The attack came without warning.
A deep, guttural roar tore through the air—so sudden and violent that Oluo, Eld, and Gunther froze mid-motion. Before any of them could react, the sound had already drawn a swarm of Titans from every corner of the village.
In an instant, they understood how dire their position was. The windmill—barely five meters tall—offered no cover worth mentioning. It boxed them in, limited their mobility, and, worst of all, turned them into a shining beacon for every Titan within earshot.
There was no time for hesitation.
Only survival.
Blades drawn, the three soldiers steeled themselves. If they didn't fight, they'd die. Their only hope was that Lock would return before they were overrun.
They didn't have to wait long.
Psshhht!
Compressed gas hissed. Cables snapped through the air. A figure shot into the fray like a streak of silver—Lock. His maneuvering gear roared, propelling him with inhuman speed as his twin blades flashed in the fading light. Each motion was precise and devastating. One after another, Titan napes burst open in clouds of white steam.
"Lock!" Oluo shouted, his voice lost in the thunder of combat.
Bodies fell fast, but the horde was endless. The narrow space around the windmill worked against them—too confined for wide sweeps, too many blind spots. Titans pressed from all directions, their sheer numbers threatening to smother the four of them completely.
Lock cut down another, blood and steam spattering his cloak. Before he could reposition, a massive hand lunged from his blind spot, clamping around his right ankle.
For the first time that day, Lock felt the cold shadow of death.
"Oluo!" Eld roared. "Behind him!"
"Lock!" Gunther's voice cracked with panic.
Gritting his teeth, Lock swung both blades downward in one brutal motion. Steel tore through flesh and bone, severing the Titan's thick fingers. The grip loosened instantly. Without pause, Lock fired a hook into the windmill's roof and triggered his gear. Gas screamed, wrenching his body upward and free of the Titan's grasp.
"Haa—"
He landed on the roof, chest heaving. Relief came sharp and brief. Below him, the Titans surged again, their vacant eyes locked onto him with mindless hunger.
No room for recklessness. No heroics.
Lock adjusted his approach.
He darted around the structure in controlled sweeps, circling the windmill with surgical precision. From above, he struck downward, blades flashing in rapid arcs, severing necks one by one. Every kill thinned the encirclement.
Eld caught on immediately. "He's clearing the ring—push inward!"
The others moved in perfect sync. Oluo, Gunther, and Eld struck the Titans closest to them, forcing open a path toward Lock's line of attack. Hard-won trust guided their movements. Every strike, every dodge, felt practiced—a rhythm forged in countless battles.
Together, the four carved their way through the mob. Steam and blood filled the air, the stench almost unbearable. Finally, they reached their horses, mounted, and rode hard—breaking free of the ruined village as the last Titan fell.
Behind them, over twenty corpses hissed into vapor, the remnants of the slaughter vanishing into the sky.
"Haa… haa…"
Even Lock, with his inhuman stamina, felt exhaustion clawing at him. His arms burned, his ankle screamed, and his grip on his blades slipped from sweat and blood. Still, a flicker of gratitude passed through his eyes. The upgraded weapons had held. Without them, the steel would've shattered long ago.
If Lock was tired, the others were on the verge of collapse. Eld's posture sagged, Gunther's breathing rasped, and Oluo barely managed to stay upright in his saddle. Their cloaks were soaked through with blood—some their own, most Titan. Every motion betrayed pain.
Half an hour of hard riding brought them clear of the Titan zone, but safety was an illusion. For the first time, Lock truly felt the edge of mortality—how close death had brushed him. He flexed his injured ankle; pain lanced up his leg, sharp and immediate.
One glance at the others told him they were just as battered. Each bore wounds, some shallow, others deep. Oluo's was the worst—a ragged gash tearing through his thigh, blood soaking his uniform. His face had gone ghost-pale.
Lock made the call. "We stop. Find shelter."
No one argued. Karanis was far behind them; returning before nightfall was impossible. And pushing on through Titan territory, half-dead and low on fuel, was suicide. Rest wasn't a choice. It was survival.
They found an abandoned watchtower—a crumbling garrison outpost of stone and rust. Its walls still stood, though scarred by time. Compared to the fragile windmill, it was a fortress.
They staggered inside, sealing the entrance with debris before finally letting themselves breathe.
Oluo collapsed almost immediately, consciousness slipping away. Eld and Gunther, pale and trembling, barely remained upright.
Lock alone kept moving. He knelt beside Oluo, opening a field pack for bandages. Eld steadied the wounded man's leg while Lock pressed cloth into the bleeding wound and wrapped it tight, his movements steady despite the fatigue.
By the time they finished, the hiss of spent gas was the only sound. Their canisters were empty. Outside the Walls, injured, exhausted, and with no fuel left for their gear, their reality was clear.
Still, none of them had died.
For that, Lock allowed himself a quiet moment of relief.
Inside the watchtower, silence pressed heavily. The kind of silence that amplifies every heartbeat. Lock sank against the wall, lifting his leg to examine the swelling. Pain throbbed sharply through the joint.
"Sprain," he muttered to himself, recalling field medicine. "No fracture."
He exhaled, a slow release of tension. A broken bone out here would have been a death sentence.
Eld rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. "Got slammed into a wall dodging one of those bastards. Hurts like hell, but I'll live."
Gunther flexed his wrist with a wince. "Sprained mine too. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but nothing fatal."
Lock nodded once. "Good." Then, after a moment's pause, he asked, "That roar earlier—did any of you see what caused it?"
Eld shook his head. "No. Just heard it. Then every Titan turned and rushed us like they were being called."
Gunther swallowed hard. "It wasn't natural, Captain. That sound—it pulled them. Like something was controlling them."
Lock's gaze darkened. A name surfaced in his mind.
Annie.
His jaw tightened. If it was her, why hadn't she revealed herself? Why only the roar? Was she watching? Hesitating?
Uncertainty gnawed at him. Annie Leonhart—her loyalties were still a mystery. She could already be with Reiner and Bertolt… or she could still be wavering. Either way, the danger she posed was absolute.
He looked around at his squad—wounded, drained, stranded. With no gas left, their greatest weapon was useless.
Responsibility pressed on him like a weight.
We survived this time. But the next…?
He forced the thought down. Despair had no place here. They would recover, endure, and fight again.
Outside, the sky darkened. The land beyond the Wall, Maria sank into silence once more. But somewhere in that silence, unseen eyes still watched.
---
A/N: Advanced Chapters have been uploaded to my Patreon.
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