notch in her belt. Casca also maintains a higher rank than Guts throughout their tenure in the Falcons. That she remained the leader of the Falcons even upon Guts’ return, and was the first person the Falcons selected as their leader, speaks volumes of her leadership skills and her stature as a feminist.

Second, while it is true that Caska defines herself according to a man i.e. Griffith, one must remember that every single character in Berserk is so enamoured by Griffith that they automatically follow him and measure their worth against his. The only character to resist Griffith has been Guts. And even that is debatable. For one, Guts only left Griffith so he could stand as his equal i.e. be his friend. On top of that, for years Guts defined himself solely through his hatred for Griffith. Lastly, as late as Volume 38, Guts confesses that he manages to prioritize the New Party and Casca’s well-being by actively refusing to think about Griffith—hardly the actions of a man who has escaped another’s shadow. As such, neither Casca’s loyalty nor her devotion to Griffith pertains to either’s gender but to his charisma and magnetism. That his gender is not a factor is cemented even more when we consider Griffith’s androgynous appearance. It is as if Miura is deliberately emphasizing that Griffith isn’t on top of the food-chain because of his gender but because he is a unique, once-in-a-lifetime personality.

Third, while post-Eclipse Casca is the damsel-in-distress in spades, pre-Eclipse Casca was rarely subject to plot-induced damsel-in-distress situations. In her prime, she only required rescuing on three occasions: during the night Guts became the Century Slayer, against Wyald, and during the Eclipse. Upon a closer reading, we recognize either a literary purpose or a justifiable reason in all of these instances. During the Century Slayer Night, she had been suffering from PMS. While it may seem like an absurd reason initially, this entire portion was centered on gender issues and Casca’s struggle as a woman in a man’s world. Furthermore, while Guts did ensure her escape, she was far from helpless in the whole ordeal, slaying many soldiers even in her weakened state. Against Wyald, it would be the only time where she really was the damsel-in-distress. There are two caveats, however. For one, Wyald was one of the most powerful apostles in the series to date; and secondly, she rescued Guts in turn when he had been rendered unconscious by Wyald’s attacks. Had she not revived him, Guts was sure to have been obliterated by the rampaging apostle. Also, her near-rape was ostensibly a foreshadowing of her eventual fate in the Eclipse. Lastly, during the hellish events of the Eclipse, Judeau and Pippin rescued her from the Count Apostle as the utter annihilation of the Falcons left her briefly paralyzed. While one could argue that her freezing up at the worst moment is a sign of weak female characterization we should remember how virtually all the Falcons had been rendered incapable of action because of shock. In fact, in a matter of seconds, Casca regained her composure and demanded to be taken back so she could die with her men. She also managed to slay a couple of apostles before succumbing to their sheer numbers—a feat no other member of the Falcons was able to replicate (except for Guts).

Fourth, Casca is far from being the only mercurial character in the series. She is, in fact, just one more in a story rife with hot-headed, complicated characters recovering from the various traumas in their lives. Her tempestuous nature comes to the fore only when it comes to Griffith and Guts due to her own insecurities and inner conflicts. In any other situation, she has proven to be the most level-headed, focused and determined member of the Falcons. A great example of this was when the Falcons were ambushed by the Midland Army. With arrows raining down around them and their leader missing, it was Casca who gathered the floundering men and charged forth to escape—all this with five arrows puncturing her torso and abdomen! During the Eclipse, the Falcons were left in disarray, fear and confusion. Even Guts and Griffith were too shocked by the events to gather their thoughts. In all the harrowing, mind-numbing clutter, once again it was Casca who ordered her men into battle formation and ordered the wounded to be secured. Once the apostles began their rampage, Casca and Guts were the only Falcons who managed to slay an apostle, highlighting their ability to operate under unearthly pressure. Even when completely surrounded by apostles, Casca charged headlong into battle, swinging her sword defiantly. When she finally does crack it is because her only weapon shatters in her hand as even more apostles surround her.

Fifth, while she was overwhelmed by the task of commanding the Falcons, it wasn’t the role of leadership that overwhelmed Casca. She proved her leadership skills time and again on and beyond the battlefield. Her breakdown was a result of several things combined: not knowing if Griffith was even alive; her unresolved feelings for Guts; the suddenness with which such a great task fell on her; not knowing why she and her men were being hunted by a kingdom they had fought so hard to preserve; the dismal condition of the Falcons; losing more than half of her men in a year spent fighting off ambushes and raids. Above all, there was no end-game in sight. If Griffith was dead then everything she had staked her life on was lost. If Griffith was alive, she still had no chance of happiness as “his woman” because of Griffith’s interest in Charlotte; there was no way she could be “his sword” because Guts had become his right-hand man. Guts himself was no longer in the picture, having left her a year ago. One should also remember that burdens and how difficult they are to carry is a major theme in Berserk. Anyone oversimplifying her meltdown during the Falcons’ final year as a symptom of weak female characterization must remember how Casca was able to undertake leading an entire army with no goal in sight and managed to soldier on for a year. One could apply the same oversimplification on the fact that Guts only had Casca to protect in a similar endless battle and barely lasted a few weeks. As such, not only does she prove more level-headed and capable than Guts but it makes her ability to carry on for a full year that much more herculean.

Lastly, rape is one of the major motifs in Berserk, with Guts and Griffith also being victims of sexual abuse. That the three main characters of a story are rape survivors says more about the state of their world than it does about indulging some depraved fantasy (which isn’t to say that the latter isn’t a factor). Miura treats rape as a metaphor for the helplessness of humans against the darker, capricious forces governing them i.e. fate, Godhand and the apostles. In a universe where even the likes of Guts and Casca are sexual assault victims, we are reminded that human strength is vastly insufficient, that we are never in control, and that anyone at any moment could be rendered helpless. It doesn’t matter who you are or how tough you are or how much courage and valor you possess—if you’re a human being, you are not safe. Period.

