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Meanwhile…
Edric; now exposed and escaping capture; rode like the wind, his horse foaming at the mouth as he pushed it to its limits. Blood trickled from his cheek where Levi's blade had nicked the mask's edge, but the pain was secondary. Hange and her squad were en route to the 103rd. If she arrived before the purge… disaster would follow.
So much for his impersonations lately.
He cut through back trails, avoiding main roads, his mind racing. The Knights' plan was in motion; Valerius and the Silent One were to engage with the beast. But Hange's interference could unravel everything.
A thunder of hooves behind him; Mike, closing fast, his horse a blur of muscle and determination.
Edric cursed, veering into denser woods. Branches whipped at his face, but he pushed on. Mike was relentless, gaining ground in the process.
Ahead, a narrow ravine; Edric spurred his horse to jump. It cleared it barely, stumbling on the landing. Mike followed, his mount sure-footed.
Edric drew a hidden dagger, twisting in the saddle to hurl it. Mike dodged, the blade embedding in a tree. Mike, leapt from his horse mid-gallop, and slammed into Edric like a cannonball. They hit the ground hard, rolling in the dirt.
Mike pinned him, sword at Edric's throat, the blade drawing a thin line of blood. "End of the line."
Edric stared up, eyes wild, then laughed; a chilling, unhinged sound. "You think this ends with me? The purge has begun. The walls are watching, Scout. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Mike pressed the blade harder. "What purge? Talk!"
But Edric's laughter cut off as he bit down, hard. A hidden capsule in his tooth cracked. Foam bubbled from his lips, his body convulsing.
"Poison!" Mike cursed, recoiling.
Edric went still, eyes glassy, a final, cryptic whisper escaping: "You keep cracking that forbidden door wider…and it will lead to certain death."
Mike stared down at the corpse, a chill running down his spine. Whatever this "purge" was, it was already in motion…and Hange and her squad were riding straight into it.
He spurred his horse, racing to catch up with her group. The infiltrator's web was deeper than they knew, and the cadet grounds were about to become ground zero.
_____________________
The sun had bled out behind the distant treeline hours ago, leaving the 103rd Cadet Corps 2nd quadrant grounds wrapped in a shroud of encroaching evening. The training fields, usually alive with the echoes of shouts and the clash of practice blades, were silent now, unnaturally so. The only light came from the faint, flickering glow of lanterns behind the shuttered windows of the barracks, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched across the empty quad like grasping fingers.
Inside the boys' dormitory, the room was a long, narrow hall lined with bunk beds, their thin mattresses sagging under the weight of restless cadets. No one spoke above a whisper. The usual evening chatter; jokes about sore muscles, boasts about tomorrow's drills, complaints about the slop in the mess hall…had evaporated like morning dew under the relentless sun of dread.
They had been confined here since the instructors' return yesterday evening, the doors barred from the outside with a heavy latch that echoed like a prison gate when it fell into place. "Rest up," Instructor Ral had said, "Special training today. You'll need your strength." But that was nearly seventeen hours ago, ever since it has just been the occasional thud of boots patrolling outside, and the unnerving quiet that pressed in from all sides.
Oulo sat on the edge of his lower bunk, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring at a knot in the wooden floorboard as if it held the secrets of the walls. His mind was a whirlwind of half-formed terrors: Jansen's body crumpling like a discarded rag, the blistering heat that had seared the air, the instructors' cold, unnatural dismissal of it all. He hadn't slept since yesterday. None of them had, not really. The room was filled with the soft rustle of bodies shifting uncomfortably, the occasional muffled cough or sigh that sounded too loud in the oppressive hush.
Someone cleared their throat from across the room; a cadet named Thom, who usually had a quip for everything. He sat up on his bunk, forcing a grin that looked more like a grimace in the dim lantern light. "Hey, uh... you guys hear the one about the Titan who walked into a bar?" He paused, waiting for a reaction that didn't come. "He says, 'Ouch! That wall was higher than I thought!'"
The joke landed like a stone in a still pond; no ripple, no laughter, just a deeper, more uncomfortable silence. A few cadets shifted awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. One boy in the corner let out a half-hearted snort that died midway, turning into a cough. Thom's grin faltered, then collapsed entirely. He sank back against his pillow, muttering, "Tough crowd..."
The quiet returned, heavier than before, as if the failed attempt at levity had only highlighted how far they were from normalcy. Oulo felt a pang of sympathy for Thom; he was just trying to crack the tension, to remind them they were still kids who could laugh at dumb jokes. But nothing was funny anymore. Not when Jansen's blood was still staining the training field grass, not when Martin was still shaken, and not when the instructors had locked them in like animals waiting for slaughter.
Oulo's hands clenched into fists. 'This ain't right,' he thought, the words looping in his head like a broken gear. 'Somethin's rotten. Instructors actin' like they got ice in their veins. No report? No help? Just... wait here?'
He glanced at the barred door, half-expecting to hear the demon's growl seeping through the cracks. His heart pounded harder, a frantic drumbeat that echoed in his ears.
