After the meeting with the Pharaoh, Kairo sat in silence, mentally preparing for his duel with Menes. This wasn’t just another battle; it was the final confrontation in the competition—a chance for glory, redemption, and recognition. The stakes couldn’t be higher.

As the hour approached, Kairo’s focus was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He didn’t need to look to know it was Amon.

"Commander Amon, if you’re here to convince me to quit, save your breath," Kairo began, irritation clear in his voice.

But Amon raised a hand to stop him. "I’m not here for that," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Kairo, listen to me. After everything you’ve been through—your parents, your brother—I can’t bear the thought of your family losing someone else. I know your anger isn’t with them, but with the system that forced their hands.

"And I understand," Amon continued, his voice faltering for a moment, "that winning this fight with Menes is your way of proving yourself—to show that you’re worthy of being called a great general."

He hesitated, his tone heavy with emotion. "But I don’t want to lose you, Kairo. I care about you. More than you realize."

Kairo’s gaze dropped, his resolve unwavering but touched by Amon’s words. "I know you care," he replied quietly. "But this is something I have to do. Even if it means losing, I need to take this chance."

Amon sighed deeply, the weight of his concerns evident. "Menes isn’t just strong, Kairo—he’s terrifying. When death stares you in the face, if it becomes too much, promise me you’ll raise the white flag. My brother died on the battlefield when we were just soldiers. I don’t want to lose another brother."

As Amon turned to leave, his words lingered in Kairo’s mind, stirring something deep within him. He thinks of me as a brother.

The thought settled in Kairo’s chest like a burning ember, but it couldn’t extinguish his determination.

The arena roared with life as Old Man Jules raised his voice above the crowd.

"ALL IN ATTENDANCE FOR THE FINAL BATTLE OF THE STRENGTH COMPETITION—PREPARE YOURSELVES!"

The audience erupted into cheers as Kairo and Menes entered the arena. Menes carried a stoic, almost menacing air about him. His gaze was sharp, his steps calculated. This was no game for him.

Kairo, while still holding his head high, had lost his usual cockiness. His expression was serious, tinged with the faintest hint of hesitation. He was about to face the strongest opponent in the competition—the man known as the Dark King.

Still, Kairo couldn’t resist taunting. "Old man, don’t hold back on me. The last thing I want is pity from someone whose bones barely hold together."

Menes didn’t flinch. He simply lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. "You have my word. This battle will end in a split second."

In the stands, Amon’s hands clenched tightly, his forehead glistening with sweat. He couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at his heart. Would Kairo survive this?

The Theban side whispered amongst themselves. How could Kairo possibly stand against someone like Menes?

From a hidden corner of the crowd, Anubis leaned forward, his interest piqued. "It’s not every day you get to see Commander Menes unleash his full power," he murmured.

Old Man Jules raised his hand, signaling the start of the battle. The crowd fell silent in anticipation.

But before the hand could fully rise, Henu Safir smirked. "It’s already over," he whispered.

He wasn’t wrong.

Kairo’s eyes widened as Menes activated his ability, Absolute End. Reality itself seemed to shift. Time froze, and in the stillness, countless black dots emerged, spiralling upward like stars before descending upon Kairo.

In that frozen instant, Kairo’s mind shattered under the weight of what he experienced. He saw himself pierced—not once, not twice, but billions of times. Each strike etched the thought of death into his soul, a relentless onslaught that tore through his psyche.

It wasn’t real. It didn’t need to be.

By the time Old Man Jules’ hand reached its apex, Kairo’s body trembled. His voice broke through the silence.

"I FORFEIT!" he shouted, his white flag raised high.

The crowd gasped in disbelief.

From the balcony, Ramon sneered. "All that talk, and he quits before the fight even starts?"

Henu chuckled darkly. "It’s already ended. He never stood a chance."

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Kairo stood motionless in the arena, sweat dripping down his face, his breath shallow. Menes hadn’t even lifted a finger, and yet, Kairo had faced death a billion times in his own mind.

The crowd sighed, the tension easing, but the weight of what had just transpired lingered in the air. Menes turned, his job done, while Kairo remained rooted to the spot, haunted by what he’d just endured.

As the Strength Competition drew to a close, the participants gathered before Pharaoh Taharqa and Queen Nefertari for the much-anticipated reward ceremony. Despite their injuries, Khonsu, Jack, Ramon, Thane, and Yune stood among the competitors, ready to receive their recognition.

Old Man Jules stepped forward and began the announcements. "For the winner of the competition, we reward 100 gold coins. Commander Menes, please come forth."

Menes walked to the stage, his steps steady but his expression unusually subdued. Taking the reward from Jules, he returned to his place without a trace of the triumph expected of a victor.

Jules continued. "Second place goes to Kairo of the Kingdom of Nubia. Your reward is 80 gold coins. Please come forth."

Kairo strode up to the stage, his arms crossed as he addressed the audience. "I decline this amount. I’d rather it be given to the poor and used to help those in need."

The crowd murmured in astonishment at Kairo’s declaration. In the audience, Jack watched him closely, his mind racing. Maybe he really is trying to change.

