The following weeks passed quietly yet intensely for the newly formed training regiment. With Ymir, Historia, and the three recruits—Eren, Mikasa, and Armin—joining the drills, the army's enthusiasm reached an all-time high.
The main cause of this sudden surge was none other than Historia herself. With her angelic face and gentle voice, she had become an icon among the troops. Within days, the soldiers had begun calling her the "Goddess of the Regiment."
No one wanted to falter in front of her.
Lock, watching this quiet transformation unfold, couldn't help but feel amused. He didn't discourage it. If admiration for Historia made his soldiers train twice as hard, so be it.
Soon, he began raising the difficulty of their sessions. What had started as discipline drills and movement practice quickly turned into full-scale combat simulations. Blades clashed, the whine of maneuver gear filled the air, and exhaustion became a constant companion.
Late one night, beneath the faint flicker of a lantern, Lock sat opposite Grisha Jaeger inside a modest room. The faint hum of the wind against the window was the only sound for a moment.
Grisha's expression was grave. "How are the preparations?" he asked, voice low, eyes glinting with urgency.
Lock leaned back slightly, his tone calm. "Another month. That's all I need. Once the regiment finishes this phase of training, I'll lead them beyond Wall Rose for live combat drills near Shiganshina. Training without danger will never forge real soldiers."
Grisha nodded slowly, the lines around his mouth tightening. "Then it's almost time for me to move. The royal government's corruption has gone unchecked for too long. We can't delay much longer."
Lock's gaze sharpened. "Once I leave, you can begin. The list I gave you should be enough to start the purge. Focus on what's necessary—nothing more, nothing less."
Grisha exhaled. "I understand. Some innocent people might be affected… but I can't afford hesitation anymore."
He hesitated, then looked directly into Lock's eyes. "Lock, promise me—tell me I won't regret trusting you."
Lock met his stare without wavering. "You won't. I'll see to it that the Eldians are freed. That's my word."
For a moment, Grisha said nothing. Then, his shoulders eased. "Thank you… You remind me of how things used to be—when people still believed change was possible." He gave a tired smile, one that spoke of countless sacrifices.
The silence stretched until Grisha finally murmured, "My time's running short. I intend to pass on my Titan power to Eren… but if you need it—"
Lock shook his head immediately. "No. Titan power doesn't suit me. It's useful, yes, but the cost is too high. I intend to live long enough to see this through."
Grisha didn't argue. He knew Lock was right. The Titans' power carried both might and doom—the bearer's life reduced to a mere thirteen years. Lock's body and mind, honed through sheer will and years of combat, were far more stable weapons than any Titan form.
Still, uncertainty clouded Grisha's eyes. "Do you really think Eren can handle it? That he can become what humanity needs him to be?"
Lock's lips curved slightly. "Eren is far stronger than he knows. He'll learn that soon enough. Have faith in him."
Hearing this, Grisha fell silent again. Something about Lock's confidence always calmed him. Over the months, he had come to trust Lock more than anyone within or beyond the walls. Perhaps it was his sharp intellect, or his calm under pressure—or maybe Grisha was simply tired of bearing the burden alone.
They spoke long into the night, finalizing plans and contingencies. When Lock rose to leave, Grisha sat quietly, deep in thought.
At the door, Lock paused, his back half-turned. "Grisha," he said softly, "stay alive until I return. When I go beyond the wall, I'll bring Dina Fritz back."
The name hit Grisha like thunder. He froze, then looked up sharply, eyes wide with disbelief. He opened his mouth, but only one word came out—hoarse, trembling: "Thank you."
Lock nodded once, then vanished into the night.
By the next afternoon, the regiment assembled outside the gates, preparing for departure toward Shiganshina District. The snow underfoot crunched with each step. Horses snorted, steam rising from their nostrils, as wagons loaded with supplies lined up in formation.
Grisha stood by with his family—Eren, Mikasa, and Armin watching silently from behind him.
"Dad," Eren asked softly, clutching his scarf, "Lock will come back safely… right?"
Grisha's stern face softened. "He will. He always does."
Eren nodded, visibly reassured. Mikasa and Armin exchanged quiet glances, both believing it too.
In the center wagon, Ymir's voice broke the steady rhythm of the wheels.
"Alright, I get why I'm going with you," she said, crossing her arms, "but why is Historia here? This isn't a parade—it's a combat zone."
Across from her, Historia sat neatly, her hands folded in her lap, smiling faintly. The movement of the carriage made her blonde hair sway.
Lock's decision to bring her had confused the camp. Even Petra, sitting nearby, could understand Ymir's frustration.
After months of training, Ymir had grown strong—her hand-to-hand skills nearly on par with elite soldiers, and her Titan form deadlier than ever. Her bite strength alone could crush through stone.
Petra herself, veteran of countless expeditions, had mastered maneuvering gear to the point of artistry. Her precision with the black-gold blades could fell a Titan with a single strike.
But Historia… she was barely twelve. Fragile, innocent, untested. Bringing her to Shiganshina seemed like suicide.
Petra smiled, sensing Ymir's thoughts. "Lock said that with Historia here, the unit's morale doubles. He's not wrong. She won't fight—she's our good-luck charm."
"I'm not a mascot!" Historia protested, puffing her cheeks. "I can fight too!"
Ymir rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. You can barely lift a blade. Just stay in the wagon—I don't need to save you mid-fight."
"I don't need saving!" Historia shot back, glaring.
"Could've fooled me," Ymir muttered.
"Stop underestimating me!"
"Then stop trying to act like a hero."
"I'm not acting!"
Their argument went back and forth, bouncing between teasing and irritation. Petra simply watched with a quiet smile.
"You two have a strange way of showing affection," she said gently.
"Affection?" Ymir snorted, turning away. "I just don't want to scrape her off a Titan's boot."
Historia smirked. "Admit it—you'd miss me if I weren't here."
Ymir went silent. Petra laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rhythmic clatter of hooves.
Outside, the convoy rolled forward through the open plain—toward the ruins of Shiganshina. The horizon stretched wide and pale under the winter sun, the faint silhouette of Wall Maria visible in the distance.
Lock, riding at the head of the formation, glanced back once at his regiment.
Three hundred soldiers, the strongest and most loyal within the Corps, followed in disciplined formation. Their faces were serious, their eyes sharp. These weren't ordinary soldiers—they were men and women who had crawled out of darkness, lifted by purpose and by his command.
He could feel their resolve even in silence. For them, this wasn't just training. It was a march toward redemption, toward freedom.
Lock's hand tightened slightly on his reins. He knew the road ahead would test all of them—but he also knew this was the beginning of something much larger.
The wind carried their banner forward.
For humanity. For freedom.
And for the future that still waited beyond the walls.
---
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