Three days passed in quiet tension along the desolate southern shoreline of Paradis Island. The wind carried the sharp scent of salt across the rocks and dunes as Lock, Erwin, and Petra remained hidden among the cliffs overlooking the coast. Each night had grown heavier with unease, each hour thick with the weight of unanswered uncertainty.
For Lock and Erwin—two of the most influential figures in the newly reshaped order behind the Walls—time was a luxury they could not afford to waste.
Even after purging much of the old royal loyalists lurking within the Interior, no one believed the threat had been entirely extinguished. There were undoubtedly survivors, informants, and opportunists waiting for their chance to undermine the fragile new regime. Wall Sina was still crawling with privileged officers resistant to change. The Garrison Corps was in the middle of restructuring. The Military Police had barely stabilized.
And now, both leaders had voluntarily left the center of power.
It was an unavoidable risk—but a risk nonetheless.
Lock's fingers tapped the hilt of his blade as he stared at the sea. "We can't stay away for too long," he murmured.
Erwin agreed silently. Even without words, Lock could feel the weight of the commander's thoughts.
Despite the sweeping reforms, despite the victories against Marley's infiltrators, Paradis Island was still a nation half-formed—its roots strong, but its soil unstable. They had taken the throne, but had not yet solidified the foundations beneath it.
If something happened while they were gone…
The damage could be irreversible.
Petra sensed the tension as well, though she said nothing. She kept her hand hovering near her blade handle, scanning the distant shoreline every few seconds.
The fourth day was about to begin when Petra suddenly straightened.
"Look! Over there!"
Lock and Erwin followed her gaze. Far in the distance, just past the shallow waves, a small boat drifted toward shore. It moved slowly but deliberately, riding the current along the southwestern coastline—the location Zeke had promised.
Lock's voice lowered, calm but sharp. "Don't reveal yourselves yet. Observe."
Petra and Erwin both nodded.
The three of them sank lower behind the stone ridge, eyes locked on the approaching vessel. As it neared the shore, five figures disembarked—cautious, scanning their surroundings carefully.
"They're searching for someone," Petra whispered.
Erwin observed their formation, posture, and equipment with a commander's eye. "No ambush nearby… at least none visible."
"It looks clean," Lock agreed softly. "But we won't assume anything."
He turned to Petra. "Stay here. This is not negotiable."
Petra inhaled sharply, ready to protest—but the look in Lock's eyes made her stop. He wasn't speaking as her superior or partner in battle. He was speaking as someone who refused to risk her life unnecessarily.
"…I understand," she said quietly. "If anything happens, I'll transform immediately."
Erwin gave her a brief nod—part approval, part acknowledgment of a hidden truth: Petra was also a Titan shifter. Lock's decision to bring her instead of Levi was now logical rather than personal.
"We should move," Lock said. "Before they decide we're not coming."
Erwin sliced his pal, and lightning flashed. The Cart Titan rose to its place, lowering its body so Lock could climb onto its back. Once mounted, Erwin sprinted across the sand, carrying Lock toward the five strangers.
Behind them, Petra clutched the handle of her blade and whispered a small prayer—for Lock, for Erwin, for the fragile future they were gambling with today.
The strangers approached cautiously when Erwin stopped several dozen meters away, steam rising from his de-transformation. Sand hissed beneath Lock's boots as he stepped forward alone, placing himself clearly in their line of sight.
Their eyes widened—not at the Cart Titan, but at Lock himself.
He didn't blame them. Zeke had surely told them more than enough.
Lock raised his voice. "I am Lock, Commander of the Survey Corps of Paradis Island. This is Erwin Smith, Commander of the Military Police and acting head of the Garrison Corps."
The tall, short-haired woman leading the foreign group stepped ahead of her companions. She stood straight, posture crisp and professional—military through and through.
"I'm Yelena," she said. "Major of the Marleyan Army… at least in title. These are my comrades."
Her introduction confirmed what Zeke had already hinted at: these were Volunteers—Marleyan soldiers who were not loyal to Marley at all. One by one, she listed their names and roles. Lock watched them carefully, memorizing every face, posture, and tone.
When the introductions finished, Lock didn't waste a second.
"Zeke told you our intentions. So I'll ask directly—what is your perspective on cooperation?"
Yelena's friendly expression vanished. Steel replaced it.
"We can provide technological assistance," she said. "But we won't give anything for free."
She took a step closer—wariness sharp, eyes narrowed with scrutiny.
"What I want to know," she continued, "is what Paradis Island can offer us in return."
Lock didn't blink.
"A chance for revenge."
Those four words cut through the air like drawn steel.
The Volunteers exchanged glances. Yelena folded her arms.
"Against Marley?" she asked. "Paradis Island alone intends to defeat the empire that crushed every nation standing here?"
Lock's expression didn't waver. "Yes."
A dark-skinned man behind Yelena scoffed. "Do you even know how many troops Marley has? Their fleets? Their weaponry?"
Lock exhaled slowly.
"I know," he said. "We are inferior in numbers. Inferior in equipment. Inferior in technology."
He lifted his chin slightly.
"But we possess something Marley will never have."
Yelena frowned. "…And what is that?"
"The Founding Titan," Lock said calmly. "And tens of thousands of Titans across the island—each one capable of becoming a weapon. Soldiers who do not tire or retreat. Soldiers who crush armies by their very existence."
The Volunteers fell silent.
Lock continued.
"With those forces, we can stand against Marley. With your technology, we can surpass them."
His eyes were cold, unwavering. "If revenge is what you want—there is no alliance more valuable than this one."
Yelena stared at him for several seconds, shock flickering behind her usually impassive expression. She had expected fear or foolish bravado.
But Lock's confidence was different.
Calculated. Controlled. Absolute.
The kind of confidence that only came from someone who had already chosen to reshape the future by force.
At last, Yelena's lips curled into a slow smile.
"…Then perhaps," she said quietly, "we truly have something to discuss."
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