26th day of summer, 9132 of the Unic Reckoning. Near Ellasad, Oluga

  Insatiable glanced around. She was the only woman in the Cruel’s unit and the second in the entire Company. That said something—and should have given them pause.

  “I’ll ask you one question. I know I’m wasting my time, but what the hell. Do you even realize that I serve under Cruel?”

  The five men surrounding her burst into vulgar laughter at her words.

  “Under him…” one repeated, practically drooling.

  Insatiable sighed heavily. Time passes, yet people never truly change.

  “Just wanted to make sure,” she muttered, more to herself than to them.

  One of them said something, but she was no longer listening. No point wasting more time. Not on them. Pity, though—one had even caught her eye. Had they been a little smarter, she’d have given them exactly what they wanted from her, in such quantities they’d beg her to stop. But they preferred violence. Well, who was she to judge? In the end, sex and violence excited her equally—but only when she was in control.

  “And I just washed these clothes,” she sighed, reaching for the short sword strapped to her side.

  They were big, well-fed for such a backwater village, but they’d chosen stupid clubs as weapons. Who brings a club to a sword fight? Sure, they were strong and could brawl—but they didn’t know how to fight. They could trade punches, shove each other around, maybe land a few sloppy hits or deliver a solid fist to the face, but that was it. They didn’t know how to kill. From their perspective, maybe it looked like they stood a chance. Maybe they even believed, for a moment, that the advantage was theirs. But Insatiable was a soldier. She’d taken an oath and served in the Nameless Company. That came with expectations.

  She was tall, and years of training had turned the muscles hidden beneath her clothes as hard as steel. Her natural speed only worked in her favor. She’d taken enough beatings in training to learn how to dodge. She couldn’t match a man’s raw strength—not if he was built like an ox. But no one said she had to wrestle him. The moment her hand closed around the hilt of her sword, one of the attackers raised his club. The only one who’d thought ahead or understood she wouldn’t surrender without a fight. The rest were slow-witted enough to just stand there, laughing. An opportunity like this couldn’t be wasted. She dodged the swing aimed at her with ease. Another mistake. Should’ve gone for the head. She understood why he hadn’t done it—after all, only few enjoy fucking corpses—but she certainly wasn’t going to explain that to them. Just like she wasn’t going to explain why she dodged to the side instead of jumping back. A gasp of disbelief was drowned out by the shocked cries of his comrades. Strange. What was so strange about a sharp sword easily piercing human flesh? That’s what it was made for—to deal death. She ripped the blade free in one swift motion, already focusing on the next man. His terrified eyes were the only sign that he understood what was coming. When his guts spilled from his sliced-open abdomen, he just stared at them, as if he couldn’t comprehend what had happened. Insatiable laughed in delight. These people had never seen a man killed by another before, yet they still challenged her? Had they even heard of the fucking Company?

  The rest of the fight was a formality. And Insatiable was glad for that—she wasn’t one of those fools looking for meaningless challenges. She liked being alive.

  “Again?” a detached voice asked.

  She took a deep breath, suddenly aware that she was in real trouble this time. Without a word, she turned on her heel and saluted, already knowing all too well who was standing behind her.

  “I’m starting to seriously consider sewing your cunt shut,” Cruel growled, folding his arms across his chest.

  Insatiable shrugged. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “Not in words, sure. But with your actions? I doubt it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, irritation creeping into her voice.

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  “That it’s fucking impossible for every damn village we pass through to have some idiot decide to throw himself at you like that.”

  “Maybe I’m just pretty?”

  He let out an unpleasant scoff at that.

  “You’re a Company soldier.”

  “And that means I can’t be pretty?”

  He shook his head, then replied with brutal honesty, “It means you don’t get to keep anything. You were pretty when you joined. Now? You’re just used up.”

  Everything in her screamed to lunge at that son of a bitch and claw his eyes out, but one thing she knew for sure—she didn’t stand a chance. Not now, when he was clearly expecting her to strike. Besides, he was right. Sleeping in leaking tents, constant drills, regular night watches... Everything that was a normal, everyday part of their small unit's life took its toll on each of them. On her the most, because, after all, she was a woman. The sun had burned her skin, stripping away its softness. Her hands were covered in calluses. It was the price she gladly paid for the ability to wield a weapon. Her curves had disappeared. Hardly surprising, considering she had almost no fat left on her body. The only thing that remained was her hair. She never let them cut it. She never would. She knew it was foolish, but it was her choice. She didn’t plan to explain herself to anyone.

