Attack on Titan Fanfiction – Bladesmiths & Librarians: Chapter 3

Just Like You

“The insignia of a secret organization, a network of professional assassins,” Levi explained. “The group calls itself ‘野望実現党’ Yabōjitsugentō, meaning ‘Purveyor of Your Wildest Dreams.’ We in the military know them as the Yabo. They employ the most highly trained, most skilled assassins in the world: elite mercenaries, crack soldiers of fortune.”

Jürgen stared at Levi, saying nothing.

Levi’s mind was racing. How in blazes did the Yabo infiltrate the western side of the island? Obviously they timed it with the Marleyan government’s declaration of surrender to make their move. But when did they land? During the war the island borders were heavily fortified by the Marines–they couldn’t have come by sea. They must have dropped in by air, piggybacking on a Marleyan airship. But the Paradian Navy and Air Force blasted all of those out of the sky. Did they parachute to safety somehow? 

So everything was much worse than Levi suspected. His initial suspicion was that the Marleyan Special Forces themselves targeted the secret bladesmith village. Truth be told, he’d have preferred the culprits to be them, because he knew all about them. They’d been spying on Marley for years and he had a pretty good idea of who they were and where they can be found. But the Yabo…Shit, shit, shit. 

How did they even know about the whole bladesmith affair? Did the assassins know of the children’s existence? One child or two? A month has passed since the war ended. So far the boys had been housed in Hange’s lab, one of the most secure places in Paradis. Hange’s staff brought the boy to the library to meet with Levi. Schreiber had offered to house the child, saying the lab would now be too painful a place for him because of his brother’s suicide. But the library was one of the least guarded places in the capital–everyone came in and out of its gates with only the minimum amount of security. Levi knew he had to move the child elsewhere, and not just temporarily. There was only one place to go.

He called his two men and briefed them. They took the drawings with them and headed for the police HQ.

Inside the labyrinth, Jürgen was full of questions. “Who are the Yabo, sir?”

How much should he tell the child? “The Yabo is an international crime syndicate, but not just another criminal organization. Their most sought after service is the assassins unit. And the only ones who could afford them are governments or conglomerates or mighty corporations, the richest and most powerful people in the world.”

“So we don’t know who sent the assassins after my father?”

Levi shook his head sadly. “That’s right. It could be anyone. Anyone at all from anywhere in the world.” Someone so filthy rich they could afford four of those assassins. Someone who wanted the Eldian bladesmith secrets badly enough. But why? For what purpose?

“Who heads the Yabo?”

“They’re controlled by an international council made up of eight heads of the largest, most powerful groups within the organization. They call themselves the ‘Table of Justice’. Funny name, if you think about it.”

“They’re using the word ‘justice’ as an oxymoron,” Jürgen remarked thoughtfully.

Oxymoron. Levi gave the child a side-eye. “Yeah, incongruous and self-contradictory, I’d say.” 

“And the assassins they employ, sir, you described them as elite, crack, highly skilled and trained. Where do they come from?”

Ugh. He hated this part. Who knew he’d have to explain it to a kid? “They’re not run-of-the-mill criminals. Most of them are former Special Forces operators.”

“Like you then, sir? My father told me the Special Forces are the most elite fighters on the island.”

“They usually are, not just in Paradis but in all the other countries that have them.”

“Why would someone leave the Special Forces to join a criminal organization?”

“For the money, Jürgen,” Levi told him bluntly. “An operator goes through years and years of the hardest, most demanding training a person could think of, in order to do the most dangerous, most undesirable missions that anyone could ever imagine. You become the elite of the elite. But then the pay you get is just enough to live on. No one gets fabulously wealthy being an operator. A professional assassin, on the other hand, especially one good enough to be employed by the Yabo…one big job completed successfully and you are set for life.”

They fall into silence for a while as they make their way through the labyrinth. Levi doesn’t say anything, giving the boy time to process the information.

