They had ridden all night, fleeting shadows under the sole witness of the moon. At dawn, they reached Yulia's hometown. The first light of day unveiled a poignant scene of desolation. The once picturesque village was now unrecognizable, its buildings blackened and charred. Columns of smoke still rose from the ruins, casting ominous shadows. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of ash and burnt wood, a harsh sting to the eyes.

As they drew nearer, Yulia spotted figures on the outskirts of the village. Villagers were digging massive pits, and as they got closer, the grisly reality of the pits revealed itself: they were filled with corpses. Men of all ages and children lay lifeless, their faces frozen in eternity.

The sight of the small bodies reminded her of her own daughters. Tears sprang forth, and she turned her head away, unable to bear the horror. Her body shook with sobs, each convulsion rekindling the pain of her loss.

Ignoring her distress, the bandits carried on towards the village square, where all surviving women were gathered. Exhausted and frightened, they were kneeling, consumed by despair.

Yulia was thrown to the ground, her wrists still bound. She was instructed to join the other women. Staggering towards her spot, she noticed that some of them recognized her. Some glances held compassion, while others displayed a cruel smirk.

Indifferent to their scorn, Yulia was preoccupied solely with her own grief. After a heavy and tense silence, the bandits began to whisper. All eyes turned to one man: their leader. He was strolling with his hands behind his back, surveying the ranks of kneeling women with undeniable authority.

"Attention, everyone," a strong voice began, "My name matters little, as few of you will live long enough to remember it. For the rest, call me '3'. The meaning of this number will be revealed if you survive the ordeal ahead of us."

His calm tone carried an undeniable threat that captivated all the women present. He seemed pleased with this effect, a smile forming on his face as he continued.

"Some of you have led a peaceful life until today... but know that that era is over. Your life no longer belongs to you; you are now at our mercy. Any disobedience will be met with death, pure and simple."

Muffled sobs punctuated his speech, filling the air with palpable despair. These women, already drained by terror and pressure, had probably lost children, husbands, and families. Yulia lowered her head, avoiding attracting attention. She had sworn revenge, but she wondered if she would have the strength to survive long enough to fulfill this oath.

"I will now walk among you," the man resumed, his voice echoing in the square, "Announce your profession when I stop before you. It is in your best interest not to lie. The consequences could be dramatic."

The leader, known as "3", began to stroll in front of the line of kneeling women, attentively listening to each response, meticulously noting each detail in a small notebook. The professions varied: weaver, cook, merchant, housewife... Depending on their responses, some were designated with a gesture and moved aside in the square. Yulia watched, her heart pounding, as 3 approached her, his shadow stretching over the beaten earth.

Sophie, the wife of a wealthy village merchant, stood to Yulia's right. Her tall, slender figure stood out among the crowd, her tightly fitted white nightgown discreetly outlining her curves and modest chest. Sophie's jet-black, shoulder-length hair contrasted with her pale skin, giving her an almost unreal look.

Yulia knew her well. This woman had always led a life of opulence and ease. She remained by her husband's side, hosting receptions, sipping tea with her friends, and strolling in the gardens of their vast mansion. She had never worked a day in her life, her delicate hands had never known the hard labor that was Yulia's and many other village women's everyday reality.

However, facing 3, Sophie claimed to be a merchant. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her fear. 3, observing her with a sharp gaze, nodded and patted her shoulder in a falsely friendly manner. Two of his men approached and escorted her aside, where several other women, who had likely also lied about their occupation, were already gathered.

With a lump in her throat, Yulia realized that all the women gathered aside were those who had not told the truth. She vowed to be as honest as possible when her turn came.

When 3 finally stopped in front of her, his face lit up with a broad smile. It was a stark contrast to the icy, unreadable gaze that shone in his steel-blue eyes.

"Ah, our fugitive," he began, his tone full of false courtesy. "You went to great lengths to escape. Shame it didn't work out. It seems luck has abandoned you. Tell me, what is your profession?"

Yulia knew she needed to answer honestly. But unlike many other women in the village, her activities were diverse. So, she decided to describe all the roles she assumed.

"I have never limited myself to one profession," she declared, her gaze fixed on the bandit leader. "I worked at the tavern, serving and cooking. I helped... I helped my husband at the forge. I also took care of the fields."

Her voice choked on the mention of her husband. Tom had done everything he could to protect them, and the thought that she would never see him again was a raw wound. 3 nodded silently, carefully noting her words. Then he knelt down to meet her gaze, a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

"And otherwise, do you have a desire for revenge?" he asked, his voice relaxed.

Yulia hesitated, caught off guard. Admitting her desire for revenge could be fatal, as could lying. Faced with this dilemma, she finally opted for honesty.

"Yes! It's all I think about!" she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. 3's smile widened at her answer, and he posed one last question.

"And what do you intend to do, exactly?"