Across the camp, in the girls' dormitory, the atmosphere was a mirror image; perhaps even more stifling, if that was possible. The room was identical in layout: rows of bunks, thin blankets, the faint smell of lye soap from the morning's hurried laundry that now felt like a lifetime ago. But here, the silence was broken by whispers, soft and fragmented, like fragile threads trying to weave a net against the encroaching dark.
A cluster of girls huddled on the lower bunks, their voices barely audible. "Do you think the instructors really reported it?" one whispered, a girl named Elara with wide, frightened eyes. "This have to be some extra precaution till help arrives, right?"
"They have to have," another replied, her tone more hope than conviction. "They're instructors. They know what they're doing."
"But what if... what if it's still out there?" a third voice trembled, barely above a breath. "Watching us?"
The whispers faltered, dissolving into uneasy quiet. Petra sat a few bunks away, her back against the wall, knees pulled up, staring at the flickering lantern flame as if it held answers. She hadn't joined the huddle; she couldn't. The weight pressing on her chest was too heavy, too personal, to share just yet.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, back to the beginning. Why had she joined the Cadet Corps? It felt like a lifetime ago, those wide-eyed days of signing up, leaving her parents' small farm in the shadow of Wall Rose. Her father, with his callused hands and quiet strength, had hugged her so tight she'd felt his ribs. "Make us proud, petal," he'd whispered, using the nickname that always made her feel like a child again. Her mother had cried, pressing a small, embroidered handkerchief into her palm. "For luck," she'd said. "And to wipe away the sweat when you become the best damn soldier they've ever seen."
Nearly three years. Three grueling years of blisters, bruises, and breaking dawn drills. Three years of pushing her body to limits she didn't know it had, of forging friendships in the fire of shared suffering, of dreaming about the day she'd graduate and choose her path; the Garrison, maybe, close to home, or even the Scouts if she was feeling brave. This was her final year. Just a few more months, and she'd be free to go home, to hug her parents again, to sleep in her own bed without the constant ache of tomorrow's training.
Was she going to die here? Locked in this dormitory like a lamb in a pen, never seeing her mom and dad's faces again? The thought clawed at her throat, a sob threatening to escape. She swallowed it down, hard. She couldn't break. Not now. The younger girls were watching her; she could feel their eyes in the dim light. Petra Ral, the steady one, always at the top of her game, the girl who always had a plan.
But what plan was there against this? The instructors... they weren't right. Instructor Ral and Kent had come back different. Colder. Their voices flat, their eyes empty. No urgency, no outrage at Jansen's death. Just that chilling dismissal: a tragic accident. And now this lockdown, this "special training" that felt less like preparation and more like... waiting. For what? The demon dog to return? Or something worse?
Petra's hands trembled slightly as she clenched them in her lap. The barracks felt smaller with every passing minute, the walls closing in like a trap. She could almost hear the creature's roar echoing in her memory, feel the blistering heat that had seared the air. What if it came back? What is all this of the instructors not reporting this at all? What if they were... part of it? The thought was insane, paranoid, but in the suffocating quiet, it took root, twisting like a weed in her mind.
"Petra?" The voice was soft, tentative, pulling her from the spiral. It was her bunkmate, a slight girl named Tina with freckles and a voice like wind chimes. She had slid over, perching on the edge of Petra's bunk, her eyes wide with worry. "You okay? You've been staring at that lantern for ages."
Petra blinked, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack her face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking about the upcoming training. You know how Ral gets if we're not sharp."
Tina tilted her head, not buying it for a second. "You're a terrible liar, you know that? Your hands are shaking." She reached out, placing her smaller one over Petra's. "We're all scared. It's okay to say it."
The simple touch, the quiet understanding, nearly undid her. Petra's carefully constructed facade wavered. She squeezed Tina's hand, drawing a shaky breath. "I... I was thinking about home. My parents. This is our last year, Tina. We were so close. And now... this. What if we don't make it out? What if that thing comes back, and the instructors... they're not even acting like themselves. It's like they're waiting for something bad to happen."
Tina's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, her grip tightening. "I know. My little brother... he thinks I'm invincible. What would he say if..." She trailed off, swallowing hard. The whispers from the other bunks had fallen silent, the girls listening now, their faces pale ovals in the gloom.
Petra looked around, seeing the fear mirrored in every eye. They were all thinking the same thing: trapped, abandoned, waiting for the axe to fall. Something in her snapped; not with despair, but with a fierce, defiant spark. She couldn't let them drown in this. Not after everything they'd survived together.
She stood up, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Listen to me. All of you." The room went utterly still, every head turning toward her.
"We've been through hell these past three years. Remember the first week? When half of us wanted to quit after that endless run in the rain? Or the vertical maneuvering drills, when it felt like our harnesses were trying to cut us in half? We've fallen, we've bled, we've pushed each other up when we couldn't stand on our own. We're not just cadets anymore. We're survivors."
