For defense, every gate had a bastion built around it—designed to lure Titans in, perfect for concentrated strikes.
The southern bastion was called Shiganshina District, packed with people.
And this spot? It was the closest to Rein's stunt yesterday.
Outside the gate, a few mindless Titans loafed around, drifting aimlessly.
Even through the 50-meter wall, the scent of human flesh still drew them in.
Too bad for these dazed Pure Titans—they could only slump at the base, staring up at a "feast" they'd never reach.
Less than 500 meters away, in a small grove, the only Pure Titan with a brain watched in secret.
Rein had been crouching for over an hour. The gate stayed shut tight, no hint of opening.
Atop the wall, cannons lined up tight, the Garrison peering down with smug disdain at the beasts below.
Inside those walls, aside from the Survey Corps, no one grasped how terrifying Titans could be.
But one day, they'd remember the fear of being ruled by them.
That was a story for later, though. Right now, Rein was stewing—the defenses here hadn't thinned at all.
They hadn't pulled troops to patch yesterday's breach.
So, Rein wavered: charge in or back off?
"Two more hours," he decided. "If they don't show, I'm out. The Survey Corps usually heads out in the morning."
No sooner had he thought it than faint sounds trickled from the gate.
A figure on the wall waved a hand, and a green cloak soared down.
Trailing behind it, two long streams of white smoke.
Maneuver gear!
Wings of Freedom!
It was the Survey Corps.
That figure, boosted by the gear, danced like a phantom, weaving effortlessly around the Titans.
The human scent jolted the mindless Titans' nerves. They lumbered after the green blur, clustering together.
In under five minutes, every Titan at the bastion gate had bunched up—tall, short, fat, thin—all reaching skyward, desperate to snag the green shadow.
Directly above, a row of dark cannon muzzles zeroed in.
They couldn't fathom it: they were fish on the chopping block.
"Sigh…" Rein watched the scene and shook his head. "Having a brain—damn, it's everything."
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Fire flared, smoke billowed. The cannons unleashed a barrage, iron balls hammering the mindless Titans without mercy.
The bombardment lasted over ten minutes, stopping only when the last Titan's nape turned to mush.
Rein's palms sweated, his throat tight.
If those cannons all turned on him…
Now, the bastion's exterior was empty. Only a corner held a pile of broken bodies, slowly steaming away.
The path out was clear. Next, the gate would swing wide.
Gulp. Rein's hands itched. The guts he'd mustered to rush in fizzled out.
Charging the gate meant facing the Survey Corps and dodging that wall-top artillery.
Alone? It was damn near impossible.
"What's the difference between this and suicide?"
He asked himself three times, finally chickening out and scrapping Day 82's plan.
At the gate, the barrier between worlds creaked open. The massive door rose slowly.
When it fully lifted, a green streak shot out from within.
Wings of Freedom led the charge, hooves thundering, bolting a hundred meters in a blink.
Then came a steady clatter of hooves—the Survey Corps poured out in a line.
Rein counted: twenty in all.
He even sized up their heights.
If there was a short one, that'd be the killing machine.
Rein, fresh from his world, had only seen Titans since arriving. Humans? He couldn't tell Levi from Eren.
Anime and reality were worlds apart.
But height didn't lie, he figured.
Good news: no runts in this crew. A small relief.
Once everyone was out, the gate began its slow descent.
It wasn't quick—by Rein's guess, at least twenty seconds before it shut.
He stared at the closing gate, eyes burning. The plan he'd ditched flared up again, tempting him to sprint for it.
He'd crunched the numbers: 500 meters from here to the wall, 10 meters tall himself. Back in school, his best 100-meter dash was thirteen seconds.
Scale that up, and if he ran flat out, he'd hit the gate in 15-16 seconds. Then, channel Jackie Chan—tuck, roll, and he'd be inside! Theoretically doable! And didn't they say something like—
"No fortress stands against speed."
At that pace, the cannons wouldn't even react!
The more he thought, the more pumped he got—hands itchy, legs coiled, like he'd already bolted.
But while he ran those mental laps, the gate had half-closed.
By the time he snapped out of it, the chance was gone.
"Damn it!" He cursed his dumb ass for missing the shot.
Then again—when the Survey Corps came back, wouldn't that be an even better shot?
Every mission wore them down—Wings of Freedom always lost men, returning beat. Hit them then, and his odds might double.
That thought eased him up. He gave himself a mental pat for being clever.
Clank, clank, clank.
The gate sealed shut. The twenty green-cloaked soldiers lined up outside, their leader barking orders—like a teacher before a field trip.
Orders done, they split two ways—ten left, ten right—and took off.
With the walls still whole, the Wings of Freedom, yearning for liberty, leaped beyond to uncover the world outside.
They were worth admiring—folks who saw danger in peace, risking their hides to probe the wall's secrets.
Back when Rein watched the anime, he'd idolized the Wings of Freedom, even doing the cheesy "dedicate your heart" salute.
But now, with a god's-eye view, he knew: the real secrets weren't out there—they were inside the walls they guarded.
Sad. A shame.
No time for that now, though—because Rein spotted something awful: one of those squads was heading straight for him! "Am I seriously this unlucky?"
Outside Shiganshina, the land was wide open, with just a few scattered groves.
Maybe to flex their maneuver gear, this ten-man team didn't swerve—barreling right at Rein.
At this angle, they'd crash face-first into him!