Chapter 238 237

The southeastern corner of the Eldian Internment Zone was a place even despair avoided.

To the north of this sector stood the district's garbage processing and collection station—a sprawling, foul-smelling facility where refuse from both the internment zone and parts of the outer city was dumped, sorted, and burned. The roads leading here were broken and uneven, the infrastructure long neglected. Trade routes bypassed the area entirely, and no market stalls ever dared set foot near it.

As a result, almost no one lived here.

And that was precisely why it had become the ideal base of operations for the organization Kenny Ackerman had pieced together.

With his recent promotion to sheriff of the Eldian Internment Zone, Kenny held direct authority over this forgotten corner. On paper, it was a punishment assignment—remote, undesirable, and devoid of prestige.

In practice, it was a gift.

Lock stood near the edge of the makeshift encampment, his gaze sweeping over the darkened surroundings. Tents and repurposed storage buildings formed a loose perimeter. Guards were stationed in overlapping sightlines, quiet but alert.

He couldn't help but feel suspicious.

No one wanted this place, he thought.

The stench, the isolation, the decay…

If no one wanted to waste time here, then of course, Kenny had acquired the position with minimal resistance.

But that didn't matter.

This was only a temporary foothold.

They would move soon.

"Are you ready?"

Lock turned his head slightly, looking at Ymir beside him. His expression was serious, stripped of its usual casualness.

Ymir nodded slowly.

Her posture was straight, her face calm, but her eyes reflected the weight of the plan ahead.

According to the intelligence Kenny had provided, a Marleyan military supply convoy would pass near the edge of the market district later that night—weapons, rations, and logistical materials—nothing irreplaceable, but valuable enough to draw attention.

Their objective was simple.

Intercept it.

Of course, this was not something two people could accomplish alone.

While Lock and Ymir would handle the core action, members of the organization would provide intelligence, misdirection, and escape routes.

Still—

The organization's members did not fully trust them.

Even though Lock had demonstrated strength surpassing Kenny's.

Even though Kenny himself showed unwavering confidence in Lock and Ymir.

Trust, in an environment like this, was earned slowly—and often paid for in blood.

"I don't have a problem with the operation itself," Ymir said quietly. "But revealing ourselves like this… is it really wise?"

Lock didn't hesitate.

"As long as we aren't caught, there's no problem," he said evenly. "Do you think we'll be caught?"

Ymir allowed herself a faint smile.

"Unless Kenny betrays us," she replied, "it's impossible."

Her confidence wasn't arrogance.

It was a calculation.

She trusted her own speed.

She trusted Lock's strength even more.

If it were just the two of them, Marley would find it nearly impossible to capture them, short of mobilizing an overwhelming force.

"And that's exactly why we're doing this," Lock continued. "If we want the representatives of the Middle Eastern Coalition to consider cooperating with us, we need to demonstrate strength."

His gaze sharpened.

"And if Kenny is to deepen his control over the internment zone, Marley's attention must be drawn elsewhere. We need chaos. Pressure. Confusion."

Ymir nodded.

"I understand."

After a brief pause, she hesitated, then lowered her voice.

"But do you really believe Kenny can be trusted?"

Lock answered honestly.

"For now, yes. As for the future—I don't know."

He had never doubted Kenny Ackerman's nature.

Kenny was not a man who submitted to others.

He followed his own desires.

That was why Lock had never tried to bind him with loyalty. Instead, he had guided Kenny so that their goals overlapped—at least for now.

At present, their interests are aligned.

A fragile honeymoon period.

How long it would last depended on time—and ambition.

Ymir said nothing more.

She stood up, her movements decisive.

Lock followed, stepping out of the tent without further explanation.

Outside, several members of the two merged organizations were already waiting.

"You only need to guide us to the area," Lock instructed calmly. "Once we reach the perimeter, you leave immediately."

The men exchanged glances, then nodded.

They had no intention of objecting.

In their view, sneaking into a Marleyan military supply route with only two people bordered on suicide. Though they despised Marley's rule and were willing to risk their lives for Eldian liberation, they were not eager to die needlessly.

Under the locals' guidance, the small group moved swiftly through the internment zone.

They avoided main roads, slipping through narrow alleys and neglected paths. The routes were chosen carefully—places rarely patrolled, areas the Marleyan soldiers avoided unless necessary.

They drew little attention.

As they moved, Lock silently observed the internment zone.

Marley had herded nearly all Eldians into this massive enclosure.

During the day, limited movement was permitted. At night, strict boundaries were enforced.

Eldians were forbidden from entering Marleyan residential districts after dark.

Violation meant severe consequences.

Officially, arrest.

In reality—

Execution.

The Marleyan soldiers and officers they passed showed little overt hostility. Some ignored them entirely. Others maintained blank expressions.

But eyes never lie.

From the occasional glance cast their way, Lock could clearly see it.

Disgust.

Not fear.

Not hatred born of conflict.

But contempt.

Even though Eldians had lived on this land for generations.

Even though Eldian blood and labor had played a critical role in the rise of the Marley Empire.

Racism ran deep.

It was woven into the empire's foundation.

"How short-sighted," Lock thought silently.

If he were the ruler of Marley, he would do the opposite.

He would integrate Eldians into the nation's structure.

Assimilate them culturally and politically.

Give them power, identity, and stake.

Oppression only bred resentment.

Blind suppression and indoctrination would always lead to backlash.

The endless existence of Eldian restorationist movements within Marley was proof enough.

People were simple.

Give them dignity and opportunity, and they rarely rebel.

But squeeze them without mercy—

And one day, they would bite back.

Lost in thought, Lock followed the organization members to their destination.

Dusk had already fallen.

The sky was dark gray, clouds hanging low. Lights flickered on in the distance as the Marleyan military base came into view.

From where they stood, hidden among broken structures and refuse heaps, Lock could clearly see patrol routes, guard positions, and watchtower rotations.

The atmosphere was… lax.

Years of stability had dulled the soldiers' vigilance.

This was not a frontline.

This was not a war zone.

They did not expect trouble here.

That complacency created opportunity.

"This is as far as we go," one of the guides whispered. "The convoy will arrive in about an hour."

Lock nodded.

"You're done. Leave now."

The guides didn't hesitate.

They vanished back into the shadows, retreating toward the internment zone.

Lock and Ymir remained.

At night, this area was forbidden.

If discovered, Eldians would not be questioned.

They would be shot—or set upon by trained dogs.

Marleyan officers with cruel dispositions often enjoyed enforcing such punishments. There had been incidents severe enough to cause temporary public attention, though they were quickly buried.

Ymir exhaled slowly.

"Once we start," she said quietly, "there's no turning back."

Lock's eyes remained fixed on the illuminated base ahead.

"That was decided the moment we stepped into Marley."

Silence fell between them.

In the distance, engines rumbled faintly.

The convoy was coming.

And with it—

The first crack in Marley's carefully maintained illusion of control.

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