Amid the laughter and chatter, the blond young man lowered his head. His eyes were shadowed, sorrow hidden in their depths.
Erwin noticed.
Not "no."
But "can't say."
He didn't press. Instead, he raised his voice, cutting through the noise:
"Alright! Pack it up!"
The soldiers quieted instantly.
"Have you all forgotten where you are?" Erwin continued, voice stern. "Winning one battle doesn't make this ground safe. Clean the field—we're heading back to the city!"
"What? Already? But we only just set out…" someone muttered, disappointed.
"The purpose of the Survey Corps is not sightseeing," Erwin barked. "Our mission is to explore the possibilities of survival outside and find methods to counter Titans."
His gaze fell on Zeke. A brief, weighty silence passed between them.
"…This time," Erwin declared, "I believe we've discovered a method. Therefore, I judge this expedition a complete success! Disband!"
The soldiers, however, weren't so eager to retreat.
"But Captain—" one spoke up, eyes darting toward Zeke. "We've found a weapon against Titans! Shouldn't we push further?"
"That's right! We should keep exploring!"
"It's still early—we can go deeper before turning back!"
Their morale was high; pulling them away now felt unbearable.
Erwin's eyes slid back to Zeke.
Zeke read the look immediately. He turned toward the wagon. "How many bullets are left?"
Annie and Reiner exchanged helpless glances, then shook their heads.
Bertolt silently opened the chamber, tipped it upside down, and let a single round fall into his palm. "…One."
Zeke returned quickly, hefted his own rifle. The weight told him everything.
"…I'm out too." He looked at Erwin with feigned regret.
The atmosphere collapsed in an instant.
"Only one bullet?"
"That's nothing!"
"Then retreat! Pull back before the next wave comes!"
The soldiers who had been so eager moments ago immediately reversed course. Freedom was precious, yes—but life was more precious still.
Orders carried quickly. They began cleaning the field, tending the wounded, gathering what gear and bodies they could. The smell of blood was heavy; the groans of the dying were heavier still.
Zeke, with no tasks assigned, climbed into the carriage and sat quietly. Watching.
Then he reached out and took the last bullet from Bertolt.
Bertolt's hand froze midair. Annie and Reiner stared.
"I'll hold onto this," Zeke said simply. "Safer that way."
None of them argued. But when he glanced back, the three sat stiffly in shadow, their faces pale and ugly.
"…What's wrong?" Zeke asked quietly. "Not used to killing yet?"
They didn't answer.
Until two soldiers walked past, carrying a mangled body.
The recruits only caught a glimpse before recoiling, stomachs turning.
"Ugh—!" Reiner gagged.
"V-vomit—!" Bertolt clapped a hand over his mouth.
Annie lasted two seconds longer before bolting off the wagon, where she bent double and retched violently.
The corpse had not been torn apart by Titans.
It had been shot.
A clean hole where no Titan bite should have been.
And the rifle that fired it… was theirs.
Zeke followed Annie, hand patting her back as she shook. He didn't know what else to do.
The soldiers carrying the body froze, startled.
"Ah—sorry!" one said quickly. "We forgot there were children here. Sorry, sorry, we'll keep it out of sight."
He turned, calling to his comrades, "Move the bodies away from this cart! Don't scare the kids!"
The order spread swiftly. Soldiers avoided their wagon after that.
But Annie couldn't stop trembling.
"Why… why are they apologizing?" she whispered, voice hoarse. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"It was me. I… I killed them. Ugh—!"
Elizabeth rushed over, crouching beside her. "No! Don't blame yourself. When we take the field, every one of us knows we may die at any moment. Without your help, we wouldn't have survived this fight at all!"
Her eyes were bright, her voice urgent. "We fly through the air, dodging death every second! Sister, it's not your fault if your aim wasn't perfect. We're grateful you fought with us!"
"Exactly." Erwin's voice carried over, level and cold. He was surveying the field, his expression calm to the point of cruelty. "Our casualties this time are drastically lower. Normally, in a battle of this scale, that squad would have been wiped out entirely."
His words were logical, rational. But they pierced Annie like a blade.
"How can you say that…?" she whispered, shaking. "If I had aimed better—if I had aimed more carefully—maybe they'd still be alive—"
Her guilt coiled tighter with every word.
Zeke kept patting her back, his face unreadable. "It's not your fault."
But he knew she wouldn't believe him.
Marley trained its Eldians to be "warriors," to fight with their bodies, to brawl, to transform.
Precision skills—sniping, gunnery, ranged tactics—were secondary.
It was by design. Marley would never allow its Eldian dogs to be too capable. They didn't need perfect soldiers.
They needed controlled weapons.
The three "recruits" were good. Better than most, even. But compared to trained sharpshooters, their aim was unpolished. And in this battle, with no cooperation, no rhythm with the Survey Corps, accidents were inevitable.
Still, Zeke knew. Annie knew.
That first soldier hadn't been "unlucky."
Her bullet had found its mark.
And that fact would never leave her.