The longer Natalie fought, the better she felt. After all, it was the apocalypse—no diplomacy, no etiquette, and no need to be civilized. She could hit whoever she wanted. Unreasonable? Unrefined? So what? Between punches, she called to Cassian, "You want a turn? It's great for stress relief." He smiled. "Go ahead. I'll cover you." The reason the pockmarked man was taking the beating of his life—and none of his people dared rush in—was that Cassian had them all at gunpoint. A good husband guarded the perimeter while his wife handled the fight. The man's face was dark with hatred, like he wanted to carve Natalie into pieces, but his voice came out small and pitiful. "All that … was just history. Old legends. No proof it ever happened! You have any evidence—" He didn't finish. Natalie's rifle swung again, hitting him across the shoulder. "Evidence? I need evidence to beat you?" The man screamed in pain, then finally broke down. "Miss! Please! It wasn't me! I wasn't even born then!" Natalie raised a brow. "Oh, look at that—he knows the word civilian." He gave a nervous laugh, trying to sound friendly, only to get slapped again. "You bullied civilians back then!" The man nearly burst into tears. When she finally let him go, he stumbled back to his group, sniffling like a child. So unreasonable, so strong—this woman fought like a tyrant! What he didn't know was that if Natalie hadn't been trying to figure out who they were, he might not even be breathing now. The Genoshan man stood frozen where he was, trembling. Natalie glanced at him. "What are you shaking for? I'm not hitting you. Take us to your camp." He didn't move, hesitation all over his face. She lifted her gun. "You got a problem with that?" He shook his head so hard his cheeks wobbled. "No problem!" Then he spun around and started leading the way up the mountain. "This way, please!" A few yards ahead, the pockmarked man saw them coming and immediately turned tail, sprinting uphill—probably to warn the others. Natalie didn't hurry. She followed behind the trembling guide at an easy pace. Halfway up, she glanced back at Cassian and, under the pretense of adjusting her backpack, pulled two bottles of spring water from her storage space. She handed one to him, and they both took a drink—just in case. That spring water had once let her understand Lucky's dog-speak; surely it could handle a bit of foreign language too. To test it, Natalie called to the Genoshan man ahead. He turned, wary. "What is it?" "Nothing," she said. "Just say something in your language." He blinked, confused. What kind of request was that? "You … understand my country's language?" he asked cautiously. Natalie shook her head. "Not really. All I know is 'annyeonghaseyo,' 'saranghae,' and something that ends with '-mida.'"He twitched. "Then why … ask me to speak it? You can't … understand—" She cut him off coolly. "Just curious if you stutter as much in your own tongue." His face flushed red. This woman had a special talent for insult. His Drakoric wasn't that bad! He'd been top of his class back home, praised by every teacher—and here she mocked him like he was a fool. Fuming, he launched into a rapid burst of Genoshan, his words crisp and fluid, his pronunciation flawless. When he finished, he gave her a smug, challenging look that said, I can understand you—can you understand me? Natalie regarded him for a long moment. He began to sweat. "You … understand?" After a pause, she said flatly, "Nope." He exhaled in relief. "Then let's keep moving." She followed, hiding a grin. Of course she understood. The spring water worked perfectly—every word had come through crystal clear. He'd called her a dog-brained lunatic, an uppity witch with eyes higher than her head, and tossed in Cassian for good measure—"that vain idiot who sides with her evil." He was creative, she'd give him that. When she glanced at Cassian, who'd also drunk the water, his face was unreadable, calm as ever. The Genoshan man, feeling triumphant, climbed faster, his mood lighter now that he'd vented. Natalie smiled thinly, her voice lazy but cutting through the silence. "I didn't catch everything you said, but I've watched plenty of your country's dramas. I know what shi-ba means." The man froze. A chill shot from his feet to his scalp. Natalie's tone turned sharp. She raised her empty bottle and smacked it against the back of his head. "Shi-ba, huh?" Another hit. "Who's the shi-ba now?" Each blow landed with another shout of "Shi-ba!" until the man saw stars, yelling, "I was wrong! I was wrong!"