On the plaza grounds, only a few dozen human-shaped patches of ashes and the lingering smell of burnt flesh proved they had ever existed.
The mortal servants and guards kneeling at the edges had witnessed a scene comparable to divine punishment and were scared out of their wits.
Many fainted on the spot, while the rest huddled together, trembling like quails, not daring to even lift their heads.
Among them, an old man who looked like a butler was on the verge of collapse.
'Thankfully, I'm just a mortal with no Spiritual Power.'
'Thankfully, I didn't show even a hint of hatred just now.'
Ian descended to the ground and walked over to the old man.
"Are all the Wizards of your clan here?"
"Y-Yes, my lord! Aside from those who left years ago and never returned, all the registered Apprentices... are here..."
The old man's voice was hoarse, tinged with the tearful sound of a survivor.
