Considering the situation, Roger couldn't just transform into a Titan.
Instead, he fell back on the infiltration skills he had once learned in Marley's military.
For weapons, since bulletproof vests and silenced pistols were too "sci-fi" for the island, Roger chose small daggers. Only by striking precisely at vital points could they kill.
Alongside those were some homemade tools: smoke bombs and grappling hooks, simple to use.
Roger wanted to minimize casualties. Losing ten men in one heist wasn't worth it.
They drilled the plan for several days, training over and over.
Then, late one night, they set out.
Two groups: one disguised to infiltrate, the other waiting to open fire and draw attention.
Roger had spent the organization's entire treasury, even kidnapped two merchant families for quick money, and scraped together a few guns for the "fire group." He also had a craftsman make an hourglass.
A crude device, but Roger calibrated it again and again, the error under two minutes. One run of sand lasted thirty minutes.
By his calculations, that gave just enough time for the infiltration group to rob the vault and escape. But in case of delays, he told the fire group: once the sand ran out, attack no matter what, drawing attention, then retreat while fighting, saving themselves.
The infiltrators had two outfits—gambler's clothes, and stolen casino guard uniforms.
To cover their entry, Roger had bribed a guard to provide a vault map and stash the uniforms in a hiding spot.
And to keep him from betraying them, Roger also stole Military Police uniforms. The fire group would wear those, entering through the front to meet the infiltrators at the right moment.
The MP station wasn't far, but they'd take at least an hour to respond—by then the gang would be long gone.
After issuing orders, Roger changed clothes.
The casino stayed open late to meet gamblers' demands.
By the time he approached, night had fallen, the road pale under the lamps, distant lights burning.
"It's about time." Roger looked at the sky. "Fire group, start the hourglass."
"Yes." A man with a ponytail like a woman's pulled the glass from his pack.
He was excited—he had never attempted something so big.
Red Eye had always played safe, sticking to kidnappings. Profits were small, and often the MPs hauled men away.
But this—this was huge. And dangerous.
When they'd first heard about robbing Kamen's casino, they'd thought it was suicide. But after two weeks of planning and drills, they'd started to believe.
The plan was tight.
And gangs lived by blood and risk. Otherwise, they were just petty thugs.
Now, standing at the casino, he was trembling with thrill.
Roger noticed his energy. His ponytail, his eager grin—somehow, it reminded him of Hange.
"Hey, what's your name?" Roger asked suddenly.
"M… me?" The ponytailed man blinked, then smiled. "I'm Tours Beak, boss."
"Do well, Tours."
Roger gave him encouragement. Unlike the others, this one didn't look cowardly.
"Yes, boss!"
"Shh. Keep it down."
"O-okay."
Roger flipped the hourglass himself, then led the infiltrators, dressed as gamblers, boldly inside.
As he walked, he recalled the lessons Magath had taught. But then something strange happened—phrases, word for word, spilled from his lips.
"?"
Roger frowned.
He had never memorized theory like this.
So was this… Reiner's memory?
"Idiot," Roger cursed inwardly. "What use is reciting this crap if you can't act on it?"
Still, he couldn't help some respect.
Reiner had clearly drilled it endlessly, scoring top in theory while Roger had always been weakest.
Before long, they reached the casino doors.
"This is Count Eddie's guest, Mr. Commons Cook."
Copying other gamblers, one of his men introduced Roger.
The guards exchanged looks. They had never heard of "Commons Cook," but they knew Count Eddie. The man invited anyone and everyone. Once, he had urinated in the street beside a stranger, decided he was a kindred spirit, and dragged him to dinner.
"Very well. Please follow me."
Respectful, the guard led Roger to a private room.
Once seated, Roger nodded, waved the guard away.
When he was gone, Roger excused himself to the restroom and slipped off to rejoin the others.
"Start the operation."
Roger ordered. Heads nodded.
They crept down a side passage, silently dispatching several guards by the staff corridor.
The corridor was secluded, so the bodies wouldn't be discovered right away. Still, they stayed cautious.
They hid the corpses, then moved toward the designated point where the bribed guard had hidden the uniforms. From there, they would change and approach the vault under the guise of a Kamen inspection.
But when they reached the changing room—
Not a single uniform was there.
"Boss! We've been tricked! He sold us out to Kamen!"
A man shouted, rushing to the exit.
But the staff corridor's iron door was locked tight.
Boots thundered from below. Guards stormed up.
"Boss, we're surrounded!!"
"We're finished…"
"I knew this plan was suicide…"
"What do we do?!"
They thought of the dried bones hanging from the rafters, their bodies shaking.
But Roger did not panic. Though the betrayal was unexpected, he seemed prepared.
"Don't panic. Everyone stand back."
He drew his dagger.
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