The door gaped wide in the shabby thatched hut, and the captured fleet members' faces were pale with panic. The savage Dog-kin warriors carried axes and spears, striding in with killing intent boiling around them. At their head, the tattooed-faced leader wore a vicious look, the corners of his mouth curling up in a feral grin.
"Blind heavens! This is? This is...!"
Old militiaman Chiwako trembled with fear as he looked at the Dog-kin rushing in. Though he could not understand the conversation outside the hut, from that murderous posture alone, he could feel malice brimming over, and a thick, ominous air. He gritted his teeth hard, his nails digging into his flesh, then stood at the very front of the fleet members and spoke carefully in Mexica Language.
"Honored wasteland chief... we are friends from the Lake Kingdom..."
"Everyone kneel!"
The young tattooed-faced leader gave a great roar, and the Dog-kin warriors pouring in swung their spear shafts, beating everyone in the hut to the ground. The crewmen's cries of pain and the Dog-kin's howls instantly echoed through the thatched hut. Seeing this chaotic scene, the tattooed-faced leader burst into loud laughter, utterly delighted. He laughed for a while, then showed that vicious look again and asked sharply in Guachichil Language.
"Which one of you is the leader?"
"Friends! Friends! We are friends!..."
Old militiaman Chiwako stood at the very front of the crowd and was forced to the ground by two Dog-kin. As he struggled with all his strength, he shouted with all his strength.
"Main God! This is a misunderstanding! We are friends who have come from afar! We bear no malice!..."
"Ha! Friends? You Mexica People count as what kind of friends!"
Hearing this, the young tattooed-faced leader's face filled with hatred, and he sneered coldly.