Confused and bewildered, the projection of Eren he saw through the connection of the Paths within the coordinate space slowly faded away, its destination unknown.
Grisha stared blankly into the distance until a few people walked over and tugged at his sleeve.
"Refugees, rescue, labor, home, food."
A few short words spilled from the mouths of the SPW Foundation staff, subconsciously mixed with a few sentences in their mother tongue. Accompanied by their hand gestures, Grisha understood what they meant.
They were rescuing refugees. Those who entered Wall Maria from the outer district could obtain housing and food through labor.
*'Foreigners? But how come I've never heard this language before?'*
Grisha hadn't always lived inside the Walls. He was originally part of the "Restorationists" in the Marleyan Empire, dedicated to restoring the status of Eldians. It was only after being exposed by his other son that he was forced into exile on Paradis Island, where he remarried and had Eren.
He had seen the wider world, which was exactly why he was even more confused.
Offering no resistance, Grisha decided to follow this group to see what was going on. He also needed to investigate what that terrifying explosion and magic-like halo of light were all about.
Rescuing civilians was absolutely not something the current nobles would do. And magic was completely beyond Grisha's realm of understanding.
Grisha was a doctor and dressed quite decently. However, because he had been tormented by the projection of the future Eren in recent days, he looked exceptionally haggard, leading the SPW staff to mistake him for a refugee.
Upon arriving at the construction site, some locals with excellent comprehension skills had already been promoted to recorders. They were responsible for explaining the workflow to others and conducting simple personnel registration.
"It's Dr. Grisha!" The recorder, who was scribbling on a form, spotted Grisha at a glance and stood up from his chair in excitement.
As a doctor, Grisha held a high status in the hearts of the local people. A capable doctor who genuinely cared for his patients and charged very little was exceedingly rare in this day and age.
There were quite a few people who, like Hannes, respected him from the bottom of their hearts and hoped to repay Grisha one day.
"Thank goodness, you're alive! We haven't seen you these past few days, and everyone was so worried. We thought you had died... Sorry, I'm just a little excited."
"It's fine. In comparison, I'm actually a bit curious about what's going on here. Could you tell me about it?"
"Of course, it's my job." Speaking of this, the recorder looked a bit proud and began to explain with a rhythmic cadence.
"These people call themselves the Speedwagons, uh, or SPW in their words. It's a civilian organization, roughly similar to a merchant guild. But unlike those noble lords, these people are very kind, and they even provide us with free bread and milk!"
At the mention of bread and milk, the recorder swallowed hard. "Soft white bread and milk without a single drop of water mixed in. My God, I never would have dared to imagine it before. Those who perform exceptionally well even get to eat steak!"
Grisha felt a surge of profound respect. No matter what these people's motives were, they were genuinely saving a lot of lives. "The SPW staff who brought me here didn't explain it very clearly. We get given food just for working?"
"Yes." The recorder nodded. "Different people have different tasks. There's a strange forest of square oak trees to the north, and a quarry to the northeast. Those with craftsmanship skills are in charge of processing the wood and stone, while the rest chop down trees and mine rocks."
"The elderly and children can help out with odd jobs, but no one will say anything if they don't work. As for the adults, as long as they can lend a hand, they get fed."
Grisha nodded. Providing relief through labor was the only sustainable path; blindly handing out charity wouldn't necessarily improve the situation. If it fostered a sense of laziness among the people, future construction efforts would become difficult.
"Then where would someone in my situation be assigned?"
In terms of wealth alone, Grisha was considered middle-class. Doctors didn't earn a small amount in this era, but the vast majority of his assets had been sealed away in the basement of his old home following the Titan invasion.
Grisha had set off for the Royal Capital before that happened, so he didn't have much money on him now. In the original timeline, he should have already been dead by this point, so naturally, he hadn't made any preparations for this.
So, he still had to work. *Sigh*, for bread and milk, and to find Eren.
"You're different, of course. Doctors are specialized talents! There are many injured and sick people, and the language barrier has already caused quite a few problems. The medical center requested us to find a doctor as soon as possible."
Grisha bid farewell to his former patient and followed a guide toward the medical center.
Along the way, he carefully observed the expressions of the refugees. The smiles on their faces were so genuine, completely devoid of the sorrow of losing their homes.
It was obvious that they were truly looking forward to welcoming their new lives once the houses were completed.
Compared to the ethereal future described by Eren's projection, walking in the present and feeling the simple, unadorned happiness of these Eldians might just be a better choice.
Soon, Grisha was shocked once again. Looking at the uniform white attire and the spotless white walls inside the medical center, he doubted his own medical professionalism for the first time.
Subconsciously straightening his clothes, Grisha finally began to examine the layout of the place.
There were no complex decorations, no carpets, and no noble crests. Electric lights—a rare sight on this island—illuminated the corridors brightly.
He reached out and knocked on the wall. There was no dust or paint; it seemed to be solid white marble—material that would be more than enough to build the royal palace.
Walking forward along the corridor, he saw specialized consultation rooms, metallic equipment that he couldn't understand but was refined to the extreme, and even a medical artifact that could produce internal body imaging just by having someone stay inside it for a short while.
Creation was far more difficult than destruction. To a doctor, these things were far more shocking than a massive explosion outside.
He didn't need to do much, and he truly couldn't intervene anyway. The professional physicians at the medical center merely needed someone who understood medical knowledge and could soothe the patients' emotions.
The widely renowned Grisha was perfectly suited for this position.
He desperately wanted to learn their language and figure out how all this medical equipment was used. Even if he couldn't understand it, he was certain that the medical standards here were at least a hundred years more advanced than their current medical system!
Highly inappropriately, Eren's projection appeared again at this moment.
"What are you doing? Comforting patients, such a useless endeavor? If you continue to muddle along like this, no matter how beautiful this place is, the future will still be entirely buried under the flames of war."
Grisha's movements paused for a moment, while Eren's projection continued to speak. "What you should be doing right now is passing the power of the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan to Eren, allowing him to gain the power to avenge Carla, my mother."
"Carla..."
A long period of family bliss had long since caused Grisha's original purpose to fade. He wanted to protect his family, and his wife Carla was his pillar of support.
But now, he believed that pillar had died at the hands of the Titans.
Grisha's pupils, which had just regained a bit of color, grew clouded with confusion once more. Just as he was about to turn and leave, he saw a figure being wheeled into a hospital ward on a stretcher.
"Carla!!"
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