Lock's predecessor had never lacked food or comfort since childhood, and he had been obsessed with combat training. He sought out countless instructors and spent large sums learning every fighting method he could find.
After more than ten years of relentless effort, he had only managed to secure second place in the national martial arts competition. Furious, he fainted on the podium.
When he woke up, he was in this damned place.
The technique Lock used against the scarred man was Eight Extremes Fist—the very first combat style he had ever learned.
It was a style built for explosive, decisive strikes at close range.
The scarred man lying motionless on the ground was proof enough.
The remaining four finally reacted.
The lanky man closest to Lock lashed out with a kick.
Lock shifted aside and stepped forward in one fluid motion, bracing his arm and driving the hardened point of his elbow into the area just beneath the man's sternum, striking directly into his abdomen.
This was a foundational movement of Eight Extremes Fist—the Liangyi Stance.
The lanky man folded over in pain. Lock followed immediately with an upward elbow to the jaw, knocking away any ability to resist.
The freckled man rushed in from behind, attempting to restrain him.
Lock slid sideways and slammed backward into the man's chest, channeling his body weight through his shoulder and elbow. The freckled man was hurled into the wall.
Seeing their companion fall, the blond illegitimate son and another thug charged forward with a shout. One carried a lantern; the other drew a small knife from inside his vest.
Lock felt as if the world had slowed.
Their movements stretched out before his eyes.
He tilted his head, narrowly avoiding the lantern and blade. His shoulders struck their wrists, disrupting their balance. His arms coiled around their forearms, locking their weapon arms in place.
Before they could react, he snapped his toe into the other man's shin.
A ruthless low strike from Eight Extremes.
Life in the Underground beneath Mitras meant little sunlight and weak bones.
The kick cracked the man's shin.
A scream tore from his throat.
Lock drove him away with a front kick.
Only the illegitimate son remained.
Lock did not hesitate.
His left hand slid along the youth's forearm, twisting and binding his entire right arm. The lantern slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor.
Elbows came in rapid succession—chest, ribs, then finally the cheek.
He released him.
The youth, already unconscious, slumped to the ground.
At last, Lock settled into a steady stance, shoulders squared, gaze cold as he looked at the five bodies sprawled around him.
"Hmph. They really can't take a hit."
He stepped over to the scarred man, retrieved the ruby ring from beneath him, wiped it clean against his clothes, and slipped it back onto his finger.
Leaving the basement, Lock found a water pitcher in the house and took a long drink. There was a strange aftertaste, but he paid it no mind.
He stepped outside.
And froze.
He looked up.
There was no sky.
Instead, a vast ceiling of rock loomed overhead.
When he had heard the scarred man mention the Underground, he had assumed it was just a name for a slum.
He had not expected it to be literal.
Could there truly be such enormous subterranean caverns?
And a city built within one?
Lock searched his inherited memories carefully.
Underground… Military Police Brigade… Central Military Police… Wall Rose… Titans…
"No way…"
When the word Titans surfaced clearly in his mind, the world finally revealed its true face.
This was the world of Attack on Titan.
"And here I thought it was some version of medieval Europe…" Lock let out a dry laugh. "Which higher power thought this was amusing?"
"What time period is this? Before or after the Wall, Maria fell?"
He had watched Attack on Titan.
When he had been following it, the third season of the anime had just aired, and he had watched it up to the point where the Survey Corps was preparing to retake Wall Maria.
He had not continued afterward. Friends who read the manga said the ending was disappointing, and he gradually stopped paying attention.
Still, he had watched summary videos and knew the broad outline of what happened later.
"Better head back first."
Just then, a squad in Military Police Brigade uniforms appeared at the end of the street and began walking toward him.
Seeing the Unicorn emblem on their cloaks, Lock stood his ground and waited.
"Are you Lock Leon?"
The leading officer held a paper bearing his portrait and compared it with his face.
Lock replied evenly, neither submissive nor arrogant. "Yes. I am Lock Leon. I was kidnapped. The kidnappers are in the basement behind me."
The officer blinked. "You were kidnapped? Then how did you escape?"
Lock waved casually. "Just a few street thugs. They started fighting over the ransom. I used the opportunity to get away."
The officer looked doubtful but still issued orders. "Todd, escort him back to the surface. The rest of you, with me."
Todd led Lock upward.
As they emerged, the setting sun forced Lock to squint. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious.
An elegant four-wheeled carriage waited nearby.
Beside it stood a black-haired girl in a maid's uniform.
She bowed slightly. "Young Master, the Lord sent me to bring you home."
Elise.
The personal maid assigned by his father to manage his daily life.
Fourteen years old.
The information surfaced naturally in Lock's mind.
Looking at her delicate features and flawless face, Lock could only reflect on the privileges of nobility within the Walls.
After informing Todd that the Leon family would formally express their gratitude to the captain, Lock boarded the carriage.
"Hyah!"
As it began to move, Elise noticed the red mark on his cheek and reached out gently to touch it.
"It's fine," Lock said seriously. "I already returned the favor. That thug is in worse condition than I am."
Elise calmly took out a small box of foundation. "It's better to cover it. The Lord will be furious if he sees this."
At the mention of his father, memories surfaced—
A stern face.
A thin whip.
Palms extended.
Again and again.
Why was it always punishment on the palms?
Lock felt a chill.
"You're right," he said stiffly. "No need to make Father worry."
…
The carriage was too slow.
The Leon estate lay beyond Wall Sina, and traveling by water would be faster.
The public ferries had already stopped for the day, so Lock used his family's private cargo vessel.
By law, it should not have been operating at this hour.
But for nobles, there were always exceptions.
Standing at the bow, watching Wall Sina grow nearer, Lock stared at the immense structure that seemed to swallow the horizon itself.
He felt only oppression.
And uncertainty.
Could he truly live quietly, enjoying wealth and comfort?
Could he?
It was hard to say.
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