"As you've all stated, the main task after this victory is reconstruction. The Scout Regiment has no objections. We will follow the government's orders and place the greater good above all."
When Lock spoke the words "greater good," his tone carried deliberate emphasis, measured and sharp.
Across the council chamber, the conservative ministers—headed by Neil Deke—nodded in satisfaction. But behind those polite smiles, their eyes gleamed with layered meaning.
Disdain. Mockery. And, oddly enough, a trace of respect.
A man who knows when to yield is a man who survives.
In their eyes, Lock was precisely that—a soldier who had learned his place in the game of power, a man willing to bow before the throne to preserve his position. They saw him as a competent tool, but still a fool for thinking loyalty could outmatch politics.
They were wrong.
Lock noted every one of their faces, committing their expressions to memory. The day would come when those smug smiles would be erased, one by one.
Erwin, standing at Lock's side, was momentarily surprised by the speech. But as soon as he saw the calm focus in Lock's eyes, realization struck him. His earlier irritation at the council's arrogance had nearly led him to speak out of turn. Lock had saved the situation.
Bringing Lock here was the right choice, Erwin thought, suppressing a faint smile. He chose not to add anything, quietly aligning himself with Lock's statement. The conservatives seemed pleased by this show of unity.
After all, what did battlefield valor matter in this city? Here, power wasn't earned with blood—it was taken with words and politics.
The room fell silent until Darius Zackly, the commander-in-chief, who had been observing quietly from his chair, finally spoke. His gravelly voice cut through the posturing:
"Since Captain Lock has spoken on behalf of the Scout Regiment, and Commander Erwin has expressed no objections, then it's decided. The focus of our next phase will be reconstruction."
He paused, scanning the chamber. No one dared object.
Zackly continued, "The reconstruction efforts will be managed by the Military Police and the Garrison Regiment, according to their assigned jurisdictions. Our goal is to restore Wall Maria's districts to full stability within two years. Does His Majesty have any objections?"
All eyes turned toward the throne.
The king—empty-eyed and unmoving—sat with the same practiced indifference, giving only a slow, mechanical nod. The illusion of authority was enough.
They all bowed slightly, not out of reverence for the man, but for what he represented: the image of royal power, the symbol that kept their world intact.
And with that silent nod, the decision became law.
The tension in the council chamber loosened. The storm of debate that had filled the air moments ago now dissolved into a calm hum of satisfaction. The direction had been set; the rest was mere procedure.
Zackly waited for the chatter to settle before turning again to the two officers standing before him.
"As the leaders of their respective divisions, both of you have rendered invaluable service in the reclamation of Wall Maria," he said. "The king and the council recognize your achievements."
He looked first to Erwin.
"Commander Erwin Smith—your leadership has restored faith in humanity's advance. You are hereby awarded the First-Class Military Medal. In addition, the Scout Regiment is granted independent recruitment rights. The upper limit of active soldiers will be increased to fifteen hundred."
A murmur rippled through the room. That was a rare privilege.
Then Zackly's gaze shifted toward Lock.
"As for Captain Lock," he said, pausing briefly before continuing, "in recognition of your personal valor and strategic contributions, you are awarded the Second-Class Military Medal. Effective immediately, you are promoted to Deputy Commander of the Scout Regiment. You will command an independent strike unit of three hundred soldiers, and your operations will report directly to the king."
The chamber erupted with whispers.
"Directly to the king?" someone muttered under their breath.
Neil Deke's face stiffened. His eyes flicked toward Lock—young, composed, unflinching. Even the Military Police, who had always prided themselves on being the royal guard's closest circle, were not granted that level of autonomy. They were still tethered by Zackly's oversight.
Could he become another Kenny Ackerman?
The thought crossed many minds at once.
The comparison wasn't without reason. The last man who had been directly tied to the throne had been Kenny—a name that still stirred equal parts awe and dread.
Now Lock stood in that same position.
A soldier touched by royal favor… and one step away from dangerous power.
The ministers' gazes turned speculative. Some were wary. Others, especially those who knew of Rod Reiss's hidden lineage, seemed eager, their eyes shining with intrigue.
They saw in Lock not just a rising soldier, but a potential key to their own advancement.
Erwin alone remained calm, unaffected by the stir.
He had long expected this outcome. When Lock had been permitted to form his first independent hundred-man squad, Erwin knew that secrecy wouldn't last. Sooner or later, the council would formalize what was already true.
Now that it was official, Erwin simply nodded, a quiet pride forming behind his usual stoicism.
He's come so far, he thought. Perhaps in his lifetime, humanity might truly see freedom.
The rest of the council read Zackly's expression and wisely chose silence. The matter was settled. Any protest now would only make them look foolish.
One truth became unmistakably clear to everyone present:
Lock was no longer just Erwin's subordinate.
He had stepped into the realm of the powerful—young, ambitious, and with enough strength to shift the balance.
Even those who despised him couldn't deny it: his rise was only beginning.
The rest of the meeting drifted into dull discussion—budget allotments, supply routes, rebuilding schedules. Lock said little. His mind was elsewhere.
Three hundred soldiers.
Direct royal command.
Autonomy.
Those were more than privileges—they were leverage.
But power meant attention. The royal government, already rotting from within, would soon take notice of him. He had no intention of playing their game forever.
This kingdom is sick, he thought coldly. And sickness must be cut out before it spreads further.
He already had plans forming—plans that required loyal soldiers, quiet movements, and information no one else could access.
Before any of that, however, one mission still weighed on him.
Dana Fritz.
The innocent woman who had been turned into a Titan.
Saving her remained his immediate goal. Before he could rebuild humanity, he would redeem her fate.
He exhaled slowly.
"It's been too long since I last saw Hange," he muttered to himself. "Once this meeting ends, I'll visit the lab."
Hange Zoë—eccentric, brilliant, fearless. She might not have Lock's combat skill, but as a researcher, her genius had no equal. If anyone could help him understand Dana's condition—or find a cure—it was her.
As the meeting drew to a close, ministers exchanged empty congratulations. Lock stood quietly beside Erwin, acknowledging Zackly's formal closing remarks with a curt nod. He played the part of the disciplined officer, giving them no reason for suspicion.
Yet behind his calm demeanor, his thoughts churned.
The king's puppet regime was more fragile than it appeared. With the Garrison and Military Police assigned to reconstruction, the capital's defenses would soon thin. It would be the perfect time to act—if he chose to.
When the walls weaken, so does the mask of power, he thought. That's when truth begins to slip through the cracks.
For now, he would bide his time.
Play their game.
Smile when they smiled.
But every move was a step closer to a different future—one not ruled by empty kings or corrupt nobles, but by humanity's will to be free.
Lock's hand rested on the table as the council dispersed.
The emblem of the Scout Regiment on his cloak caught the dim light—a pair of wings, shadowed but unbroken.
Freedom was never granted. It was taken.
And soon, he would take it back.
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