The child’s next question put a knife through Levi’s heart. “What would it take for me to become a Special Forces operator, sir?”

Oh no, oh shit. “Why would you want to be one?”

“I’ll become an elite operator, sir, in your Special Forces. Then I’ll get the Yabo to employ me. I’ll still be employed by you, but they won’t know because they think I’m with them only. And then I find out who paid for the murder of my clan, and then I hunt them down and kill them, before destroying the entire organization from the inside.”

The child said this with so much conviction the pain grew in Levi’s chest and head. This isn’t saving the island, this is complete and utter madness, the worst form of suicide. 

“That’s impossible, Jürgen. Not even an Awakened Ackermann would attempt such a thing. As I said earlier, the Yabo aren’t just any other criminal organization. To join them, you have to offer them your soul. You pledge your fealty to them in exchange for money. There’s no such thing as a double agent in their ranks. You are either with them on the inside, or against them from the outside. There is no middle ground whatsoever. And once you are in, there’s absolutely no way out. You are one of them until the day you die,” Levi explained, before quipping, “Oh, and you’ll surely end up in hell, so you’ll be with them even after you die.” 

Radio silence. And then, “What should I do then, sir?”

“You’ve a good head on your shoulders. Hange said you’d make a fine scientist. Scientists are the heart and soul of our nation. Without them the island wouldn’t survive.” 

Levi didn’t want children dreaming of joining the Special Forces. It wasn’t something a child should aspire to, he believed. His operators were a group of seasoned soldiers with combat experience under their belts. These were men who had stared death in the face while on the battlefield, lived to tell the tale, and still joined the Special Forces because they believed they were strong enough to stare death in the face again and again if that was what it takes to protect the island. As Levi liked to say, no one joins the Special Forces because they want to; they join because they believe they have to, in spite of what they’ve been through. Becoming an operator should never be a man’s first choice. Even his best operator, Karl von Bennigsen, aspired to become a fighter pilot before transfering over to the Special Forces. They took on only the most dangerous, insurmountable missions, the ones other branches of the military could not handle on their own. It was a tough and dangerous way to live. Only someone who truly believed it was worth the risk could become one of them.

A child should dream of inventing gadgets or flying the skies or sailing the seas first, not fast roping to their imminent death.

Jürgen shook his head. “I wish to become an operator, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Our missions are impossibly dangerous and unpredictable. The only certainty in what we do is death,” Levi spoke bluntly.

“I wish to face death, sir. Please guide me so I could start training now.” The child’s eyes started to beg him once more. 

“So your end goal is revenge?” Levi asked gently. He already knew the answer. He needed a few moments to think about how to dissuade the child.

“It’s not just my father and brother, sir. You know about us bladesmiths. It takes a village. The forging of a blade takes many days, even weeks. It’s a sacred art, a complex endeavor involving not just my father but other craftsmen. As master bladesmith my father forged the rough shape, as the apprentice my brother folded the metal, and there was Werner the specialist polisher, Irmgard the edge specialist, Helmut the sheath specialist, Otto the hilt specialist, Heinze the handguard specialist…and then there’s the rest of us, the ones who mined the ores, prepared the trees, maintained the water supply, made the regular blacksmith products to keep up our cover…They were Cedric, Wilhelm, Paul, Gertrud, Elfriede, Manfred, Uwe, Peter, Stefan, Birgit, Sabine..,” Jürgen said, his voice suffused with pain.

Levi hung his head in sorrow. I’m sorry. I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am.

“The assassins burned down my entire village. They killed my entire clan,” Jürgen went on. “I must avenge, Master Ackermann. I cannot rest until I make them pay for what they’ve done.”

Levi closed his eyes, squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He felt a huge headache forming. Jürgen spoke in such a cold, chilling tone it brought Levi to despair.

The child continued, “I will become a Special Forces operator and then I will take on the Yabo. I shall destroy them all, every last one of them.”

