PopularNovelWilbur heard the pleasing from all directions, remembering the old man’s words that the Eight Great Families only selected
one thousand slaves each day, while thirty thousand people had arrived in Buck Town yesterday. The chances were slim, and
unwilling to humiliate himself by kneeling and begging, Wilbur simply closed his eyes and continued to meditate. Whether he
would be chosen was up to fate. Dying in battle was preferable to begging for food on his knees.
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Nightless Elder had once advised Wilbur to lower his status upon reaching the middle dimensions, starting from the lowest slave
position, as survival chances were better that way. Wilbur had agreed back then, but now, seeing cultivators kneeling like animals
to beg, he could not bear such humiliation. He shut his eyes, refusing to watch.
Given the slim chance of being chosen, Wilbur did not expect to be picked. With thirty thousand people here and only a thousand
being selected, twenty-nine thousand would remain. Even if there were killers among the cultivators, they could not possibly kill all
of them. Wilbur felt there was still a chance for survival, so he ignored the absurd selection process.
"Lord Reyne Divan, I'm here."
"Steward Horne, you'vee after all."
A man with long red hair, chiseled features, and an aura of murderous intent approached. Seeing the old man, a hint of a smile
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appeared in Reyne Divan's eyes.
"Master Divan, you know | respect rules. Since | promised you, | naturally returned."
"And the item | wanted?"
Divan extended his right hand. and Horne carefully took out a small cloth bad from his clothes. placing it in Divan's palm. "Master
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