"These bastards really are heartless. They've barely escaped, and they've already slaughtered some unlucky clan."
In the night beneath Crimson Keep, Murphy stood atop the ruins of the city wall and withdrew his gaze. Reynard's bird's-eye view gave him constant updates on Hogg and his gang.
He had seen how the "pangolin" he had personally selected had savagely stormed the abandoned village, how it had brutally executed the chieftain and warriors who refused to obey it, and how it had then divided all the female gnolls of the clan among its kin.
Murphy wasn't a biologist, nor was he interested in watching "gnoll porn," so he stopped looking before it could give him eye problems.
"That's how they survive, Master."
Maxim, who had just returned from the Dark Barony, stood behind Murphy and spoke quietly.
"They live like bandits, plundering everything they need. Although everyone on this continent despises gnolls, many people know that the ones they rob most often are their own kind.
Still, even gnolls have their good points.
After every raid, they only kill the males who resist. The females and young are left unharmed. They even raise cubs that aren't theirs, then drive them out of the clan when they're old enough to fend for themselves.
In that respect, these barbarians do have some human decency."
"That may be why the Dark Mountains have so many different races, but only the gnolls can unleash a Black Calamity that shakes the continent. It's also the source of their strength: the instinct to protect females and young, ingrained in their very bones.
Protecting females means more children can be born, while protecting children keeps their bloodline from dying out. Those two things are enough to ensure that gnolls are always expanding."
Murphy spoke softly.
"Honestly, they have more