The Third Regiment, First Company, consisted mostly of foreigners, oddballs, and plain unlucky soldiers. 100 men and 20 women stood at attention in 10 lines, each 12 units large. The Captain, a 6 foot 5 giant rugged giant patrolled his Company for any violators. Fanatical eyes searched for guilty faces. His steps were heavy, his tight muscles ready to flex. The whip behind his back eagerly called out to him, begging for its next victim.

Only recently, he’d noticed one of his men groping the female soldier in front of him. Such occurrences were far too common in the army, and usually, he would let the victims fend for themselves. The Captain believed anyone soldier incapable of defending themselves will be incapable of defending their Company.

As the Captain, however, such activities will not go unpunished under his watch. He was their Captain, and them his slaves. Any breach of rules under his scrutiny is an insult to his authority.

The foolish lad underestimated the old giant’s sight. The soldier believed that he was far enough, sneaky enough. But whatever the Captain cannot see, his little crows can. They flew overhead, making their nests in the dense forests. His soldiers had errored greatly. They had believed such a large brute was incapable of possessing Magic Capacity. They were wrong. He was a Tamer, the profession which the gentlest of personalities pursued. 

The Captain let two days pass before catching the young soldier with his own eyes. During the morning drills, the Captain would typically patrol in a set pattern, mainly to lure mischievous idiots into a false sense of security. Whenever he needed to catch someone, he would just need to break the pattern and turn at an odd time, with the assistance of his crows of course. The Captain was infamous for knowing things he should not know. They attributed this to brute, savage intuition.

You tend to forget that the enemy's greatest visible strength, is not his only strength.

With the cackle of a crow, the Captain abruptly swung around, his eyes catching the soldier

The boy, no older than 18, as most of them are, had a smirk on his face. Typical brat from a rich family. He thought he was O so clever, harassing the young lady in her moment of vulnerability. Either she would make a scene, and receive my wrath, or she could bite her teeth swallow the humiliation. The Captain commended the young soldier's bold move, for he has taken advantage of his opponent, and such characteristics are encouraged in the First Company. Getting caught, however, is something the First Company does not approve of.

The fear on the young boy showed. His pink face turned pale, and his stretched hands shook slightly. His hands were clearly feeling the young lady’s behind, though surprisingly you wouldn’t be able to tell it from her face. Stern and vacant, she showed no signs of being harassed. The Captain smiled, a big, wide, happy smile as he walked from one end of the Company to the other. Among 120 person soldiers, the Captain was able to single-handedly notice a soldier breaking the formation! What beast like instincts! The Captain chuckled as he reached the shaking soldier.

Blond hair, blue eyes. A brat from a minor noble family. The Captain was 40 years old, having spent the last 12 years raising through the command ladder, and in all of his years, most troublemakers were like this one. They do not know fear.

The Captain will teach it.

The Captain very slowly pulled out a 7” combat knife from his side. He held it up to the weak sunlight, savoring its sharpness. It was his precious--a small treasure expensive enough to kill for. Sharp steel coated with obsidian gave it a grim, savage appearance. The blade was sharp enough to cut through steel armor if handled correctly, making the Captain favor close combat before all else. He could have bought a small pistol, though where is the fun in killing with that? He twirled it in his hands, letting the young lad imagine the atrocities that would be done to him. Will he be punished now? An execution was not unheard of, though most referred to whipping and exile instead of getting their hands dirty.

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The Captain, however, was merciful, as he would usually end their pathetic lives instead of letting them suffer. That would not work on this lot. These arrogant snobs did not believe they would die. It was always the person next to them that would perish, just never them.

Words were pointless. Actions speak louder, or in this case, will scream louder. The Captain stepped to the right, now facing the female soldier. He extended his arm, the handle of the knife facing her.

“Cut it.” He ordered the soldier. Momentarily confused, her face contorted slightly, but she willed her form correctly.

“Cut what sir?” she replied. Incorrectly. The Captain resisted the urge to bellow, willing it further inside his body. This was not the time.

His voice deepened, the silence echoing his voice “His hand, soldier. Cut his hand. Off.” A crow croaked in the distance. The blood drained from her face. The poor lad behind her behind was worse off.

The Captain eagerly anticipated some type of resistance from either of them. Only then, would he truly be able to drill some type of obedience into this Company.

**********

Irritated, the Captain walked briskly through the two halves of the company. He was looking forward to feeding his crows, but unfortunately, the young soldier did not disobey orders. As foolish as the lad was, he knew any type of resistance would have just ended his life sooner. Now, he would just die later.

Initially, the Captain was very disappointed with the female soldier’s lack of resistance to the lad’s harassment. True, she was not able to defend her dignity right there and then, but there were many, many more things she could have done later on. There are many ways to kill a man in two days. She probably would have been caught, but her honor would have remained.

A soldier’s honor is the only thing that will keep him from deserting a lost battle...and death maybe, but some do get by. Honor is more trustworthy, the Captain believed. It will help his men and women march to their deaths.

His disappointment with her, however, ended as soon as the grinding of bone began. She grew grim, angry, vicious as she fumbled with the dagger. This Company was fresh. It knew nothing yet. But when the moment his knife cut through the other side of the hand that insulted her, the soldier grew, with it his Company. The lad passed out, defecating himself halfway through. This did not solve his shortage of food for his crows, but it did improve his mood.

In order to solve that particular issue, the Captain announced that there will be a skirmish today. This time, he did not resist the urge to flex his lungs.

“The boundaries will be a square mile large in the forest. The first team to find and knock down the other team's pole will win. The losing team will perform all the chores for the next week!” That punishment by itself, combined with the usual workout routine of the soldiers, is bound to him a couple of weak-willed bodies.

“Wooden swords will be 15” long, daggers will be 6”, and bow and blunt arrows will be weapon selection.” A wooden sword can’t cut through skin, but it will splinter bones. "Spears will be available for the unskilled."

“If no pole falls in the next three hours, this Company will end up shining the boots of the Second Regiment. Prepare for combat, soldiers!” The Captain allowed a one hour preparation period. For a typical Company, that time period is excessively abundant. This Company, however, is anything but typical. Fresh and undisciplined, one hour to split positions, roles, assign a leader and captain, as well as create a tactic for winning, would be a far cry. Yet time was precious, and he could not spare any of it before the next war against the next kingdom would start.

The Captain felt his age wear on him. This Company won’t be prepared in time. If only Kora was here, I would have a semblance of a chance. He shook his hand. He was her Captain, yet he had no authority over her. It irritated him, not having direct command over one of his most capable lieutenants.

In the end, however, it mattered not to the Captain. His career was already over, his life stagnant. This was as far as he could reach, for his eyes were not blue, and his blood not pure.

With resignation, he watched his little kids beat each other with sticks. Soon they would pass in an insignificant skirmish, and soon a new batch will replace them.

Until then, the weak will be fodder for the only worthy thing left in this world for him: his lonely crows.