Fortunately, the watchtower had once belonged to the Garrison Regiment. Its lower level still held an old armory—dusty, but intact. After some searching, Lock unearthed spare gas canisters, maintenance tools, and replacement parts for their ODM gear. With that discovery, one of their most critical problems was solved.
But two remained: how to return safely to the Walls… and when Oluo would wake up.
Night fell soon after. The air grew colder, the fire's orange glow flickering across the cracked stone walls. Outside, the wilderness of Wall Maria stretched silent and still, save for the faint creak of wood and the distant, eerie groans of wandering Titans.
Lock sat near the fire, its warmth brushing his face as he spoke in a low, steady voice.
"After dinner, you two rest first. I'll keep watch."
His tone left no room for argument.
Eld and Gunther exchanged glances. They both knew Lock was just as exhausted as they were—perhaps more so—but neither protested. The gratitude in their eyes spoke louder than words.
They'd fought beside him long enough to know what kind of man he was.
Lock wasn't leading them because of rank. He led because he carried their lives as if they were his own. That sense of responsibility—unshakable and quiet—was what made him their true captain.
How laughable it seemed now, remembering those who had sneered at his promotion. Those men could never understand. Only those who had faced death beside Lock knew the truth: his strength wasn't just in skill, but in resolve.
So they obeyed. After cleaning their gear and finishing the meager rations, Eld and Gunther lay down by the wall, sleep taking them quickly.
Lock stayed by the fire, methodically polishing his blades, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the window.
The campfire crackled softly. Beside it, Oluo lay still, his breathing faint but steady. Lock adjusted the blanket over him, keeping the fire bright enough to ward off the chill. A fever here would kill faster than any Titan.
"I hope you don't do anything foolish…" he muttered, fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword.
His eyes never left the dark. He had trained too long under the moonlight to fear the night. In darkness, his senses sharpened. His mind steadied.
If Reiner or the others appeared now, he was certain—he could strike them unseen.
And if he fell… Eld, Gunther, or even Oluo could inherit what he carried. The thought, grim as it was, brought him calm. The line would continue.
Hours passed. The fire burned low. Outside, the plains were swallowed by mist and shadow. Lock's gaze stayed steady until the first pale light of dawn crept across the horizon.
The gray morning revealed empty fields, scattered Titans wandering in the distance—but no enemy warriors. For now, the night had passed without blood.
Lock moved quietly downstairs to tend the horses, feeding them from a dusty bundle of hay left in storage. Each motion was deliberate, careful.
He waited. Especially for Oluo.
Without a cart, they would have to strap him to a saddle if he couldn't ride on his own. That would slow them down and increase their danger tenfold.
He only hoped the man would wake soon.
Far to the east, at the broken edge of Wall Maria, three figures stood among the ruins.
Annie Leonhart. Reiner Braun. Bertholdt Hoover.
Reunited at last.
"You're late," Reiner said, his voice hard, the faint trace of command in his tone.
Annie's cold eyes met his. "You're one to talk," she replied, pointing toward the Titan-infested village below. Her voice carried a sharp edge. "Did you do that?"
Reiner's gaze didn't waver. "Don't forget who you are, Annie."
Bertolt shifted uneasily, his tall frame tense. "We had no choice," he said quietly. "We needed a distraction—to draw attention away and slip inside the Walls. It was the only way to complete the mission. Only then… can we go home."
"Home."
Annie gave a small, bitter laugh. "Such a beautiful word." Her voice dripped with something between mockery and grief.
Reiner's expression darkened. "Your thoughts are dangerous."
"So what?" she shot back, turning away. Her eyes fixed on the distant village—the same one Lock and his team had barely escaped the day before.
She remembered watching from the trees, silent, unseen.
She'd seen them fight. She'd seen them bleed.
And she'd hesitated.
If she'd acted then, they would all be dead.
She told herself it was a strategy. She told herself it wasn't weakness.
But the truth lingered—something inside her refused.
"Those brats… still alive, huh?" she muttered under her breath, her tone half sneer, half self-contempt. "Next time, I won't be so merciful."
Reiner and Bertolt exchanged a silent look. Annie's moods were a riddle they could never solve—but they trusted her. She would do what was required. She always did.
Still, a shadow passed between them.
A quiet unease neither dared to voice.
Back at the watchtower, the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. Lock and the others had just finished breakfast when a groan echoed from the corner.
Oluo stirred.
"You bastards…" His voice cracked with irritation. "Eating without me? Trying to starve me to death?!"
Lock blinked—and then, for the first time in days, laughed. "Still got that foul mouth? Good. Means you're not dying yet. Think you can ride?"
"Of course," Oluo snapped. He tried to stand—and winced immediately, nearly collapsing as pain flared through his thigh.
Eld and Gunther exchanged grins.
"Sit down before you embarrass yourself," Eld said, handing him a bowl of steaming porridge.
"Eat first," Gunther added. "You'll have plenty of chances to complain later."
"Don't underestimate me, idiots!" Oluo barked—but he still took the bowl, leaning against the wall with a smirk. His bravado couldn't hide the relief in his eyes as he dug in, savoring each mouthful.
The simple act of eating—warm food, shared laughter—restored something none of them realized they'd lost: the will to keep going.
After breakfast, they repacked their gear, filled their gas tanks, and prepared to move. Oluo could ride, barely, and that was enough.
They set out cautiously, moving more slowly than usual to match his pace. The journey was tense, every shadow suspicious, every sound amplified. But luck—rare as it was—favored them. Titans were sparse along the route, and those that appeared were swiftly dispatched.
By midday, the cracked rooftops of Karanis District appeared in the distance. The Wall wasn't far now.
Then, from behind a ruined barn, a lone three-meter Titan stumbled into view.
Lock's hand went to his blade immediately—but then he remembered.
A promise.
He glanced toward Eld. "Draw it here," he said calmly.
Eld hesitated only a moment, then nodded, understanding what Lock intended.
Hange had asked for a live specimen.
And Lock intended to keep his word.
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