The subarch may be excellent with a serviceman’s pistol, but Nix ruled the bloody land of close-quarter combat—and the sarrant was an extension of her own body. The meter-long sword-spear was a Valkeshian promise of death; even the wooden practice ones could break bones and bruise flesh. Over all their tours to the front lines, the sixty-first hadn’t lost a soul, which was largely thanks to Nix’s skill on the battlefield. She’d be damned if Kessandra broke her streak.
