Tell Uncle, Where Did Your Daddy Go?

The Mountain-Leaning Strike landed true, sending Temugin flying backward, powerless. Xiang Qian did not let up; he pushed off the ground and lunged forward like an arrow released from a bow, closing the distance to Temugin in the blink of an eye.

Temugin knew he had reached a dead end with no hope of escape. That Mountain-Leaning Strike had been so powerful it had nearly shattered his ribs; now, even a shallow breath brought agonizing pain—a clear sign of severe lung trauma. Temugin could feel his strength rapidly draining away, making even the act of moving his arm an immense struggle. He knew that if he went down, he would be at the mercy of his enemy. Gritting his teeth, he poured his final shred of willpower into activating the ring on his finger.

"Die with me!" Temugin let out a crazed roar!

The ring, inlaid with a fiery red gemstone, suddenly flared with light. A terrifying power condensed within it, and in the next moment, it erupted from the gem as scorching flames. In these final moments, Temugin abandoned all control over the fire, channeling his entire mental capacity into amplifying its destructive force. This extreme method would release the fire's power to its absolute limit, turning the surroundings into a sea of flames, but the uncontrolled inferno would consume Temugin himself as well.

Just as the psychological profiling team at the Spear Bureau had assessed, faced with the finality of defeat, Temugin had indeed chosen mutual destruction.

At the very instant the flames surged forth, Xiang Qian arrived in a leap. His left hand struck out like lightning, fingers splayed wide, enveloping Temugin's right hand and trapping the surging fire within his palm. Amidst Vector's gasp of alarm, a golden light, more dazzling than the flames, bloomed from beneath the skin of Xiang Qian's left hand. The light pierced through his skin, instantly wrapping his entire hand in its glow.

The flames erupting from the ring were firmly imprisoned by the golden light, like a trapped beast in a cage, rolling and crashing repeatedly but unable to break through the golden barrier.

What happens when violent combustion occurs in a confined space? It was a simple middle-school physics problem. Almost the next instant, the golden light in Xiang Qian's palm flared brilliantly, followed by a deafening roar. The massive sound caused everyone nearby to instinctively raise their hands to cover their faces, bracing for the imagined shockwave of an explosion.

Yet, to their astonishment, aside from a gust of wind, they felt nothing. No shockwave, no intense heat; it was as if that thunderous boom had been nothing more than a blank shot.

Vector lowered her arms, looking on in confusion. Xiang Qian stood motionless, his left hand extended straight, a ball of fire rolling within his palm. The incandescent light brought by the extreme heat was terrifying, yet it could not escape the golden cage. As the energy began to wane, the flames gradually dimmed, shifting from white-hot to cyan, then to red; the volume of the fire slowly shrank. Finally, the light faded, completely masked by the golden glow.

Bathed in the golden light, the tall, upright figure of Xiang Qian looked like a god.

A violent explosion had vanished into thin air, as if it had never occurred. But Vector knew this was an illusion, for Temugin, lying a few steps away, proved the reality of the blast with his wretched state. The clothes on his front had been shredded into rags, covered in the black and gray soot of the explosion; his hair and eyebrows were nearly gone, singed to a crisp by the heat. Worst of all was his right hand—the palm was gone, along with half of his forearm. The stump had been cauterized into charcoal by the high heat, which, by some stroke of luck, had stemmed the bleeding.

Although Xiang Qian had suppressed the explosion, the blast had originated from the ring on Temugin's hand. The shockwave had acted directly upon his limb, and the residual force and heat had conducted through his arm, dealing a second heavy blow to Temugin's torso. If Xiang Qian's Mountain-Leaning Strike had only broken half of Temugin's ribs, after this explosion, there were likely few intact bones left in his body—yet he was not dead.

Xiang Qian looked down at the collapsed Temugin with a cold sneer, the golden light on his left hand gradually fading. He rubbed his fingers together, and a flurry of black ash drifted from his palm. This ash was all that remained of Temugin's vanished right hand; the flesh, bone, and biological matter had been incinerated by the heat and turned to dust by Xiang Qian's movement. In the end, only a strangely shaped ring remained, resting quietly in Xiang Qian's palm. Aside from a few gray-black marks on its surface, the violent explosion had caused it no damage.

Xiang Qian tossed the ring lightly in his palm, flicking it between his fingers. "Truly the treasure of the Ten Rings. In your hands, it's a complete waste."

Xiang Qian's contemptuous gaze ignited a fresh fury in the dying Temugin. His once-vacant eyes now burned with a venomous glare, as if he wished to tear Xiang Qian apart. Yet, Temugin was suffering from massive fractures across his body; for the time being, he was effectively a high-level paraplegic. Just as Xiang Qian had planned, he no longer even had the capacity to commit suicide.

Xiang Qian did not let him off easily. He intended not only to strip away his opponent's ability to resist but to crush his spirit entirely. Pinching the ring between his thumb and forefinger, Xiang Qian shifted his intent, and the gem on the ring obediently flared with light. A stream of fire surged out once more, curling into a perfect sphere of flame directly above the ring, spinning rapidly with a whistling sound. The fire poured from the ring into the sphere, but instead of growing as everyone expected, the ball of fire began to shrink.

Under the astonished gazes of the onlookers, the fireball spun smaller and brighter, finally condensing into an incandescent point of light the size of a finger joint. With a sweep of Xiang Qian's gaze, the point of light shot out in the direction he was looking, striking an armored vehicle that was still exchanging heavy fire with the defenders to the west.

The light vanished into the front of the armored vehicle. Before anyone could wonder what had happened, a "boom" echoed out. The vehicle was blown to pieces from the inside out, and violent flames erupted from within, instantly turning the vehicle into a fireball. The burning wreckage emitted a terrifying heat, and parts of the metal began to melt within mere seconds.

Xiang Qian's effortless display made it clear to everyone that his control over the ring far surpassed that of its original owner, Temugin. But Xiang Qian's performance did not stop there. The ring continued to spew fire, but this time, Xiang Qian did not condense it. Instead, he casually tossed fireballs toward the militants' defensive line. He did not throw just one; they came in rapid, continuous succession, like a dense meteor shower raining down upon the militants' positions.

Temugin's face turned ashen. Compared to his own labored efforts, Xiang Qian's performance was effortless. Not only in combat technique but also in mental power, the gap between the two was clear at a glance.

Xiang Qian ignored the wailing militants and paid no mind to his allies, who were busy taking advantage of the situation to strike the fallen enemy. He strolled over to Temugin, crouched down, and dangled the ring, looking at him with a half-smile.

"To think Mandarin would hand his most prized possession over to you; it seems you really are his favorite son." Xiang Qian's tone carried a hint of mockery, but his cold eyes held an irreconcilable hatred. "Come now, tell your uncle—where has your father gone?"