That said the subject could’ve been handled with greater care. Miura has a tendency to lean too heavily on rape for the sake of tension and shock value, especially when it comes to Casca. To make matters worse, the sexual assaults contain an air of objectification to them. As far as post-Eclipse Casca is concerned, rape and sexual assault occur far too frequently, diluting its intended impact. In Volume 23, even Guts—at this point physically and emotionally draining and beset by the Beast of Darkness—kisses and gropes Casca against her will; a particularly galling moment in the manga, given her history and how similar to Griffith such an act made him. While the thematic impact of the moment achieves its purpose (Guts’ weakness, and the true extent to which the Beast of Darkness can consume him), one can’t help but wonder if this could’ve been conveyed without resorting to rape—especially when we consider how she had already suffered another sexual assault five pages earlier.

Casca & Shisu

Casca and Shisu mirror each other as mentally damaged women with a defiled child. In both cases, the case of their regression was related to their bodies—Shisu due to miscarriage and Casca because of rape. One need only compare the scene where Shisu cradles Guts in her arms only for Gambino to yank her away with Casca cradling the Demon Fetus in her arms only for Guts to yank it away. Just as how Guts emulates Gambino in appearance, post-Eclipse Casca mirrors Shisu in her appearance: a loose fitting robe and her hair coarse and unkempt. Shisu is also reminiscent of the Demon Fetus with the same side of their deformed. As already stated, Guts also abandoned Casca to fight his battles much the same way poor Shisu met her end without her lover by her side.

Casca & Corkus

“Your self-centered actions could put all the [Falcons] in serious danger [...] you’re going to get someone killed, you ape!”

Casca, Season 1, Episode 5

It is worth noticing that of all members of the Falcons, Casca and Corkus are the only two characters to never warm up to Guts from the outset. They remain critical and suspicious of him, troubled by his effect on Griffith. It is interesting to notice that Casca and Corkus are reminiscent of Guts’ parents i.e. Shisu and Gambino respectively, which, considering how parenthood is a dominant theme in Berserk, does not seem coincidental. In may also shed light on why Guts is extremely tolerant and forgiving regarding their acrimony towards him, almost always treating it as a mild nuisance, the way an unruly child might act with disapproving parents.

Yet why did Guts, the formidable Century Slayer, take all the insults from Casca and Corkus? Corkus was clearly no match for Guts. Neither was Casca when it was all said and done. It is not like Guts to let people go just because they would be no match for him (almost no one is in the world of Berserk). Except, these two are family to Guts and like anyone devoted to his family, he loved and accepted even the annoying members. Perhaps in all of this, some part of Guts is still that little boy desperately seeking acceptance from Gambino. More than that, I feel Miura understands that no person acts the same with everyone. We treat people we don’t know differently from how we treat our family and friends. In that respect, Guts is no different from any real person making him so much more believable, and by extension, relatable. In a genre filled to the brim with one-dimensional, clichéd characters, Guts and the rest of the cast really are some of the most believable, relatable characters to come out of a manga.

Moreover, if we examine many of Casca and Corkus’ barbed remarks about the to-be Black Swordsman, we realize that virtually all their concerns are not only justifiable but well-founded in the long run.

Guts is not an ideal mercenary despite his battle prowess. Throughout Berserk one of the most sympathetic aspects about Guts’ character is that he does not possess the inner make up of a mercenary, harboring a sensitive, introspective, idealistic and a highly individualistic disposition. This leaves him immune to the kind of materialistic aspirations that so propels others mercenaries. Corkus and Gambino serve as a particularly stark reminder of the kind of qualities required to be a good mercenaries: greed, materialism, gruffness, a lack of vision and a relatively impaired ability to self-analyze. As such, perhaps the greatest tragedy of Guts’ life is that circumstances forced him into a life that he is not innately suited for.

This brings us back to Casca and Corkus’ stance on Guts. One of Casca’s consistent gripes is that Guts causes Griffith to lose his equilibrium. The normally calm, stolid White Falcon is reckless and distracted when it comes to Guts, which are not encouraging signs for a leader of his magnitude. Griffith’s entire agenda is rooted in him remaining pragmatic, patient, objective, strategic and unperturbed. Casca has seen him at his most vulnerable moment i.e. the morning after he slept with Gennon, and knows that emotions are not something Griffith handles well. Thus, her qualms are valid.

Another source of Casca’s disconcertion is Guts’ own aggression and renegade tendencies in battle. He often breaks rank and heads into the thick of battle on his own, compromising the Falcon’s formation and strategy. As such not only does Guts throw off Griffith’s poise but he is a wild card in an otherwise implacably arranged battle plan. In being an impetuous, individualistic warrior, Guts is a glaring compromise in an army of blind followers that until his arrival had succeeded solely through Griffith’s strategic leadership and their unity.

Corkus’ criticisms are also justified when looked at from the lens of mercenary’s moral compass. The end game for all dogs-of-war is monetary gain, fame and recognition. They struggle their whole lives to escape the stranglehold of common-blood, poverty or other social stigmas. Despite making their earnings through combat, mercenaries have to be judicious in battle, as self-preservation quite literally means living to eat and earn another day. Guts, however, shows no care for any of the prestige and fortunes the Falcons stand to make. His concern is only for “swinging his sword around” and after overhearing Griffith’s ideals of a true friend, to become an equal to Griffith by having his own dream. Both of these pursuits clash with the mercenary code. The first means recklessly endangering oneself in battle whilst the second is divisive, undermining the cohesion of Falcons which is the source of their great military strength.

When Guts decides to leave, Corkus is quick to point out how a man must learn to compromise and be thankful for his lot. He compares the to-be Black Swordsman to an entitled, spoilt child who considers himself too good for his current stature, and insists that Guts be grateful about how favorable his fortunes have been to him. While Corkus was inherently wrong in his ideas (discussed in detail in Corkus’ section of the analysis), his words prove prophetic when Guts realizes that his quest for self-determination came full circles and that his place in life was the Band of Falcons all along. Corkus’ rage was also justifiable because Guts was not only walking away from the prestige that his companions have worked so hard for but him refusing to value it is essentially a slap in the face of everything the Falcons had worked so hard for.

