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Arar glanced at his son, a shadow of worry crossing his features. "He\'s just a subordinate who has followed me for many years," he replied, his tone evasive.

"A subordinate?" Artom echoed, taken aback. He sensed that the situation was far more complex than his father was willing to reveal, but he respected Arar\'s reticence and chose not to press further.

"By the way, what\'s become of your subordinate, Carl?" Arar asked, redirecting the conversation.

Artom brightened slightly, eager to share. "He\'s working to gather information about the Silver Mane Tribe."

"What have you discovered?" Arar inquired, his expression shifting to one of seriousness.

"Not much, really. The Silver Mane Tribe has been unusually calm lately," Artom reported, a wry smile on his lips.

Arar nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. They\'ve recently absorbed several tribes and will need time to integrate them. A moment of peace is expected as they stabilize."

Artom hesitated before speaking again. "Father, the sweet potatoes we took from the Silver Mane Tribe have been planted, and they\'ve started to sprout."

"Good. We must nurture them carefully. If the yield is indeed high, we should consider a large-scale planting," Arar responded, his tone filled with optimism.

He felt a surge of confidence about the sweet potatoes. After all, while the Silver Mane Tribe seemed untouched by the famine ravaging other tribes, they had also shown no hesitance in their expansionist ambitions.

Although Artom\'s scouts hadn\'t managed to infiltrate the Silver Mane Tribe directly, they had reported that the tribe was cultivating several unfamiliar crops on a grand scale. Sweet potatoes were among them.

"Interestingly, they haven\'t planted any barley, which is common in the wilderness," Artom added, intrigued.

"That\'s a curious choice," Arar mused, stroking his chin. "It seems they\'re relying on something different. We must keep a close watch on their activities."

Just then, the door creaked open, and the pharmacist stepped out, wiping sweat from his brow. "Chief Arar, the masked man is stable for now, but we need to keep a close eye on him. His wounds were severe."

"Thank you," Arar replied, his relief evident. He turned back to Artom, the weight of their responsibilities settling heavily on his shoulders. "We must prepare for whatever may come next. The Silver Mane Tribe is unpredictable, and we cannot afford to be caught off guard."

Artom nodded, determination etched across his face. "We\'ll do everything we can, Father. The safety of our tribe depends on it."

The unique cultivation of sweet potatoes by the Silver Mane Tribe was becoming increasingly apparent. Their high yield suggested that the Adik Tribe could thrive if they could plant these crops on a large scale. However, the meager amount they had managed to procure from the Silver Mane made immediate expansion impossible.

Just then, the pharmacist and the old priest emerged from the treatment room, their expressions grave. "Master Chief," the pharmacist began respectfully, "the man inside is gravely injured. All the bones in his chest and abdomen are shattered. Moreover, there are signs of a dark curse affecting his magic."

The old priest nodded in agreement. "His willpower is strong, so he should survive, but he\'ll need at least two months of bed rest to heal properly."

"Understood," Arar replied, relief washing over him. He waved them away, signaling for them to take care of other duties.

Artom watched his father closely, concern etched on his face. Who was this masked man that had stirred such worry in Arar? This was the first time he had seen his father so unsettled.

Curiosity piqued, Arar stepped back into the room and found the masked man stirring on the bed, his eyes slowly opening.

"Who did this to you?" Arar asked, his voice a mix of concern and authority.

"It was Mr. Legend," the masked man rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Legend?" Arar\'s brow furrowed in surprise. "How could he have harmed you?"

Artom, standing quietly behind his father, felt a jolt of shock as well. The mention of a legendary figure raised numerous questions about this man\'s background and strength.

"No, he didn\'t attack me directly," the masked man clarified, struggling to catch his breath. "I was injured because the aura he projected was overwhelming. I couldn\'t withstand it."

Arar and Artom exchanged knowing glances. They understood now; if a legendary figure truly intended to harm him, escape would be impossible.

"So, you\'re saying that the Silver Mane Tribe has no legends?" Arar probed, leaning closer.

"Yes," the masked man confirmed, his voice steadying. "This information comes from the Royal Court, which sent a legend to investigate the Silver Mane Tribe."

