Miracles do not come easily, and human willpower is far from omnipotent.
No matter how much you desire, how hard you strive, or how desperately you fight, the disparity in strength is often merciless.
Everyone could see that Leif had given his all, and everyone could see that his defeat was inevitable.
His clothes were soaked with blood, and the sweat that continuously dripped from him was draining his energy, focus, and everything necessary for victory.
The tip of his spear began to lower, his movements gradually losing their form.
What had once been a balanced contest between brothers had now turned into a one-sided slaughter.
Once, twice, three times.
The spear was slapped away, pulled away, wrenched away, countless times slipping from Leif's grasp.
Leif was going to lose—there was no doubt.
Whether he accepted it or not, whether he wanted to or not.
Cain knew it. And so did Leif.
His fist was about to land on Leif's face.
It would end this tragic match once and for all.
"Forget Jakarta," Cain whispered as his fist approached Leif's face.
"Never!"
Leif was thrown out of the ring.
The countdown began.
10, 9, 8, 7...
"I will never give up!"
Leif raised his spear high.
"O mighty Dragon God, heed the call of your descendant.
I offer the burning blood of Mecca within me in exchange for the true Dragon Spear!"
As Leif finished his prayer, the sky began to gather energy.
Purple lightning danced like serpents, filling the arena with a powerful aura.
A ball of energy surrounded Leif as lightning struck from above.
Boom!
"The complete Flame Dragon Spear!" A peculiar smile twisted Manning's lips. "What will you do now, Qianmian?"
As the energy dispersed, Leif's once small stature had grown over a meter taller, and the spear in his hand had turned purple.
He was clad in purple armor, a helmet covering most of his face, giving him a fearsome appearance.
He leapt back into the ring, casually waved his hand, and the referee, still counting, was sent to the audience.
He raised his spear high, then thrust with all his might.
The spear seemed to come from the farthest reaches of the eight realms, from the depths of ancient times, carrying a mournful wail, laden with unrelenting anger and resentment, as it surged toward Cain.
Cain's face turned deathly pale the moment Leif spoke the incantation, then flushed bright red.
"You… you've reached this level already?"
"In that case, I must show you my respect!"
Blazing white light shot from Cain's body, wrapping him tightly.
"Holy Light Battle Aura! It's the Holy Light Battle Aura!"
Without hesitation, he charged directly toward the spear!
The two orbs of light collided in the air, their dazzling impact blotting out all light.
When the spectators could finally see what had happened, they gaped in shock.
The arena had vanished—not shattered, not destroyed—completely gone, leaving not even a trace of dust.
In its place was a massive crater, several meters deep.
At the bottom, Leif's spear was aimed directly at Cain's heart.
"Now, will you answer my question?"
Leif's body was charred, not a patch of unburned skin remaining.
"Ask," Cain said, closing his eyes.
"Are you my brother Jakarta?"
Cain let out a thunderous laugh, coughing as his wounded chest throbbed.
"You stubborn little brat, defying the taboo by summoning the Flame Dragon Spear just to ask me that? Ha! No matter how many times you ask, my answer remains the same. No! Cough, cough…"
"Really?"
"Really!"
"Swear it."
"I swear! I swear he died eight years ago!"
"How did he die?"
"He was murdered."
"By whom?"
"Me!"
The spearhead pierced Cain's chest, blood gushing out before coming to a halt.
"Kill me then?" Cain's smile was taunting.
Manning sighed. "Why, Cain? Is this what you wanted, to see him...?"
"Kill me! What, are you too scared? You coward, you don't even have the guts to avenge your brother, and you dare say you love him the most?"
The spear sank a few inches deeper.
"What? You can't bring yourself to end it in one blow? Want me to die in agony instead? Typical of the Meccan bloodline! You're all such sadists!" Cain's lips twisted cruelly.
Leif, silent, withdrew his spear and turned, handing it to the referee who rushed over.
"I don't believe it."
"Leif wins!" The referee raised Leif's hand, only to widen his eyes as Leif collapsed into his arms.
"Well done, little Leif. To last this long after summoning the Dragon… I wonder how it feels to have all your blood burned away. But now, you're no longer a member of the Meccan royal family. After all, there's not a drop of Meccan blood left in you," Manning chuckled softly.
"Are you leaving?"
"Mm."
"Aren't you going to say goodbye to them?"
"No."
"And the mission? The boy?"
"Consider this Qianmian's first failure," he said, his tone indifferent.
"Hey, you're not thinking of changing careers?"
"I'm quite fond of my current lifestyle. I won't change for anyone!"
"How cold-hearted…"
The man chuckled, his figure gradually fading into the distance.
"Take care, Manning. It's your turn next. Good luck!"
"Good luck, huh? I'd love to believe in that, but you, Jakarta, should know better than anyone—there are some things no amount of effort can achieve."