Hello, Drinor here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of Attack on Titan: A Warrior of Devils
If you want to Read the Following TWO Chapters, Search 'Drinor Patreon' on Google and Click the First LINK
Chapter 26, and Chapter 27 are already available for Patrons.
The morning sun painted elongated shadows across the weathered stone courtyard as Jaime and Petra approached the secluded building. Aethra's copper coat gleamed in the golden light.
Jaime's purple eyes scanned the perimeter—a habit so deeply ingrained by Kenny's training that it had become as natural as breathing. The old stone structure offered excellent cover from the north and east, he noted, while the sparse tree line to the west provided potential escape routes if needed. The southern approach remained exposed—a tactical vulnerability, but also allowing clear visibility of any approaching threats.
"We're here," Petra announced.
Four figures stood in disciplined formation near the building's entrance. Jaime recognized them immediately as Captain Levi's handpicked squad—elite soldiers whose reputations had spread even among the cadets. Eld Jinn, the squad's second-in-command, stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his blond hair tied back in its characteristic knot. Beside him, Gunther Schultz maintained a vigilant posture, his sharp eyes continuously sweeping the perimeter as if titans might appear at any moment. Oluo Bozado affected a haughty stance that Jaime immediately recognized as an imitation of Captain Levi, down to the slightly narrowed eyes and the particular tilt of his head.
And then there was Captain Levi himself, standing slightly apart from his squad. Despite being several inches shorter than everyone present, his presence dominated the courtyard.
As Jaime dismounted, another familiar figure emerged from behind the squad. Eren walked out through the door, and he looked surprised to see Jaime.
"Jaime?" Eren exclaimed, stepping forward. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be training with the others."
"What, you thought I'd miss your big transformation party? I even brought a gift," he quipped, patting Aethra's flank. "Though she insisted on coming herself instead of letting me wrap her."
Eren let out a chuckle, looking amused.
"Introduce yourself properly," she said, her tone firm but her orange eyes glinting with amusement as she dismounted. "This isn't the mess hall."
Jaime straightened, snapping a salute. "Jaime, sir. Top of the 104th Training Corps."
"Lucky brat's here to babysit Titan-boy, huh? What's next, wiping his nose when he sneezes lightning?"
"Ease up, Oluo," Eld said. "Kid's got the top spot for a reason." The quiet one, Gunther, just tilted his head, sizing Jaime up like a horse at market. Levi didn't move, didn't blink; he looked like a tiny statue that someone forgot to move.
Petra cleared her throat, stepping forward. "He's here to observe Eren's transformation, Captain's orders." She glanced at Levi, who finally spoke, his voice low and clipped like a snapped wire.
"That's the start of it," Levi said, uncrossing his arms. His eyes locked on Jaime's, unreadable but piercing. "There might be more. Depends on you." He jerked his chin toward Eren. "Get moving, brat. Further out—don't blow us all up."
Eren shuffled away from the well, boots scuffing the dirt, while Jaime bit back a quip about Oluo's nose-wiping skills. First impressions mattered, and he didn't want Levi's stare turning into a boot up his ass. Instead, he tilted his head at Oluo and said, "Lucky's better than late, right? I hear Titans don't wait for babysitters to finish bragging." Petra stifled a giggle behind her hand, and Oluo's smirk faltered into a scowl.
Before the guy could snap back, Hange clapped her hands so hard Jaime swore the birds in the nearby trees took flight. "Oh, this is it! Go ahead, Eren—transform into a beauty!" She was practically vibrating, her squad exchanging worried glances as if she might start dancing a jig right there in the dust.
Eren took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders like he was psyching himself up for a brawl. Then, with a grimace, he sank his teeth into his hand. A deafening crack split the air, golden lightning arcing upward like a jagged crown. Jaime's breath caught—The exact same thunder—as the courtyard shuddered. Steam billowed, and Eren's Titan erupted into being: 15 meters of sinew and fury, green eyes glowing dimly through the haze. His messy brown hair flopped over a face that looked more confused than menacing, towering over them all.
Everyone tensed—Eld's hand twitched toward his blades, Gunther shifted his stance, even Petra's posture stiffened. Hange, though? She squealed like a pig at a feast, clapping her hands again. "Yes! YES! Look at him—perfectly grotesque!" Levi didn't flinch, his expression as flat as the courtyard stones, and Jaime forced his own shoulders to relax, studying the Titan with a mix of awe and unease.
"Show us five fingers, Eren!" Hange bellowed, bouncing on her toes. "Come on, dazzle us!"
Eren's Titan blinked slowly, like he'd forgotten how hands worked. His massive fingers twitched, fumbling in the air—one, two, three—before finally curling into a shaky five. A collective breath escaped the Levi Squad.
"Holy shit," Oluo muttered, eyes wide. "He actually did it."
"Controlled, too," Eld added, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Gunther just grunted, which Jaime took as high praise. Hange spun toward them, glasses fogging with excitement. "Isn't he gorgeous? Oh, Eren, you should stay like this forever—think of the experiments we could—"
"Enough," Levi cut in, his voice a whip-crack. "Squad, watch Hange. She's the real threat here." He turned his head slightly, meeting Petra's puzzled blink. "Not kidding. Right now, Eren's in more danger from her than we are from him."
Petra frowned, mouthing, "Hange?" but Levi was already moving, beckoning Jaime with a curt flick of his hand. "You. Follow me."
