"By the way, I like rounding things off; one minute and forty seconds doesn't sound good. Let's round it down to one minute and thirty seconds."
Su Huan said lightly, and as soon as this sentence left his mouth, the thousands gathered at the slave market—whether they were slaves in cages or the members of the Zongdog Gang being chased by the yellow weasels—froze in place. In the next instant, torrents of thunder and fire spewed from their eyes, mouths, and noses.
Standing there, they were burned into dry scorched corpses.
In just a blink of an eye, thousands of living people turned into charred remains, a horrifying scene that even the blood-accustomed City Lord couldn't help but feel chilled to the bone.
A clear and gentle voice began to sound in his ear.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven..."
With the cautionary tale of those thousands of corpses, no one dared to dismiss Su Huan's words as a mere threat.
