"Smack!"
The loud slap was an eruption of unbearable rage.
In a gnoll camp roughly a mountain's distance from Bloodflag Heights, Hurley, the Grand Warlord of the Whiptail Clan, had rushed there as fast as he could. He had already drawn the gnoll serrated warblade at his waist and was roaring that he would behead the fool lying on the ground after he'd slapped him down.
Not one of the warlords from the surrounding minor clans stepped forward to intervene. Contempt and satisfaction filled the gnolls' eyes.
Only Lord Bobok Blackeye, knocked to the ground, felt despair.
I'm done for! I'm going to die and serve the Lord of the Hunt!
But the High Warlord's blade never came down. It wasn't just because he knew that at this point, killing the fool wouldn't undo anything. Before arriving, he had also visited the Blackeye Clan and secured two thousand elite warriors for the Whiptail Clan.
The Blackeye Clan had just provided elite troops, and now you were going to behead their chieftain's son? That seemed a little inappropriate, didn't it?
Even gnolls had to observe the niceties of human relations.
Hurley planted his blade on the ground in fury and glared at the scoundrel before him, who had run amok and squandered the lives of more than a thousand warriors in just a few days.
Incompetent Bobok should be grateful he had a chieftain for a father.
"Is this how you wage war?"
The furious Grand Warlord kicked Bobok over again and roared:
"What kind of stupid gnoll are you? Are you some kobold in disguise? It was just one position! You sent more than a thousand soldiers to their deaths over six days and still couldn't take it? Are you even one of the great gnolls?
You mangy cur!
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