Jaime hesitated half a second—long enough to catch Hange cooing at Eren's Titan like it was a puppy—then fell into step behind Levi. The Captain's short strides ate up the ground toward the forest edge, his cloak barely stirring despite the pace. Jaime glanced back once: Eren's Titan still loomed, awkwardly holding up five fingers while Hange scribbled notes at a manic speed. Petra gave him a small, encouraging nod, but Oluo's smirk lingered like a challenge.
The courtyard faded behind them, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the faint groan of Eren's Titan shifting its weight.
The forest swallowed them whole as Levi led Jaime away from the courtyard, the distant rumble of Eren's Titan fading into a chorus of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. Sunlight speared through the canopy in thin, dusty beams, painting the ground in shifting patches of gold and shadow. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, sharp enough to sting Jaime's nose after the open grit of the courtyard.
They stopped in a small clearing ringed by towering oaks, their gnarled branches sprawling like the ribs of some ancient beast. A breeze tugged at Levi's cloak, but he didn't turn, just stood there with his back to Jaime, hands clasped behind him. The silence stretched taut, broken only by the faint tick-tick of a woodpecker somewhere above. Jaime shifted his weight, resisting the urge to fill the quiet with a quip—something about short guys and tall trees, maybe—but the weight of Levi's presence pinned his tongue.
Finally, Levi spoke, voice flat as a blade's edge. "Trost. Twenty kills solo, captained a squad, saved three soldiers—Agnesa, Jonah, Ian. That right?"
Jaime straightened, brushing a leaf off his sleeve. "Yes, sir." He paused, then added, "But the others pulled their weight—Jean, Mikasa, Armin—they all fought hard. Wouldn't have made it without them."
Levi turned his head just enough for Jaime to catch the glint of those steel-gray eyes, sharp and unamused. "I read the report. Don't bore me with modesty—it's a waste of breath." He faced forward again, staring at the trees like they'd personally offended him. "Erwin's been crowing about you since yesterday. Twenty-eight kills in that training stunt. Impressed him, apparently." His tone dipped, skepticism bleeding through. "Me? I'm not sold. Let's see if you're special or just a lucky brat."
Jaime's stomach tightened, but he kept his face steady, purple eyes flicking to the forest around them. Lucky brat, huh? Kenny'd said worse—called him a "starving rat with a stick."
The Captain pointed a gloved hand at the trees, his gesture casual but commanding. "Show me what you've got with ODM gear. Now."
No warm-up, no warning—just go. Jaime nodded once, sharp and quick, then checked his gear: gas levels good, blades secure. He took a breath, and fired his hooks. The thunk of metal biting wood echoed as he launched upward, the world blurring into streaks of green and brown. Wind whipped past his ears.
He spotted a thick branch ahead, angled just right for a spin. With a twist of his hips, he coiled into a tight spiral, blades flashing as he slashed an imaginary nape mid-air—a move Kenny'd drilled into him until his hands bled. The motion was smooth, but as he arced toward the next tree, Levi's voice cut through like a gunshot.
"Too much gas on that loop!"
Jaime gritted his teeth, adjusting mid-swing as he fired another hook. He aimed for a lower branch, banking hard to the left in a tight turn that sent leaves spiraling in his wake. His boots skimmed the bark as he pivoted, slashing upward with both blades in a scissor-strike—another phantom Titan down. The rush was electric, the forest bending to his rhythm, but Levi wasn't done.
"Sloppy angle on the descent! You're dropping too fast—fix it!"
Jaime cursed under his breath, feeling the strain in his shoulders as he shot upward again. Levi's eyes were on him—Jaime didn't need to look to know it. They burned like twin hawks tracking a rabbit, picking apart every move. He swung high, using a cluster of branches to ricochet between, then dropped into a controlled fall, blades carving a perfect arc. His hooks fired just before he hit the ground, yanking him back up in a burst of momentum that left his stomach lurching.
He landed in the clearing a few paces from Levi, boots skidding slightly on the mossy earth. His chest heaved, sweat beading on his scarred forehead as he sheathed his blades with a soft click. The run had been solid—damn good, even—but Levi's stare told him solid wasn't enough. The Captain stepped forward, boots silent on the forest floor, and stopped close enough that Jaime could smell the faint tang of tea and steel on him.
"Gas efficiency's piss-poor," Levi said, voice low and cutting. "You're burning through it like a rookie with a death wish. And that descent? Looked like a drunk bird falling out of a nest." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "But the spins... not terrible. You've got instincts. Question is, can you sharpen them, or are you just coasting on luck?"
Jaime wiped his brow, catching his breath. "Instincts got me through Trost, sir. Luck's just the garnish." He risked a half-smile, testing the waters, but Levi's expression didn't budge—just that cold, hawk-like stare, dissecting him down to the bone.
"Trost was a mess, not a medal," Levi shot back. "Twenty kills means nothing if you can't do it clean. I've seen brats with half your tally move better—less flash, more control." He turned, gesturing at the trees again. "Run it again. Less gas, tighter angles."
Jaime nodded. The forest loomed ahead, a gauntlet of wood and wind, but Levi's words lingered heavier than the trees. He wasn't just watching for skill; he was digging for something deeper, something Jaime wasn't sure he could name yet. With a sharp exhale, he fired his hooks again, launching back into the canopy.
After hours of using his ODM Gear, Levi finally decided to teach him something.
"Enough playing," Levi said, his voice slicing through the quiet like a blade through fat. "Time to learn something useful." He stepped toward a pair of weathered logs propped upright between two pines—crude Titan dummies, their "napes" marked with chalked Xs. "Watch."
