Once Reiner left, Lock's expression relaxed.
The Garrison soldier who had overheard everything kept a tight grip on his blade.
"Recruit. Don't do anything stupid."
Lock raised his uninjured left hand.
"Relax. Do I look capable of threatening anyone?"
"Leave."
"Alright, alright."
He leaned on his crutches and stepped back obediently.
He wasn't worried.
He knew Eren would survive.
Even from this distance, Lock could hear the hoarse voice of Kitz Weilman barking orders atop the wall.
That heightened hearing—he had only noticed it after the underground battle.
A "reward," perhaps.
His subconscious seemed convinced of that.
He listened carefully.
Then slowly raised five fingers.
The soldier frowned.
"Leave immediately."
"Four."
"Three."
"What are you doing?"
"Two."
"One."
A faint streak of golden lightning flickered across the sky.
Then—
BOOM.
The cannon thundered.
Smoke erupted from the inner side of Wall Rose.
The soldier whipped his head around.
"They fired? Inside the wall?!"
He turned back—
Lock was gone.
Lock had already thrown aside his crutches.
Even with a cast on his leg, he sprinted.
White steam rolled outward.
He walked straight into it.
On the wall, Kitz coughed, waving away smoke.
"Is he dead?"
Two hands burst from the mist behind him.
One clamped over his mouth.
The other hooked his neck.
Kitz's eyes widened in terror as he was dragged backward into cover.
Across the plaza, soldiers stared in shock at the giant skeletal structure Eren had formed to shield himself from the cannonball.
Only two officers noticed something else.
Ian Dietrich.
Rico Brzenska.
They saw Kitz vanish.
Following the drag marks, they rounded a building.
And found Lock.
Sitting on top of the unconscious Kitz.
Punching him.
Again.
And again.
Ian drew his blade.
"Stop, Recruit!"
Rico shouted, "Do you understand what you're doing?!"
Lock stood.
The cast on his right arm hung shattered.
He raised both hands calmly.
"Commander Pixis will arrive shortly."
"Please don't execute me prematurely."
Later
When Armin discarded his gear and stepped forward under rifle aim to defend Eren—
He found only confusion.
No commander.
No clear authority.
Chaos.
Earlier, in the supply station, Lock had asked:
"Are there… fewer of you?"
He knew exactly why.
But the line fit the role.
Squad leader.
Concerned comrade.
Perfect performance.
But was it only acting?
Perhaps only the dying Kitz truly knew.
Military Confinement
"Why did you do it?"
"No reason," Lock replied lazily. "I just wanted to beat him."
The Military Police threw him into solitary confinement without hesitation.
In the dim underground cell, Lock flexed his right arm.
Healed.
Completely.
Too fast.
In this world, only one explanation existed for such recovery.
And he knew he was not that.
Another "reward."
He would need to be careful.
He kept the cast on his left leg.
Better to appear injured.
He lay back.
He would avoid participating in the Trost cleanup.
Less scrutiny.
He stared at the wall.
"Sorry, Marco."
Trost would still fall.
The "plot" was immovable.
Controlled by something larger than any of them.
Lock could only influence the margins.
Annie…
After the Trost incident, she would drift into isolation.
That was where his influence mattered most.
He remembered the scene—
Marco.
Her trembling hands.
"If it were me, Annie… would you still do it?"
He closed his eyes.
Sleep took him.
Evening
Footsteps approached.
Torchlight flickered.
Lock stood and saluted before the door even opened.
The Commander of the Southern Territories entered.
Dot Pixis
"Energetic as ever, Recruit."
Pixis sat.
"It's been a long day. I nearly forgot the old lion's precious son was underground."
Lock remained silent.
"Your battlefield performance was remarkable. Your father would be proud."
Silence.
Pixis's tone hardened.
"Kitz Weilman died an hour ago."
"In other words, you killed the acting front-line commander during an ongoing battle."
Still no response.
Pixis leaned forward.
"Do you have anything to say?"
Lock answered crisply.
"Reporting, Commander. I dealt with a deserter responsible for the deaths of his comrades."
Pixis's eyes narrowed.
"Regardless of his crimes, only a military court may judge him."
"You are a cadet. Outside that uniform, merely a nobleman's son."
"You are not the Premier."
"You are not the King."
Lock's voice cut sharply through the chamber.
"Reporting, Commander. I am a soldier who dedicates his heart to humanity's victory."
The adjutants fell silent.
Pixis stood.
His gaze lingered on Lock's unwavering eyes.
"Prepare for transfer to the Royal Capital."
"To the Military Tribunal."
He paused.
"You won't be alone."
"There is another peer of yours heading there as well."