  "Do you need something from me?" she finally asked, pushing aside the thought of the beautiful woman she had once been.

  "I did, but now I have to change all my plans. Again."

  She smirked.

  "I’m sorry to hear that."

  "I bet you are," he growled, then let out a sharp whistle.

  A few soldiers appeared from around the corner. They glanced at the men dying at the feet of Insatiable and cursed under their breath.

  "One cunt, so many problems," muttered Gloomy.

  "Fucking nympho," sneered Swine.

  "Love you too," she replied with a wide grin.

  They flinched. She loved their fear. She might not have been the strongest, the fastest, or the most agile, but... she held power over them in a way even the Cruel didn’t. And no, she saw nothing wrong in indulging in that control. Sex was enjoyable. They drank, she fucked. It was the same thing.

  "Less talking, more working. Quick, go inform the others what happened."

  "Yes, sir," their youngest comrade answered before dashing toward the camp.

  The first time she took him to her tent, he had cried like a child, begging her to let him go. He had been so sweet, sobbing and drooling, whining that he really, truly couldn't anymore. In the end, he had disappointed her completely, failing to meet even the lowest of expectations, but... But she still found it amusing how much he continued to fear her.

  "To the camp," Cruel barked.

  She shrugged indifferently but followed without a word. She knew that, regardless of circumstances, he would find out about everything, and then he’d get angry anyway, but... But she always did the same thing. Truth be told, she enjoyed seeing that flicker of helplessness behind his rage. At least that way, she had a sliver of control over him.

  The camp was calm. Pessimist had no doubt the Insatiable would fix that soon. When things were too good, too quiet, too peaceful, something inside her writhed in discomfort, demanding she shatter the harmony that suited everyone else. This time wouldn’t be any different.

  "If you're thinking about Insatiable, stop. You'll jinx it," Superstitious growled.

  "There's nothing to jinx."

  "You're bringing misfortune upon us."

  "She is misfortune. I don’t need to bring it. In case you haven’t noticed, the stupid cunt is in our squad."

  "I mean..."

  Superstitious never finished his thought because he saw Quick appear from around the corner, looking particularly displeased.

  "Well, fuck me in ass," muttered Pessimist. "Told you."

  "You should’ve kept your mouth shut."

  "Wouldn’t have changed a thing."

  "It could have changed everything."

  "Shut the fuck up!" Irritable bellowed. "Some of us are trying to peel vegetables in peace!"

  The two arguing soldiers fell silent. Irritable had an annoying habit of throwing whatever he had in hand at people, and since he was currently holding an exceptionally large, unidentifiable but seemingly heavy tuber...

  "Cruel wants you ready because—" Quick started as soon as he reached them, but his words were immediately cut off by the tuber hitting him square in the forehead.

  "What the fuck are you yelling for, you dick?"

  "Are you fucking insane?! What the fuck did I do to you?! Shove that... that... whatever the fuck that is up your ass."

  "That 'whatever the fuck' is today's dinner," Irritable said, clearly in a better mood.

  Sometimes, it didn’t take much to make a man happy. For Irritable, a perfect throw at a target—even one right next to him—was enough.

  "I don’t give a shit! I have orders to pass on! From Cruel himself!"

  "Who else would they be from?" Pessimist asked, shaking his head. "Pointless. Just as pointless as whatever you want to say, so better keep it to yourself."

  "Like hell I will! If I don’t tell you—"

  "Disheveled!" Superstitious suddenly shouted. "Get the gag!"

  Disheveled paused mid-boot-cleaning, looked up, then glanced between the one calling him and the one being yelled at before silently returning to his task.

  "What a fucking dick" Superstitious grumbled.

  Quick seized the moment of distraction, leaping back and shouting at the top of his lungs:

  "Insatiable did it again! Get ready! Cruel is coming!"

  A few colorful curses assured him he had completed his mission. With a relieved sigh, he took a deeper breath—only to feel a fist slam into his solar plexus. Pain filled his mind, but not for long. A moment later, he collapsed, unconscious. No one, absolutely no one, gave a damn.