Jaime's purple eyes tracked Levi as the Captain fired his hooks with a sharp thunk-thunk, launching into the air. What happened next was a blur of precision: Levi twisted mid-flight, flipping his blades into a reverse grip, palms up. His body spun like a top—once, twice—blades flashing as he struck both Xs in a single pass, the cuts so clean the chalk dust barely puffed. He landed lightly, barely a ripple in the needles, with a faint hiss of gas trailing behind him. Minimal. Efficient. Impossible.
"Do it," Levi ordered, sheathing his blades with a click and stepping back.
Jaime swallowed, flexing his fingers around his gear handles. "Right. Reverse-grip spin, two targets. Easy enough." He muttered the last bit under his breath, hoping Levi didn't hear—or didn't care. He fired his hooks, the familiar jolt of acceleration surging through him as he swung upward. The pines blurred past, and he twisted his wrists, flipping the blades backward. Core tight, spin fast— He coiled into the spin, aiming for the first X, but the momentum yanked him off-kilter. His shoulder clipped the second log, blades missing wide, and he overspun, hurtling toward a pine trunk.
"Shit—" He fired a hook at the last second, yanking himself sideways and crashing into a roll across the needles. Pinecones jabbed his ribs as he skidded to a stop, coughing dust. Above him, a squirrel chittered, probably laughing.
Levi didn't move, didn't even blink. "Again," he snapped, voice sharp as a whip. "You're wasting momentum. Titans won't wait for you to untangle your ass from a tree."
Jaime pushed to his feet, brushing dirt off his cloak. "Noted, sir. Less tree-hugging, more slicing." He flashed a half-grin, but Levi's glare could've curdled milk. Wiping sweat from his brow, Jaime reset, rolling his shoulders. Focus. Kenny'd skin me for that flop. He launched again, hooks biting wood with a satisfying crunch. This time, he gripped the blades tighter, spinning as he neared the logs—too fast. The world tilted, his stomach lurching as he overshot both targets, blades slashing air. He landed hard, stumbling forward, gas hissing longer than Levi's demo.
"Pathetic," Levi said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over Jaime like a storm cloud. "If you can't adapt, you're Titan fodder. Might as well paint a target on your back and call it a day."
Jaime straightened, chest heaving. "I'll get it, sir. Just need—"
"Less whining, more doing," Levi cut in. "Focus on your core. Balance starts there, not in your damn head." He jerked his chin at the logs. "Again."
Jaime nodded, determination flickering in his gut like a struck match. Core. Right. He shook out his arms, feeling the ache settle in, and launched once more. The forest spun around him—pine needles, bark, sunlight—but he tightened his abs, anchoring himself as he flipped the blades. He spun, slower this time, slashing the first X clean. The second grazed wide, but he stuck the landing, boots skidding only an inch. Progress. Barely.
Levi grunted—grudging approval, maybe?—but didn't comment. Instead, he turned, gesturing toward the courtyard. "Come on. Let's see if Eren's any less of a disaster than you."
The courtyard buzzed with chaos as they emerged from the trees, the old castle's stone walls looming like silent judges. Eren's Titan loomed too, all 15 meters of him, steam curling off his muscled frame as he teetered near a stack of logs. Hange danced around him, goggles fogged with excitement, her squad trailing like nervous ducklings. Moblit clutched a clipboard, muttering prayers under his breath as Eren's massive hand fumbled a log the size of a cart axle.
"Lift it, Eren! Show us that Titan strength!" Hange crowed, clapping like a kid at a festival. "Oh, you're magnificent!"
Eren's green eyes blinked sluggishly from his Titan skull, and he hefted the log—too hard. It wobbled, then slipped, crashing toward Moblit with a ground-shaking thud. The soldier yelped, diving aside as splinters flew, his clipboard skittering across the dirt. Eren's Titan froze, looking sheepish—if a giant could manage that.
"Progress!" Hange cheered, undeterred, scribbling furiously. "He almost held it that time!"
Levi stopped beside Jaime, arms crossed, his voice a dry mutter. "He's as clumsy as you right now. Maybe you two should swap lessons—teach him to fall, and he'll teach you to trip over your own feet."
Jaime smirked, wiping pine resin off his hands. "Think I'd look better in Titan skin, sir? Might give me an edge on those spins."
"Don't tempt me," Levi shot back. "Get back to it tomorrow. Eight hours, every day, until you're not a liability." He turned away, barking at Hange, "Oi, four-eyes! Stop coddling him—he's not a damn pet!"
Hange spun, grinning wide. "But Levi, look at him! He's learning to walk! Next, we'll have him dancing—"
"Shut it," Levi snapped, striding off. Jaime watched him go, then glanced at Eren's Titan, now attempting a straight-line stumble that sent another log rolling. Moblit dove again, cursing, while Hange clapped like it was a masterpiece.
Jaime snorted, shaking his head. Eight hours with Levi tomorrow? His muscles already ached, and those logs looked softer than the Captain's glare. But that reverse-grip spin danced in his mind—clean, lethal, Levi. He'd crack it, even if it meant crashing through every tree in this damn forest.
After three more hours of training, Jaime and Levi walked out of the forest, and the sight caught the shorter guy by surprise.
Steam hissed from Eren's muscled frame, his green eyes dim with exhaustion as he swayed slightly, a log still clutched in one massive hand. Hange danced below, goggles fogged with glee, scribbling notes as Moblit hovered nearby, looking like he'd aged a decade in a day.
