Xhosa is in a good mood.
At this time, he was holding a grilled leg of lamb that was squeaking with oil, and his excited subordinates were sharing the fat and tender lamb above the campfire. The rough song drew bursts of cheers.
Looting, free reaping, killing, bloodshed. These words are like stimulants to the orcs. Instead of making them feel any guilt, they will completely stimulate the cruelty and tyranny in their bones. Just like at this moment, after completely slaughtering Cree Village, what the orcs want to do most is to eat and drink around the bonfire, and sing to their ancestors about their "merit" today, to prove that they have not given those slaughters. The ancestors of mankind were ashamed.
"Cheers! For Lord Sarota!"
Shouting slogans, the orcs held up bone wine glasses, but what they drank was the wine looted from Cree Village.
There was never such a thing as "wine" for an orc. Although they find it difficult to drink, everything that humans use and eat is always "high-end and high-end" in their eyes. So even if they don't like it, they still bite the bullet and swallow it, thinking about how to brag about this experience to other orcs after returning to the tribe.
The barrenness of spirit and culture makes their inner world always so desolate, and even the so-called "vanity" becomes so ridiculous.
The purpose of the looting at this time was not to bring any resources to the tribe. After all, the biggest purpose of their presence here was to kill and deter.
They don’t bring luggage, and when they slaughter a village, they eat up the resources of a village. When they have strength, they go to slaughter the next village, making human beings tremble, tremble, and fear under such behavior... As for the possible resistance of human beings, They are completely indifferent,
In the eyes of Xhosa and other orcs, unless a large-scale lord's army encircled and suppressed them, cowardly humans would always tremble in front of themselves. Just like those scouts I encountered today, they are just a bunch of scum without combat effectiveness, not worth mentioning at all.
"Xhosa! Where are we going tomorrow?"
Except for witch doctors and chiefs who have to use honorific titles, orcs will always be called by their first names. At this time, the subordinates in front of the bonfire asked Xhosa loudly, and a group of wolf cavalry who were eating food beside them also looked over with expectant eyes.
"Master Sarota wants us to establish a stronghold here, and then attack to the southeast. Rest well today, and head south tomorrow. If you see a village, you will slaughter a village! Everything you can grab is yours!"
"Long live! To Rohar's Hammer! Cheers!"
"Kill all humans! Cheers!"
Cheers erupted in the camp.
This situation lasted for a long time. After a few hours of eating and drinking, the orcs who drank all the wine returned to the tent one by one. Xhosa, on the other hand, drank a lot, and he was still conscious at this time—he returned to the tent with slightly fluttering steps, and when he lifted the curtain, he still didn't forget to turn around and tell his subordinates to go on patrol:
"Go. Go and take care of the wargs. Don't feed too much meat. Pay attention to the vigilance. The patrol team will be doubled at night. Do you hear me?"
It was said before that those humans would be killed, but in fact, Xhosa still had a little fear in his heart. Although the wound on his back that originated from the human long sword was almost healed, the shadow that followed was always lingering, so that at night, he paid special attention to the issue of the patrolling post.
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.
And the orc who was assigned the task yawned, and in a daze, he woke up a few companions to go to the night watch, while he was getting ready to feed the wolf. The sky was already completely dark at this time. With the light of the bonfire, he tried his best to squint his eyes to identify the scene in front of him, and walked unsteadily towards the edge of the camp.
More than forty wargs are dozing outside the camp at this time, which is a major feature of the orc camp - if there is no animal pen, the wolves will all gather outside the camp, because the wolf with the habit of living in packs can only be in this situation In order to fall asleep with peace of mind and restore physical strength extremely quickly.
These wargs are huge, outsiders only think they are fierce like tigers, but only the orcs themselves know it. The temperament of the warg is completely different from what others imagined.
As a rebellious species, "wolves" are actually extremely difficult to tame. On the grasslands, wolves are often cruel, cunning and aggressive. But the wolf is far from the case - the orcs are too heavy, which makes the prairie ponies unable to carry them, so the originally violent "wolves" have been bred through hybridization for hundreds of years to what they are today: meat-eating , but mild-tempered and extremely low IQ. There are fangs in its mouth, but it does not actively hunt at all. On the battlefield, the wargs seem to charge bravely, and they are not even afraid to hit the enemy directly, but in fact it is completely because their brains are too stupid to understand orders other than their masters... In order to cultivate their sense of obedience, wolf cavalry They kept suppressing their desire to attack, so when they reached adulthood, apart from eating meat, these guys were not much different from cattle and sheep in character.
In the history belonging to the other end of time and space, these materials were gradually summarized by humans two years after the outbreak of the war in 592. Before that, no one would have thought that a warg would be not much different from a sheep, not even a strong dog.
