Starislav rode the road with a grimm attitude. For him, a victory was a douboe edged sword- yes, justice was done this time, but he used the evil wyrm within.
The voices of darkness and entropy became louder and louder in the mind of the Bogatyr who wanted to be a chivalrouse champion of the good.

"I am no god!" he scolded, parts of his face became scaly and black as he hissed

He didn't judged the guards. With commands, those soldiers will do good. He would have been dissapointed, id they would have let them pass just like that.

"Da. Let's take the sl'aver" with us. Impr'ovised excuestation won't be justice. 'E wil'l' k'help us with the magistr'ate." Starislav voiced his opinion in quite assertive tone.
More assertive then he would like.