Soon, about two hundred bodies lay on the ground, men and women, with the youngest being only seven years old, and the oldest being one hundred and thirty years old. It's not just a child's innocent words; speaking wrongly could be fatal.
Many cultivators only muttered a word or two, and yet they met death from a single sword.
In all previous battles, there had never been one with as many deaths as this.
"This is the fate of traitors to the clan!"
"For three generations, they shall all be slaves, forbidden from inspecting their spirit roots!"
"Is there anyone else not convinced?"
The Grand Elder spoke with a murderous aura.
Everyone was silent.
"Is there anyone else not convinced?" the Grand Elder asked again.
"Understood."
The crowd responded unevenly.
The Grand Elder listened with great disappointment, as if looking at a flock of sheep, many in number but weak in combat power, doomed to the fate of being slaughtered.
