Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The ground shook; houses collapsed.
Roger tore onto the scene at blistering speed and ran Annie down.
Moments earlier, when all the Titans suddenly stopped hunting him and veered in a strange direction,
Roger had guessed it.
Something more important had seized their attention.
And short of the Founding Coordinate, he couldn't think of any other answer.
If the Founder's power had appeared, there was no need to keep fleeing.
Ever since entering the Walls, he'd never planned to run or scrape by—his aim had always been to obtain the Coordinate.
But no matter how he searched, he couldn't find where the Coordinate was.
Worse, he couldn't find the slightest scrap of information about it.
Even now, after killing the hundred-meter-class Rod Reiss, he'd found nothing on the Founding Titan from the man's corpse.
All he knew was this: the Founding Titan was lost, and the royals had even joined hands with outsiders to search for it.
Roger had mounted his own investigation, but looking at both sides' progress, the Founder's Coordinate remained a mystery—no one had found a trace.
There was nothing for it. Roger knew that no matter how strong he was, he couldn't make the dead Rod Reiss speak—couldn't force him to describe exactly what happened the day the Founder was lost.
Rod was devout—toward his family, toward the Founding Titan most of all. Even though the Founder had been stolen by force, he refused to tell Roger what he knew. Precisely because he didn't want to say anything—didn't want Roger to learn the Founder's whereabouts—he'd deliberately transformed into a Titan; even if his nape were dug out, there would be no living witness left.
That way, every lead Roger had to the Founder would be severed.
And then the Founder might be monopolized by that man.
From what he'd uncovered, Rod knew that a man named "Grisha" came from outside the Walls and had no royal blood.
The one with royal blood was Roger.
His mother had been a royal bastard. Later abandoned, she grew up begging meals and hand-me-downs; grateful to the people inside the Walls, she joined the Corps to repay that kindness.
She never returned.
It was the first expedition beyond the Walls; with almost zero knowledge of Titans, the Corps was all but annihilated. Few came back, and the bastard girl was not among them.
Rod didn't know what had happened to her outside.
He remembered only being covertly pointed toward her as a child and seeing her from afar.
In his memory back then, that "Jean" who'd grown up on charity, waiting tables and pouring drinks in a little tavern, carried herself with a clear, sober poise.
As a boy smothered by his family's indulgence—and weaned too late—he had harbored all sorts of furtive feelings toward Jean.
Night after night, he imagined marching up to her on the strength of his "royal" status, ordering her to prostrate herself, to strip, to serve him tirelessly.
But fantasies are fantasies.
Rod understood well that some forebear of his, upon seeing Jean's mother—perhaps just a pretty, shapely servant—had had wicked designs, and thus Jean was born.
He swore he'd never do that.
A bastard was the lowest of the low.
He would take warning.
Later, he may have slipped a little—but no matter.
After holding out so long, he could "reward" himself a bit.
Even so, the bastard girl (Historia) remained under his control. He hadn't done what his forebears did—abandoning a royal bastard in childhood to the streets.
It wasn't mercy versus cruelty—royal blood had to be tightly controlled. That was family law, and the rule Rod obeyed most strictly.
Too bad the Founder was stolen.
From that time forward, Rod was wracked with remorse—for not locking the Founder down hard.
And so he decided that apart from his closest confidants, he would never reveal anything about the Founder.
Which was why Roger couldn't dig up any information on it.
Now, at last, the Founder had appeared!
Roger couldn't wait any longer!
He smashed forward without restraint, bowling aside every Titan in his path until he stood before the Female Titan!
"Don't come any closer!!"
Annie was terrified. She had seen Reiner die with her own eyes, seen Bertholdt take his own life—was it finally her turn?
In the end, devils die!
So Annie thought, despairing.
But she was not alone now!
"Over here!"
Pieck's voice came—hoarse and low from the Cart Titan.
She sprinted in, a tactical pillbox mounted on her back.
On that pillbox were the newest, strongest weapons money could buy anywhere in the world.
The machine-gun crew spotted Roger and opened up at once!
Ratatatatatatata!!!
Muzzles spat sheets of fire!
The bullet hail slammed into Roger's body—and did nothing.
Like pebbles pinging off iron—leaving not the faintest mark, not even slowing him down.
"What do we do?! We can't scratch him!"
A portly gunner yelped.
"Go for the eyes! Blind him first!"
A bespectacled gunner barked. On the wall behind him, he'd taped up a photo of his girlfriend of five years.
She was afraid he'd forget, so after a night together she'd told him to take a picture and keep it.
He'd taped it to the wall.
The wall he'd worked beside for so long.
Now, with the Cart Titan bucking, the photo shook loose and fell to the floor.
Ratatatatata!!
The ammo belts visibly dwindled.
Roger couldn't completely shield his eyes; when they concentrated their fire on them, he had no choice but to raise a hand to block, lest they rob him of sight.
And in that instant, Annie found her opening and sprinted for distance.
Seeing it, Roger sighed—and dropped the scythe in his grip.
"What?!"
"Is he giving up?!"
"No," Pieck felt something go wrong. "He's getting serious."
She was right.
As she feared, Roger had his Jaw Titan in battle plating shed its heavy armor; razor claws sprouted from his hands.
He vaulted high!
Sunlight gleamed on him as he plunged—
With a single rake,
he crushed the machine-gun pillbox.
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