"Oi, Eren. Out. You've spent enough time being Hange's puppy." Levi shouted as they approached. Petra told Levi that there had been no incidents with Eren, and somehow, despite having a Titan face right now, it was clear he looked relieved to hear that order from Levi.
Hange spun, clutching her clipboard like a lifeline. "But Levi! I want to see if he can juggle—"
"No," Levi snapped, his glare pinning her mid-bounce. "He's done. Get him out before you turn him into a circus act."
Hange whined, a high-pitched groan, but Eren didn't wait for her to argue. With a groan of his own—deep and guttural through Titan jaws—he slumped forward, steam billowing as his form began to dissolve. The log thudded to the ground, narrowly missing Moblit, who yelped and scrambled back. Jaime darted forward, boots crunching gravel, as Eren emerged from the nape, soaked in sweat and staggering like a newborn foal. His green eyes blinked hazily, and Jaime caught his arm, steadying him.
"Easy, Titan-boy," Jaime said, grinning despite the strain in Eren's face. "You look like you've been Hange's chew toy all day."
"Feels like it," Eren muttered, voice hoarse as he leaned into Jaime's grip. "She... she wanted me to climb the wall next."
Petra appeared at Jaime's side, her orange eyes soft with concern as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Rest, Eren," she said firmly, shooting a glance at Hange, who was still pouting by the steaming Titan husk. "Ignore her. And definitely don't indulge her questions—she'll have you back out there juggling logs in five minutes."
"Juggle?" Hange perked up, ears practically twitching. "Oh, that's a brilliant—"
"Enough, four-eyes," Levi barked, already striding toward the castle entrance. "Inside. Now."
Jaime smirked, slinging Eren's arm over his shoulder as Petra took the other side. "Come on, hero. Let's get you somewhere that doesn't smell like Titan sweat."
Eren collapsed onto a threadbare sofa in a small side room, its cushions sagging under his weight. He groaned, sprawling out, one arm flung over his eyes as the last of the day's tension bled from him. Jaime left him there, crossing to a makeshift kitchen corner—a rickety table, a dented pot, and a small fire crackling in a hearth. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms scarred from Underground days, and started chopping a potato with quick, practiced flicks of his knife.
Eren peeked out from under his arm, his voice sluggish. "So... how was your first day with Captain Levi?"
Jaime snorted, tossing the potato chunks into the pot. "Barely. Man's a genius with ODM gear. Showed me this reverse-grip spin that'd make Titans cry if they could. But strict? Hells, he's stricter than..." He paused, the name Kenny hovering on his tongue. He swallowed it, keeping it to himself. "Stricter than a drill sergeant with a grudge. Nearly turned me into a pinecone collection today."
Eren chuckled weakly, shifting to sit up. "Sounds rough. Hange wasn't much better. Had me walking in circles—'heel-to-toe, Eren, like a lady!'—then ripping trees out, roots and all. Tried to make me climb a damn boulder, too. Said it'd 'test my grip strength.' Ridiculous."
Jaime grinned, stirring the pot as broth began to bubble. "What's next, teaching you to tap-dance? 'Eren Yeager, Titan Twinkle-Toes'—I'd pay to see that."
Eren groaned again, but a laugh slipped out. "Don't give her ideas."
The door creaked open, and Petra slipped in, carrying a small sack of onions and a bundle of herbs—ingredients Jaime had asked for earlier. Her cloak was dusted with courtyard dirt, but her smile was warm as she set them on the table. "Here you go, Chef Jaime. Don't burn the place down, alright?"
"Thanks, Petra," Jaime said, snagging an onion and peeling it with a flourish. "No promises, though—fire's half the fun."
She leaned against the table, watching him work. "So, how was it out there with the Captain? Survive his glare?"
"Barely," Jaime said, echoing his quip to Eren. "He's fast—faster than anyone I've seen. But every time I swung, it was 'too much gas' or 'sloppy angle.' Thought he'd bury me under a tree by lunch."
Petra laughed, soft and bright, her eyes crinkling. "That's Captain Levi. He doesn't ease up—ever. But you're doing better than we did on our first day, trust me. He's tough because he sees something in you."
Jaime raised a brow, chopping herbs with a rhythmic tap-tap. "Better than you? Hard to believe. You lot move like you were born with hooks."
Eren perked up, intrigued, propping himself on an elbow. "Yeah, what was your first day like, Petra? With Captain Levi, I mean."
Petra's smile faltered, a shudder rippling through her before she caught herself. "Oh, it was... memorable." She hesitated, then leaned in, voice dropping like she was sharing a secret. "He had us run laps around the old HQ—full gear, no breaks—until Eld puked. Then he made us clean it up, said 'sloppiness kills.' I slipped on a roof during ODM drills and hung upside down for ten minutes before he cut me loose. Didn't even blink—just told me to 'stop dangling like a bat.'"
Jaime smirked, imagining it. "Sounds like he enjoyed that a little too much."
"He didn't," Petra said, giggling. "But I'm sure I left out the worst bits—like Oluo bragging he'd outrun Captain Levi, then tripping into a ditch. Took us a week to live that down."
Eren blinked, sitting up fully now. "I didn't really expect Captain Levi to be like this. I figured he'd be... I dunno, doing his own thing. Guy looks like he'd tell Commander Erwin to shove it."
Petra's giggle turned into a full laugh, bright and infectious. "Everyone thinks that! But no—Captain knows the importance of orders, keeping things calm. He's chaos with a blade, sure, but he's loyal. Keeps us grounded when we'd otherwise lose it."
