"It doesn't matter."
Roger replied carelessly.
Those who inherit the Titan power only live thirteen years, which means around thirty years old they'll be dead anyway. Before that, even if their body got polluted, even if they caught some disease, it didn't matter. Life was short.
So Roger didn't care about his body at all. As long as he didn't die, it was fine.
But Wald only gave a timid smile.
At first Roger thought he disliked the pollution of the industrial district, but when they arrived, he realized he had been overthinking it.
This guy clearly had something up his sleeve.
Rumble.
The carriage rattled over the uneven road.
Roger looked out the window as the scenery slowly turned from colorful to black-and-white filth, his mood sinking with it.
At that moment, Wald slipped a hand into his coat.
Roger noticed the small movement from the corner of his eye but didn't expose him—he wanted to see what exactly Wald planned.
Sure enough, it wasn't anything good.
He drew a dagger from his coat.
The tip aimed at Roger, dragging Roger's gaze from the window back to him.
"What's the meaning of this?"
Roger remained calm.
Unless Wald could instantly smash his skull or cut him in half, he couldn't deal a fatal blow.
Clearly, a little dagger couldn't do that, so Roger wasn't afraid.
But Wald knew that too, which was why he only smiled.
"Ha. I don't care if you're a slave to Titans or some monster. On this bridge, if you dare summon that hand again, the whole carriage will be dragged into the industrial waste pool."
"Oh? So what?"
Roger glanced outside again. Sure enough, they were on a bridge, narrow enough for only one carriage at a time.
"This is my last chance."
Wald spoke like a man crying in despair.
He knew this monster before him wouldn't die even if a bullet pierced his heart, knew he could transform into a giant. But more than that, he knew what this man's intentions were.
He was going to take Wald to the gang, then replace him.
Even if he lived, what would his identity become?
A pig?
A slave?
You can kill me, but you'll never humiliate me!
"Yaaaaah!!"
Wald thrust the dagger at Roger's eye.
Roger dodged, swung a left hook, and slammed it into Wald's only good eye.
Blind, Wald slashed wildly in circles before Roger kicked him out of the carriage!
"Ahhhhhh!!"
Splash!
Water splattered.
The sound cut off.
The driver stared in horror at his boss sinking into the toxic pool, trembling as he muttered:
"We're dead…"
Closing the door, Roger lifted the front curtain and spoke to the drivers.
"You two know which way to go, right?"
"Yes! Yes! We know! We both know!!"
"Won't it be cramped with two sitting in front?"
"No, no! Not at all! Please don't worry!"
They spoke in unison.
"Which of you is Babut?" Roger asked.
"Reporting boss, ah—that's me."
Roger glanced at him.
"You're the driver?"
"No, no."
"Sit in the back."
"Huh?"
"Hurry up!"
"Yes! Yes!"
The carriage slowed to a stop. The one called Babut opened the door and climbed inside, taking the seat where Wald had just been.
Nervously, he rubbed his hands, even turning out his pockets to show he carried no weapons.
Roger didn't care. He only wanted to ask some questions.
If Wald wouldn't cooperate, someone else would.
"Does your organization have a name?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Boss—oh, no, Wald always said if we had a name, people would remember it, and then we'd be exposed. So we never gave ourselves one. But outsiders often called Wald 'Red Eye.'"
"Red Eye."
"Yes, because of the red eye."
"I know." Roger's tone was impatient. "What kind of jobs do you usually take?"
"Jobs? You mean business? Ah—murder, kidnapping, extortion, drug trafficking…"
"Fine. I get it." Roger cut him off. He had already guessed, though he hadn't expected them to be rotten to the core.
The carriage slowed. The surroundings grew quiet.
"We're here, b—boss."
The driver stumbled on the word, but he said it. After all, just half an hour ago, their boss had been someone else.
"Mm. Good."
Roger stepped out, looking at the tavern before him. The sign read "Pete Ridoz."
Inside, a bartender was polishing a glass. When he saw who stepped out instead of who he expected, he immediately set the glass down.
The three walked in together.
There were still customers inside. Seeing Roger and the vertical maneuvering gear on his body, they froze mid-dirty joke and stuffed their drugs under the table.
"What's going on, Babut?" the bartender demanded, though he already had a guess.
"Do I need to say it, Nelly?" Babut leaned close, hand covering his mouth. "The boss is dead—killed by him. Most likely, he's taking over now."
"Really?"
"Would I dare lie?"
The bartender stared, dazed for a moment.
Then, quick-witted, he bowed his head respectfully to Roger.
"My name is Nelly Quick. I handle communications inside the organization. May I ask how we should address you?"
Roger was about to give his real name but worried Erwin might track him through it. He decided to improvise a fake one.
But what slipped out was—
"Reiner…"
"…Huh?"
Roger froze.
Why had he blurted Reiner's name? Was it because he carried Reiner's memories?
Thinking it over, it was actually a good name—nobody inside the Walls would recognize it.
Though disrespectful to the dead Reiner, Roger suddenly realized it might even lure Annie and Bertolt out.
"Reiner Braun."
Roger said firmly.
"Call everyone together. Tell them the new boss is waiting." Babut ordered.
The bartender glanced at Roger's young face.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
"If you don't want to die, hurry up." Babut's tone turned sharp.
He had never spoken so boldly before, terrified Roger might take offense and kill him.
But Nelly still half-doubted.
He was just a lackey though—he had no choice but to obey.
He signaled to the men at the door, then opened a bottle, mixed a drink, and placed it before Roger.
"Boss, please enjoy. They'll be here soon."
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