In fact, if you think about this kind of thing carefully, you can already find some clues—if the wolf can bark at the slightest sign of trouble like a dog or a wolf, how can those orcs who are almost blind at night need to allocate many people to watch the night? I'm afraid they all went to sleep in peace.
Therefore, the "asymmetry" of information can influence a war to a large extent, and sometimes the seemingly disparate situation is often completely rewritten because of such an inconspicuous detail.
It was about eleven o'clock in the evening, and the orc camp gradually became quiet. The orc who woke up his companions to watch the night was walking on the edge of the camp, swaying and humming an out-of-key song. He held a machete in one hand and dragged an invisible object with the other.
If you look closely, you can find that what he is carrying in his hand is a half-human corpse.
Because wargs eat meat, the cost of "wolf cavalry" is much higher than that of light cavalry. Feeding these wolves every day is a huge expense. Obviously, 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 more than forty lying wolves, swung his scimitar without raising his head, and began to shred the corpses, and then threw the pieces of meat into the pile of wolves. The dull worgs began to fight for food, but because of long-term training, they didn't get close to the orcs who were feeding, and if they couldn't grab something, they just waited there helplessly.
This kind of thing is done every day, and the orc who is dismembering the corpse feels that he can continue with his eyes closed, but just when he yawned again and thought about going back to sleep as soon as possible, there were suddenly undisguised footsteps in his ears Voice.
"Hey, need help?"
The standard Sabinian question made him immediately dispel the doubts that had just arisen in his heart - obviously, in this kind of place, he would never have imagined that there would be humans appearing.
Turning his head, he couldn't see the other party's figure clearly in the dark, but he naturally regarded the speaker as his companion, so he responded casually: "No, no, Xhosa asked me to feed the wolves, I. Er—I have to do it yourself."
After hiccupping, he opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say hello and then asked who the other party was, but he didn't know that he heard a slightly indifferent answer from the other party:
"Feed the wolves? Oh, you do have to feed the wolves."
"puff-"
The sound of the blade slicing through the air was indistinguishable. When the head rose into the sky, the blood splashed on the grass, and then the headless corpse fell to the ground—but when this scene happened, the seats that were scrambling for food The wolves didn't even look up.
Rody raised his head, his eyes stayed on the half of the human corpse next to him, his eyes narrowed—the hand holding the scimitar was slightly clenched, he bent down, exhaled softly, as if he wanted to reach out to touch the corpse, But finally stopped, turned his head, stretched out his hand and dragged the headless orc body away step by step.
His steps were very calm, as if the more than forty wargs beside him were just a group of pigs scrambling for feed, and the corpse he was dragging was nothing more than a bag of rice.
Every ten meters or so, he stopped, raised his knife and cut off a certain part of the orc's body—either an arm or a lower leg—and threw it behind him, attracting those wargs who only cared about eating meat to follow him, and gradually moved away from the snoring The shocking orc camp...
"Little sloppy, really sloppy, he is the king of sloppy, everyone calls him little sloppy..."
A completely different song from that of the orc just now rang out on the grassland. In the dark night, it looked strange and empty.
When they walked nearly a hundred meters away, the orcs dragged by their hands were basically nothing but invisible pieces of meat.
Disgusting? nausea.
Before this, Rody never thought that he could do such a thing in reality, and it would be a lie to say that it was disgusting in his heart... But when he thought of the half corpse that was used by the orcs to feed wolves just now, the feeling in his heart Anger made him forcefully suppress this nausea.
Roddy was very angry.
There is a saying that "anger" is essentially anger at one's own incompetence-and now Roddy can only admit that he is really like this.
The tragedy in Cree Village was traced back to its own cause. He had clearly thought about this possibility, but because of some luck, he never expected it to actually happen—from outsiders' perspective, it seemed that this had nothing to do with Rody, but at this moment Rody The remorse and self-blame in their hearts, I am afraid that Ruger, Carter and others will not be aware of it, and they will not be able to understand it at all.
The result of anger is anger, and then find a way to vent. But when the scimitar cut into pieces the corpses of the orcs again and again, Rody clearly understood that even if he killed all the orcs this time, the dead villagers... would not be able to be resurrected.
"After all. This is no longer a game."
Sigh in the dark, with some inexplicable depression.
The corpse in the hands of the orc just now should belong to a child, and it seems that he is only seven or eight years old. At this age, the world is beautiful, and everything he sees should be full of hope, and he also has his own. Ideal, full of longing in my heart.
But for that child who couldn't even find his lower body, all this has become empty talk.
Disgusted, he threw away the last corpse in his hand. When Rody stopped, the wolves were already hundreds of meters away from the camp. In the distance, several figures on patrol turned around from the side of the camp.
"Now. Thirty-two left."