Marley never passed up a chance to invade. Zeke knew that all too well.
Even if Marley's military got tired and wanted a sip of water, as soon as their cups were empty they'd dive right back into the fight. Calling it "war" was generous. "Harvesting"—or "mowing"—fit better.
After years in Marley's upper circles, Zeke had their brass pegged.
To them, commanding a war was as simple as eating or drinking.
Casualties didn't matter. Logistics didn't matter. He—Zeke—and his Titan Corps gave Marley infinite options, the power to steamroll.
Put the same problem—or the same "tough hill"—in human hands and it might be knotty. In the Titans' hands, it was nothing.
Zeke waved; the Titan Corps did the rest.
In front of them, human defenses were papier-mâché. Every battle became a rout.
Laibusi, a nation of predominantly dark-skinned people in the western world.
Its people were tireless and fierce, once unstoppable in the West. But faced with Marley from the East, they had no answer. Any "human advantage" was a joke against Titans.
Newer, better weapons didn't help; under waves of Titans, they still died.
Boots on their soil, Zeke yawned as the Beast Titan sauntered forward, pushing the line.
Ahead, the Cart Titan's mounted machine-gun pillbox tore through formations, mowing down any soldier who dared raise a rifle.
"Ahhhh!!"
"God, why must we suffer like this?!"
"God! Save us!"
Prayers drowned in the chatter of guns. Pieck shifted the Cart Titan's posture so the bunkers on her back could rake more targets along the ground.
"Looks like Pieck's recovered well."
Zeke nodded, then glanced left—only to find Annie's Female Titan… slacking?
It was the sort of sandbagging only Titan shifters could spot in each other.
A secret passed down with memories: a shifter could stomp forward in huge, showy strides, smash buildings and kick up dust so no one saw clearly—yet cause little actual loss of life.
Like demolition work on a battlefield—big mess, small body count.
Marley only needed land; the corpse count wasn't strictly audited. Why did the dead sometimes tally high, sometimes low? More when a specific target was ordered; fewer when it wasn't.
Of course, that still got you branded "incompetent," then relieved and replaced.
For a shifter, it meant a couple fewer nightmares.
Zeke didn't understand why Annie had changed since infiltrating the Walls—why she'd softened, gone easy on people.
This was their chance to atone.
"Annie!"
He couldn't help it. The Beast Titan called out to the Female Titan.
Annie took the hint and got serious, her kills turning "effective."
Behind them, Marley's officers rolled through ruins and smoke in jeeps, sunglasses on, never noticing the unfinished exchange between the two Titans.
The army punched in, drove deep, and Laibusi soon buckled—capitulation, ceding 80% of its land.
Marley refused to accept the surrender, pressed the attack, and renamed the country Laibusi Province of Western Marley.
The next day, newspapers ran yet another item about Marley's expanding borders.
In tea houses, patrons chatted half-heartedly. "Marley expanding" was the stalest topic of all—bring it up and you were a conversation killer. The pace was too fast.
Who knew—by the time you finished a cup, Marley might have a new province.
While they talked, a man in plain clothes and a rounded cap bought a paper, scanned it, frowned, and tossed it onto the table.
Outside, a black car pulled up and stopped.
"Take me to the military."
He got in, took off the cap, and told the driver.
A nod in the rear-view. The car rolled out.
It stopped at the military gate. The man put his cap back on and walked in—no need to speak to the guards—and went straight to the war council hall.
He pushed the door open and removed his cap.
"Terminate the Laibusi campaign now. Return their land."
His voice was iron. No room for debate.
Marley's officers looked at each other. They knew this man—but never had he barged in like this.
"Ah—Mr. Willy, you—"
The commander-in-chief stood, staring at the young man at the door.
Willy Tybur strode up, grabbed the commander by the collar.
"Are you a pig?!! How can you fight the whole world right now?! Do you even know—the bastard who infiltrated Paradis has three Titans already?!!" He had never raged like this; the room gaped. "Where's Magath?! Bring him to me!! Now! Immediately!!"
"…Please, calm yourself." Even with his collar in a fist, the commander's face didn't change. "Officer Magath's illness has worsened. He is near the end. You and I both… my condolences."
"Near…"
In a flash, Willy understood: with Magath dying, Marley's pig-headed officers had slipped the leash.
He flung the commander away in disgust.
He set the cap on his head again. At the door, he threw one last line over his shoulder, cold as ice.
"Three days. The Tybur family does not want Marley at war with anyone. In half a month I will give a speech—call the world to join the Paradis campaign. By then, aside from garrisons, I want every Marley unit on Paradis's shores, training in anti-Titan combat."
He left, opening the door onto a Tybur retainer he'd planted in the military.
"Patriarch, isn't this against the family's founding creed? Please reconsider!"
"Out of my way!"
Willy Tybur had lost his gentleman's polish.
The family's creed?
The War Hammer Titan had already been stolen by that bastard Roger Eikam!
A creed?
Non-intervention?
You want us to sit here and die?!
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