Lastly, though it was far from Guts’ intentions, Corkus rightly considered Guts’ decision selfish. He was placing himself before the Falcons, giving precedence to his desires instead of his duty to the Band of Falcons. As such, Guts was a man who abandons his group for the sake of his dream, just like Griffith would a year later at the Eclipse. Both Guts and Griffith’s selfish act leads to the death of so many men i.e. the demise of more than half of the Falcon’s numbers in their defense skirmishes against the Midland army and then, their slaughter at the hands of the apostles in the Eclipse. The main difference is that Guts expressed great remorse over this fact, and secondly, was only indirectly responsible for his comrades’ demise.

As such, Casca and Corkus’ reservations regarding Guts prove correct: not only does he end up compromising Griffith but his individualism, recklessness and stubbornness paves the way for the decimation of the Falcons.

Casca & Theresa

Most people don’t see this one coming.

The troubled girl from Volume 2 spent her entire life sheltered from the harshness of the world and the evil brimming inside it. Her sole connection to the outside world is her father. As she explains, the Count’s quest for hunting heretics turned to obsession, making him more cruel and sadistic as time went on. As her father changed so did her reaction to him, leaving her forever terrified of the man’s touch. It would become the Count’s greatest turmoil unable to even touch his daughter whom he loved so dearly. Worse of all, when she finally does muster up the courage to step outside of her room (barrier) the first thing she sees is her father as the monster he truly has become.

Why all this matters is how much it is a parallel to Casca and Guts following the Eclipse. Theresa was ensconced in a room, shielded from the external world much the same way Casca is trapped in her addled mind, unable to comprehend the reality of her world. Like Theresa, Casca becomes inaccessible to Guts, reacting violently whenever he touches her (first, right after the Eclipse and then again after he assaults her). Like the Count, Guts handles his pain by plunging into violence and death, harboring an inner monster i.e. the Beast of Darkness. A man obsessed with revenge and hunting apostles, Guts is not unlike the Count who in his quest to annihilate heretics ending up succumbing to his own inner monster. Just as the Count seeks to shelter Theresa, Guts tries to be Casca’s guardian from the world’s evils.

Another thing to notice is how different Guts is from how he was prior to the Eclipse. More feral and cruel than ever before, even Rickert doesn’t consider him the same man he once knew in the Band of Falcons. Far too often Guts’ very appearance frightened regular people especially children the same way how, even in his human form, the Count frightened Theresa and others. That Theresa reacted so strongly to even his touch is reminiscent of Casca’s explosive reaction to Guts’ very presence especially after Volume 23.

Lastly, as Guts struggled to protect Casca his burden grew, leaving him emotionally and physically drained. In a moment of weakness, the Beast of Darkness takes hold of his mind and he nearly strangles Casca. This would forever change the way she viewed him. Guts’ horror at succumbing to Beast in Volume 23 and assaulting Casca is similar to the Count’s horror when Theresa discovers her father’s true nature.

I mentioned earlier how Casca and Guts’ future may not be a happy one. Just as how Theresa was unable to face the violence and cruelty of the world and longed for the comfort of her sheltered prison, Casca may very well also end up rejecting her new situation opting to remain in the prison of her addled mind. After all, as the Skull Knight warned, Casca may not wish to be cured. To then be cured against her will may very well be the final straw.

Gambino allowed his mistress Shisu to adopt Guts solely to indulge her, confident that the sickly infant would never survive. He ignored his men’s dread that a child born off a corpse is terrible omen (a prophecy that would prove true in a roundabout way once Guts is marked with the Brand of Sacrifice). Though he shrugged it off as mere superstition, he later looks back at the scene of Guts’ birth, visibly shaken. The idea that Guts is going to ruin his fortunes has already been planted at the back of his mind.

Three years later, when Shisu succumbed to a plague, it severed Gambino’s sole connection to kindness and decency. More importantly, it lent credence to the theory that Guts was indeed an ill omen, making the boy an easy scapegoat for Gambino’s acrimony.

Though Gambino’s approval seemed to be the centre of Guts’ existence, their relationship remained ambivalent with the mercenary leader fluctuating between being a neglecting parent and an abusive one. Their sparring sessions frequently got violent (Gut’s most prominent scar on the bridge of his nose was a result of a particularly violent sparring session) and Gambino’s constant berating stifled Guts. He even cursed Shisu out loud at one point for leaving him alone to fend for Guts. To make matters worse, whenever the mercenary was drunk or enraged his rancour towards the boy intensified hinting at him unconsciously blaming the boy for Shisu’s death. It suggests a man forced into fatherhood against his will and single fatherhood to make it worse. While Gambino had moments of remorse at how he treats the boy, he quickly shrugged them off under the guise of machismo and indifference—a penchant for not thinking about painful issues would be something he passed on to his son.

When Guts is eleven, a drunk Gambino sells the boy to the paedophilic Donovan. Armed with a sword, the boy planned to slay his mentor but stays his hand when he realized that Gambino was under the influence when Donovan bought him. The swiftness with which Guts forgives Gambino highlights how much the young boy hungers for his approval and wants him as a father.

Sometime later, Gambino was caught in an explosion that amputates his leg. Coincidentally, “Gambino” is an Italian nickname for someone with short legs. His lover dead and his mercenary career over, the hatred simmering inside him burst forth. One particular scene serves as a motif, a setting that replays again in Guts’ nightmares. On their last afternoon together, Guts excitedly shows off his bounty to Gambino who seemed more interested in playing with a pet dog. Smacking Guts in the face, Gambino ordered Guts to feed the animal. When the boy left, Gambino kicked the dog away in disgust. A pair of mercenaries joke that he was in an enviable position now that he no longer had to fight which prompts Gambino to challenge them. They back off and Gambino stumbled away in fury, the dog timidly in tow.

The entire scene is a master class in visual storytelling. Every single character in the scene, every single object adds a layer of complexity to Gambino, Guts and their relationship and even harkens to themes and events later in the manga.

This was the only time we see Gambino smiling and openly treating another creature fondly. It is reminiscent of Gambino’s good fortunes prior to Shisu finding Guts. Tellingly, this scene repeats during Guts’ nightmares where the dog has Shisu’s face as the words “he should have died!” chorus continuously to a fever pitch. Gambino’s doting affection towards the dog is what Guts aches for so desperately. The chair marks the first time we see the proud Gambino sitting in the entire manga, hinting at his diminished status. The amputation also foreshadows Guts’ own amputation years later. Guts’ running reminds Gambino of his own handicap. The bounty signifies what the crippled veteran can no longer attain. In smacking Guts with the cane, Gambino symbolically blamed the boy for his handicap. Gambino intimidating the two mercenaries was a pretense to reclaim some kind of authority and remasculate himself.