Levi closed his eyes. He had seen that determined, maniacal look before, heard the same words: from a fifteen year-old Eren Jaeger. All those years ago, Levi knew how to deal with the brat Eren. The youth had trained as a soldier, was already of age, was a titan shifter. His goals aligned with the Survey Corps’ at that point in time. And then Eren grew up and everything got out of hand.

Today, Levi looked at the child next to him. The man’s heart sank, he felt unwell. He wanted to weep. Jürgen Schmitz was only seven years old. “I will be eight in winter,” he told Levi in a defiant tone. Just a little boy really. But already the child was preparing to perpetuate the cycle of revenge and retribution. Levi looked at the wild-eyed little boy beside him and wanted to scream at the futility of it all. 

Because how do you explain? How do you tell a child that cutting off the eight heads of the Yabo won’t mean a thing, because it will grow new ones in their place? Even if you kill every member of the organization, another one will just sprout up in its place. And the families of those you killed will come after you and your children, and your children’s children. The killing and counter-killing will go on and on until the end of time. For the Yabo were but a reflection of the evil inside every human being. They were a symbol of the darkness of the human soul, and for as long as humans had a shadow side to them the Yabo will continue to exist. The Yabo have been there since the beginning of time, as old as humanity itself. A man can spend his entire life trying to take them on, but that’s just like trying to scoop up all the sand on the world’s beaches with a teaspoon. 

Single-handedly going after the Yabo is suicide. Where is the line drawn between self-slaughter and sacrificing your life in the name of justified revenge?

Levi didn’t know what to say to a boy so young. It was a good thing they arrived, so he said instead, “We’re here. Up there’s the royal palace.”

---

The royal palace, a fortress in the middle of the capital. The child would be safe here. It was the most secure dwelling on the entire island. The Queen’s personal guard, the Paradian Musketeers as Levi liked to call them, were hand-picked and trained by the Ackermanns themselves. They operated independently of the palace guards, a unit of the police. The Musketeers were loyal to the death, willing to lay down their lives for the Queen, and in extension her children. Levi will ask Queen Historia to extend that protection to this child, the last of the castle bladesmiths, until Levi and Hange figured out what to do.

He blinked a few times to adjust to the daylight. “You’re going to meet the Queen and her children, Princess Ymir and Prince Eren,” he told the boy.

The child’s eyes were wide with wonder as they walked down the opulent halls. He stared at the huge marble arches, the classical arcades and passageways, the intricate plasterwork, the ornately carved wall reliefs and elaborate tapestries. Since the visit was unscheduled Levi knew they’ll be made to wait for some time. Which was good, as he needed to talk to the child. Talk him out of his immediate need for revenge. He saw how the little boy admired the elegant architectural elements of the palace. The way his eyes glowed, anyone could tell the child was a craftsman at heart.

“I never thought I’d see a place like this for real,” Jürgen remarked as they stood inside one of the parlors.

“What do you like about it?” Levi asked, for the sake of having a conversation not related to revenge-seeking.

“I like the five part arrangement of this building, the center house block flanked by symmetrical subsidiary structures. My favorite is the entryway; it demonstrates the architect’s masterful understanding of the academically correct sequence of classical orders and proportional systems of classical architecture. I like the elegant carving of the moldings. The ornamental work is exquisite and crisp; only a master could execute it as such. The spandrel swags and frieze are classical perfection. So are the meticulously designed mantelpieces. I like how the cornice expresses the social formality and elevated function of the space, yet the ceremony is balanced by the transparency of the triple-hung windows and lightness of the projecting bow and pleated valance. It’s all very impressive,” Jürgen said breathlessly as he stood there, eyes wide and bright, soaking in the spirit of the master builders and decorators of long ago.

Levi stared at the child in amazement. The little boy not only had theoretical knowledge but also a practical understanding of materials, plus a deep, genuine appreciation of craftsmanship. Hange was right, Jürgen Schmitz was a precocious child in every way.

“Do bladesmiths also learn about architecture and interiors?”

