Nile Dawk truly had no idea how to deal with the mess the Royal Family had left behind. Across the capital—inside and outside the walls—things looked calm on the surface, but the undercurrent was hostile to royal rule everywhere he listened.
As Commander of the Military Police Regiment, the pressure on Nile was crushing.
Every decision came down from the royals. Every benefit flowed back to them. And every mess the royals made—the MPs had to mop it up.
Once upon a time, Nile could say he had full control over the MPs; at least their thinking had been aligned and no one had betrayed their duty. Now he couldn't say that. The crown's heavy-handed policies and the citywide lockdown had the public on edge and grumbling.
As the executors, the MPs had crossed legal lines more than once, and the public now looked at them like the royal family's hounds.
"Water can carry a boat—and capsize it." Nile wanted to lay that lesson out to the royals, to drag them through the streets and make them see what, exactly, they'd done to the capital.
But every time he entered the palace, the words died in his throat. On the rare occasions he pushed them out, he was ignored.
In the royals' eyes, public anger didn't seem that serious. Everything could still be turned around.
As long as the "favors" arrived on schedule, the people would wag their tails again—eventually.
Only Nile knew how much grain from the royal granaries was shaved away at every layer of power. Take a bite and you crunched sand. Would the people be satisfied with that?
The MPs were still breaking their backs to keep order, but the "ikki" leaflets plastered across every street told Nile the truth—the people had reached their limit. They would rise.
"Headache…"
In his office, Nile let out a long breath.
He honestly didn't know how to manage the present situation.
The Garrison had already pulled back to the interior. Even the Survey Corps out on missions had been recalled. All Nile could do was pin his hopes on them, that they'd shoulder some of the pressure.
Just then—
Knock, knock.
"Come in," Nile said, sitting a little straighter, forcing himself alert.
A soldier in a greatcoat stepped in.
"Commander, a group outside says they've captured the leader of the criminal outfit 'Scorpio' and want him jailed."
"Scorpio?" Nile rifled through the files on his desk, found the dossier, and nodded.
Stohess District. A big organization.
"Bring him in," he said.
The soldier saluted and left.
Moments later, Roger Eikam was brought up, hands bound behind his back.
Nile checked the face against the file and confirmed it matched the head of Scorpio. Still, to be sure, he asked, "You're Reiner Braun?"
"Yes."
Roger nodded.
He looked young. Nile felt a flicker of pity—and curiosity. He paged through the dossier again.
Let's see what you actually did, he thought.
But page after page turned up nothing.
Scorpio's criminal record was squeaky clean. Nothing. At one point the MPs had even formally acknowledged them—filed as a civilian self-governance group.
Of course, groups like that were almost never officially recognized on paper; at most they were "tolerated," and they paid sizeable "maintenance fees" each year that suspiciously resembled military funding.
Call it black? Sure—illegally formed. Call it white? The law didn't allow it.
Having such a leader delivered to you was awkward. Jailing him was wrong; releasing him was wrong.
Normally, Nile would have waited until the public's attention moved on and then quietly released him. But not now. Let him go now, and an uprising might not be far behind.
"…"
Caught between two bad choices, Nile fell into thought.
After a moment, he sighed.
Forget it.
"Lock him up," Nile said, glancing at Roger. "As for this Reiner Braun business—you and I both know what it is. You're just unlucky."
Roger nodded calmly, as if accepting his fate.
Seeing how cooperative he was, Nile felt a grudging respect—and even toyed with the idea of releasing him when the chance came.
But during his routine briefing to the royals, Nile listed the smashed gangs as usual. The moment he said the name "Reiner Braun," the ministers sat up, faces brightening.
"Commander Nile, what did you just say? Repeat that."
"Ah? Oh. The head of Scorpio, an affiliate of Kamen's gang—Reiner Braun—has been arrested."
"Good!" The ministers beamed—none more than Lord Rod Reiss.
"Bring that wretch up here!" they shouted.
Rod quickly stayed them. "It would be wiser if we go to him. If this ringleader has something held in reserve…"
"Ha! Lord Reiss, don't be so jumpy. I say—" One minister stopped mid-sentence, reading the room, then shifted tone at once. "Yes. Yes, of course—we shall go view him ourselves."
One mistake was all it would take. This was the man who'd assassinated two lords and escaped intact—and who possessed the power of the Titans. If he transformed in the palace, no one might get out alive.
"Commander Nile, where is this Reiner Braun being held?" Rod Reiss asked.
"Embarrassing to admit, but the MP prison is full. He's currently in the stables, under round-the-clock patrol."
"The stables? That's not secure. I advise you transfer him to the underground prison," Rod said. "Advise," but his tone allowed no argument.
Nile didn't know why—but as a soldier, he could only nod.
"Yes."
That same day, Roger was transferred underground and thrown in with other gang leaders—including Kamen himself, the man who had once clapped Roger on the shoulder and told him the young had promise if they kept at it.
Kamen was filthy and ragged now, scarred over, sitting on his bunk with dead eyes—until a familiar face walked in and brought a spark back.
"So you're in too, Reiner," he rasped, standing with a dry, mocking laugh.
When he'd first been locked up, he'd brooded over giving Scorpio strength only for them to become an affiliate "in name" while slipping from his control in practice. Seeing Roger walk into a cell now—he could hardly hide his glee.
Roger arched a brow at the jeer, sat on Kamen's bunk, and stretched.
"Remember that big haul your casino lost? Yeah. That was me."
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