No.
This ability that seemed extremely powerful was in fact bound by many restrictions and rules.
Rule 1:
You can only be killed once by the same existence. If the same person kills you a second time, you will not revive.
In other words, if that same soldier shot Lillian in the head again, he would be dead for real.
Rule 2:
The so-called "existence within another's memory" must be a deep memory. That is to say, the person must remember both your face and your name. Missing either one is insufficient.
Rule 3:
After resurrection, you gain one-third of the physical attributes of the person who killed you.
Among the three rules, only this one benefited Lillian.
And he could clearly feel it now—his physical strength had increased. For a thirteen-year-old body, gaining one-third of an adult man's physical power was no small boost.
Lillian thought that if this rule were used well, he could grow stronger very quickly.
But because of Rule 1, it also carried enormous risk.
For example:
If a powerful individual killed you, and that person didn't leave the one-kilometer radius—then thirty minutes later, when you randomly revived nearby or right in front of them, wouldn't they just kill you again and end everything?
So intentionally getting yourself killed was not something you could casually do.
That said… Lillian did kind of want to be killed once by that "goddess."
If he could gain one-third of her power, then he'd probably become a god himself.
Of course, that was just wishful thinking.
In short, this power was the key to his survival. To be honest, it wasn't all that strong. It would've been better to just give him some real protective power—magic, combat talent, anything.
After all…what if no one remembered him anymore?
The reason he had slapped that boy before being killed was precisely to make a deep impression—to ensure the boy would remember him, so that he could revive.
He did feel a bit apologetic toward that kid. After all, the boy had just been holding a newspaper, humming along, when he suddenly got slapped for no reason at all. Truly undeserved misfortune.
But Lillian doubted he'd ever get the chance to say "sorry."
And without a doubt, after a few days, that boy would forget him anyway.
So he had to make sure that someone always remembered him.
And under those circumstances, the most suitable path was naturally—to debut as an idol!
…Ptuh.
You think this is some romantic lighthearted comedy world or something?
"...The fuck? Why did just spit near me all of the sudden?" A man complained seeing Lillian's spit almost hitting him. But Lillian, deep in his thoughts ignored him.
Indeed, becoming famous is a decent option—but becoming famous in the world of Attack on Titan is nowhere near that easy.
In any case, the most urgent matter right now was finding a way to get to the island.
Yes—Lillian was determined to go to the island.
Because compared to the island, although Marley didn't have Titans, it was far more dangerous! Humans were far more dangerous than Titans ever were!
Besides, he knew parts of the island's storyline. With that knowledge, surviving wouldn't be difficult at all. Unlike here, in the internment camp, where at any moment some Marleyan officer might drag you out and shoot you dead—and the reason might be as simple as: practicing marksmanship.
"Dinner's here!"
At that moment, the door was opened from outside.
A Marleyan soldier walked in, carrying a round wooden barrel. He dropped it onto the ground with a heavy thud, then leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, staring inside with a face full of contempt.
The Eldians inside, who had been dozing moments before, instantly snapped awake. They all rushed forward to fight for the food. Lillian was no exception.
Naturally, he didn't want to scramble like a dog for scraps—but if he didn't eat, he'd starve to death. And he had no intention of starving to death.
"Get the hell out of my way!"
"Damn it!"
"Leave some for me—"
"Mmph! Mmphmm!"
More than twenty people fighting over a single barrel—some were bound to get nothing. People were constantly dragged down by others, legs grabbed, fists and feet flying as the struggle turned into a full-blown brawl.
Lillian knew that with his small frame, trying to fight directly over the barrel was pointless. Not only would he fail to get food, he might also get stabbed in the back—or worse. He couldn't afford that.
So instead, he lurked on the edge. Whenever food was accidentally knocked onto the ground during the chaos, he would dart forward, snatch it up, and stuff it straight into his mouth.
In an instant, a dry, bitter, sour taste spread throughout his mouth—like bread that had gone bad months ago. He had prepared himself for something awful, but even so, it was far worse than he'd imagined. He almost vomited.
"Mmph… gulp!"
To preserve his strength, he forcibly suppressed the urge to retch. To spare his taste buds, he didn't even chew—just swallowed it whole.
When he looked again, the barrel was already completely empty.
Some had eaten. Some hadn't.
Those who had eaten weren't happy. Those who hadn't clutched their empty stomachs, cursing under their breath, knowing they could only wait for the next meal.
"So damn disgusting."
The Marleyan soldier coldly watched the scramble from beginning to end, spat on the ground, then picked up the now-empty barrel and turned to leave. The door slammed shut with a loud bang, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock.
The people inside retreated back into the corners and resumed their half-conscious dozing.
Lillian looked at them and knew—this group was fucked.
There was no longing for freedom left in their eyes. They were nothing but walking corpses, living on borrowed time, destined to die miserably someday under Marleyan bullets or beatings.
Lillian didn't want that fate.
He had to find a way to escape—quickly.
Sniff… sniff…
A suppressed sob suddenly sounded beside him.
Lillian turned his head. It was the middle-aged man who had warned him earlier.
The man looked to be in his thirties, but his eyes were already cloudy, his face deeply lined with wrinkles. At a glance, he looked like someone already at death's door. One could only imagine the abuse he had endured.
Lillian searched his memory—this body's memories—and recalled the man's name.
"Uncle Martin… why are you crying?"
The man named Martin looked at him, his rough hands covering his face as he choked back tears.
"The day after tomorrow… I'll be put on the ship. They're… they're sending me to that 'Paradise'… I don't want to die. I don't want to die…"
Paradise?
Lillian's heart jolted.
That had to be Paradis Island, where the protagonists were!
A ship was leaving the day after tomorrow?!
"I want to live… I don't know how my daughter and my wife are doing. I just want to see them one more time… sob…"
Martin continued crying.
But Lillian's mind was already racing.
An opportunity.
Indeed, Eldians locked in the internment camps were usually criminals—or people suspected of being connected to the "Eldian Restorationists," labeled as rebels. Naturally, their lives were utterly miserable, with no human rights whatsoever.
But there was another group of Eldians.
Those who served in the military, or made major contributions to Marley, could become "Honorary Marleyans," living relatively normal lives. Of course, that "normal" life only meant not being locked in a camp—they were still closely monitored by the Marleyan government.
As for the Eldians inside the camps—
Every so often, some were selected and sent to the island, injected with Titan spinal fluid, and transformed into Titans, forced to slaughter their own kind on the island.
According to what Martin said, the next transport to the island was the day after tomorrow—and he was one of those chosen.
The chance has arrived…
Lillian clenched his fists, his eyes sharpening.
He had to get on that ship.
No matter what.