Once the regiment passed beyond the Interior, their path was clear. No more checkpoints, no more sneering Military Police to slow them down. The Survey Corps convoy pressed on through the night at full speed, their horses pounding the dirt roads toward Stohess District.
Only when they were twenty kilometers away from their target did Erwin finally call a halt.
The decision wasn't made lightly. But the men were spent—days of relentless marching and riding had drained them. Even the strongest soldier could only give seventy percent of their strength in such a state. And the threat they were heading toward was not a band of mindless Titans, but three intelligent Warriors of Marley.
To face such enemies half-prepared would be suicide.
So the Scouts made camp under the moonlight, a ring of fires burning in the fields outside the treeline.
Lock's squad huddled around one of the flames, their faces glowing orange in the flickering light. The smell of stew drifted up from the iron pot suspended over the fire, rich and warm. For days, they had ridden with nothing but hard bread in their packs. Tonight, Petra had insisted on cooking something proper, and the aroma alone lifted the spirits of the weary soldiers.
Nearby teams cast envious looks in their direction, noses twitching at the scent. A stew cooked by Petra was a rare blessing in this harsh world.
Oluo noticed the glances and scowled. "Back off, you vultures," he muttered under his breath, glaring at the men nearby like a dog guarding its meal.
Eld smirked. "Relax, they're only jealous. You're acting like they're going to storm the pot."
But Oluo's protective stance only made Gunther chuckle.
Inside the circle of firelight, Lock suddenly drew both of his blades. The metallic rasp cut through the crackling night air, and in an instant, every Scout in earshot was on their feet, hands flying to their own hilts. The other squads reacted just as quickly, the tension snapping through the camp like a spark on dry grass.
The Survey Corps lived on a knife's edge; it was instinct to be ready.
Then Lock gave a small, embarrassed smile. "Relax. I was just cleaning my blades."
Exhales of relief rippled across the circle. Eld shook his head, rubbing his temple. "Damn it, Lock. Some of us thought we were about to be ambushed."
Oluo threw up his hands. "You nearly shaved ten years off my life! A rookie mistake."
Before Lock could reply, Ymir smirked from her seat by the fire. "Oh, please. It's not his fault you're all so jumpy."
Oluo's head snapped toward her. "What did you just say?" His voice went high, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"I said you're timid," Ymir replied casually, leaning toward Petra as though seeking her shelter.
Petra sighed, caught between them, and gave an apologetic smile to the others.
"That's it—I'm done with her," Oluo muttered, crossing his arms. "I'll stick close to Petra. Safer that way."
Eld and Gunther exchanged a knowing look. Eld chuckled. "Careful, Oluo. Lock's right there. You're asking for a beating."
Oluo's face stiffened, and he turned quickly. "Hey—Lock, you know I wasn't talking about you, right?"
Lock only shrugged, feigning ignorance. "I don't know. Sounded like you were."
He sheathed his swords and took the steaming cup Petra handed him. A sip later, his expression softened, and for a moment, he looked like just another boy, warmed by the simple comfort of a hot meal. "Delicious," he murmured. "Petra, whoever marries you someday will be the luckiest man alive—getting to eat like this every day."
Petra's face flushed red. She shoved two fresh loaves of bread into his arms. "Eat more. And stop talking nonsense."
The others erupted at once. "Unfair!" Eld cried. Gunther nodded firmly, while Oluo sputtered indignantly. Even Ymir, smirking as always, jabbed at Petra with mock jealousy.
The laughter swelled, warm and alive, chasing away the darkness. For a little while, the war beyond the horizon felt distant. For a little while, they were simply comrades sharing a meal.
Lock let the corner of his mouth tilt upward. He wanted to remember this—the rare moments of light in a world so full of shadow.
At the command tent, the atmosphere was very different.
"There are still more than three hours until dawn," Erwin said, eyes narrowed over the map spread across the table. "At first light, we move into Stohess."
The officers around him nodded grimly. Erwin's voice carried no hesitation now. Whatever doubts had lingered in his heart about the King and the government were set aside. He had long despised the corruption festering at the core of humanity, but he could not yet strike against it. Not now.
First, the outside threat had to be dealt with. The Warriors from Marley had to be captured—or killed. Only then could he turn his gaze inward to the reforms he envisioned.
Even so, a part of him clung to the possibility that Ymir's warnings had been lies, that her knowledge of the King was meant to sow discord within the Walls. It was the faintest thread of doubt, but Erwin grasped it, if only to ease the burden of his choices.
"Captain," Hange spoke up hesitantly. "Why didn't you invite Lock to this briefing? With his experience, his… insight, I'd say he deserves to be here."
Several of the others glanced at Erwin in agreement. To them, Lock was more than just a soldier. He was sharp, unbound by tradition, loyal, and terrifyingly gifted. A young man who could be trusted in the field when everything else fell apart.
But Erwin only shook his head. "He's occupied with Ymir for now. And that is where I need him."
The words were blunt, but Erwin's expression carried something heavier.
He admired Lock's potential, his uncanny instincts, and the way his mind broke through walls of conventional thinking. Yet that same brilliance unsettled him. No boy of fourteen should think and act with such precision, such ruthlessness.
Erwin had even considered the possibility that Lock was not acting alone—that some hidden hand guided him. He had looked into Lock's past, traced it back to a doctor named Grisha Jaeger. But Grisha, as far as records showed, had lived quietly inside the Walls for years, healing the sick, raising no suspicion.
If there was a hidden puppet master, Erwin had found no evidence.
Which left him with only one conclusion: Lock's genius, his ambition, his darkness—they were his own.
And that frightened Erwin more than he cared to admit.
Could such a person ever be controlled? Or was he destined to outgrow even Erwin's command?
For now, Lock remained a soldier of the Scouts, loyal and steady. But Erwin knew: someday, the balance would tip.
And when it did, humanity itself might feel the weight.
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters Have Been Uploaded On My Patreon
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San