She paced slowly between the bunks, her words gaining strength. "Whatever's going on out there; the demon dog, the instructors acting strange—it's not going to break us. We've faced worse than shadows and rumors. We've got each other. And when morning comes, whatever 'special training' they throw at us, we'll face it together. We'll watch each other's backs. We'll make it through. Because that's what we do. We survive."
A murmur rippled through the room, not of fear now, but of quiet agreement. Eyes that had been downcast lifted. Hands unclenched. Tina wiped her eyes, nodding fiercely. "She's right. We've got this."
For a moment, the dormitory felt less like a prison and more like a fortress. Petra's heart swelled with a fragile hope. Maybe they could—
The door to the dormitory banged open with enough force to rattle the hinges. The girls jumped, a collective gasp echoing. Silhouetted in the doorway stood Instructor Ral, his face a mask of stern authority, Instructor Kent a silent shadow at his side.
"Excellent speech, Cadet." Instructor Ral said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, cutting through the air like a dull blade. "That would be very much needed."
Petra's blood turned to ice. How long had he been listening? The hope in the room evaporated, replaced by a fresh wave of dread. She straightened, saluting instinctively. "Sir! We—"
"Save your breath," Ral interrupted, stepping inside. The lantern light caught his eyes; they seemed colder than before, almost empty. "Get saddled up. All of you. Full cadet military clothing. It's time for training."
The order hung in the air, heavy and final. Whispers erupted anew, but quieter now, laced with confusion and fear.
"Sir?" Tina ventured, her voice trembling. "At this hour? It's... it's dark out."
Ral's gaze flicked to her, and she shrank back. "Precisely. Low-light maneuvers. The world doesn't wait for daylight to throw dangers at you. Move. Now."
The girls scrambled, pulling on their uniforms with shaking hands. Petra dressed mechanically, her mind racing. This wasn't right. Night training? With that thing out there? It felt less like preparation and more like... exposure. Like they were being set up as bait.
As they filed out into the quad, joining the boys' dormitory group who looked equally rattled, the night air hit them like a slap. It was cool, almost cold, with a faint mist curling around their ankles. The quad was lit by sporadic torches stuck into the ground; casting flickering pools of orange light that made the shadows seem deeper, more alive.
Everyone lined up; boys and girls together; snapping into salute. But the formation was ragged. Hands shook. Eyes darted to the treeline, where the darkness seemed to pulse with hidden threats. Petra could see some others a few rows over including Oulo, his face pale, his salute half-hearted as he scanned the woods.
"At ease," Ral commanded, Kent silent beside him. The cadets dropped their arms, but no one relaxed. "Tonight's exercise is simple. ODM gear maneuvering practice. As you always do. Form up by squads. Launch points are marked. Begin."
A ripple of unease swept through the ranks. Simple? In the dark? With the demon dog still out there? Petra felt her stomach twist. This was insane.
Before anyone could voice it, a cadet; Elan, from the boy's dorm; raised his hand tentatively. "Sir? May I—"
"What is the problem, Cadet?" Ral's voice was sharp, his eyes boring into him.
Elan's hand wavered, the memory of Martin's brutal punch flashing in her mind. He could almost hear the sickening thud, see him gasping on the floor. His arm dropped, shaking. "N-nothing, sir."
"Good." Ral's gaze swept the group. "Anyone else?"
The silence was deafening. Petra's heart pounded. She wanted to speak, to scream that this was suicide, but the fear choked her. Then, again from the boys' side, a hand shot up; Oulo's, trembling but resolute.
"Sir," Oulo said, his voice cracking but pushing through. "Won't this... exercise... attract the demon dog? We're lit up like a bonfire out here. We'll... we'll end up killed."
The quad went deathly still. Every eye was on Oulo, then on Ral. The instructor was silent for a long, agonizing moment, his face unreadable in the torchlight.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "That is true, Cadet."
A gasp rippled through the ranks. Oulo's face drained of color. "S-sir?"
Ral stepped forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, as if sharing a great secret. "In fact, if you all combine your hands to kill this monstrosity together, it can surely be defeated. Or better yet..." He paused, letting the words hang.
"Whoever kills the demon dog first... gets to graduate as part of the top 10. Direct access to the Military Police. A life inside the walls, to serve the king or more honestly…safe from Titans. Isn't that what many of you dream of?"
The words landed like a spark in dry tinder. Murmurs erupted; some shocked, some horrified, but a few... a few lit with desperate motivation. Petra saw it in their eyes: the lure of getting top 10 rather easily, the golden ticket out of this hell, dangled like bait.
But Oulo, his face ashen, knew better. This wasn't a challenge. This was a death sentence wrapped in a prize. Deep down, he knew this was absolutely messed up; luring a monster with children as the prize? His stomach churned.
Ral looked around, his expression pleased as resistance fractured. The motivated ones straightened, gripping their ODM harnesses tighter. The nervous ones shifted, glancing at each other, too afraid to speak.
"So," Ral said, his voice rising with false enthusiasm. "What do you say, cadets? Are you up for the challenge?"
Chapter 26-31 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.