Yulia took a deep breath. She wasn't used to making threats, but she felt a surge of courage rises within her: "I will kill with my own hands all those who have torn my happiness from me!" she responded with fierce determination.

A heavy silence fell over the village square. Yulia's last words seemed to still echo in the air, making the haggard and fearful faces of her captive companions tremble. Their wide eyes moved from one figure to another, from Yulia to the bandits, unable to believe the audacity of her words. Some shivered, fearing the reaction of 3 and his men, while others blinked rapidly, barely holding back tears, moved by the courage shown by Yulia. But all held their breath in anticipation of the consequences of this unheard-of audacity.

The crowd burst into laughter, saluting the young woman's mettle. 3 himself couldn't help but laugh before rising to address her one last time. "Keep that spirit! You're going to need it for what's coming!"

Sophie, the merchant's wife, who had been held aside, watched the scene with a disdainful look. She had always envied Yulia, her simple life, her unpretentious happiness. Now, she couldn't help but savor the precariousness of her situation. A smug smile on her lips, she made a remark loud enough for most of the women present to hear.

"Look at our Yulia, always playing the heroine! Thinking she's more special than the rest of us. But look at us, some of us have been chosen. You're not the only one who survived, dear Yulia."

Sophie gave a triumphant look to the women at her side. Some of them, former friends of Yulia, nodded, their eyes betraying a hint of jealousy and animosity towards the woman standing bravely before the bandits.

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Once the review was over, 3 seemed to take some pleasure in observing the palpable tension between Yulia and Sophie. A strange smile lit up his face when he noticed that no woman had lied about her profession after Yulia's bold declaration. Unwittingly, she had instilled in them a courage they had not dared to express before. This amused 3. He was curious to see how this newly acquired determination would evolve.

He then turned his attention to Sophie, his smile still as broad. He seemed to relish the idea of increasing the suspense in this dramatic staging. He made a theatrical pause, approached Sophie, and stopped in front of her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ladies," he began, his voice carrying across the village square. "The women whom I have tapped on the shoulder have been chosen to be set free."

A stunned silence followed. Whispers of astonishment and sobs of relief began to be heard as the chosen women realized what his words meant. Sophie, on the other hand, displayed a triumphant smile, looking at Yulia defiantly. Yulia shook her head, realizing that 3 was making a mockery of her and that she had fallen into the trap.

"Set free..." repeated 3, stressing each syllable, "from life."

A chill of horror swept through the crowd. The women couldn't comprehend the meaning of this dreadful declaration.

"You will join the rest of your village, who already await you in the pit," 3 explained, his voice devoid of all emotion. The realization of their fate struck like a bolt of lightning. Screams of horror and cries of despair filled the icy morning silence. The chosen women broke down in tears, hopeless.

"You were gathered here because you lied. It's as simple as that," 3 added, observing with satisfaction the chaos he had created.

She was going to die, join the departed in that pit. Her gaze instinctively turned to Yulia who was looking at her with deep sadness in her eyes. This compassion, this condescension, made her teeth grit. She, who had always lived in luxury and opulence, was about to end up in a common pit, while Yulia, the simple servant, the blacksmith's wife, would survive. A quiet rage rose within her, fueled by the fear and injustice of the situation.

Overwhelmed with shame and regret, she threw herself at 3's feet along with the other women, begging him to reverse his decision, asserting they were ready to do anything for a second chance.

3, delighting in the spectacle, decided to push his cruel game even further. He turned to Sophie and asked her to point out among his men the most repulsive, the ugliest in her eyes, without fearing to offend them.

Sophie, taken aback, nonetheless complied. After a quick scan, she pointed to a particularly hideous man. Tall, corpulent, and with a face covered in scars, he embodied for her the very image of horror. 3 looked at the man chosen by Sophie and burst into laughter.

"Sorry, Quintal, you're the chosen one," he said, clearly amused by the situation. Quintal, far from insulted, laughed in return, his deep laugh echoing through the village square. Without any embarrassment, he began to remove his jacket and trousers, revealing his imposing body. Then, he sat on the stone bench he had previously occupied, completely naked.

3 then turned to the begging woman, a perverse glint in his eyes. "Among all of you, only one will have the chance to stay alive," he announced. A heavy silence fell over the square, the women holding their breath, anticipating the upcoming conditions.

"The first woman who manages to satisfy Quintal will stay alive," 3 finally declared, a cruel smile stretching his lips. The women stared at Quintal, their faces falling as they realized what was expected of them.

Sophie was inwardly cursing herself for pointing out this man, a true abomination. The mere sight of him sent chills down her spine, and his massive body was terrifying. She thought to herself that his mother must have fornicated with a bear to end up with such a result. Quintal, for his part, was thrilled, wriggling with anticipation at the spectacle that was about to unfold for his benefit.

The liars were now condemned to humiliate themselves for their survival, exchanging uncertain looks. Who would be desperate enough to go first? The tension was palpable. The other women, on their knees, witnessed the scene, stunned and powerless. An icy silence spread over the village square, each woman holding her breath, horror, and fascination mixing in their gazes.

