"Captain Bosson, we are so grateful for your tribe's rescue, it's our fault for bringing this disaster to your tribe." The speaking Orc's complexion visibly showed he was a native Orc of the Desert Continent. At this moment, one of the Orc's arms was fixed with a wooden board, and his gaze towards the Watson Tribe Orcs in the tent was filled with guilt.
Bosson waved his hand: "Don't say that. We couldn't just stand by and watch you fall into danger without helping. We truly didn't expect these insects to be so formidable. Right now, we can only wait for the Shaman and other tribespeople to return."
The injured Orc also nodded with a bitter smile.
Bosson looked at him again: "By the way, how is your tribe's Shaman?"
The Orc shook his head: "The potion has already been given to the Shaman, and the wound seems much better, but the Shaman is still asleep and has not woken up."
