In mid-air, the sorcerer was screaming something in the local dialect, and even if you didn't understand, you could tell it wasn't words of congratulations or anything good.
Watching the other party being completely torn apart and dissipating, the fragments shredded by the overwhelming resentment here, Wen Yan looked around again and prepared to leave.
But the more than two thousand lost souls here still surrounded him, and one somewhat conscious soul stepped forward, clumsily speaking in the Divine Land language.
Wen Yan listened, and finally understood that many of them had come from elsewhere, sold here like cargo to the sorcerer.
When they were alive, they were merely goods traded between sorcerers or head teachers.
Wen Yan took out his phone, checked the target list, randomly asked about the nearest one here, and immediately two to thirty conscious souls indicated they were sold here by this sorcerer.
"Since that's the case, let's continue then."