Jürgen grinned. “I read books since I was three. When he was not forging blacksmith products, my Uncle Cedric made wrought iron works for the rural villas of the aristocrats. He took me with him sometimes. Their houses were beautiful, too, but nothing like this,” he explained, his arms opening wide to indicate the grandness of the palace. 

“Well, this place has hundreds of rooms. I’m sure the queen will let you explore to your heart’s content.”

“How did you become friends with the queen, Master Ackermann?”

Levi winced. They weren’t friends. He served her as a soldier should. “She was a soldier before she became queen,” he says as offhandedly as he could manage. Before I strong-armed her to become queen. 

He took the child for a walk in the palace gardens. Well, at least to one of them. The sprawling gardens provided a wonderful backdrop to the palace buildings. They have been considerably enlarged under Queen Historia’s reign, after Wall Maria was retaken and land was no longer an issue. To the north, the Sasha Garden directly borders the nearest town. In front was a small bronze statue of a girl with a bow and arrow. The engraving on it said “Sasha Braus – Gourmand, Friend and Freedom Fighter.” The garden was actually a patch of forest that the Queen preserved as natural heritage. To the south, the Cottage Garden, Formal Garden and Carp Pond offered vastly different views. A moat connected the first two southern gardens. Lastly, to the east, was a long canal which stretched to the neighboring village. The garden around it was simply called the Park. 

Levi took Jürgen for a walk in the Formal Garden. They strolled past various marble statues overlooking the flowerbeds, arriving at the large central pond. The garden had an enormous fountain in the middle, with the four squares surrounding the fountain containing topiary. Children seemed to enjoy these boxwood sculptures of different shapes and sizes, expertly carved by the palace gardeners. Levi watched as Jürgen, indeed like an ordinary child, was fascinated by the topiary, staring up and walking around them in circles.

The head of Special Forces put his hands in his coat pockets and stood there thinking as he watched the child. What kind of arrogant fucks were the Yabo assassins–or at least one of them–for penetrating enemy territory while wearing a dead giveaway, the branded boot? When Levi and his operators infiltrated enemy territory they ‘went sterile,’ completely ridding themselves of any object or markings that will give away who they were or where they came from. They dressed the way the locals dressed, their bodies unmarred by tattoos, going in rankless, faceless, nondescript. They even called themselves by numbers, not names: One-Zero, One-One, One-Two… When captured and killed they became just another unidentified body. Going sterile was standard operating procedure for spying and hostile reconnaissance missions the world over. 

The Yabo assassins must have thought the mission would be quick and simple: surprise insertion in a backward and defenseless village, grab high-payoff target, blow up entire place including the villagers, then extraction. It would have been that easy, too. But they underestimated Master Craftsman Jakob Schmitz. And his eldest and apprentice,  Alec, too, had been very brave, doing his part in getting his brother to safety before taking his own life. And nobody, not even Levi himself, imagined the existence of a Jürgen Schmitz, with his precocity, his preternatural maturity.

He saw Jürgen walking back toward him. “You’ll be safe here,” Levi said. He told the child about the Musketeers. “They are Ackermann-trained. They carry your father’s blades with them at all times, like me.”

Jürgen nodded. “Do you think the Yabo assassins know about me, sir?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. But they somehow learned about your father’s true identity. I need you to stay here until Hange and I can figure things out. You’ll be brought to the lab for the forging experiments. You can stay with the twins in the meantime. The librarian you met, Gustaf Schreiber, is one of their tutors.”

The child nodded. “Are the prince and princess studying to become soldiers first, like their mother?” 

Levi winced again. “Their father was a soldier, too. The twins are five now, and will begin receiving special combat training from someone in the Ackermann clan. Her name is Mikasa, and you’ll meet her someday soon. But in Paradis, you can only start formally training as a soldier from age twelve, when you come of age.”