Finally, unable to suppress their survival instincts any longer, they all rushed toward Quintal. The man erupted in laughter, clearly delighted with the unprecedented attention. Their target wasn't his entire body, but a specific part of it: his erect member. Their trembling hands landed on it, their tongues too, clashing their faces against each other in a blend of humiliation and fear. The village square had become a theater of degradation and obscenity, bathed in Quintal's cruel laughter and 3's amused gaze.

In their despair, the women tore at each other, pulling hair and scratching in hopes of being the first to climb atop Quintal. Moans of pain rose in the air as each woman fiercely fought for her survival.

3, entertained by the spectacle, cast his gaze on Sophie. She was seething with indignation, her eyes traveling from woman to woman as she still hesitated. He signaled to her, extending a dagger with a sinister smile.

"If you want to survive, you'll have to carve a place for yourself."

Sophie looked at Yulia, her face resolute. She was ready to do anything to survive. She grabbed the dagger 3 was handing her, her defiant gaze fixed on Yulia. Silently, she warned her that she was ready to do anything to survive, even commit the unthinkable.

She advanced, the dagger firmly held in her trembling hand. Her eyes reflected a terrifying resolve as she approached her former friends, now rivals in this fight for survival. Absorbed in their desperate attempt to win Quintal's favor, they didn't notice her coming up behind them, their attention entirely focused on the man in front of them.

The first blow was brutal and unexpected. Sophie plunged the dagger into the neck of the nearest woman, a former childhood friend. A gasp of surprise escaped her mouth, her eyes widening in recognition of Sophie before she collapsed, blood gushing from her wound.

The second, a mother of three who had once shared many laughs with Sophie at village parties, was caught off guard as the dagger pierced her heart. She fell, her look of surprise and betrayal fixed on Sophie.

The other three women fell quickly, their throats slit by Sophie's ruthless dagger before they even realized what was happening. The bodies lay there, blood mixing with the village dust, as Sophie stood panting, the still bloody dagger in hand.

She then turned to the other women. Her determined gaze, panting breath, and blood-soaked dagger made her intentions perfectly clear. A shudder ran through the audience, shocked to see how far Sophie was willing to go to survive.

"I will be the only one to survive, he is mine!" she declared. Dressed in a long, tight-fitting nightgown, she approached Quintal. The breaking dawn light highlighted every detail of her figure. She slowly pulled up the hem of her garment, revealing her pale legs. Her gaze was fixed on Quintal, a mix of disgust and determination.

Firmly seizing Quintal's member, she positioned herself as if she were about to unite with her husband. The disgusting feeling of Quintal's coarse skin under her fingers contrasted cruelly with memories of the softness of her late husband. Yet, she suppressed her disgust, her will to survive overpowering everything else.

Without any foreplay, she impaled herself on Quintal. The pain made her grimace, but that grimace quickly turned into a mask of pure determination. The crowd watched, petrified, as the scene unfolded. Humiliation and degradation were evident, but Sophie was indifferent to the judgments around her.

Driven by her will to survive, she increased the pace. She moved her hips with growing vigor, as she would have done with her lover. It was degrading, humiliating, but she let nothing show. She was locked in her resolve to survive, and nothing could divert her from her goal.

In a bold move, she leaned in to kiss Quintal. The man, surprised, did not resist, letting himself be carried away by Sophie's feigned passion. The bitter taste of his mouth made her grimace, but she hid her disgust behind a deceptive smile.

She played the role of a woman in love to perfection, feigning intense pleasure. Her moans echoed in the night air, punctuated by the indecent sounds of their coupling.

After what felt like an eternity, Quintal raised a shaky arm, signaling to 3 that Sophie had fulfilled her part of the bargain. He breathed heavily, exhausted by Sophie's performance.

Sophie then got up, her face radiant and a triumphant gaze towards Yulia. She had won, she had survived. And even if she had to bear the weight of the shame of what she had done, she was alive. And at that moment, that was all that mattered.

3, observing the scene with obvious satisfaction, displayed a broad smile. His piercing gaze landed successively on Sophie, then on Yulia. If the former had chosen the path of selfishness, ready to do anything to survive, the latter had opted for courage and compassion. This fascinating contrast did not escape the sharp eye of the brigand.

"Everyone, it's time to leave," he finally announced, turning away from the sordid scene to head towards the wagons. His authoritative voice cut through the silence that had followed the spectacle. The women still on their knees quickly rose, fear and relief mingling on their faces.

With a wave of his hand, he indicated the wagons, then, with a finger, the still-empty pits destined for the condemned. The women selected, except for Sophie, were led aside, where a swift dagger stroke sent them to join their already fallen comrades. Their bodies were then unceremoniously tossed into the pits, leaving behind a heavy silence. The survivors, a mix of relief and shame on their faces, had managed to escape this grim fate.