Late at night, the streets of the capital were completely silent.
Civilians had been forced to return to their homes, and the Military Police had assembled, armed with muskets, lining up to guard checkpoints and important streets.
Nile Dok, a squad leader of the Central Military Police, led his team to guard this vital route to the Royal Government.
On both sides stood carved stone buildings, their exquisite reliefs displaying elegant and varied expressions under the firelight. The road was paved with marble bricks and lined with purple hydrangeas, creating a grand and majestic atmosphere.
After all, this was the most luxurious street in the capital. The nobles, for the sake of their prestige and reputation, had adorned it with magnificence and splendor.
At the end of the street stood the government palace, meticulously designed with imposing arches and stone pillars.
The solemn statues gave off an aura of majesty and inviolable sanctity.
But Nile Dok had no interest in appreciating these exquisite masterpieces. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he swallowed hard, staring intently at the empty corner of the street ahead.
In front of him stood rows of Military Police soldiers, each holding a musket.
The first row crouched, while the second stood firm.
All of them held their latest-model muskets with precision, aiming their barrels toward the corner.
"Do not panic! The enemy is only a group of insurgents from the Training Corps! Their ODM gear has been confiscated—they are nothing more than easy targets for our muskets!"
Nile Dok spoke loudly, as if trying to mask his inner unease.
He was in command of the final line of defense. Ahead of him, several teams were already handling defensive positions, while other groups patrolled the capital's streets, searching for any sign of rebel movement.
Logically speaking, there should have been no reason for concern. The capital had 2,000 Military Police and 3,000 Garrison soldiers—a total of 5,000 troops.
The Survey Corps, at most, numbered around 500.
Even if it was unclear how those people had managed to cross Wall Sina and evade the guards, it was impossible for 500 to defeat 5,000.
That was a tenfold difference. If ten people surrounded one and each spat on them, that person should kneel and admit defeat.
The numerical disparity was no joke. As a high-ranking officer of the Central Military Police, Nile Dok had handled all kinds of "incidents" and understood very well what battle meant.
According to his expectations, all the rebels from the Survey Corps should have already been captured, and the other units should have sent word to lift the alert.
But… Nile Dok had never received news of victory…
That unsettled him. Standing guard on this prosperous street placed an invisible pressure upon him.
"…It feels… too quiet…"
"What are the other teams doing?
Did they handle things properly?" A soldier nervously shuffled his boots, itching to light a cigarette.
But suddenly, his pupils contracted.
At the corner, a figure appeared—just one person, dressed in a Military Police uniform.
He was not an enemy. Nile Dok recognized him. The man was a messenger running in their direction.
Had the Military Police won?
Had they discovered the rebels' location and come here to request reinforcements?
"Yes, they must be here to ask for reinforcements. Judging by the messenger's expression, he seems very nervous. What a useless bunch! They clearly have the advantage in numbers and weaponry, yet they still let the rebels get this far."
"Could it be that the rebels escaped, and they've come to apologize?"
So, living a comfortable life in the capital for too long really does make you dull…?
Nile Dok noticed his subordinates relaxing slightly, but then the messenger suddenly shouted from afar. His expression was hard to describe—his eyes and nose were scrunched up, tears and mucus streaming down his face.
The messenger fell to his knees, crying and shouting, "I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention…"
"I'm sorry…"
"If you want to survive, drop your weapon…"
He spoke incomprehensible words, as if he had gone mad.
Nile Dok and the gendarmes could not understand what he was doing, why he was crying, or why he was shouting.
They simply… stared at him for a moment.
And then… what followed was a rain of bullets. Dozens of people emerged from the corner of the street, each carrying a strange weapon.
Nile Dok froze instantly. That short man—there was no doubt—was Levi, known as the strongest soldier in human history!
"Fire!!"
Almost simultaneously, Nile Dok and Levi gave the order to shoot.
Bang! Bang!
Gunpowder exploded, and the projectiles shot out from the muzzles of the flintlock muskets, flying through the air like spinning marbles.
But in the end, Nile Dok and his shooters were too slow.
No… when sparks burst from the metallic muzzles of those strange weapons, everyone realized it wasn't their muskets that were too slow—it was that the enemy's weapons were too fast.
A burst of gunfire erupted as the Military Police's muskets struck walls and ground.
They had acted too hastily. At that distance, muskets lacked accuracy, and they had wasted their chance to strike first.
To fire again, they would need to reload powder and bullets.
The AK-47 was different. Its black-and-gold barrel roared wildly.
Bullets rained down without pause, and even with poor accuracy, no one was given a chance to catch their breath.
Amid the storm of bullets, blood sprayed, and the Military Police fell one after another, with no time to reload.
"Your commander is dead! Those who surrender and lay down their weapons will not die!" Levi shouted, urging them to surrender.
The morale of the Military Police collapsed within seconds. They finally understood why the messenger had that expression—he was a survivor of hell.
The survivors were terrified of death. They threw down their muskets, knelt on the ground like the messenger, and covered their eyes with their hands amid the crossfire. Only the smell of gunpowder and the sickly-sweet scent of blood filled their noses.
The gunfire ceased, and Levi pointed his AK-47 at them.
"Hands up, stand, and move toward the wall!"
No one dared disobey. Before a weapon, all were equal. They lined up against the wall, their hands tied behind their backs, becoming prisoners of war.
Levi looked at the captured Military Police, then at the AK in his hand, with an indescribable expression in his eyes.
"Petra."
"Yes, Captain. What are your orders?"
"Go and inform Erwin and that brat that the path to the Royal Government is clear."
"Yes, I'll go right away."
Levi remained standing over his fallen musket, gazing at the towering building ahead.
"Leave ten men here to support the rear troops. The rest, come with me inside and search for all the nobles."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers who took part in the operation responded in unison.