The air was filled with the piercing roar of ODM Gear jets, punctuated by shouts echoing off the ruined walls of Shiganshina.
"Watch the left flank!"
"Keep the formation tight!"
"A Titan is closing in from the right—move now!"
"Shoot its eyes! Don't give it a chance to stand!"
The battlefield below the wall was a storm of movement—smoke trails, metallic flashes, and cries that merged into one continuous rhythm of survival.
More sweat in training, less blood in battle.
The results of endless drills and grueling preparation were finally revealing themselves.
Lock stood atop the wall, arms folded, the wind catching his cloak as he watched the recruits and veterans fight below. The teams moved like extensions of each other—five to a unit, darting between rooftops and alleyways, slicing at Titan napes with precision that came only from repetition and discipline.
Their performance wasn't perfect, but it was good—better than Lock had dared to hope.
For months, he'd driven them mercilessly. Every drill had been designed to strip away fear and hesitation until only instinct remained. And now, as steam rose from fallen Titans and the morning sun broke through the haze, that instinct was all that kept them alive.
"Left formation, adjust your angle! Don't get greedy with your kills!" Lock's voice carried over the wall, sharp and commanding.
Below, Petra Rall and Gunther Schultz were already leading their units deeper into the district. The smell of burned flesh and compressed gas hung in the air.
Petra sliced through a Titan's tendons, flipped midair, and plunged her blades into the back of its neck. Steam erupted, engulfing her for a moment before she disengaged, her movement clean and effortless.
"They're excellent," she murmured through her gas mask, landing beside Lock a few minutes later. Her voice carried both pride and exhaustion. "All that training—it wasn't wasted."
Lock didn't turn. His amber eyes stayed on the chaos below. "With this kind of equipment and preparation, anything less would be unacceptable."
Petra frowned slightly. "You really don't hold back on them, do you?"
"No," Lock replied calmly. "Because the Titans won't either."
She fell silent. There was no arguing with that.
The recruits fighting below weren't ordinary soldiers—they were the result of his vision, his obsession. Each one had been trained to fight not just Titans, but fear itself. They came from the worst conditions imaginable—orphans, vagrants, survivors from the underground. They'd already faced humanity's cruelty long before ever facing a Titan.
That was what made them unbreakable.
At first, their strikes had been clumsy. Screams of panic cut through the air as Titans lunged and walls crumbled. But under the steady guidance of the veterans, something changed. The recruits began to breathe in rhythm with their movements—blades flashing in unison, anchor cables whistling, steam rising from clean, efficient kills.
Within half an hour, nearly half of the Titans that had been wandering near the wall were dead or dying.
The battle was turning.
Petra exhaled, lowering her blades. "They're better than I expected. Maybe you were right to be so hard on them."
Lock's expression didn't change. "Maybe."
But Petra knew what he was thinking. His mind wasn't on today's battle—it was already elsewhere. Beyond the walls. Beyond the smoke.
She glanced sideways at him. "You're still thinking about Marley, aren't you?"
Lock's jaw tightened. "Always."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Only the rhythmic hiss of ODM gas filled the silence.
Finally, Petra broke it. "Marley's technology is still decades ahead of ours. Their military strength, their weapons… even their use of the Titans—they're beyond anything we have here." She hesitated. "If they ever stop fighting their other wars and turn their attention fully toward us—"
"Then Paradis will fall," Lock finished for her, his tone flat. "Yes. I know."
He closed his eyes briefly, the image of Marley's airships and artillery flashing through his mind. He'd seen those memories—through the fragments passed down, through whispers of those who knew what existed beyond the sea.
And yet, fear wasn't what filled him. It was determination.
"We still have time," he said finally. "As long as the power of the Founding Titan remains on this island, Marley won't risk a full-scale invasion. They're afraid of what it can do—even though they don't fully understand it."
Petra nodded. "But that power is still in the hands of the royal family. And you know how cowardly they are. If they're pushed to the edge, they might hide instead of fight."
"That's why we can't rely on them," Lock said coldly. "We need to take control of that power ourselves—someone with royal blood who's willing to act."
Petra studied him carefully. "You've already started something, haven't you?"
That caught him off guard. His gaze flicked to her, sharp. "What makes you say that?"
She smiled faintly. "Call it instinct."
"Women's intuition?" he said dryly.
"Exactly. And this time, I'm certain."
Lock didn't respond. He turned his attention back to the city, to the chaos still unfolding below. But Petra's words lingered.
He thought of Grisha Yeager, already moving through the interior, carrying out the plan they'd discussed. One list—just a list of names. Officials. Nobles. Obstacles. Nothing that could be traced back to Lock directly. But the effect, if successful, would shake the walls to their foundations.
Petra's voice brought him back. "You really think it'll work? Taking the Founding Titan for ourselves?"
"It has to," Lock replied quietly. "If we wait for the world to show mercy, we'll die waiting."
Below them, the battle was finally winding down. Steam rolled across the district like fog. Of the dozens of Titans that had roamed near the walls, only a handful remained.
Lock raised his hand. "Signal retreat!"
Gunther fired a flare, and the soldiers began to pull back toward the wall, their ODM cables hissing as they disengaged.
By the time the last team returned, the field was littered with steaming carcasses and shattered masonry. The smell of burned flesh and metal filled the air.
Petra landed beside him again, wiping sweat from her brow. "Casualties?"
"Seventeen dead," she said softly. "Nine wounded, mostly minor. For a first large-scale engagement… it could've been worse."
Lock nodded. "Gather the team leaders. I want detailed reports—equipment performance, gas consumption, blade durability, and formation success rates. Everything."
Petra raised an eyebrow. "You really can't relax for a second, can you?"
He almost smiled. "Relaxation gets people killed."
As she left to carry out his orders, Lock walked to the edge of the wall and looked down once more. The rising sun caught on the pools of steam, painting the ruined streets in gold and silver light.
This was their first test—and they'd passed. Barely.
Still, it wasn't enough.
He could already sense it—the coming storm. Marley's war machines, their airships, their soldiers trained since childhood. Titans controlled by people who saw Paradis as nothing more than devils to be exterminated.
If Paradis were to survive, they would need more than courage. They'd need strategy, unity, and power—power that could stand against the world.
Lock's gaze shifted to the far end of the district, where a lone Titan stood motionless amid the ruins. It was larger than the rest, with an unsettling grin frozen across its face.
Its eyes seemed to follow him.
Lock's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade. For a moment, the world was still—just the wind, the sunlight, and that silent, monstrous smile.
Then he exhaled slowly, lowering his arm.
"Good," he muttered. "You haven't left yet."
He turned away from the wall, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked toward the command platform. "I'll deal with you soon enough."
Behind him, the recruits cheered, celebrating their victory. For them, it was a triumph—a hard-fought first success.
For Lock, it was only the beginning.
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