Chapter 231 230

The harbor buzzed like a disturbed hive long before sunrise. The captured Marleyan patrol ship sat anchored offshore, its iron plating glinting faintly under the winter light. Workers, scouts, and Volunteers crowded the bay, drawn by curiosity rather than panic. For the civilians who had signed up to reclaim the north, the vessel was less a foreign monster than a question finally answered. It was massive, armored, and loud—but not incomprehensible anymore.

They had imagined wonders for months. The reality, when it arrived, was simply another stage to step onto.

Lock watched from the cliff's edge, coat snapping in the cold wind, arms folded. The ocean roared beneath, vast and indifferent. He looked calm—not the stunned awe of the masses, but the calculating quiet of someone already measuring consequences.

Petra Rall approached him, boots crunching against frost-coated stone.

"You're unusually quiet today," she said.

Lock smirked. "I'm listening to the wind complain for Zachary. It's louder than he is."

Petra sighed but smiled despite herself. "The lieutenant colonel is right to worry. A hundred thousand civilians moving north is a lot of faith riding on 3,500 soldiers."

Lock nodded. "Which is exactly why I'm not giving Marley a chance to think we're only capable of fiction. They will see the facts, not the exaggerations."

Behind them, Onyankopon—tall, dark-skinned, composed, and already smeared in coal dust from ship repairs—wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped into the conversation as if the harbor's chaos could not reach him up here.

"Captain Lock," he said, "the ship is stable enough for training exercises. Nothing beyond that. We lack naval personnel, industrial-grade steel consistency, and long-range deterrent artillery. But for the first step… this is a good first step."

Lock glanced at the ship again. "It's a seed. A model. Something to learn from. I don't expect it to win a war. I expect it to teach us how to."

Onyankopon nodded in agreement. "Your priorities are correct. But there is still the matter of exposure."

Petra frowned. "Exposure is inevitable now."

Lock didn't deny it. "I know."

Onyankkopon crouched by the map case he had carried from the bay's temporary command tent, spreading out a fresh coastal survey sketch. The edges of the paper curled from moisture and cold.

"Marleyan ships pass these waters every 3–5 months," he said. "With this patrol ship gone, the next investigation will not be a single vessel. They will send a squadron, possibly led by Yelena's Volunteer faction ship."

Lock tapped the map calmly. "Good. Because I want them to come."

Onyankopon raised an eyebrow. "You're inviting them into a warzone before we even finish building ours."

Lock smiled—slight, sharp, almost approving of the irony. "Not war. Leverage."

II

Onyankopon continued: "Yelena will not expose you directly. Her ship is aligned with Zeke, and Zeke is aligned with you for now. But the other Marleyan officers will not assume that. They will assume Titans were used to take this vessel."

"They should," Lock replied.

Petra crossed her arms. "And you're fine with that because it buys us hesitation."

Lock nodded. "Exactly."

Historia entered the discussion at that moment. She had been standing farther back near the supply wagons, overseeing registrations and material counts. She looked tired, but her voice was steady.

"Buying hesitation only works if we're ready to use the time it gives us," she said.

Lock met her eyes. "And that's why I'm going to Marley myself."

Petra and Onyankopon both stiffened.

"Absolutely not," Onyankopon said immediately.

Petra echoed, voice lower but firm. "You're the coordinator. The symbol. The backbone. If you die in Marley, the island fractures."

Lock exhaled, turning to look at the ocean again. "I'm not going to fracture. I'm going to threaten from the inside."

Onyankopon shook his head, frustrated. "Threatening Marley's internal stability is one thing. Walking into it yourself is another. You already sent Kenny because Kenny wanted that chaos. You said you wanted to recruit anti-Marley organizations from afar, not from the belly of the beast."

Lock crouched, palms on the table now, tone calm but immovable.

"Kenny will not coordinate smoothly with anyone else. Not Levi, not Erwin, not you, not Petra. He listens to me because I identify and leverage his nature. If someone has to speak to him in that empire—it's me."

Historia looked at him thoughtfully but didn't interrupt. She knew he'd already thought this through more times than any of them wanted to admit.

Petra looked at the ground, exhaling. "So you're bringing Ymir."

"And the Jaw Titan," Lock confirmed.

Onyankkopon sighed again. "Then at least tell me the sequence."

Lock smiled slightly, approving of the question. "You already know the sequence. You just don't like the destination."

He pointed toward the photocopied inland supply map:

Enter Marley disguised as a soldier, not a commander

Contact Kenny Ackerman directly

Establish internal intelligence relay points

Coordinate with Volunteer ships led by Yelena

Return before morale cracks or treasury collapses

Use hesitation time to industrialize and fortify northern coast

Onyankopon rubbed his temples. "And you want me to identify Yelena's ship when the investigation fleet comes."

"Correct."

Petra frowned. "And you'll sweep the rest of the squadron."

Lock nodded. "Only if they're not Volunteer-aligned."

III

Historia stepped forward now, placing a hand on the edge of the table.

"We'll hold the harbor. The people, the depots, the farmland. I'll make sure registrations are stable and treasury pressure is redirected into production, not panic."

Petra looked at her. "And I'll manage Corps logistics while you're gone."

Onyankopon nodded reluctantly. "And I'll finish the harbor and industrial sketches with the Volunteers. We will not disappoint you."

Lock stood up and met them all with a firm gaze.

"You won't. Because you're the only ones I'd entrust this to."

IV

The next morning, Lock departed the inland command tent to ride along the future coastal relay route—alone, again, to verify and record distances and Titan-free zones. He paused only once, glancing back at the harbor workers, at the relay towers, at the unshaken farmland.

"Paradis will not just defend the Walls," he whispered to himself. "It will defend the world line I carve."

The ocean wind carried his words away like smoke—silent, but not meaningless.

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