Jaime nodded, stirring the pot as the scent of onions and herbs filled the room. "Guess that's why he's Humanity's Strongest—and not just a short guy with a temper."
"Watch it," Petra teased, nudging him. "He hears that, you're scrubbing floors 'til dawn."
The pot simmered to a finish, a hearty stew of potatoes, onions, and whatever scraps Jaime had scrounged—simple, but the smell promised warmth. He ladled it into a big iron dish, balancing it carefully as he, Eren, and Petra stepped into the main hall. Lanterns swung from the rafters, casting a golden glow over the long wooden table where Levi Squad sprawled, their cloaks draped over chairs. Hange and her squad chattered at one end, voices bouncing off the stone walls, while Levi sat at the head, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Hange was mid-rant, waving a spoon like a baton. "—and then he stumbled, but the balance! We're this close to cracking Titan locomotion, I swear—"
"Shut up, four-eyes," Levi muttered, eyes half-lidded with boredom, though annoyance twitched in his jaw.
Jaime set the stew down with a thunk, steam curling up, and Eld leaned forward as he smirked. "Didn't know cooking was part of Training Corps now. What's next, baking Titan-shaped cookies?"
Eren grinned, sliding into a seat. "Jaime was the Chef back then—always good at it. Kept us from starving on Sasha's scraps."
"Sasha'd eat the table if we let her," Jaime quipped, passing bowls around. "This is better than her 'potato surprise.' Trust me."
Gunther took a bowl with a nod, his dark eyes flicking over the stew like he was sizing up an enemy. "Smells decent," he said—high praise, Jaime figured. Oluo snatched his share, leaning back with a cocky grin. "Better be good, brat. I've had Titan spit taste better than some recruits' cooking."
"Bet you've tasted plenty of that," Jaime shot back, earning a snort from Eld and a stifled giggle from Petra. Levi's lip twitched, but he stayed silent, spoon hovering over his bowl like he was debating its worth.
Hange paused her tirade, sniffing the air. "Oh, food! Jaime, you're a saint—Eren's Titan needs fuel, and so do I!" She lunged for a bowl, nearly knocking Moblit's out of his hands. He sighed, resigned, clutching his portion like a lifeline.
Petra settled beside Jaime, sipping the stew with a hum. "This is good—better than my first day's mess. I burned porridge so bad Levi made me scrub the pot with a toothbrush."
"Sounds like a promotion from bat-dangling," Jaime teased, and she laughed again.
Eld leaned in, smirking at Petra. "She's leaving out the part where Gunther tried to help and set the pot on fire. Levi just stared like we'd insulted his ancestors."
Gunther shrugged, chewing slowly. "Wasn't my fault the wood was damp."
"Excuses," Oluo scoffed, then yelped as Eld flicked a potato chunk at his head. "Oi, watch it!"
"Kids," Levi muttered, finally taking a bite. His face didn't change, but he didn't spit it out—victory, Jaime decided.
Eren, slurping his stew, grinned at the chaos. "You lot are... normal...I guess. Thought Levi Squad'd be all grim and stabby."
"Only when Titans show up," Petra said, winking. "Or when Oluo opens his mouth."
"Oi!" Oluo protested, but Eld's laugh drowned him out, deep and rolling.
Hange broke the moment, waving her spoon at Eren. "So, tomorrow—tree-ripping, round two? Or maybe we test your roar's decibels—"
"No," Levi cut in, voice a blade. "He rests. You clean something for once."
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The days bled together under Levi's relentless gaze, eight-hour stretches of sweat, steel, and barked orders in the forest training area. March 6 had been a bruising start, but by Day 5, Jaime felt the shift. The pines loomed less like obstacles and more like partners as he swung through them, the air thick with sap and the sharp hiss of gas. Levi stood below, arms crossed, his cloak dusted with stray needles as Jaime launched into the reverse-grip spin. Hooks bit wood, blades flipped backward, and he spun—tight, controlled—slicing both dummy napes with a satisfying thwack. He landed, boots steady, chest heaving, and shot Levi a grin.
"Not a tree-hugger anymore, huh, sir?"
Levi's eyes narrowed, but his tone stayed flat. "Don't get cocky. Took you long enough." He stepped forward, gesturing to three logs spaced wider apart—new targets, their chalked Xs mocking Jaime's confidence. "Triple strike. One pass, minimal gas. Show me."
Jaime nodded, launching again. He twisted mid-air, blades arcing for the first two—clean hits—but the third caught him off-guard, his spin faltering. He grazed it, tumbling into a sloppy landing that sent pinecones skittering. Levi's critique came fast, sharp as a blade: "Faster, not harder. You're flailing like a drunk pigeon."
"Pigeons don't spin, sir," Jaime muttered, brushing dirt off his knees.
"They don't crash either," Levi shot back, turning away. "Again."
In the courtyard, Eren's Titan lumbered through Hange's escalating experiments, steam curling off his 15-meter frame like a storm cloud. By Day 7, the sun beat down on cracked cobblestones as he hauled a pile of supply crates, muscles bulging under greenish skin. His grip slipped halfway, crates splintering across the ground with a crash that made Moblit flinch. Hange clapped anyway, goggles glinting. "Halfway's progress! Oh, Eren, you're a masterpiece in the making!"
Jaime, catching a break nearby, smirked at Petra as Oluo swaggered past, boasting, "Kid's got nothing on my Titan count—thirty-nine, easy."
