"The position of humanity—or rather, the people inside the Walls—in the world, and the distribution of powers around us."
That was Erwin's question. To him, it was the most important, the one he was most curious about—and the one he understood the least.
Roger had expected him to ask about "the Power of the Titans," or why Roger had come inside the Walls. He hadn't expected a question so simple, so standard.
But it was also the most fundamental.
If you don't know what countries lie beyond you, you'll wall yourself into a narrow pen. With information cut off, those inside will grow soft and complacent. If you do know what lands, peoples, and cultures are out there, it's like lighting a lamp in a boundless dark—you have a direction to march.
And once you have a direction, every sacrifice gains value.
As expected of the Survey Corps' commander, Roger thought.
"I can answer that," Roger said. "Only… I'll need a little time."
"To draw a map?"
"To draw a map."
Roger smiled knowingly. "If I just talk, it'll be vague air. A map gives it meaning."
Erwin nodded. He agreed.
He'd come prepared for Roger to fob them off with a few perfunctory lines. He hadn't expected Roger to ask to draw a map himself.
On that alone, Roger deserved a measure of trust.
"We've toppled the royal government inside the Walls and set up a new administration," Erwin said. "The new government has recognized your group within lawful bounds. But… if you break the rules we set and act with impunity, forgive whatever sanctions we may enact."
"You're welcome to try," Roger said without blinking. "Don't delude yourself. We both know we're your permanent threat, and we have no desire to 'get along.' If you don't keep growing stronger, then once we've raised enough soldiers and bought enough horses, we'll abolish your government."
"Bastard!" one adjutant spat.
Everyone looked his way.
Bang!
A single shot.
Tours blew out his leg.
"Ahhh!"
The adjutant crashed to the floor, clutching his thigh and wailing.
"Gray—dress that wound," Erwin ordered at once.
"Yes, sir!"
The other adjutant tore strips from his shirt and bound the leg, stemming the blood.
"We're done here," Erwin said, rising—then heaved the wounded adjutant up and led the way out.
Outside, every Scorpio soldier glared at them down iron sights.
"Beat it, worms!"
"Moron Survey Corps—pack of fools!"
"Tired of living?!"
"Know whose turf you're on?!"
The three shouldered each other down the lane, saying nothing back.
On the way, the wounded adjutant seethed—then sagged with remorse. "I'm sorry, Commander. I was rash," he growled. "They're too arrogant—I couldn't swallow it!"
"Langmai, you're fresh from the Military Police. You're not used to this yet," Erwin said, steady.
The other adjutant let out a sigh. "Commander, they're not wrong about one thing. That outfit of criminals, swaggering under that monster's wing, will become a thorn in the Corps' flesh. We should find an opportunity to cut them out."
"We'll discuss it later. Right now, we get Langmai to a hospital."
"...All right."
They dwindled down the street.
After they'd gone, someone slipped from a corner and scribbled in a notebook.
The next day, word that the Survey Corps commander and the Scorpio commander had held a secret meeting became "news," printed in papers and spread through every alley.
In this "new government" era, the Scorpio Unit's mass pamphleteering had set the template. With the royal "keep-them-ignorant" policy gone, the press boomed.
They copied the Scorpios' pamphlets—printing big and small happenings into "newspapers" for sale.
At first it was just a few speculators trialing the idea; few hands gathered news, so most items were trifles.
But the day this story ran, it detonated in the crowd.
People read the paper, saw "Survey Corps Commander Heroically Wounded," and rage swelled in their chests.
"Why is that monster allowed to strut?!"
"That Roger—spawn of Titans! Why isn't he thrown out of the Walls?!"
"Kill them! That pervert group!"
"Stinking scorpions!"
"Let's enlist—there's no other choice! Until those bastards are gone—"
Indignation surged. Streets and lanes filled with fury.
They had just slipped the "King's" yoke—no more cruel taxes, no more noble sneers—and their hearts brimmed with freedom and hope.
And now they were told a gang of criminals was running wild?
Kill them.
Erase them.
Protests flared.
Chants rose.
It seemed no one could eat in peace until Scorpio fell.
Meanwhile, Roger was busy indoctrinating his troops—drilling loyalty to himself, carving the unit's principles into them, trying to scour out their bandit streak and turn them into a disciplined, unified force.
He didn't know that outside, the world had flipped.
The angry public split into two camps.
One called itself the "Erwin Faction," vowed to oppose Scorpio, and aimed to eradicate them—the Titan remnants.
The other called itself the "Scorpio Faction," stressed Roger's deeds for the people within the Walls, and urged peaceful coexistence.
In that flood of rage, even Erwin—the rational mind who had led the "War of Titans"—couldn't calm them, couldn't coax them back to reason or stop them from making trouble for the fragile new government.
And so—
Ironically,
to rein in the "Erwin Faction's" madness,
Erwin Smith himself, helpless, joined the "Scorpio Faction" that sought détente with Roger.
It did no good.
Those joining the Erwin Faction were mostly the people hurt by Titans—their hatred was bottomless.
For Roger, a Titan, to live easy inside the Walls—this was mankind's fall. Mankind's shame.
Funny thing, though:
While crowds in the royal capital of Mitras raised their fists and roared—protests boiling over—
the Stohess District where Scorpio was based stayed as quiet as a forested mountain town.
Not a single outsider there spoke above sixty decibels.
Every day was still as afternoon tea after a meal—restful, genteel.
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