Beating the slaves was not something he took pleasure in. In spite of his strength and size, they had yet to learn he was not inherently aggressive.
They also failed to observe that, whilst his beatings were bloodily messy, they seldom debilitated or killed.
He stared dispassionately at the man crouched, terrified at his feet babbling “wasna me” over and over. More than likely, it wasn’t him.
The process was savagely efficient and the results made even the most hardened guard squeamish.
Turning him over, he checked for a pulse and pressed a small, unimpressive key into his victim’s hand.