"Funny," Jaime called, "he talks like he's killed more Titans than you, Captain."
Day 12 dawned cooler, a thin mist threading through the forest as Jaime faced the triple strike again. His muscles ached, but the rhythm clicked: hooks fired, body coiled, blades reversed. He spun once—first X down—twice—second sliced—then a final twist, gas puffing sparingly as he nailed the third. He landed light, blades sheathed with a click, and turned to Levi, breathless but steady.
Levi tilted his head, gray eyes glinting like steel in the haze. "Not bad," he said, the words rare as rain in the Underground. Jaime's chest swelled, but Levi added, "Don't let it go to your head. You're still a brat with a long way to go."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Jaime replied, grinning. "Head's too small to hold much anyway."
Levi snorted—barely audible—and turned back to the trees. "Keep moving."
By Day 14, the courtyard baked under a late-winter sun, dust swirling as Eren's Titan stood rigid, attempting a salute. His massive hand wobbled upward, fingers splaying awkwardly before settling into a shaky approximation. Hange whooped, "Look at that form! Next, we'll test heat tolerance—maybe a bonfire?" Eren's green eyes widened in what might've been panic, steam hissing from his jaw as he dropped the salute, nearly toppling a water barrel. Moblit yelped, dodging the splash, while Levi muttered, "Four-eyes'll burn us all down before the Titans get a chance."
Jaime, leaning against a crate, chuckled. "Think he'd salute better if Hange wasn't waving fire at him?"
"Probably," Levi said, deadpan. "You'd still trip over your own feet, though."
Nights blurred into quiet moments, the castle dorm flickering with lantern light as Jaime hunched over his notebook. His pencil scratched across the pages—Eren's Titan, mid-stumble, logs tumbling; Levi's reverse spin, a streak of cloak and blades. The sketches steadied his hands, but his mind wandered. Annie's face flickered in the margins—sharp eyes, blonde hair—her absence a dull ache he shoved aside. Focus, he told himself, tracing Levi's stance again. They're counting on me. The weight of it pressed down, heavier than the Wings of Freedom on his back.
Day 10 had brought a fall—hooks misfired, and he'd crashed through a branch, landing flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Levi loomed overhead, unimpressed. "Guess I'm still growing into these wings, huh?" Jaime wheezed, clutching his ribs.
Levi's lip twitched, almost a smirk. "Grow faster, brat." He'd walked off, but not before tossing a water skin Jaime's way—a small mercy.
By March 19, the forest felt like home. He swung through the triple strike effortlessly now, blades carving Xs with precision. Eren's progress mirrored his own—slow but real. In the courtyard that afternoon, the Titan hefted a crate stack without dropping a single one, though his steps left cracks in the stone. Hange's experiments had left him ragged—endurance runs, heat tests, even a bizarre attempt to make him "sing" (a guttural roar that spooked every horse within a mile). Eren slumped out of Titan form after, soaked in sweat, while Hange scribbled notes, muttering, "Exhausted but improving—perfect!"
Jaime watched from the forest edge, catching Petra's eye as Oluo bragged again—something about "forty Titans, no sweat." Jaime leaned over, voice low. "Bet he counts the ones he trips over twice." Petra's laugh rang out, drawing a glare from Oluo and a faint huff from Levi, who'd overheard.
"Keep your mouth busy with training, not talking,"
That night, his sketches grew sharper: Eren's Titan saluting, Levi mid-spin, Aethra's copper mane. Annie lingered too, a half-drawn figure he couldn't finish. The expedition loomed closer—twenty days out—and the weight of Marco's memory, Eren's hope, Levi's grudging nods pressed harder. Jaime closed the notebook, staring at the ceiling. Not bad, Levi'd said. He'd make it good—for them, for her, for himself.
𖣂
𖣂
The forest woke slowly on March 20, a thin mist curling around the pines like smoke from a dying fire. A faint whiff of steel from Jaime's ODM gear. He stood in the clearing, rolling his shoulders to shake off the morning chill, his dark hair damp with dew and sticking to the scar on his forehead. Two weeks of Levi's drills had carved new edges into him—his hands calloused, his stance steadier.
Levi emerged from the mist like a ghost, cloak draped over his shoulders, gray eyes glinting under the shadow of his bangs. He carried no warmth in his expression, just that hawkish stare that'd tracked Jaime's every move for fourteen days. Five logs stood propped in a jagged arc across the clearing—fresh dummies, their chalked Xs stark against the weathered wood. Levi stopped, boots silent on the needles, and pointed at them with a gloved hand.
"Five targets, one gas burst," he said, voice low and clipped. "Go."
Jaime's pulse kicked up, but he kept his face steady, purple eyes flicking over the setup. One burst. Five strikes. The math was brutal—precision or bust—but two weeks under Levi had burned hesitation out of him. He nodded once, sharp, and checked his gear: tanks half-full, blades gleaming like new. "Yes, sir," he said, then fired his hooks with a thunk-thunk, launching into the canopy.
The forest blurred into a tunnel of green and brown as he swung, wind whipping past his ears. First target loomed—he twisted into a reverse-grip spin, blades slashing the X clean, chalk dust puffing like a ghost. Momentum carried him to the second; he banked hard, firing a single hook to pivot, and struck with a downward arc—another hit. His gas hissed once, a tight burst, propelling him toward the third. He coiled mid-air, spinning twice, blades carving the nape as he rocketed past. Fourth came fast—he dropped low, skimming the ground, and slashed upward, the cut textbook. The fifth loomed dead ahead, and he had nothing left but instinct: he flipped his blades forward, launched off a branch, and struck in a smooth dive, landing with a soft skid on the pine needles.