Just then Levi noticed someone arriving at the palace. It was Jean Kirschtein, here for a meeting later on with the Queen and the heads of the military and government. Levi calls out to the admiral. They stand outside of earshot from Jürgen as Levi briefs him about the child.

“That means the Yabo are here, most likely looking for the kid’s dead brother.”

“The Yabo? Here on the island?” Jean was incredulous. It was terrible news. “What the fuck!”

“Yeah, two of them, to be exact.”

“Two? I’ll be damned!”

They discuss the matter for a short while, before Levi asks Jean to watch over the boy for a bit while he looks for the leader of the Musketeers, Captain Walter Kühn.

“Here’s Admiral Jean Kirschtein of the Royal Navy. He was top of his class in the academy and over at the naval war college in Noblain. You can ask him anything about being in the military,” Levi said in introduction.

Smiling kindly, Jeans motions for the child to sit beside him on a garden bench. “So, you want to become a soldier, Jürgen?”

“I want to become a Special Forces operator, sir.”

“Well, that means you need to become a soldier first.”

“And how does one get from soldier to operator, sir?”

“Every Special Forces operator is a soldier first, or a seaman or a marine or an airman. You leave the academy at fifteen, serve in one of the military branches for at least three years and gain actual combat experience. You need a recommendation from your commanding officer for exemplary conduct, bravery in battle and superior combat skills. Only then can you try out for the Special Forces. The pass rate is ten percent,” Jean explained, not mincing words. He’s written a bunch of recommendations himself. Only a tiny percentage of them actually ended up leaving the Navy. Those who failed were welcomed back with open arms. Not everyone is cut out for the Special Forces.

This time the child sighed. “What do I do to prepare for the next five years then, sir?”

“What do you enjoy studying the most?”

“Mathematics.”

“That’s good. Study maths as well as you can,” Jean advised. 

“You use maths a lot, sir?”

“Absolutely. The armed forces use maths in everything. In war, military logistics is extremely important. Logistical planning requires statistical estimations. Movement times are calculated for offensive attacks, reinforcement, defensive emplacements. Map reading involves geometry. Field artillery is all numbers and ballistics; extensive calculations are done to make sure a projectile lands at an exact spot at a certain amount of time. Navigation is impossible without maths. Radar navigation is what we use now, but soldiers and seamen also learn about celestial navigation, which is basically one big trigonometry problem. Engineering and physics are applied maths, used by our military engineers to build blast-resistant defences, develop new weapons, communications technology and so on.”

“Dr Hange said I would make a good military engineer,” the child mentioned. 

“They are usually right about aptitude,” Jean remarked. “Brigadier Ackermann told me about your bladesmith skills and craftsman instincts. I believe they’ll cross over best in that field.” 

They go on chatting, with Jürgen asking about the subjects in the military academy and war college, about making it to the top of one’s class. He had been homeschooled, self-studying all his life, and was fascinated with the idea of a classroom with lots of other children.

Levi returns, and Jean leaves for a meeting inside the palace with some politicians. Before he leaves he puts an arm around the child saying, “Mikasa and I will take you sailing soon. She’ll bring her mince pies, and we’ll eat them for lunch aboard the boat. My wife makes the best mince pies!” 

Jürgen grins up at him in delight. He’s never seen the ocean. How awesome, to finally see it and sail on it, while eating mince pies.

“Admiral Kirschtein’s one of our very best. If there’s someone a boy should model himself after, it should be him,” Levi says. He did think Jean was a great role model: from an arrogant teen to a reliable, rock-solid adult whose good sense the island depended on for survival. “It was largely thanks to the admiral that we were able to beat back the Marleyans.”

“He is very kind and very clever,” Jürgen agrees, “but I must become a Special Forces operator, sir. I need to seek revenge for my clan. I must find and kill the Yabo assassins, and the wealthy people who paid for their services. I need to kill them all, with knives I forged with my own hands…”

If Levi could cry, he’d do so right now. He felt for the poor child. I’m sorry, little boy. I’m sorry we could not protect your village. I’m sorry we were unable to anticipate the sneak attack. I’m sorry you had to witness the massacre. I’m sorry you feel you have to take it upon yourself to seek vengeance. I’m sorry for this burden you have to bear. I’m sorry we live in such a shitty, fucked up world.