The dog is a metaphor for Guts (who is already stippled with canid motifs): an innocent, helpless mutt desperately pining for its masters’ affection. Punting the dog, in turn, was Gambino’s visceral response to this very fact. The dog timidly following its abuser fleshes out and completes this metaphor for Guts and his dynamic with Gambino. Later, to drive home this very point, the ex-mercenary even cried out how Guts “followed me around like some lonely puppy.” Prior to his death, Gambino even lamented that the person responsible for Shisu’s death could never be “raised like a loyal dog”; indirectly comparing Guts to a rabid animal that can’t distinguish between friend and foe—portending the Beast of Darkness that conveniently resembles a savage black dog. In a cruel case of dramatic irony, immediately after slaying Gambino, Guts was attacked by, of all things, a pack of hungry wolves. Gambino’s words about Guts being a feral dog may perhaps shed more light on Guts’ fury when Casca called him “a mad dog” to the point that the very memory of her words enrages Guts immensely.

In terms of parallels, we can’t ignore how Guts’ appearance matches his old man. They both have pointed ears and pronounced canines (drawing home the point of them being nothing but dogs-of-war). Even Guts’ hair is styled like his father and echoes many of his old man’s mannerisms and postures. Thus, it is very possible that Guts stylized his hair after his father and mentor and then continued to do so as a tribute to him. Also noticeable is the fact that Guts dresses up like his father: a tucked-in sleeveless shirt, trousers, a large belt and long boots.

These similarities add another layer to the scene mentioned above: the shaggy little mutt Gambino was playing with may have also reminded him of the fact that both he (and Guts) are dogs-of-war. The goal of all mercenaries in Berserk (aside from Guts) is to earn enough recognition in battle so that they can become noblemen, as Corkus makes clear on numerous occasions. In becoming an invalid, Gambino can no longer escape his life as a dog-of-war. As such, his value to the world is akin to the pitiful cur he was playing with. Considering how Guts at this point was a novice dog-of-war, the mutt may also be a reminder of Gambino’s waning authority over Guts and how eventually, he would be surpassed.

Both father and son are disdainful, battle-hardened mercenaries with explosive tempers. Their tough exteriors belie a gentler side that their life on the battlefield has smothered. Curiously, whilst deeply in love with his mentally-challenged mistress, Gambino ended up on a battlefield the night Shisu passes away—a glaring foreshadowing of how Guts too threw himself into battling apostles at a time when Casca needed him the most. In that, it harkens back to Godo’s words about hatred being a place where a man goes when he can’t face his sorrow.

They are also thrust into fatherhood due to their mentally challenged lovers caring after a defiled baby. Both react violently to their child and loathe it for years as manifestation of their greatest suffering i.e. Shisu’s death and his amputated leg for Gambino, and the Eclipse and Casca’s rape for Guts. One should note though that Guts’ vehemence dwindles significantly over the course of the manga and disappears altogether at the arrival of the Moon Child.

When considering Guts’ diffidence towards Gambino, it sheds a possible light on his relationship with another volatile, caustic mercenary: Corkus. Both men antagonized Guts relentlessly and seemed committed to never accepting him into the fold.

Lastly, the sociopathic mercenary leader should also recall Griffith. The White Falcon may seem worlds apart in terms of charisma and sheer brilliance but he is in fact even more ruthless and sociopathic than Gambino. In that regard, a whole new layer is added to Guts and Griffith’s dynamic considering how the latter is reminiscent of Guts’ father-figure. It is highly likely that, at least subconsciously, Guts’ fascination with Griffith and his need to be his equal is a repeat of his unfulfilled need to gain Gambino’s approval. In gaining his new mercenary leader’s respect and friendship, perhaps Guts would have been able to attain some kind of closure to the biggest hole in his soul.

In this world of terrible fathers, there is only one good father-figure: Guts (Godo is implied to be a good father to Erica but we hardly see the two together which is why I’m not including him. The Count Apostle too surprises us by being a gentle father but given the fact that he locked Theresia in a room, murdered her mother and is generally a heartless sadist isn’t winning him any father of the year awards).

Children need a father who is a constant guide, who is available, protective and supportive. While only in his early 20s, Guts’ hardships and sacrifices make him more akin to a man in his 40s, worldly and wise beyond his years, qualifying him as a splendid father-figure to his entourage of children and teenagers. Miura conveys this idea by having Guts always walk behind his New Party, a testament to his nuanced and subtle approach to visual storytelling. Although the de facto leader of the group, Guts is almost always depicted as either walking behind them, or amongst them, like an ever-present, ever-vigilant father protecting his flock.

Another aspect of the New Party that sheds light on Guts being a splendid father-figure to his comrades is if we compare them to Griffith presiding over the Band of Falcons. In the original Band of Falcons, all members had their respective flaws that held them back from chasing their own dreams. Corkus was a once a leader of thieves who joined Griffith as a sure-fire way towards wealth and status. Pippin was an uncharismatic brute of a man. Judeau was a jack-of-all-trades who excelled at no particular task and decided to follow a man who did. Casca was a woman who had no other goal in life but to define herself through her association with Griffith. Guts, when it was all said and done, was just a man who wanted to fight and relied on Griffith to provide a reason. On top of that, he had been defeated by Griffith in combat and been forced to join against his own will. While they were all proud members of the Falcons, their deep-seated issues remained unresolved and left them dependant on Griffith. That is, their individuality and personal growth was compromised in order to continue being “a feather in Griffith’s wing.”