Silence settled, broken only by his ragged breaths and the faint tick of cooling gas valves. Five Xs gaped open, sliced to ribbons. Jaime sheathed his blades with a click, turning to Levi, chest heaving but steady. "How's that, sir?"
Levi stepped forward, inspecting the logs with a slow, deliberate pace, his boots crunching faintly. He stopped at the fifth, running a finger along the cut—deep, clean, no wasted motion. "Better," he said finally, voice flat but carrying a rare weight. "You might survive out there." His gray eyes met Jaime's, unreadable but less cutting, like a blade sheathed for once.
Jaime grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Might? Thought I'd at least earn a 'probably' after that."
"Don't push it, brat," Levi replied, but the corner of his mouth twitched—gone in a blink. He turned, gesturing toward the courtyard. "Walk with me."
They moved through the forest, mist parting around them like a curtain. Jaime's boots scuffed the earth, louder than Levi's eerily silent steps, and the quiet stretched taut. He stole a glance at the Captain—short, stoic, a wall of steel and scars—and wondered how Kenny'd ever shared air with him. The question itched, but Levi spoke first, voice low, almost casual.
"Why'd you join the Corps?"
Jaime faltered mid-step, the words catching him off-guard. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitating, the forest's stillness pressing in. "To prove there's more to life than surviving Underground," he said finally, voice softer than he meant. "Scraping by, starving, hiding—that's not living. And..." He paused, Marco's face flashing in his mind—freckles, a shy smile, gone too soon. "For the ones who didn't make it. Like Marco."
Levi didn't respond right away, his gaze fixed ahead as they neared the tree line. "Good enough reason," he said at last, barely above a mutter, and kept walking.
The courtyard unfolded before them. Eren's Titan dominated the space, steam curling off his 15-meter frame as he gripped a boulder the size of a cart, muscles straining under greenish skin. His green eyes narrowed in focus, and with a low grunt—more growl than human—he hefted it clean off the ground, holding it steady. Hange erupted from the sidelines, goggles askew, clapping like a madwoman. "Yes! YES! Look at that power—perfectly balanced! Oh, Eren, you beauty!"
Moblit hovered nearby, clipboard trembling in his hands, while Petra and Oluo watched from a safe distance, the latter muttering something about "Titan show-offs." Eren lowered the boulder with a thud that shook the ground, steam hissing as he slumped slightly, exhausted but triumphant.
Levi stopped at the edge, arms crossed, and muttered, "Finally. Took him long enough."
Jaime smirked, leaning against a crate. "Guess we're both growing into something, huh?"
Levi glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "Keep up, brat. We're not done yet." He turned away, barking at Hange, "Oi, four-eyes, quit drooling—he's not a statue!"
Hange spun, grinning. "But Levi—"
"Stuff it," Levi snapped, striding off. Jaime lingered, watching Eren shift out of Titan form, collapsing onto the stone with a groan, sweat-soaked and grinning faintly. Hange swarmed him with questions, Moblit trailing like a frazzled shadow.
Jaime's hand brushed the Wings of Freedom on his cloak, the fabric rough under his fingers. Might survive out there. Levi's words echoed, not praise but a challenge, a lifeline. He thought of Marco again, of Annie's quiet strength, of Kenny's harsh lessons—and now Levi, forging him into something sharper. The expedition loomed fourteen days out, a horizon of Titans.
Annie
The barracks room smelled faintly of mildew and cheap wax, the kind the Military Police used to polish floors no one cared about. Annie shoved the door open with her shoulder, her boots scuffing the warped wood as she stepped inside.
She dropped her gear harness onto the floor with a dull thud, her blonde hair sticking to her neck from a day of sweat and pointless drills. Playing soldier with the Military Police was a slog—Jaime hadn't been kidding when he'd called them the worst. Lazy bastards, most of them: captains barking orders they didn't follow, commanders napping through briefings. Only Marlo and a handful of others—maybe three, if she was generous—gave a damn. The rest were just coasting, waiting for their next bribe or bottle.
She kicked off her boots, flexing her sore toes, and grabbed a towel from the foot of her bed. A shower sounded like salvation after hours of dust and drudgery. She was halfway to the tiny bathroom door when it swung open behind her, hinges creaking like a bad omen. Hitch strolled in, her brown, wavy, tousled curls bouncing, a smug grin plastered across her face that made Annie's jaw tighten. The girl looked like she'd just won something—probably another pointless argument with some recruit downstairs.
Annie didn't turn, just kept her eyes on the bathroom door. "What do you want?"
Hitch huffed, kicking the door shut with her heel. "Uh, hello? We share this dump, remember? I don't need an invitation to exist here." Her voice had that lilting, needling edge, the kind that dug under Annie's skin like a splinter. She flopped onto her bed, springs squeaking, and pulled something from her jacket—an envelope, creased and torn open, a letter peeking out. She waved it like a flag, her grin widening. "Found this on the mail pile downstairs. Couldn't help myself—had to see what cold, statue Annie gets in her secret stash."
Annie's stomach dropped, a slow, icy churn. She spun, blue eyes narrowing into a glare that could've cracked stone. "You read it?"
