Silence hit like a wave.
Every voice that had been shouting now cut off at once. Faces turned to Roger—to this sharp-featured, steady-eyed young man.
In their minds, Roger should have been a weaselly rat of a man—buck-toothed, filthy, reeking. None of them expected the real Roger to be standing right in front of them, and certainly not looking anything like the vile caricature they'd painted.
But…
He was a Titan shifter.
He had killed a hundred-meter-class Titan by himself.
One by one, mouths shut. The crowd parted of its own accord, opening a lane for him to leave.
"What's wrong?" Roger asked, on purpose.
"N-nothing!" The man who'd tried to recruit him folded at once, forcing a smile and even dipping a bow. "H-hello!"
He stammered and bobbed in a clumsy bow.
Around him, others wanted to follow suit—anything so this "monster" wouldn't snap, transform, and eat them.
Roger didn't care. He waved it off and walked through the middle with Tours.
Not a crow dared caw.
The quiet was absolute.
A click—someone's placard slipped from numb hands and fell at Roger's feet.
Roger bent, picked it up, brushed the dust away.
The man who'd dropped it almost fell to his knees in apology.
"I—I'm sor—"
"Yours?" Roger asked evenly. He glanced at the sign—the big X over the name "Roger"—clicked his tongue once, and handed it back.
The man sagged to the ground, the placard thumping against his chest.
Roger let it go, returned to the carriage with Tours.
"Looks like instead of thanking me, they've got quite a grudge," Roger said, more wry than angry.
Tours flushed. He hadn't known the capital had turned this chaotic.
"I'm sorry, boss. I should have scouted it first."
"We're out recruiting; there's nothing to scout." Roger waved it off. "But with this mood inside the Walls, we'll need to do something to cut their fear and doubt."
"Right. You're right."
Tours snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled off.
No sooner had they gone than the protest knit itself together again.
They rounded on the man who'd bowed.
"Spineless!"
"Why didn't you curse Roger to his face?!"
"And you ask why we didn't heckle him?"
"Civility—ever heard of it? This is a peaceful march. We're not bandits. We don't use violence—or we're no better than Roger."
"But if you'd yelled two lines at him, we'd have forgiven you."
Righteous once more, they lifted their signs and chanted their way into the distance.
As for running into Roger himself—they didn't mention it.
If anyone asked, they'd say, "Our numbers weren't enough. We need more, or we'll be swept under by the greater good."
By the time their chants hit a peak, Roger and Tours were already back in Stohess.
The moment he returned, Roger drafted a "challenge writ" and tucked inside it the world map he'd promised Erwin. He ordered Tours to deliver it to the new government at once.
Tours complied.
At sunset he returned with their answer.
They'd read the Scorpio Corps' challenge and were pleased by the terms—called it a duty, even.
They didn't really have a choice.
Roger had thought it through on the ride: if you want people to trust you, to fear Titans less, to see Scorpio—and Roger—as their own, there's only one path—kill man-eating Titans and reclaim lost land.
The people might not accept Roger, but they would be grateful for regained ground.
So Roger proposed a competition with the three corps. Despite their numbers dwarfing Scorpio's, starting immediately, both sides would launch Titan-subjugation campaigns in the Shiganshina District and assign trusted observers to tally kills.
Whoever slew more Titans would be the winner—the side that had made the greater contribution to those within the Walls.
In his letter, Roger made plain that he wanted to prove—openly—that he meant the people no harm. He also stated that even if the three corps declined, Scorpio would go alone. With or without official tallying, they would show the populace who truly fought for them.
When that day came, no one would need to be told which was better.
No one would need to be told which banner to join.
Erwin hadn't expected Scorpio to turn away from infighting and redirect the conflict toward Titan-slaying—a peaceful contest with lethal work.
Yes, clearing Titans and reclaiming land would tie down troops and leave the Walls thin—but Scorpio would be just as exposed.
Leave some defense behind and the three corps could field an entire regiment. For Scorpio to send even half their force would strain them to the breaking point.
No need to fear an ambush. No need to suspect a trick.
It was the work the corps should be doing anyway. No matter who "won," Titans outside the Walls would die.
Still…
Erwin wasn't sure the strength of mankind inside the Walls could keep up with Roger's Titan power.
Then Hange gave him a reason to hope.
"A big hammer," Hange said, laying a set of plans on his desk—a large-scale device. "It can run without stopping. Use agile decoys to pull Titans in tight—two hundred kills a day isn't a problem."
Erwin watched that confidence blaze, then nodded at last and accepted the contest.
"Between humans and Titans, humans may lose—but we never retreat." With that in mind, he signed his name on the writ.
To ensure Scorpio couldn't fudge numbers—though Erwin didn't think Roger would break his word—he decided to send someone meticulous in mind, strong in theory, and only average (even poor) in combat so as not to waste prime fighting strength.
After some thought, Erwin pulled a rookie he trusted most from the Survey Corps.
A petite, clear-eyed blonde.
"…This mission is yours, Krista," he said.
"Yes, Commander!"
Krista Lenz snapped to attention, hand to heart. Her fine, pretty face went all business as her hair swayed behind her.
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