In the New Party, first and foremost, not only does everyone join out of their own volition but they stay because they choose to. Where Griffith employed charisma, force and material prospects to enlist members in his quest for a kingdom, Guts offers little pomp and circumstance. He makes no promises, demands no favors and inspires through his actions alone. He also makes no airs about being their leader, deferring many of the important decisions to Schierke and Roderick. In fact, Guts is very careful about not stepping on anyone’s toes, showcasing an ego kept in-check and refusing to challenge anyone’s status—unlike Griffith whose ego grew exponentially throughout the Golden Age to the point where Guts deciding to leave the Falcons to live on his own terms was considered a personal affront. Compare Griffith’s reaction to Guts leaving to Guts reaction when he found out Farnese had (briefly) left the group. If anything, the Black Swordsman is highly mindful of everyone’s status in his group, encouraging them all to find their own role in the group. Unlike Griffith who had smothered his followers’ individuality, Guts has indirectly or directly provided an environment where they can tackle their own short-comings.

To that end, Guts has helped everyone regain something they had lost. Farnese, for instance, was a cruel, sadistic religious zealot who, once her faith shattered, had little direction. She had been inspired by Guts to not only shed her religious zeal but to reinvent herself as a more compassionate person. In the New Party, she gains a life-changing task in not only caring for Casca but learning to become a witch, people the old Farnese would have burnt at the stake in a heartbeat. Serpico, too, has found what he was looking for in seeing Farnese happy and surrounded by people who care for her. Though he has his reservations regarding Farnese’s feelings for Guts, even he has marvelled at how much she has changed as a person. Isidore was an orphan, a petty thief whose goal is to become a powerful knight. He lacked a family, a home and a mentor and found all three in Guts and the New Party. Schierke not only lost her mother-figure but also the protective cocoon of her former life as a witch-apprentice in a secluded forest. She had little exposure to the outside world and its many complexities, leaving her confused and conflicted about her place in the New Party. Guts gently guides her into her new life, advises her on how to handle her emotions and is fiercely protective of her—essentially becoming a surrogate parent to her since Flora’s passing. As such, the main difference between the Band of Hawks and the New Party is that Guts seems to have ensured that it is nothing like a mercenary army but a family of individuals.

To further explore the theme of fatherhood, let’s examine Guts’ relationship with Isidore. While Gambino was mercurial, harsh and cruel, Guts’ training of Isidore is strict but also supportive, imparting practical advice and helpful pointers. Above all, he bolsters Isidore’s confidence and self-worth by acknowledging him as a trusted member of the party. During his fight with the Goat apostle and later in the troll’s nest, Guts was very vocal about his faith in Isidore’s ability, entrusting him with protecting Casca and Farnese. The impact this had on Isidore’s confidence was obvious.

Moreover, after slaying the Goat apostle Guts rendezvous with Isidore only to find out that Casca had been captured by Farnese’ soldiers. The boy explains to Guts what had happened off-camera and apologizes. In a fit of rage and frustration, Guts grabs the boy by the collar but relents immediately when he notices him tearing up. It is a telling a moment of Guts’ past as a son and his future as a father. Good parenting is often more about omitting the horrible aspects of our own childhood so that history may not repeat itself. Most of all, it is about putting our children’s emotional and physical wellbeing before anything else. Had this been Gambino, Isidore would have been berated and beaten mercilessly. Guts, however, knew the boy was innocent—the same way he himself was innocent when being blamed for Shisu and Gambino’s misfortune—and restrained himself. In doing so, he refrained himself from repeating history by putting the boy’s feelings before his own exasperation at losing Casca yet again.

Another great example of being a positive father-figure to Isidore is how Guts advises him to use his size to his advantage and carry a smaller sword i.e. create his own fighting style. This is important because Gambino taunted Guts into using a sword bigger than him, which in turn becomes symbolic of Guts’ burdens in life and the “adulthood” that is forced onto him. For Gambino, Guts’ stature was a disadvantage, a handicap. In being forced to use a bigger sword, it in turn made Guts view his own childhood as a liability and something to quickly overcome.

With Isidore, Guts not only encourages the boy to use his size as an advantage but makes sure childhood isn’t viewed as a handicap by Isidore. Most importantly, in encouraging Isidore to use a smaller sword, Guts is helping the boy retain a modicum of childhood. A good father, after all, doesn’t want his child to carry more burdens than he or she needs to whilst encouraging him to live his or her own life. A subdued but poignant reminder of this is when Isidore tries to steal the Dragon Slayer. Guts picks up the enormous blade, places it over his shoulder—reminiscent of Gambino’s mannerisms when he told Guts that he doesn’t have kiddy sword—and says, “this isn’t a toy for kids.” When the boy insists that he wants to follow in his footsteps Guts’ response is peculiar: he doesn’t discourage the boy or chide him but asks, simply, if he has every spilled blood. Isidore’s rebuttal is simply that this is his choice, which makes Guts smile and agree.

Guts and Schierke’s dynamic further explores the themes of fatherhood, this time from the perspective of father-daughter. Schierke grew up in a world devoid of male figures. The ones who were there were either irrelevant or negative. Guts and his party would mark the first time Schierke deals with the male world, running the gamut with an annoying brat in Isidore, a gentleman in Serpico and a battle-hardened alpha-male in Guts. Whilst initially uncomfortable around Guts, Schierke finds him alluring and eventually is won over by his constant availability, his gentleness, worldliness and above all that he’s a good man—things all daughters should get from their fathers. In that sense, her “crush” on Guts is simply an aspect of their father-daughter dynamic. Aside from fatherhood, both Guts and Schierke reflect an old-soul feeling: both are far older than their years and carry a certain gravity to them, upholding more responsibility without sharing their burdens with anyone. The moment where Schierke breaks down after Flora’s death was a poignant scene because they’re both guilty of bottling up their feelings.

We must also realize that at this point, Guts is a father to Casca. In her regressed state Casca is a helpless infant whose safety relies entirely upon Guts, and later, the New Party. When first protecting her following the Tower of Conviction arc, we see Guts truly struggle for the first time. He buckles under the pressures and responsibility placed on his shoulders. This too is a testament to fatherhood where many a great men feel suffocated and helpless by the sheer scale of the task because it isn’t simply about getting through a day but about creating a secure future. In his recourse to the New Party, we see a task that even a warrior like Guts couldn’t shoulder alone.