He wanted to tell the child how the desire for revenge can become all consuming it can completely destroy a person’s life. Wanted to tell him there was more to life than retribution. That vengeance hardly provided catharsis. He wanted to tell this little boy all of these things. He put his hands on the child’s shoulders, turning him so they were face to face. He held the child’s gaze. From under Jürgen’s auburn hair peeked bright, highly intelligent eyes the color of a hand-crafted blade. They shone hard like polished steel and glowed with justified anger. But underneath all that hate was a little boy crying out for help. Levi’s heavy heart sagged even further as he took in the burden the child had passed on.  

“Listen to me, Jürgen,” he began. “As of now the police are scouring the island for the men, based on your very helpful drawings. If they are still on the island we will find them. But if they made it back to wherever they come from then things will be different. They could be anywhere in the world. It will be incredibly difficult to find those who killed your father. I cannot promise you anything, but I promise to see what I can do. Will you give me time to find them?”

“Yes, please, sir. Thank you.”

“What advice did the admiral give you?”

“Admiral Kirschtein told me to study as much as I can, sir.”

“Yes, do exactly that. Hange Zoe and Gustaf Schreiber have plenty to teach you. They are both highly intelligent, like you. They have years and years of experience. But you also have things to teach them. Learn from each other all you can. Leave the fighting to us soldiers. Can you do that for me?” 

“I will do as you both say, sir.”

“What else did the admiral tell you?”

“He said I need to make friends with children my age.”

“He’s absolutely right. We all need friends. Did you have friends back in your village?”

“Not really, no. There weren’t many children my age. I spent most of my time with Father and Alec and the workshop staff.”

“There are many children here in the capital. Make friends. They will help you in times of need, and you can help them, too.”

The boy nodded, then asked worriedly, “Do you think the prince and princess will want to be friends with me?” He’d grown up in the forest all his life. What if the royal family looked down on him as a country bumpkin? Even though he was a child he was worried about his lack of sophistication. 

“Of course they’ll be friendly. What’s worrying you?”

“I…I’m not sure if I know the proper etiquette…”

Etiquette. At seven he knew the word, was worried about not having it. Levi shook his head in amazement. “Being kind and interested is more important than wielding cutlery correctly or having sparkling conversations up your sleeve,” he told the boy. “Reassuring, eh? Unless, of course, you’re strong on etiquette but low in humanity.”

“I’ll do my best to be strong on etiquette and high in humanity, sir,” the child replied.

Levi’s face softened. Poor kid, still a wee one and yet already all alone in this world. He’ll have to find his way in it, like he himself did, when he found his best friend Furlan Church, and then Isabel Magnolia, and later on, Erwin Smith and Miché Zacharias and the rest of the Survey Corps. Orphans like us, Levi thought, have to find our own chosen family. 

He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Just be yourself, Jürgen. They’re good kids. You’ll like each other,” he said. Speaking of which…his back straightened. Princess Ymir was nearby. Hundreds of feet away, but Levi already felt the force of her presence. 

Here it comes, here it comes, Levi groused, closing his eyes. 

“Uuuuuuuncle Leeeeeeeviiiiiiii!!!” the childish but deafening shout seemed to pervade across the entire palace grounds. Loud, oh so loud. Always so loud. Loud since the day they were born. 

A terrified look crosses Jürgen’s face. He hides behind the nearest topiary.

“Uuuuuuuncle Leeeeeeeeeeeviiiiiiiiiii!!!” Again. Even louder than before. 

Heavens have mercy. And this is just one half of them. Levi sighs. Nothing ever changes.

Next – Chapter 4: Lily and Len

Back – Chapter 2: Jürgen Schmitz