The storm had swallowed the road hours ago.

Snow fell not in gentle flakes, but in relentless sheets—thick, suffocating, as though the sky itself sought to bury the world beneath a white grave. The wind howled like something living, something starving, clawing at cloaks and armor alike.

That was when the inn appeared.

It stood crooked at the edge of the road, half-sunken into the drift, its warped wooden sign creaking on rusted chains. No name remained legible—only splintered grooves where letters had once been carved. Light flickered weakly behind frost-choked windows.

Guts did not hesitate. He pushed the door open with one gauntleted hand.

Inside, the warmth felt wrong.

Not comforting—stale. Thick. As if it had not been disturbed in years.

The hearth burned low, its fire whispering rather than crackling. Shadows clung too tightly to the corners, stretching long and thin across the warped floorboards. The scent was old wood, damp cloth... and something faintly metallic beneath it.

Guts stepped in first, boots heavy against the silence. Snow slid from his cloak in clumps. The great slab of iron on his back—his sword—scraped faintly against the doorframe as he passed.

Behind him, you followed.

The door shut with a slow, deliberate creak.

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Er Guts bot #2. I had originally planned to make a Jiraiya bot but that'll probably come later.