The only time Guts harkens to his own father, is when confronting the Demon Fetus, responding violently every time it appears. Though originally Casca and Guts’ unborn child, Griffith’s rape of Casca graphed on a demonic nature to it, causing it to be born prematurely and grotesquely deformed. While the creature is perhaps the biggest victim of the Eclipse, in Guts’ mind it is the living embodiment of how Griffith destroyed everything sacred to Guts and Casca. Another glaring aspect of the Demon Fetus is that its right eye is also closed due to its deformity (which in itself is similar to how Shisu looked when she succumbed to the plague). I’ve already discussed the parallels between Gambino-Shisu and Guts-Casca especially in regards to their children and it is here that Guts is very much like his father. Worth noticing also is the fact that Guts’ reaction to the Demon Fetus assuages over the course of the series (in turn a reflection to Guts slowly reclaiming his humanity following the Eclipse). He even expresses parental concern over the Demon Fetus following the events of the Tower of Conviction arc, wondering if it is was out there on its own. It was a stark contrast to his earlier reaction to the creature. What’s more, this change of heart coincides with the arrival of the Moon Child.

While the nature of the Moon Child remains the biggest mystery in Berserk, one thing is indubitable: he is Casca and Guts’ son. What I find fascinating is that Guts’ clearly holds paternal feelings towards the boy but remains hesitant. The Moon Child himself appears uncertain in front of Guts, clearly more at ease with Casca than his father. There are plenty of shots of the two staring at each other curiously until the boy turns back to Casca in hurry. Is it perhaps due to how, for the first few years of his life (as the Demon Fetus), Guts was so hostile to him? I’m reminded of how lion cubs spend the first few weeks with their mothers before being carefully introduced to the male lion, who both mesmerizes and terrifies them. Ultimately though, the Moon Child is Guts’ salvation from himself, a beacon to him even in the midst of the churning rage and violence of the Berserker armor. On more than one occasion, the Moon Child brought Guts back from the brink of completely losing himself to the Berserker armor and during Guts’ battle with the sea god he guided his father towards the surface.

In this the theme of fatherhood comes full circle: our children are a way for us to save ourselves from our greatest demons. When all the pollution of the world, when all its mayhem and clamor traps us in its whorls, it is our children and our love for them that can help us find our way out. They help us prioritize and re-examine our lives, to understand what is truly important in life.

One of the greatest tragedies of Guts’ life is that he was recovering from childhood PTSD when the Eclipse transpired. His first true traumatic experience was being raped by Donovan at the age of nine. Not only that, but he would learn that he was sold to Donovan by his own father, Gambino. It would become a memory that would haunt him on numerous occasions in his life, making him lash out violently whenever he was touched even as an adult and even result in nightmares. It nearly even ruined his only positive sexual experience, with Casca.

Yet it was Gambino’s actions that were the real cause of trauma for the boy. Not only was he sold to a pedophile by his own father but it was for a mere three pieces of silver (recalling the proverbial thirty pieces of silver). For one, it was a harrowing betrayal of a father and mentor. Above all, and most damningly, Guts’ entire life rested on Gambino’s approval like some winsome puppy. That such a man would think of him as worth three pieces of silver was a devastating and timeless blow to Guts’ sense of self-worth.

Adding to his trauma, merely two years later, Guts accidentally killed Gambino in self-defense. Slaying his own “father” would become the greatest source of sorrow and remorse in his life, leaving him paralyzed in despair. He would suffer numerous nightmares centered on this night, leaving him withdrawn, emotionally numb and prone to bursts of anger for the rest of his life.

By the time he met Griffith and joined the Falcons, Guts was deeply entrenched in this PTSD. It would take the next three years of friendship, comradery, confidants and love for him to truly embark on his journey to shed the traumas of his childhood. By the end of his time with the Falcons, he was considerably less cagey, more engaging and candid with friends and generally happy—or at least the closest thing there is to it for someone like Guts.

Above all, the positive impact Griffith had on Guts’ life cannot be understated. Considering the lifelong damage Gambino’s words and actions had wrought on Guts’ soul, it helps illuminate why Guts was so puzzled and flattered by the fact that someone like Griffith respected him and considered him “worth bleeding for.” It was Griffith’s friendship, his comradery and his admiration that allowed Guts to finally respect himself, not as a warrior but as a human being—making the former’s betrayal during the Eclipse so much more heart-wrenching.

To make matters worse, the Eclipse was a retread of his previous traumas: the way Guts was held down and forced to watch Griffith/Femto rape Casca was akin to how Donovan pinned down and raped him (more on this during Griffith’s analysis); and being betrayed by the man whose approval he craved so much was exactly like Gambino.

The second aspect of vulnerability is how inevitable it is for humans. To live is to feel pain, Miura seems to suggest throughout his magnum opus. After all, not only is one opening himself or herself up to pain by being in a relationship but not doing so also leaves us susceptible. One of Guts’ consistent character lapses is recognizing the importance of what’s really important to him only after it has already slipped through his fingers. After spending so many years recovering from past trauma, he rarely allows anyone to come close to him, particularly after the events of the Eclipse where being close to him is an invitation to death. Yet keeping everyone at arms’ length has also caused him to ignore the value of people in his life.

Guts laments this fact on two occasions: once upon returning to the Band of Falcons and then when he returns to Godo’s home to find Casca missing. As Godo notices, this even applied to when Guts heads off to find Casca with such abandon that he didn’t even realize that this was the last time he was seeing the old man. This ties in to the symbolic blindness I spoke of earlier, where Guts is “blind” to some aspect of his life or surroundings that continues to cause him pain. That he’s always too late in understanding the importance of certain people in his life is a great indicator of this symbolic blindness.

Curiously, after his encounter with Slan in which his armor was ripped off and he was severely wounded, it would mark the first time Guts notices what’s important to him while it is still with him: his new comrades. I spoke earlier about armors and their sense of vulnerability, which lends more poignancy to this moment. It is only in his most vulnerable state (without his armor) that Guts can let his guard down enough to acknowledge how special his new comrades are to him. That this was immediately after the moment where Guts was utterly at Slan’s mercy, was severely wounded and even needed rescuing by Skull Knight reinforces this idea even more. ~Sado22

As the story progresses, Theresa’s constant rejections chip away at the Count’s monstrous veneer revealing his all too human yearning for love. Not only does this foreshadow Casca’s relationship with Guts after the Eclipse (as discussed above) but it serves as the bed rock for the Man vs. Monster theme that veins throughout the entire manga.

