The moment had finally arrived. The two brothers stood across from each other, the battlefield between them a vast stretch of smooth, compacted stone—scarred from countless battles before this one.
As both brothers stood opposite each other, they unleashed their auras. A suffocating pressure filled the arena, making the air heavy. If not for the rune-infused barrier encasing the battlefield, anyone in the spectator section below the Grandmaster rank would have collapsed—many of the weaker ones would have died outright.
Mankhaura's rage was palpable, a barely contained inferno that burned in his narrowed eyes and the rigid tension in his stance. His grip on his spear was tight enough to whiten his knuckles, his breaths coming sharp and controlled, but the fire in his chest roared, demanding release.