"Really?" Both Arar and Artom exclaimed in unison, their eyes widening.

"Absolutely. This is verified information," the masked man reiterated.

A wave of relief washed over Arar. "This is excellent news!" he exclaimed, excitement bubbling within him. "I feared the Silver Mane Tribe had a legendary figure protecting them. Without that threat, I can finally implement the plans I\'ve been considering."

Artom felt a surge of hope as well, realizing that their path forward was now clearer. "What\'s our next step, Father?" he asked eagerly, ready to take action.

Arar smiled, a newfound determination lighting his eyes. "We prepare for our future, Artom. The Silver Mane Tribe may have expanded, but without a legend, they can be challenged. Let\'s gather our resources and strategize."

With that, father and son began to discuss their next moves, the masked man listening quietly, the burden of his injuries momentarily forgotten as the promise of a brighter future unfolded before them.

"Artom, summon all the sixth-level commanders, political officials, and the chiefs of the eight tribes immediately," Arar commanded with a firm voice, his sharp gaze locking onto his son. "Tell them I have an important announcement to make in the parliament hall."

Artom stood straight, excitement flashing in his eyes. He knew this was no ordinary order; something significant was about to unfold. "Yes, Father!" he replied, his voice brimming with anticipation, before swiftly leaving to carry out the task.

As the door closed behind Artom, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Arar turned back to the masked figure lying in the bed, his expression softening slightly as he asked, "Tell me, are you still Gina, or has the demon taken full control now?"

The masked figure let out a low, hoarse laugh, the sound grating and filled with dark amusement. "Gina? You really believe that woman can regain control of her body?" the figure mocked. "Or perhaps you think those so-called Legends can help her wrest it back?"

Arar\'s face, once tender with concern, hardened immediately. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes sharpened with cold calculation. "Enough of your games," he said, his voice ice. "You deceived me. You tricked me into revealing false information to the royal court, letting them believe the Silver Mane Tribe had a legend among them. But I know that wasn\'t your true goal.

You wanted the legend to find me, didn\'t you?"

The masked figure chuckled, the sound dark and sinister. "You\'re perceptive, Arar. But not perceptive enough," they sneered. "The legend that greeted you was merely level eleven. Even though my powers have been diminished, it would take far more than an eleventh-level legend to detect me."

They shifted slightly on the bed, eyes gleaming with malice. "Remember, while I may be bound by our contract, you should think carefully before pushing me too far. I may follow your orders now, but if you want a fight to the death, I\'m not opposed to considering it."

Arar stood there, his expression unreadable. The weight of their relationship; this dangerous partnership, hung thick in the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but laced with warning. "You\'re overthinking it. Focus on recovering from your injuries. This conversation is over."

With that, Arar turned on his heel and left the room, the tension lingering behind him like a shadow.

---

**Inside the Adik Tribal Meeting Hall**

The grand hall was soon filled with the presence of the Adik tribe\'s highest-ranking officials. Sixth-level commanders stood in quiet clusters alongside the political leaders of the tribe, their faces serious. And then there were the eight chiefs, anxious and full of expectation. They had arrived quickly, hopeful that perhaps this meeting would bring the answer they desperately needed.

The chiefs exchanged tense glances. Could this be the moment when the Adik tribe finally offered them the food they needed? They had been barely surviving, their resources depleted after being forced off their lands. With the famine worsening by the day, their meager supplies had all but vanished. They were at the brink of starvation.

The chiefs were living off hope now, and this gathering could be their last chance for survival.

The air in the hall was thick with murmurs and speculation, but as soon as Arar entered the room with a calm smile, the entire hall fell silent. All eyes were locked onto him, the weight of expectation palpable. The eight chiefs didn\'t dare blink, their gazes fixed on him, desperate for any sign of good news.

The Adik tribe\'s commanders and political officials also leaned forward, eager to hear what the chief had to say.

Arar took his place at the head of the room, the confident glint in his eyes betraying that he held the key to whatever was about to unfold. His urgency in calling them together hinted that this was no ordinary gathering. Something significant was coming.

He let the silence stretch a moment longer, ensuring that every person in the room was fully focused on him. Then, with a voice that carried both authority and promise, Arar finally spoke.