Xhosa was in a good mood.

He was now holding a roasted squeaky leg of lamb and munching on it, and his excited subordinates were eating the fat lamb above the campfire, and in a good mood, some orcs even sang a rough song, which attracted bursts of cheers.

Looting, unearned, killing, bloodshed. These words are like stimulants to orcs, not only do they not make them feel guilty, but they completely arouse the cruelty and tyranny in their bones. Just like at this moment, after the complete slaughter of the village of Kri, the most important thing the orcs want to do is to eat and drink in front of the campfire, and sing their "merits" to the ancestors today, so as to prove that they have not disgraced the ancestors who slaughtered humans.

"Cheers! for Lord Sarota!"

Slogans were shouted, and the orcs held their bony wine glasses, but drank the wine looted from the village of Cree.

For orcs, there is such a thing as "wine" that has never been tasted. Although they find it difficult to drink, everything that human beings use and eat is always "high-end and high-grade" in their eyes. So even if they didn't like it, they still swallowed it, thinking about how they would brag about it to the other orcs when they returned to the tribe.

The barrenness of spirit and culture makes their inner world so desolate that even the so-called "vanity" becomes so ridiculous.

The purpose of the raid at this time is not to bring any resources to the tribe, in the final analysis, the biggest purpose of their presence here is to kill and deter.

When they slaughter one village without baggage, they eat up the resources of one village, and when they have the strength, they go to slaughter the next village, so that the human race trembles, trembles, and fears under such acts...... As for the possible rebellion of mankind, they are completely indifferent.

In the eyes of Xhosa and the other orcs, unless a large army of lords encircles them, cowardly humans will always tremble in front of them. Just like the scouts I met today, they were just a bunch of ineffective scum, and they weren't worth mentioning at all.

"Xhosa, where are we going tomorrow?"

Except for witch doctors and chiefs, orcs are always addressed by their first names. At this time, the subordinates in front of the campfire asked Xhosa loudly, and the wolf cavalry who were eating with their mouths full of oil also looked at them with expectant eyes.

"Lord Sarota wants us to establish a stronghold here, and then attack to the southeast, rest well today, go south tomorrow, and slaughter a village when we see it!

"Hooray! Cheers to Rohal's Hammer!"

"Kill all the humans!

There was cheering in the camp.

This went on for a long time, and after a few hours of eating and stuffing, the orcs who had drunk all the wine returned to their tents one by one. And Xhosa, who had drunk a lot of wine, was still quite conscious at this time - he returned to the tent with slightly fluttering steps, and when he lifted the curtain, he did not forget to turn back and tell his men about the patrol:

"Go. Go and keep an eye on the wolves, don't feed too much meat, be vigilant - be on alert, the patrol team at night will be doubled, do you hear that?"

He said that he would kill those humans, but in fact, Xhosa still had a trace of jealousy in his heart. The wound on his back, derived from a human sword, was almost healed, but the shadow that followed always lingered, so much so that at night, he paid special attention to the problem of patrolling the sentry.

After emphasizing it several times to make sure that the subordinates in front of him understood, he waved his hand into the tent and fell asleep.

The orc, who had been assigned the task, yawned, and woke up a few companions in a daze to go to the night, and he was ready to feed the wolf. It was already dark by this time, and by the light of the campfire, he squinted his eyes to make out what was in front of him, and staggered towards the edge of the camp.

More than forty wolves were napping on the outskirts of the camp at this time, which is a major feature of the orc camp - if there is no enclosure, the wolves will all gather outside the camp, because only in this situation can the wolves with social habits sleep peacefully and recover their strength very quickly.

These wolves are so large that they may seem fierce to outsiders, but only the orcs themselves know about them. The temperament of the wolf is fundamentally different from what others imagine.

As an unruly species, the "wolf" itself is actually extremely difficult to tame, and in the grassland, the wolf is often a cruel, cunning and aggressive existence. But the wolf is far from the case - the orcs are too heavy for the steppe pony to carry them, so over the centuries the original hot-tempered "wolf" has been crossed to the point where it is today: meat-eating, but mild-tempered and extremely low intelligence. It has fangs in its mouth, but it doesn't actively hunt at all. On the battlefield, the wolf charge seems to be brave, and it is not even afraid to directly ram the enemy, but in fact, it is entirely because their brains are too stupid to pay attention to orders other than their masters... In order to cultivate their sense of obedience, the wolf cavalry has constantly suppressed their desire to attack since childhood, so when they reach adulthood, these guys are not much different from cattle and sheep in terms of personality except for eating meat.

In the history of the other side of the plane, these materials were gradually summarized by humans only two years after the outbreak of the war in 592. And before that, no one would have thought that a wolf would be indistinguishable from a sheep, or even a fierce dog.