When Guts and the Count do collide, the latter quickly gains the upper-hand, leaving Guts a battered mess. At the last second though, Guts uses Theresa as a human shield to stop the Count dead in his tracks. Thematically, this scene shows a human employing a monstrous gamble to slay a monster rendered all too human. Blasting the apostle with his hidden canon, Guts then cleaves his head off in a desperate sword swing. Like a true inhuman monster, however, the Count is not dead while Guts, even in victory, is rendered a heap of blood and shattered bones.

Then, all too quickly, the monster-human dynamic is inverted as Guts proceeds to utterly maim the apostle with a knife despite Puck’s pleas, the Count begging for mercy and Theresa’s traumatized screams. The Count’s agony eventually triggers his Behelit, summoning the Godhand, in effect, hinting at who the true monsters really are. As both Guts and the Count lay motionless and bloodied, the Godhand ask him to sacrifice his most beloved object in the world: Theresa. In his greatest show of humanity, the Count refuses to sacrifice his daughter even in the face of his mortality and his realm of chaos before his very eyes.

With the Count dead and literally dragged to hell, it is Guts’ turn to show us the blurred line between man and monster. As the traumatized Theresa wishes for death and wanting to go back to the room where she had been sheltered for so many years, Guts tosses her his knife and suggests she kill herself. As she tries to slit her own wrists, she nearly falls to her death through a collapsed floor. Guts uses his sword to save her in the process instilling the all-too precious life lesson: if one is to live then he must bleed. As Guts walks away, Theresa swears vengeance for everything the Black Swordsman has wrought. Though Guts feigns indifference, when Puck catches up to him, we see him with tears in his eyes, perhaps, shaken at how much of a monster he has become.

The Lost Children arc is where the difference between man and monster is virtually impossible to tell. Not only is this the arc where the Beast of Darkness is born but it is the closest Guts comes to losing his own humanity prior to donning the Berserker armor. Rosine, despite her status as an apostle, comes across as more human than Guts. She remains a devoted friend to Jill, clearly loves her brood of insect-like children and is the closest we get to a life-giving, nurturing presence in the whole arc. Misty Valley, though dangerous, is still beautiful and a haven for Rosine and her children. Most importantly, Rosine’s actions were a result of a childish innocence and an inability to truly understand the implications of her actions—somewhat reminiscent of Griffith in his childish disposition and the true dangers of his dream.

Where Rosine spends the arc finding the human buried inside her, Guts spends the entire arc actively trying to bury his humanity, becoming more and more monstrous. He operates as purely nihilistic force of destruction, a non-partisan image of all-consuming hatred and death. Every time he appears, chaos follows and towards the end, Misty Valley is left in flames, Rosine’s brood is obliterated and all her life-giving cocoons are destroyed.

In the most telling scene, Guts lets Jill get surrounded by fire to bait Rosine into rescuing her and dropping her guard. His trap works as Rosine braves the flames to save her childhood friend. Catching her off-guard, he impales her with his massive sword, wounding the girl fatally as she was committing her most human act. Much like the Count, Guts uses her remaining humanity against her, arguably becoming the true monster of the arc.

Chronologically, however, that Guts is perhaps the true monster of the story was hinted during the Golden Age itself. After assassinating Julius, Guts is spotted by someone in the door. In the heat of the moment, Guts impales the witness only to be horrified when it turns out to Julius’ young son, Adonis. Mortified, he can only watch as the little boy dies before his eyes. With soldiers hot on his heels, Guts escapes into the sewers but has a nasty fall and loses consciousness.

In the nightmare that follows, he is sparring with Gambino as a child, remembering how hard he struggled to gain his father’s approval. As the two continue sparring, Zodd looms over them both, beheading Gambino in a single swipe. Guts charges the monster but is impaled and killed. Zodd then clutches his face which turns out to Guts’ face as an adult ending the nightmare.

The dream sequence is a layer-cake of symbolisms and parallels. Firstly, Gambino and Guts’ sparring was reminiscent of Julius and Adonis’ sparring—which itself mirrored Gambino and Guts’ harsh training regime. Julius was every bit the callous father and mentor that Guts’ late father. Furthermore, Guts had just slain both father and son for Griffith’s sake, despite the perils of the mission and how taxing it proved to be, mentally and physically. Guts essentially “gave all I had” for Griffith’s approval just as he once exerted himself for Gambino’s approval. When we consider how much Guts had just put himself through to do Griffith’s bidding only to then hear him talk about how no one in the Falcons is truly his friend i.e. his equal, it harkens back to Guts’ childhood with Gambino. Once again, he finds himself pushing himself to his limits for a man who doesn’t view him as he wants to be viewed. As such, it sheds light on how Guts’ decision to take matters into his own hands and become his equal is essentially him needing Griffith’s approval. After all, up until the events of the Eclipse, Griffith was the man Guts respected more than anyone else and was the person who had helped him rediscover self-respect and dignity as a man after a lifetime of being considered as good as “three pieces of silver.”

Furthermore, Zodd beheads Gambino much the same way that Guts would slice his father’s neck open. In fact, in his nightmares, Gambino is depicted ripping his own head off on two separate occasions. Zodd impaling Guts mirrors how the latter had just impaled Adonis. Julius’ son embodied Guts’ own childhood by being groomed far too early for a difficult life and “never knowing his father’s love even once in his life.” In slaying Adonis, Guts symbolically murdered his own childhood, his own innocence, making him a monster. Considering how distraught he looked following this nightmare, it seems that this fact was not lost on Guts.

Most of all, Zodd possessing Guts’ face not only establishes how Guts is indeed becoming a monster, foreshadowing his actions as the Black Swordsman, but it deepens his parallels with his most formidable foe, Zodd.

The first time the two cross paths, Guts was hardly a match even against Zodd’s human form, getting rag-dolled throughout their encounter. He even notices how it was merely the thickness of his sword that allowed him to survive as long as he had since a normal sword would have been shattered. Yet, years later as the Black Swordsman, he matches Zodd in his human form blow-for-blow, even over-powering the latter into assuming his apostle form.

