Adam had just sealed away all of Brand’s magical energy when he suddenly turned around at the sound of distant voices.

  The cool evening air was filled with a gentle rustle from nearby trees and the low hum of crickets, yet all of that faded into insignificance when Adam heard the murmurs of the gathered villagers.

  They stood in silence, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

  Their faces, once masked in fear by the influence of dark magic, now showed raw hesitation and uncertainty.

  Every villager exchanged glances with one another, as if silently asking, “What has just happened?”

  To them, Adam was a complete stranger—a man who had appeared suddenly and taken down the enemy that had tormented their village for far too long.

  He had saved them from the cruel magic of the magician, Brand, and in that moment, he was both a mystery and a hero.

  The villagers did not know his name or where he had come from; they only knew that he had freed them from a nightmare.

  Meanwhile, a short distance away, the three individuals who had attacked Adam earlier began to stir. Now free from Brand’s control, they looked around with confused expressions.

  The middle-aged man, whose once vacant eyes had now flickered with a hint of clarity, slowly pushed himself up from the ground. He glanced at the two younger men beside him.

  One was a seventeen-year-old boy with eyes that still held a trace of uncertainty, while the other—who still clutched a knife in his hand—appeared to be about nineteen.

  The three exchanged puzzled glances among themselves, their minds struggling to understand what had just occurred.

  After a few moments of silence, the middle-aged man stepped forward. His movements were slow and deliberate as he lowered his head in a gesture of gratitude.

  His voice, soft and solemn, broke the quiet as he spoke, “Thank you... Thank you for saving our village from this demon.” His words carried the weight of regret and relief all at once, as if he was both apologizing and expressing deep gratitude.

  Adam blinked in surprise at the unexpected words. The villagers, who had been watching with a mix of awe and lingering fear, suddenly reacted as if struck by a shared emotion.

  Before Adam could even find the right words to reply, the entire crowd of villagers collectively dropped to their knees. Their heads bowed low in a display of reverence and gratitude.

  A soft murmur of thanks and prayers filled the air. The sound was gentle, like the murmur of a small stream, yet it carried the sincerity of people who had suffered under a long, dark period.

  Taken completely aback by the sudden display of worship, Adam hurriedly stepped forward.

  He raised his hands in a gesture of both reassurance and command. “There’s no need for this,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, echoing slightly in the cool evening air. “Please, stand up.”

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  His tone was neither arrogant nor dismissive; it was the voice of someone who understood the villagers’ pain and wanted to ease their burden of fear.

  Just as the villagers began to lift their heads, a sudden voice rang out from somewhere in the distance—a voice filled with urgency and familiarity.

  “Adam!” The call was clear and sharp, cutting through the murmurs and the quiet rustle of the wind.

  Adam turned his head toward the sound and saw Sophia running toward him. Her face was full of worry, and her eyes shone with concern as she closed the gap between them with swift, determined steps.

  Behind her, Samuel followed closely, accompanied by his brother and his nephew.

  When Sophia reached Adam, she paused for a moment, catching her breath, and then looked up at him with eyes full of concern.

  “Adam, are you alright?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with anxiety. The question was simple, but it carried the weight of all the fear and hope that the villagers must have felt.

  Seeing her distress, Adam allowed a small, reassuring smile to cross his face. “Don’t worry. I took care of it. The magician has been neutralized,” he replied in a calm, steady tone.

  His words, meant to soothe, seemed to work as Sophia and the others turned their attention to the unconscious form of Brand lying on the ground.

  Their eyes widened in shock at the sight—the man who had once controlled them through dark magic was now rendered powerless.

  At that moment, the middle-aged man who had spoken earlier stepped forward once again. His slow, measured steps brought him directly toward Adam.

  Every step he took seemed to carry the weight of the past, of regret and hope mingled together. His eyes were soft and filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude as he approached.

  Noticing the middle-aged man’s approach, Adam shifted his focus entirely to him. The man hesitated for a brief moment, as if gathering the courage to speak, then his voice broke through the stillness, heavy with guilt.

  “Please forgive us,” he said quietly. “We deeply regret our actions. We attacked you without understanding the truth… and even tried to take your life. Yet, you still chose to save us.”

  His words were simple, filled with remorse and sincerity. Every syllable seemed to come from a place of genuine regret.

  Adam studied the man carefully. He saw not the hardened enemy of moments before, but a man who had been a victim of dark magic—a man whose actions were not entirely his own. In a brief internal moment, Adam thought, He’s most likely the village chief.

  There was something about the way he spoke and carried himself that hinted at a position of respect, even though he had been forced to commit terrible acts under the influence of the magician.

  Rather than dwelling on his own thoughts, Adam simply smiled and shook his head gently. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I never took it personally. I knew you were under that magician’s control. It wasn’t your fault.” His words were delivered without scorn, offering forgiveness without resentment.

  The middle-aged man’s expression softened visibly. Relief and humility washed over him as he lowered his eyes in thanks.

  Slowly, he placed a hand over his chest—a gesture that seemed to convey both gratitude and submission. He then introduced himself with a quiet dignity. “My name is Eleven,” he said in a clear voice. “I am the chief of this village… and these two young men behind me are my sons.”

  At that moment, as the villagers looked on and the quiet hum of the sun resumed its place in the background, the weight of the past seemed to lift ever so slightly.

  The oppressive shadow of the dark magician had been driven away, replaced by the uncertain light of a new hope. The silence that followed was deep and contemplative, each villager lost in thought about the strange events that had unfolded before them.

  The villagers, still kneeling in reverence, began to exchange soft words of thanks. A few murmured prayers under their breath, and others simply looked up at Adam with eyes that shone with both gratitude and lingering fear. Their faces, once marked by the dark influence of the magician, now displayed the raw truth of their own resilience and the uncertain promise of freedom.

  The gentle voices of the villagers grew a little louder, not in protest or fear, but in a tentative expression of gratitude. One elderly man, his voice quavering with age, softly said, “May we never forget this day.” Others nodded, their eyes reflecting both tears and relief. The unity in their voices was a soft testament to the strength that lay within even the most downtrodden of hearts.