He keeps an eye on Raistlin's descent to the lake below, waiting for his head to breach the black waters. Once he spots the disturbance, the slight ripples in the mirrored surface, Guts turns to face whatever legion of monsters awaited him. He would make it to shore on his own. At the very least, now he could focus on killing whatever was in front of him.

Dressed in all black at he was, the cloak of darkness felt right at home. He holds the sword in front of him as the smokey figures emerge, barely illuminated by pale moonlight. The laughter appears to have faded now.

"All right, then..."

And with a shout audible even from the lake surface, he charges forward to attack, disappearing into the trees like some giant, cloaked ghost. He seems to leave nothing behind except the muddy footsteps up the cliff and the muffled sounds of the blade's sword-wind. Fighting smoke-monsters didn't make for much noise at a distance, except for the occasional heavy-bodied slam into a tree trunk that rattled its entire body.