Time flies, and in the blink of an eye, five years have passed.
In the territory of the Ice Soul Tribe on the Western Continent, at a certain human farm.
At this moment, all the demonic cultivators of the Demon Race at the human farm have been completely wiped out, leaving only ordinary mortals.
Numerous cultivators from the Primordial Talisman Sect also appeared here; they were quickly transporting the mortals back to the Ten Thousand Beasts Secret Realm.
After all, there is a projection of the Gate of Space nearby.
As long as they pass through the Gate of Space, they can quickly leave this place.
Even if the Ice Soul Tribe senses that something unexpected has occurred here, they won't be able to find them.
"These damn Ice Soul Tribe cultivators treat us humans like pigs and dogs—truly despicable."
"Alas, there's nothing to be done. We humans are too weak on the Western Continent and constantly targeted; mortals outside have no strength and can only be enslaved."
