"Ah, you've taken it too seriously, Roger. Things aren't that grave."
Keith wasn't willing to ruin relations with him. Even if Roger truly was from outside the Walls, Keith wanted him as an ally. And if he wasn't, then with talent like his, bringing him into the Survey Corps would only strengthen them for future expeditions.
Erwin didn't want to let the matter drop, but he knew dragging this on would get him nowhere. With Commander Keith present, he couldn't resort to harsher methods to push Roger into revealing something.
Erwin's plan had been simple—provoke Roger, push him until he snapped, until he exposed himself. That was why he had insisted on locking Roger in the basement.
The truth about the Titans had long haunted Erwin. His strongest theory was that the world was a lie, that those in power inside the Walls were hiding everything. Titans were humans, and the truth had been buried for the sake of their control.
But it was still only a theory.
If Roger could be cornered into revealing even a shred of it, Erwin was prepared to risk death here in this basement—Keith, Hange, himself, all of them.
But Keith was the obstacle.
There was no way to convince him with conjecture alone. And Erwin knew him too well.
"I'm sorry. I was too suspicious."
For the greater good, Erwin yielded gracefully. He stood, bowed deeply to Roger, offering apology.
Keith nodded in approval. To him, it was proof Erwin understood him, shared his thinking.
Hange, though puzzled, sighed and played along. She stepped forward, untying Roger's wrists and ankles, brushing dust from his shoulder.
"See, Erwin? I told you. Your theories are too far-fetched. Impossible to be true."
Roger remained expressionless.
He understood Erwin's game. He was clever enough to recognize retreat when pressed was often a step forward.
And Keith clearly wasn't aligned with Erwin completely. If he were, he wouldn't have spoken up for Roger even after he'd been bound.
From now on, they would watch him—his movements, habits, every detail of his life.
Things would not be easy.
He stood, rubbing at his eyes, ready to leave.
Then Keith's voice stopped him.
"Roger, do you hate the Titans?"
Roger looked back. "I wouldn't say hate. But I don't want them threatening my life. So if they come near me, I'll clear them out."
Keith was disappointed.
"You're not afraid of them?"
"I have nothing left to lose. Not even my past. With nothing to lose, what's there to fear?"
Keith fell silent, but he respected the answer.
In the Survey Corps, the fiercest, most reckless fighters had always been those with no ties, no families. They didn't fear death. They fought like men who had nothing.
If Roger had no memory, then his ferocity against Titans suddenly made sense.
A man without fear wielded terrible strength.
Keith knew this truth well. Still, Roger's lack of hatred, his talk of simple self-preservation—those were words of the Garrison soldiers, not of the Survey Corps.
Would the Corps hold any appeal to him at all?
"…Very well."
Keith ended it there, telling Hange to escort Roger back to rest.
Then, taking Erwin upstairs, he decided he couldn't waste more time.
The expedition had cost too many lives. If they couldn't recover the two missing squads in two days, they would have to return to the Walls. Without supplies, they'd starve.
But as he reached the surface, he was met with news.
Cecil's squad had returned—with horses.
"Excellent!"
Keith's brow eased. If both missing squads came back, the damage wouldn't be so dire.
But as he approached, he saw Cecil and his men—faces yellowed, gaunt, broken.
The horses weren't Hall's or Adams's. They were Adams's squad's… but riderless.
Bundles hung from their saddles. At first Keith thought it was food salvaged. But no—the wrappings were green.
A chill spread among the soldiers.
Roger came up from below, confused by the crowd.
"Commander! Adams's squad—six men, Adams Fergoto, Euphemia Hill, Terry Arnold, Felton Leslie, Arthur Williams, and Cromwell Turner—were found yesterday in a ravine. Devoured. All of them. In addition…" The man's voice trembled. "Cecil's squad—three dead. Powell Murphy, Trollope Percy, and Vice Captain Keats Cook. Their remains… are on the last two horses. Commander, I—"
Keith listened, every word striking like thunder, freezing him in place. His knees almost buckled, saved only by comrades grabbing his arms.
How can I go back?
So many dead… What face can I show them?
Against the Titans, we gained… nothing!
"Commander!"
"Stay with us, Commander!"
"Keith!"
Their voices buzzed in his ears like insects. His breath came ragged, his body felt shattered.
"Enough. We march back tonight." His voice broke with despair. "Erwin—Erwin!!"
"I'm here, Commander!"
"You're stronger than me. If not for your scouting formation, we'd have lost countless more. Listen—after today, the Survey Corps is yours."
"Commander…"
"From now on, you are the 13th Commander of the Survey Corps. Gather everyone. We're going home!"
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