Beside him, Kamil leaned in and whispered, "Some people do change."

Jack turned to him, realizing Kamil wasn’t just speaking about Kairo. He thought about Kamil’s sister, the leader of the Royal Nebu, and how this might be Kamil’s way of showing forgiveness for her past actions.

Pharaoh Taharqa, clearly impressed, smiled as he addressed Kairo. "I admire your generosity, Kairo," he said. Turning to the crowd, he added, "From now on, any rewards given to the soldiers of my army will be directed towards helping the people of Thebes and beyond. Additionally, I will personally contribute 500 gold coins to this effort."

The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices filled with admiration and hope. Kairo’s gesture had sparked a wave of goodwill, leaving a lasting impression on everyone present.

As the ceremony concluded, both armies celebrated. With the Nubian forces preparing to depart that night, the Theban army decided to host a small celebration near the outskirts of Thebes. A few miles into the desert, atop a gentle hill, campfires flickered against the backdrop of the endless dunes. Food was prepared, laughter filled the air, and camaraderie was shared under the glow of the moon.

Away from the bustling crowd, the commanders of both armies gathered by a solitary campfire, roasting chicken and speaking quietly. Sitting atop the hill, they gazed out at the moonlit desert.

Henu Safir spoke first, his tone light but observant. "Your men were impressive. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this outcome. He came in second place, but where is he now? Why isn’t he here with us?"

Amon, leaning back against a log, replied, "He’s too young. I think he still has to earn a seat at this table. After all, strength isn’t everything—he needs to become a leader, too."

Drexel, swirling his drink, added with a smirk, "Honestly, the real reason is we wanted this conversation to stay between us. Kairo is a commander, sure, but he’s still young. We don’t give him the bulk of the responsibilities—paperwork, tactical decisions, all that. Not yet."

Setka nodded in understanding. "Makes sense. He might make rash decisions if he’s given too much power too soon."

Drexel chuckled, raising his cup. "You’re good at reading people, Setka."

Amon shifted the tone slightly. "You know, Menes, I always looked up to your father. I hope this isn’t a sensitive topic."

Menes smiled faintly. "Not at all. My father was a strong man—one I could never defeat, no matter how hard I tried."

Amon leaned forward, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember when he visited our kingdom. My brother and I did everything we could to sneak a look at him. He was… awe-inspiring."

Menes nodded. "He was more than just strong. His leadership was unmatched."

Drexel, changing the subject, asked with a curious grin, "By the way, Menes, is it possible for us to… get one of your cars?"

Menes blinked, caught off guard.

Drexel pressed on. "That machine you built—it’s a marvel. It could change the way battles are fought."

Setka interjected. "We do have a treaty, but the car’s functionality is tied to one of our soldiers’ unique powers. Without them, it won’t work."

"Ah, I see," Drexel replied, disappointed.

Setka added, "If we find a workaround, we’ll share an older version. The treaty doesn’t require us to hand over the latest model."

"Fair enough," Drexel said with a shrug, raising his cup again.

As the commanders conversed, Amon glanced toward another campfire. The younger soldiers sat together—Jack, Khonsu, Kamil, Kasib, Ramon, Elio, Memnon, Yune, Noya, and others—laughing, eating, and sharing stories.

Amon smiled. "Look at them. These kids—they’re the future. The next generation."

At one fire, Ramon and Kairo were playfully arguing over who had gotten the bigger piece of chicken, much to the amusement of those around them.

Menes observed silently, a faint glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes. "They haven’t seen what the world can do to a man. They don’t know the full weight of their actions yet. But… they’ve endured their own trials. More than most their age."

Amon nodded. "They remind me of us—back when we’d meet, battle, and somehow laugh about it later."

Drexel chuckled. "I see pieces of us in them."

Henu leaned forward, his gaze intent. "The Chronotex users—they’re getting stronger with every generation. These kids, though—they never fail to amaze me."

Setka raised his glass high. "The future looks bright. Let’s put our trust in them. Sooner or later, in the next 5 to 10 years, we’ll step aside. To the future."

The commanders followed suit, raising their cups in unison. Across the way, the younger soldiers, noticing the gesture, fell silent. Jack, seated beside Kamil, watched the commanders intently.

Nearby, away from the crowd, Kairo stood alone, gazing into the distant desert. Jack approached quietly, his drink in hand.

Kairo noticed him and broke the silence. "You could’ve beaten me easily back there. Why didn’t you?"

Jack took a sip, his expression calm. "I wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t have enough life energy."

Kairo exhaled, nodding slightly. "I see. Well, now that you know my secret, you know who I really am. Thanks for not telling anyone."

Jack smiled. "No worries."

Extending his hand, Kairo said, "Next time we meet, we’ll both be stronger."

Jack clasped Kairo’s hand firmly. "And next time, I’ll win."

The two smirked, a mutual respect growing between them as the past grievances faded.

From a distance, the commanders watched the handshake. Menes’s eyes lingered on the scene, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It reminded him of a time long ago when he and Setka had shared a similar moment, shaking hands as boys after a hard-fought duel.

For Menes and the others, the gesture wasn’t just a handshake—it was a promise.