Once Guts dons the Berserker armor, this theme reaches its height. Now capable of fighting past his human limitations, Guts is a force to be reckoned with. But there is a major caveat: even as it augments him physically, the armor also gives full reign to the Beast of Darkness within his psyche. Curtailing his moral restraints, the armor taps into the same rage and hatred that birthed the Beast of Darkness in the first place. Thus, when under the control of the armor, Guts is not only a monster in body but also one in mind. Every time he uses the armor, it not only taxes him physically but causes his grip over the Beast of Darkness to slip that much more. In Volume 33, in one of the darkest prophecies in the manga, as Guts’ body and senses continue to deteriorate, the Beast of Darkness speaks to him. Though wrapped in chains, it appears stronger and larger than ever before, offering a simple threat: that not only will all his companions suffer a fate similar to the Eclipse soon but that the Beast will consume his mind entirely.

Griffith, too, is central to this theme as despite his cherubic beauty he is perhaps the greatest monster of the series due to his selfishness and megalomania. As such, this theme will continue in Griffith’s analysis.

Sado22

Like the gigantic sword, Guts’ armor symbolizes immense dangers and the burdens he carries. Yet again it also suggests a sense of vulnerability, especially an emotional one. As Godo explains in Volume 17, hatred is the place where a man goes when he can’t look sorrow in the eye. It is a line that hits particularly close to home when it comes to Guts. Aside from Griffith, Guts is the most armored character in the cast. This is all the more glaring in the New Party where he is the only armor-clad warrior. To this end, the armor is an extension of Guts’ burdens as well as his growing vulnerability. This idea is bolstered by the fact that as the story progresses, Guts’ armor begins to cover more and more of him, with a basic armor at the start of the series where he’s operating with relatively little in terms of burden; then a heavier, more plated armor when he sets out to find and protect Casca; and lastly, the Berserker armor which covers him completely. Interesting enough, the thicker his armor gets, the more his health and general well-being plummets, culminating with his pronounced weight loss and heavily-scarred body underneath the Berserker armor.

Guts’ heavily scarred face and body evoke our sympathy and speak of his great sacrifices in battle. His prosthetic arm, though a potent equalizer in combat, is a handicap that evokes our sympathy. In literature amputations imply trauma, pain, loss and even betrayal or a great injustice. Think of Captain Ahab who viewed his lost leg as the single greatest injustice that he had to avenge at all costs. Guts and Ahab parallel each other in this regard: they charge headlong against insurmountable odds, illicit a sense of respect and fear, are an embodiment of human will whilst their antagonists embody nature, god and the implacable tides of Fate. Interestingly, like the whale, Griffith’s color scheme is also white and like the whale, Griffith (particularly as Femto) operates outside of the realm of morality and logic. Griffith in his mind is no more guilty for the Eclipse than Moby Dick was for chewing off Ahab’s leg.

Much has been said of Guts’ bestial appearance, particularly his pointed ears and pronounced canines. They instill a sense of rabid carnality. These are of course portents of the Beast of Darkness that resides in his psyche, constantly goading him into give in to his hatred and become what the title of the series implies: a berserker. But when paired with his jagged hair, his ears and canine make him look more weathered, like a stray animal in neglect. When it is revealed how Guts was raised by Gambino like some unwanted mutt and how Guts chased after him his whole life like a stray dog, we again must sympathize with Guts. The scar on the bridge of his nose also plays into this idea of him being some kind of a stray dog. As such, one has to acknowledge the numerous canid motif when it comes to Guts: the Beast of Darkness is designed as a black dog; his Berserker Armor’s helm is shaped like wolf’s head; Guts spends his life as a dog-of-war; he’s compared to or flat out called a dog by Caska, Gambino and others; his lone wolf persona; and as previously stated even his pointed ears and longer canines. Lastly Guts is extremely loyal and protective, even at the cost of his own well-being when coupled with his bestial appearance is akin to a guard dog.

As the Black Swordsman, his color scheme is also important. The color black has been employed to convey or explore a great number of themes in literature. The obvious connotation is “death” of which there is no shortage in Guts’ life. Danger, harm, grief, foreboding omens, evil—these are all ideas often symbolized through the color black. Guts after all has been marked with the Brand of Sacrifice, a curse that seals his fate as an offering to demons who hunger for his flesh and shadow him until the very last drop of his blood has been consumed. Like Kenshiro from Fist of the Northstar and his ominous presence as “where ever Hokuto arrives, chaos follows,” Guts too is a harbinger of death and destruction. Guts has warned people as early as Volume 1 not to associate with him if they want to live, going on to explain to Jill that if she follows him her life will be “nothing but a battlefield.” In that respect, his color scheme is highly appropriate.

That said, the color black is also associated with strength, mystery, elegance, and most importantly it is used to give an impression of depth. Out of this, I’ve already spoken about the sense of mystery the surrounds Guts. Strength, of course, is integral to Guts’ characterization. His strength of character and his resolve are arguably his most defining traits.

Elegance might not be the first word one uses to describe Guts. Yet there is a kind of raw beauty in the sheer brutality of his fighting style. As the great Rocky Marciano once said, “why waltz with a guy for 15 rounds when you can finish him off in one?” But Guts’ elegance isn’t limited to just his swordsmanship. There is a moment in Volume 17 where Farnese watches Guts catching his breath after an entire night of slaughtering demonic creatures. The scene is of particular gravity because Farnese loathes Guts as a heretic at this point, yet can’t help be moved at the sight of Guts panting like a wild animal under the morning sky. This moment encapsulates the kind of primal elegance that Guts possesses not unlike the tiger in William Blake’s famous poem, “The Tyger.” Guts’ elegance is in his animal vitality, his ferocity, the desperation of his struggle and the lack of reason or logic in his suffering. If anything, it is this carnal aesthetic that draws many of the female characters in the manga to him, from Farnese (who arguably began to fall in love with him at this point) to even the Godhand, Slan. Even Griffith can be said to be drawn to Guts because of their diametrically opposed natures: Griffith represents angelic beauty, restrain, intellect and logic while Guts’ embodies ruggedness, a feral nature, intuition and instincts.