In fact, if you think about this kind of thing carefully, you can already find some clues--if a wolf can bark like a dog or a wolf at the slightest hint of wind and grass to warn, where do those orcs who are almost blind at night need to devote many men to keep vigil? I am afraid that one by one would have slept peacefully.

Therefore, the "asymmetry" of information can affect a war to a large extent, and sometimes the seemingly disparity is often completely rewritten because of such an inconspicuous detail.

It was about eleven o'clock in the evening, and the orc camp was quieting down. The orc, who had woken up his companions for vigil, walked on the edge of the camp, swaying and humming a tune-out song, with a scimitar in one hand and an unretellable object in the other.

If you look closely, you can see that what he is carrying in his hand is a half-human corpse.

Because the wolf eats meat, the cost of the "wolf cavalry" is much higher than that of the light cavalry. Feeding these wolves every day is a huge expense, and it is clear that what the orc has to do at this time is to feed the wolves with human corpses.

It sounds cruel, but the orcs think it's normal.

He walked up to the forty or so lying wolves, waved his scimitar without raising his head and began to break the corpses, and then threw the minced meat into the pile of wolves gathered together. The dull wolves began to scramble for food, because after a long period of training, they did not come close to the orcs who fed them, and if they could not grab anything, they just waited there.

Such a thing was to be done every day, and the orc who was crushing the corpse felt that he could continue with his eyes closed, but just as he yawned again and thought about going back to sleep as soon as possible, undisguised footsteps suddenly sounded in his ears.

"Hey, do you want to help?"

The standard Sabine question immediately dispelled the doubts that had just risen in his mind—it was clear that he could not have imagined a human being in such a place.

Turning his head, he couldn't see the other party's figure clearly in the dark, but he naturally regarded the person who spoke as his companion, so he casually replied: "No, no, Xhosa asked me to feed the wolf, me." Uh--I have to do it myself. ”

With a hiccup, he opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say hello and then ask who the other party was, but he heard a slightly indifferent answer from the other party:

"Hey the wolves? Oh, you do have to feed the wolves. ”

"Poof—"

The sound of the blade slicing through the air was indiscible, and the blood splattered on the grass as the head rose into the sky, and the headless body fell to the ground—but the wolves fighting for food didn't even lift their heads.

Roddy raised his head, his gaze lingered for a moment on the half-human corpse next to him, his eyes narrowed - the hand holding the scimitar clenched slightly, he bent down and exhaled softly, as if he wanted to reach out to touch the corpse, but finally stopped, turned his head, and reached out to drag the headless orc corpse step by step towards the distance.

His steps were very calm, as if the forty-odd wolves beside him were nothing more than a pack of pigs fighting for feed, and the corpse in his hand was no more than a bag of rice.

Every ten meters or so, he stopped, raised his knife and slashed off a part of the orc's body - either an arm or a calf - and threw it behind him, leading the meat-eating wolves to follow him, gradually away from the snoring orc camp...

"Little sloppy, really sloppy, really sloppy, the sloppy king is him, everyone calls him little sloppy..."

A song very different from the orc just now sounded on the grassland, and in the dark night, it seemed strange and empty.

When he walked out of nearly 100 meters, the orcs in his hands were basically left with only unrecognizable pieces of flesh.

Disgusting? Disgusting.

Before this, Roddy never thought that he could do such a thing in reality, and it was a lie to say in his heart that he was not disgusting... It was only when he remembered the half-cut corpse that the orcs had used to feed the wolf just now, and the anger in his heart made him forcibly suppress this disgusting.

Roddy was angry.

There is a saying that "angry" is essentially anger at one's own incompetence - and now Roddy can only admit that he really is.

The tragedy in the village of Kerry can be traced back to its own cause. He had clearly thought about this possibility, but because of some luck, he never expected it to happen - in the eyes of outsiders, this seems to have nothing to do with Roddy, but at this time, the remorse and self-blame in Roddy's heart, I am afraid that Luger and Carter and others will not be aware of it at all, and they will not understand it at all.

The result of being angry is to get angry, and then find a way to vent. But when the scimitar chopped the corpses of the orcs again and again, Roddy clearly understood that even if he killed all the orcs this time, the dead villagers... It is impossible to be resurrected.

"After all. It's not a game anymore. ”

A sigh in the dark, with a little inexplicable depression.

The corpse in the orc's hand just now should have been a child, and it seemed that he was no more than seven or eight years old - at such an age, the world was beautiful, and everything he saw should be full of hope, and he should have his own ideals, and his heart should be full of longing.

But for the child who couldn't even find the lower half of his body, all this has become empty talk.

Throwing away the last pieces of corpse in his hand in disgust, Roddy stopped and the wolves were already hundreds of meters away from the camp. In the distance, several patrolling figures were turning from the side of the camp.

"Now. Thirty-two remaining. ”