Roger didn't even know why the first weapon he forged with the War Hammer's power was a scythe.
He only remembered reading in a book that death reapers used scythes to harvest souls; thus the scythe symbolized death and plunder.
From then on, Roger had grown fond of the word "plunder." Thieves wore it often, but to Roger it meant "taking at will," a word that carried power.
He didn't seek absolute dominion over his enemies. Plunder meant the plundered would suffer, while he—the taker—would taste the joy of seizing.
Like certain ancient sea peoples who had too little land to farm. Necessity drove them to raid each day; they changed their banners to a golden sea monster on black and their creed to "take by force rather than toil."
The scythe flashed, its shadows carving crossing arcs. Roger, guiding the Jaw Titan, planted a foot on the Colossal Titan's shoulder and tried to slice its head clean off.
Bertolt's eyes went wide; cold sweat beaded down his brow.
He knew he wasn't Roger's match. If the transformation blast hadn't vaporized Roger, then what followed would be simple—Roger's War Hammer power crushing him.
A Titan that could forge and wield weapons was a walking cataclysm for unarmed Titans.
Beyond sheer size, Bertolt was at a total disadvantage.
Now Roger's long-handled scythe swung like the reaper's claim on a soul—about to sever the Colossal Titan's neck—
"No helping it…"
Bertolt sighed, then forced his flesh to vaporize.
The Colossal Titan threw its head back; scalding steam roared from every inch of it to drive Roger off.
But Roger didn't retreat.
At the very instant the Colossal began to vent, Roger had the Jaw Titan clamp bone between its teeth and used its talons to pin himself to the Colossal's frame.
"Stubborn!"
Bertolt snarled. Roger clung to him like tar you couldn't scrape off.
Without hesitation, Bertolt ramped the steam higher, nearly dissolving the muscles entirely—hot enough to roast the Jaw Titan where it clung.
On the Wall, people shuffled back several steps. Even at hundreds, thousands of meters, they could feel that heat.
"Too hot!"
"Am I going to melt?!"
"Sasha! Careful! Don't go near it!"
"But the potato… it's done," Sasha said solemnly, swallowing.
"Huh?" Connie gaped at the death-defying "potato girl" munching away—and generously handing him half.
This girl… does she not read the room?! Connie thought, speechless. Things couldn't be more dire!
Jaw clenched on Titan bone, Roger started his counter.
He willed it—and in an instant the scythe's long haft stretched, thinned, and softened into a cord, turning it into a chain-scythe.
He spun it. Muscles gathered. The Jaw Titan whipped the chain-scythe and hooked it into the Colossal Titan's ribs, wedging it tight, then used it to haul himself upward like a climber.
Bertolt floundered, watching Roger draw nearer—close enough to take his life.
"Damn it!" Bertolt cursed. "What will make you give up, Roger?!"
He snapped the Colossal's neck, abandoned the head, and let that massive skull plunge—straight at the ascending Roger.
"ROAR!!!"
The scream hurled a gale before it—the Colossal's head, jaws yawning, hurtled toward Roger like a mad beast.
Too broad to dodge. Roger leveled the scythe and chose to meet it head-on.
At that moment, the black markings moved without warning, without hesitation—coiling up Roger's arms, twining to his wrists.
One strand slithered to his ear and rasped:
[That's not how you use a scythe.]
[Watch.]
On the final word, Roger's eyes went blood-red.
With his leave, the markings coursed down through his wrists into the War Hammer-forged blade, armoring it—sharper, finer—the blade and butt-fluke licked by dark-red fire, thrumming with power.
The Colossal's skull plunged. Roger drew the scythe across and bloomed a scythe flourish—then cut.
—Shhhhk!!!
A stroke packed with force.
A scarlet arc burned through the air.
The Colossal Titan's charging head cleaved in two.
Boom—
Bone and flesh burst.
Blood fountained for Roger's face—then the Jaw Titan loosed a roar.
At the same time, Roger barked:
"Out of my way!"
Killing intent surged; the Jaw Titan's face twisted in fury.
He wheeled the scythe in a full circle. In an instant, the spray of blood and meat was swept aside—not a fleck touched Roger.
Bertolt stared, stunned.
He had already crawled from the spent Titan and stood upon it.
The Colossal's head had neither killed Roger nor even scratched him; expected, yet impossible.
None of it made sense.
And yet, here it was.
"Is Roger unkillable?" Standing atop the Colossal Titan's corpse, he looked toward the sunset.
The duel had raged all day. Roger had fought the hundred-meter class, devoured the War Hammer, and now endured the Colossal's blast.
It was unreal. If Roger were a normal human, he would have dropped dead from exhaustion long ago.
Instead, he'd split the Colossal's last strike with a single cut.
A cold evening wind skimmed Bertolt's body. He watched the western glow—toward home.
The Colossal Titan's body had nearly rotted away. Roger climbed again.
"You win, madman."
Looking down at Roger below, Bertolt's eyes welled with despair. He drew a knife from his breast.
The knife he'd brought from Marley.
The knife from home.
The knife burdened with the joy of setting out.
He set the point to his temple—
And drove it in.
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