"Oh, relax," Hitch said, rolling her eyes as she dangled the envelope between two fingers. "It's not like it's state secrets. Just some sappy scribbles from your boyfriend. Jaime, right? Gotta say, I'm amazed a block of ice like you snagged someone so... caring." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dropping into a mock whisper. "So, what's he like? Cute? Handsome? How much is he packing down there?"
Annie's glare sharpened, and she lunged, snatching the envelope from Hitch's hand with a rustle of paper. "Keep your nose out of my shit," she snapped, her tone low and biting. Hitch just laughed, flopping back on the bed like it was a game, but Annie ignored her, turning the letter over. The seal was broken, the handwriting on the front unmistakably Jaime's. Her chest tightened, a mix of anger at Hitch and something softer.
She unfolded it, stepping back toward her bed as Hitch's chatter faded to a dull buzz. The words spilled across the page in black ink, familiar:
Annie—
Two weeks in the Survey Corps, and I'm still breathing. Barely. Levi's a machine—runs us ragged, but I'm picking up tricks I didn't know existed. Killed 28 dummy Titans yesterday, got a 'not bad' out of him today. Eren's stumbling around in Titan form—Hange's got him juggling logs like a circus act. Place is a mess, but it's alive. Keeps me sharp.
How's the Military Police treating you? Bet it's cushy compared to this—probably sipping tea while we're dodging trees. Hope you're dodging the worst of those idiots. Miss your glare when I screw up—keeps me honest. Been sketching you in my notebook, but it's not the same. 'In the midst of chaos, there's you—quiet, steady, my north star.' Stupid, right? But it's true.
Write back when you can. Stay safe. Yours.
—Jaime
Annie's fingers tightened on the paper, her breath catching at that last bit—silly, yeah, but the kind of adorable that slipped past her walls. Jaime's smile flashed in her mind, wide and warm, those purple eyes crinkling at the edges. She could almost hear his laugh, the way it'd cut through the Training Corps noise. Her lips twitched, a ghost of a reaction, but it faded fast as Hitch's voice barged back in.
"So? Spill it, Annie! What's he like? I bet he's tall, dark, and dreamy—those Survey Corps types always are. Come on, give me something!"
Annie didn't answer, folding the letter with a crisp snap and shoving it into her jacket pocket. She grabbed her towel again, heading for the bathroom, her steps clipped. "None of your business," she muttered, slamming the door behind her. The lock clicked, muffling Hitch's indignant "Hey!" as Annie leaned against the chipped sink, the cold porcelain biting into her palms.
The room was a cramped box—peeling paint, a rusted showerhead dripping into a stained basin—but it was quiet. She turned on the water, letting the hiss drown out her thoughts, but they churned anyway. Two weeks from now, the Survey Corps would ride out on their expedition. Two weeks, and she'd don the Female Titan, storm the field, and snatch Eren. People would die—soldiers, friends, maybe even Jaime's squad. Her stomach twisted, bile rising, but she forced it down. It was the mission. Reiner'd promised to pinpoint Eren's position, and she'd made him swear to track Jaime's too—keep him clear, keep him safe. She'd avoid him entirely if she could. Had to.
Steam fogged the cracked mirror as she stripped off her uniform, the fabric sticking to her skin. She stepped under the spray, water scalding her shoulders, and closed her eyes. Jaime's letter replayed—his dumb romantic quote—and it clashed with the blood she'd spill soon. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. She could see him now, swinging through trees, that grin flashing as he teased her. My north star. Goddamn him for making her feel this, for tangling her up when she needed to be stone.
The water ran cold before she moved, shutting it off with a jerk. She dried off, pulled on a loose shirt and pants, and stepped back into the room. Hitch was still sprawled on her bed, flipping through some trashy pamphlet about noble gossip, but she perked up when Annie emerged.
"Finally! Thought you drowned in there. So, Jaime—tall? Short? Give me a crumb, Annie, I'm dying here!"
Annie ignored her, dropping onto her own bed with a creak of springs. She pulled the letter out again, tracing the creases, her mind a mess—duty, blood, Jaime's stupid smile. Hitch kept talking—boys, Marlo, some captain's haircut—but it was white noise. Annie's gaze drifted to the window, the night beyond black and endless. Two weeks. She'd sent Reiner a letter yesterday, curt and coded: Find Eren. Find Jaime. Keep them apart. He'd grumbled, but he'd do it. He had to.
"Hey, earth to Annie!" Hitch's voice snapped her back, the girl now sitting up, arms crossed. "You're no fun, you know that? I spill my guts about every guy I see, and you can't even tell me if your boyfriend's got nice eyes?"
"He does," Annie said flatly, surprising herself. She didn't look up, just tucked the letter under her pillow. "Now shut up. I'm sleeping."
Hitch huffed, flopping back with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, be boring. But I'm picturing him anyway—tall, dark, Survey Corps rugged. Bet he's a catch."
Annie didn't reply, rolling onto her side to face the wall. The lantern dimmed as Hitch finally quieted, her breathing evening out into snores. Annie's eyes stayed open, fixed on the stone, Jaime's words looping in her head. Quiet, steady, my north star. She'd kill for her mission—had to—but right now, in this damp, shitty room, all she could think of was him. Two weeks. She would make sure to avoid him, make sure he survives, that was the least she could do, until his heart was ripped out of his chest once he finds out who she was. Who she truly was...
A Monster...
Chapter 26 (The Last Days Before The Expedition)
Chapter 27 (When Purple Eyes Met Blue)
If you want to Read the Following TWO Chapters, Search 'Drinor Patreon' on Google and Click the First LINK