Brand stood on the balcony, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s healing spell take effect below.

The villagers, now free from the control of the enchantment, blinked in confusion, their eyes no longer glowing green.

The chill air carried a faint mist that swirled around the worn wooden planks of the house, and in the background the sound of a distant bell echoed softly, adding to the uneasy quiet that had descended upon the gathering.

As the villagers exchanged bewildered glances—each one trying to understand the sudden lifting of the spell—a furious scream suddenly pierced the stillness of the twilight.

The sound was raw and enraged, a cry that cut through the murmurs of the crowd like a shard of ice.

All eyes turned toward the source of the outburst, and there, high on the second-floor balcony of the wooden house, Brand’s face was twisted in a mask of rage.

His voice, dripping with venom, rang out as he shouted,

“What’s the matter, boy? I thought you were full of energy and ready to attack me again. But here you are—frozen. What’s wrong? Are you scared?"

His words were laced with mockery, and as he spoke, his lips curled into a smirk.

In that moment, a single thought echoed in his mind—a thought both dark and calculating: 'If I can get my hands on this boy, I’ll uncover even more secrets about magic. Someone like him is exactly what I need—strong and unique. And if I succeed, even the Magus Tower won’t dare to pursue me.. '

The thought made his grin widen further. His eyes glinted with a dangerous ambition, and without any pause he extended both his hands outward as if offering a challenge.

“Fine. Let me show you what real power looks like!” he declared, his voice rising over the quiet clamor of the gathered crowd. “Come forth, my servants! I summon you!”

At that command, the wooden door of the house creaked open slowly.

Every eye in the village tracked the movement as three figures stepped out into the open, each one exuding an undeniable air of menace.

The first was a middle-aged man with a robust, muscular build; his gray beard framed a weathered face that spoke of countless hardships and hard-won experience.

His arms, thick and powerful, held a long spear that gleamed ominously in the Sun light, as if promising swift, decisive strikes.

Beside him stood a young man, not more than eighteen, with short, jet-black hair and a compact but muscular frame.

In his hand, he gripped a heavy iron staff, his stance alert and his movements precise—as though every step had been measured for battle.

The third figure was taller, perhaps around twenty-five years old, with dark, piercing eyes that missed nothing.

He carried a long knife, its blade extending almost like a short sword, reflecting a deadly gleam that made it clear he was no stranger to close combat.

The three men moved in unison, their motions synchronized as if they were parts of a single, deadly mechanism.

Their eyes, which glowed with the same unsettling green that had once controlled the villagers, betrayed that they were under Brand’s influence.

Though their expressions were blank, the aura of controlled menace they exuded was enough to send chills down the spines of even the most hardened onlookers.

Brand, still on the balcony, seemed to savor every moment of the unfolding spectacle.

With an effortless grace, he leaped down from his elevated perch, landing squarely in front of his summoned servants.

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His boots made little sound on the weathered wood as he moved, and his eyes flicked over the assembled figures with a predatory gleam.

Adam, watching carefully from the midst of the crowd, sensed that this was no ordinary fight.

Every detail—the deliberate way Brand had commanded his minions, the cold, measured look in his eyes—warned him that the battle about to unfold was laced with dangerous magic and hidden intentions.

Adam began walking steadily toward Brand and his servants. His steps were deliberate and cautious, his boots stirring up small puffs of dust on the uneven ground.

The villagers parted as he advanced, whispering among themselves in hushed, awed tones.

Some looked at him with admiration, while others exchanged worried glances as they tried to gauge the significance of this newcomer.

The warm glow of twilight filtered through the gaps in the trees, casting long, stretching shadows that danced around his figure.

As he drew closer, Adam’s eyes meticulously surveyed the weapons each of the three summoned servants carried.

The middle-aged man’s spear was not only sturdy but appeared to be meticulously balanced for powerful thrusts.

The young man’s iron staff, though heavy, was gripped with confidence and skill—its design clearly intended to deliver devastating blunt-force blows.

