Glug, glug.
Zachary drained the red wine in his glass in one go, smiling with satisfaction.
"Excellent wine. Charles, I'm almost tempted to stay at your place and never leave."
"Please don't," Charles laughed. "With your drinking capacity, I doubt my cellar would last more than a few days."
The two men sat in an elegant courtyard, enjoying the cool evening breeze as they drank together. Even heavy topics felt lighter when discussed in such an atmosphere.
"Once Pixis's troops finish replacing the sentries, it'll be time to move, right?" Charles asked. "My side is ready too. When it happens, I'll immediately rally support from the nobility. I estimate about one-fifth will openly stand with us."
"That's enough," Zachary said with satisfaction. "That'll make things much more stable."
"That would be ideal. But… will the Garrison and the Scout Regiment really honor their promises?"
"Haha, you don't need to worry about that. They won't—and don't dare—to break them. After all, my little partner is about to make his appearance too. He'll probably stir things up quite a bit."
"You mean Lillian? I met him once before. He does seem to have a lot of potential."
Zachary shook his head and chuckled.
"Charles, you're underestimating him. Truth be told, even I don't fully understand him. In fact… it feels like I've already been played by him once."
"What?" Charles was surprised. He'd known Zachary for over twenty years and had never heard him say something like that.
"Oh, right—you don't know yet. The Reiss family is actually the true royal family. That information came from the Scouts. They captured a few Central Military Police officers and got it out of them. What's even more interesting is that Rod Reiss, the current head of the family, has gone missing. And something seems to have happened to the Central Military Police as well."
"It wasn't you or me. Not Pixis, not Erwin either."
"So when you think about it… that leaves only one person."
"What does he want to do?"
"I don't know."
Zachary genuinely didn't know what Lillian wanted—and that was what made him dangerous.
Most people were easy to read. Their desires were obvious.
Wine. Women. Children. Family. Power. Dreams. Strength.
Everyone wanted to control something—and in turn, was controlled by it.
Those with no desires were the freest, but as long as someone was human, they wanted something. Lillian was no exception. Zachary just couldn't tell what it was.
Power? Maybe.
Authority? Possibly.
But what mattered most to him—Zachary couldn't see it.
By comparison, Zachary himself was simple. He wanted rebellion. A childhood dream that had never faded. All his obedience over the years had been for the sake of one final revolt.
As for Charles—it was family advancement. To elevate his lineage, a change of regime was necessary. Pick the right side, claim the merit of "backing the dragon," and soar to the top.
Someone like Lillian had only two possible paths: crush him into the abyss as soon as possible—or pull him in as an ally.
Leaving him alone would only make him more uncontrollable.
Zachary had chosen the latter.
And for now, it seemed he'd made the right choice.
"The sky's getting dark. Time for me to head back," Zachary said, clinking his glass against Charles's.
"To tomorrow."
"To tomorrow."
---
Night had fallen, yet the royal palace hall remained brightly lit.
Several nobles and ministers exchanged looks, their faces dark with unease.
On a normal night like this, they would already be drunk with friends—or exhausted atop a woman's body.
But tonight, they had no appetite for either.
Because they sensed something worse than boredom.
They sensed the possibility of losing the ability to live that kind of life.
And that fear—more than anything—had drained them of all interest.
"Still no contact with Rod?"
"No. Kenny and his people are gone too. No idea where they ran off to."
"Damn it!"
"All thirty Central Military Police assigned to transport the Colossal Titan have vanished. And the team sent to capture Eren failed as well—instead, two of our men were taken by the Scout Regiment."
"This is bad! Those bastards might spill everything!"
"What do we do now?!"
"We can't rely on the military anymore! Contact the nobles in every district—mobilize all their private forces. I doubt those people will dare make a move then. And tomorrow, announce the execution of Erwin and his Scout Regiment subordinates! I refuse to believe they'll just sit back and watch their commander die!"
"Yes—do it that way!"
After making their decision, the group hurried out of the grand hall. No one spared a glance for the king slumped on the throne, half-asleep.
More than half an hour later, the king finally opened his eyes and yawned.
"Is it over?" He rubbed his eyes. "Good. I can finally go back and sleep."
For the king, this had merely been another night of overtime.
But he wasn't the only one working late.
---
That night, the royal capital's newspaper offices were ablaze with activity.
Whirr—whirr—whirr…
Fresh pages rolled endlessly off the printing presses. Though resentment simmered in their hearts, the staff glanced at the men standing rigidly nearby—black suits, straight postures, knives and pistols at their waists—and wisely swallowed their complaints.
They had no idea who these people were.
All they knew was that just as they were about to close for the night, these uninvited guests had stormed in. Without explanation, they forced the presses to run overtime. As for the content—it was dictated word for word by the black-haired young man standing at the entrance.
As professionals in the newspaper business, their first reaction to his words had been shock—followed by sheer terror.
The articles detailed the corruption, decadence, and obscene excesses of several of the most powerful noble families and royal ministers within the Walls.
If this were published, every person in the newsroom would be lucky to survive until the next day. The gallows would be the best outcome—torture before death was far more likely.
But…
The men in black made their stance crystal clear. Refusal meant death now.
So for the sake of surviving tonight, tomorrow had to be sacrificed.
Many staff members silently resolved that the moment printing finished, they'd go home, pack their things, and flee. One day of escape was still better than none.
"You really think this is useful?" Kenny asked, leaning against the doorway as he watched Lillian. "Once this blows up, isn't it done anyway? Seems like a lot of trouble."
"It gives the local nobles an explanation," Lillian replied calmly. "As long as they know this coup won't involve them, they won't risk their lives stirring things up."
"Tch. Too much thinking. Anyone who causes trouble—just cut them down."
"And can you cut them all down?" Lillian shot back. "What if nobles drag civilians into it—are you going to kill them too? If no one works or produces anything, what do people eat? The population's already collapsing. You want to speed up extinction?"
As he spoke, Lillian knew himself well enough to admit that violent urges did sometimes surface—an impulse to wipe out everyone who disgusted him.
But once he calmed down, he knew that path only led to humanity's destruction within the Walls. Everything he was trying to protect would turn to dust.
The result would be even more tragic than the original timeline.
"Tomorrow, keep your men in check," Lillian continued. "Don't act without my order. If you do, you bear the consequences."
"Yeah, yeah…" Kenny replied irritably. But faced with someone who could kill him in an instant, there wasn't much he could do but comply.
"Th-the printing… it's finished," the newspaper owner stammered.
Lillian took a copy and skimmed it. The content matched what he'd dictated.
Satisfied, he nodded.
"Good," he said, his tone softening as he looked at the sweating owner. "You don't need to worry. We're the good guys—and everything written there is true. You and your staff will be fine."
"Y-yes… of course…"
The owner didn't know whether Lillian's words were trustworthy. After all, "good people" didn't usually threaten others at gunpoint.
But this had been unavoidable.
Unlike the Scout Regiment in the original timeline, Lillian had no intention of wasting time negotiating with newspaper offices. Whether something was just or not was something he was clear about—there was no need to beg others for validation.
Most people didn't care anyway.
Justice didn't matter. Truth didn't matter.
Money—or force—did.
The royal capital's newspapers had always been mouthpieces for those in power. Want the truth? Sorry—this era didn't allow it.
"Kenny, you and your men stay here tonight," Lillian said as he headed for the exit. "Leave after the paperboys come to collect the papers in the morning."
"What? Stay in this dump all night?"
"It's the last night," Lillian replied. "Tomorrow… things get lively."