Qin Mo's huskies had developed a tacit understanding with him during the previous massacres of orc villages. They would run away on their own when they sensed a powerful orc warrior, but if an orc died, they would consider it Qin Mo's prey or spoils of war, and if anyone approached them, they would... "protect their food."
When Qin Mo quickly ran to the edge of the woods, there was already a husky lying on the ground. Judging from its appearance, its leg was probably broken. Its constant whimpers showed the pain it was in. When it saw Qin Mo, it started to whimper, like a child who had been wronged seeing its parent.
A group of Russians stood on one side of the slaughter site, carrying torches, their faces filled with fear. The corpses on the ground were too bloody, and even these men of the fighting nation were terrified.
Upon seeing Qin Mo appear silently, they panicked even more. Several of the braver ones turned and ran home. It seemed these were residents of a nearby Rakshasa settlement who had come out to investigate after hearing the orcs' screams. But now they understood that this level of fighting was not something they should get involved in.
"#%……&&*&*#@#！@##@" A string of incoherent Russian language rang out. Qin Mo couldn't understand what they were saying, but she could understand the fear, flattery, and questions contained within it.
Qin Mo completely ignored them, simply picking up the husky with the white paws and carefully straightening its leg. These huskies had been with him for a long time, and he had grown attached to them. Now, he felt a surge of anger; the violence he had just managed to calm down was beginning to resurface.
Qin Mo silently pointed a finger at the husky, then at the Russians, moving from the left to the right of the crowd, then back and forth, as if choosing an unlucky scapegoat.
"M-Sir, we didn't mean to. That dog bit Assef, and Assef accidentally... kicked it." The stuttering Daxia language caught Qin Mo's attention. He looked at the tall Rakshasa man, which made him tremble all over.
"Who...who are you? Why do you speak the Great Xia language?" Qin Mo asked, pointing at the Rakshasa man. His meaning was clear: if you can't answer or don't satisfy me, you're the unlucky one.
"...His name was Vasily. He was stationed in the trading city. Because his superior often took us to do that kind of business, he learned the language of Bactria."
Qin Mo knew what kind of business "that kind of business" was. The Great Xia and the orcs fought to the death, but that didn't stop some people from making a fortune. Smuggling had always been the privilege of the powerful. Fur and medicinal herbs from the North, silk and porcelain from the South, and even refined iron were all favorites of smugglers.
"You... go. Just pretend you were never here." Qin Mo tried hard to compose himself. He didn't want to become a cold-blooded killing machine. He knew that if he kept killing people indiscriminately, one day he would become someone he wouldn't recognize.
With a "thump," Vasily knelt down and cried out, "Sir...please have pity on us and save us poor people!"
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