The tall man’s long knife, with its extended, razor-sharp edge, promised deadly precision in close quarters.

Walking with measured purpose, Adam’s mind was already strategizing. 'I’ll have to fight them without killing them,' he thought quietly, the gravity of the situation clear in every measured step.

' If I can free them from Mage's control, perhaps I can turn the tide of this battle in our favor.' His grip on his sword tightened imperceptibly as he envisioned the confrontation ahead.

“If you think I’m going to let these three fight you alone, you’re mistaken,” Brand said, his tone a mix of amusement and contempt.

“I’ve seen what you can do. You’re far too strong to take any chances with. I’ll make sure you’re defeated here and now—and with you, my dream will come closer to reality.”

His words, meant to belittle Adam’s resolve, hung in the air alongside the murmurs of the crowd.

As Brand raised his hands once more, Adam felt an unmistakable chill. 'What’s real, and what’s an illusion?' he wondered, a shadow of doubt briefly crossing his mind.

' I can’t afford to lose focus. I must dispel any illusions every few seconds to be sure I’m fighting the real enemy.'

Without another word, Adam’s pace quickened. He broke into a sprint, his sword held high and its gleaming blade catching the last rays of the sun.

The motion was fluid—a seamless blend of speed and skill as he charged forward with an intensity that left little room for hesitation.

The three servants, their eyes still aglow with the unnatural light of Brand’s control, reacted with swift precision as they saw Adam approaching.

In perfect coordination, they split into three directions, each moving to intercept Adam from a different angle.

Their movements were not clumsy or chaotic; instead, they were well-rehearsed, almost as if they had practiced these maneuvers countless times.

Adam’s eyes darted between them, noting how their paths were converging towards him. He realized with a start, 'They’re trying to trap me.'

Adam increased his pace further, his heart thumping steadily as he focused on the target ahead.

His gaze, steady and unwavering, shifted momentarily to Brand, whose mocking smile still lingered on the gate of the wooden house.

With a burst of agility, Adam leaped into the air. In that moment, time seemed to slow as he spun, his sword held aloft in a graceful arc aimed directly at Brand.

The blade, aglow with a faint, mysterious energy, shimmered as it cut through the air.

But fate intervened. Before Adam’s aerial attack could land its decisive blow, the middle-aged man sprang forward.

He appeared in front of Adam with remarkable speed, his spear twirling through the air in a calculated, almost balletic motion.

The spear’s rapid spin collided with Adam’s sword in mid-air. Metal clashed against metal, and for an instant, the two weapons locked together in a stalemate.

Sparks erupted at the point of contact, and a small burst of lightning crackled through the air—a brief but brilliant flash of raw power.

The sound of the collision rang out, echoing off the nearby trees and sending a shiver through the onlookers.

Adam landed on the ground with a controlled moment, his sword still locked against the spear.

His eyes narrowed as he gauged the unexpected strength behind the middle-aged man’s attack.

'He’s stronger than I expected,' Adam thought silently, his mind racing as he struggled to free his blade from the unyielding grip of the opponent’s weapon.

The middle-aged man’s stance was controlled yet forceful—a combination that confirmed what Adam had feared: 'Mage's servant was not merely a puppet but a well-prepared warrior in his own right.'

In that moment of physical struggle and clashing steel, Adam realized that brute force alone would not secure victory. He had to change his approach.

With his free hand, he reached out toward the middle-aged man’s chest—a bold, calculated move. His fingers began to glow with a subtle, inner light as he softly uttered, “Dispel.”

In that single word lay his intent: to sever the magical connection that held the man under Brand’s control, to free him from the Mage influence that made him a mere instrument of Brand’s will.

Yet, Adam was well aware that time was not on his side. Brand and the other two servants would not wait idly while he attempted this delicate maneuver.

Every second counted, and every movement had to be precise.

At that very moment, the scene held its breath, and the magic—Adam’s magic—seemed to surge forth, aiming to break the sinister bonds that had held Brand’s servants captive.