The most conspicuous difference between this Weapon Spirit and others was that it was a non-stop chatterbox.

Fang Senyan and his team were certainly not novices; they had encountered Weapon Spirits ranging from low-grade to high-grade. Take the spirit of the Demonic Sword Apophis from before—even it possessed a certain dignity, and after one plea for mercy, it fell silent when hope vanished.

However, ** had been incessantly chattering with excitement since it awakened, bouncing from one topic to another. Ultimately, only Sister Wuge and Old Charlie possessed the patience to keep up the conversation with this hyperactive entity. One was innocent and sweet, the other worldly and shrewd; they had the necessary energy and experience to manage such an exuberant creature.

Fang Senyan seized this rare opportunity for a quick accounting. He discovered that while dismantling the Demonic Sword Apophis, ** had returned a cumulative total of eighty Merit Points and over three hundred thousand Universal Credits! Based on this ratio, the return was roughly one-third of the item's construction cost.

Fang Senyan was already tantalizingly close to achieving the rank of Major General, needing only 241/400 points. When he had single-handedly decimated the awakened foes during the previous engagement, he had amassed a full thirty Merit Points. Adding the eighty points returned from the Demonic Sword Apophis, his total instantly jumped to 351/400. At this rate, he might have his rank advanced before his Bloodied Major General armor was even forged.

The thirty-odd thousand Universal Credits, meanwhile, solved an immediate crisis. Sister Wuge incurred extra charges for every hour she remained on-site. Before this windfall, the Ace Team was facing significant financial shortfalls... This unexpected influx managed to pull the team back a considerable distance from the brink of economic collapse.

Finally, it seemed even a Weapon Spirit could experience fatigue. The verbose ** spat out its last few words, satisfied, before reforming into a pool of pitch-like ** that adhered itself to Fang Senyan's Planetary-Grade High-Energy Mechanical Gauntlet, sinking into deep slumber. The action was strikingly similar to someone lazily dragging their mattress over to their own bed and pulling up the covers.

Now, however, this ** metallic lifeform "plated" itself onto the gauntlet in a pattern of black and red stripes. Compared to the faint glow it exhibited previously, it now possessed an indescribable aura of dominance and power, much like a tiger crouched low on the ground, capable of instilling deep dread in anyone who saw it.

Fang Senyan checked the gauntlet's attributes. He was delighted to see a new line of descriptive text beneath the entry for the Final Impact:

This weapon has gained an additional enhancement ability: Extinction. This enhancement ability will disappear when the ** metallic lifeform detaches from the equipment. This enhancement ability is ineffective on ranged weapons. The priority level of this enhancement ability is equivalent to the highest priority level granted by any ability the holder currently possesses. Extinction... (Details omitted)

Next, Fang Senyan turned his attention to the quest he had acquired:

Silver Series Quest Hidden Branch Chapter Three: Devour.

This quest required the liquid metal lifeform to consume one hundred pieces of equipment after waking up—as expected. The devouring progress had jumped from a mere 5% to 35%. The consumption of the Demonic Sword Apophis alone accounted for the equivalent of thirty standard pieces of equipment.

It was then that Fang Senyan finally let out a satisfied sigh. He felt that his luck had finally turned for the better.

Yes, ever since encountering this Bound—no, ever since encountering the Stockholm team—Fang Senyan had felt as if he were perpetually fighting against the current. The resistance ahead had consistently proven greater than anticipated, reaching its peak during the previous sniper ambush that nearly wiped out the team and resulted in Brother Black's death.

But since that incident, Fang Senyan had begun to feel the resistance lessen, until this moment, where he sensed the mounting pressure had completely dissipated. Having gained the Extinction ability, and through this critical shift in advantage, he now possessed sufficient capital to face the current troubles... both the apparent and the latent. Stated more directly and narrowly, these troubles included the Bound and that aloof figure, Loki.

Zi suddenly spoke: “Do you know what I’m thinking, Sailor?”

Fang Senyan glanced at her, reading a sultry provocation in her strikingly beautiful phoenix eyes. Such was the nature of powerful women—they constantly, often unintentionally, sought to prove themselves superior to men, yet deep down, they yearned to be conquered by one. So, Fang Senyan smiled easily: “Of course. You’re thinking about something I said earlier.”

Zi immediately frowned, responding with a playfully incredulous tone: “Me? Thinking about what you say??”

Fang Senyan replied smoothly: “Yes. After that arrogant Loki pointed his nose at us and left, I mentioned that if we actually managed to take down the Bound, his expression would be absolutely priceless.”

“And now it seems Loki isn't even sure he can kill the Bound. The very thing he covets so desperately is likely the Demonic Sword Apophis! If he learns that the coveted trophy has already been devoured by us, I doubt his expression will be any better.”

Zi let out a cold snort and fell silent.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the plane they were aboard began its flight toward distant Africa, with Libya as the first destination, followed by Egypt.

From the moment they disembarked, the African continent greeted the passengers with its heat, its aridity, its strength, and, of course, its raw primitiveness.

Stepping out of the aircraft cabin, Fang Senyan and his team felt as if they had arrived in another world entirely. For Libya, currently embroiled in conflict, simply having a road passable by vehicles was a luxury; there was no room to complain about potholes and mud.

Their objective was the Golden Mask of Ife from Nigeria, and the reason they had flown to Libya was that the mask had surfaced there. A tribal chieftain in Benghazi, named Zandara, had acquired the treasure using the leverage of three oil fields under his control. This chieftain stubbornly believed the mask was the key to awakening his memories from a previous life, making him willing to pay handsomely for it.

Soon, in a bar decorated with coconut shell hangings on its outer walls, Fang Senyan and his group located their source of intelligence: a very plump Black woman wearing earrings as large as subway handrails, possessing skin that was dark and glossy, and a figure so ample her skirt seemed perpetually on the verge of bursting. Only the occasional glint in her eyes hinted at her cunning and shrewdness.

“I am Mo’an.”

The Black woman offered a warm smile, even extending a thick arm for an embrace. However, the cloying scent of her perfume deterred anyone from reciprocating her enthusiasm. Fang Senyan lightly raised the case in his hand: “We are in a hurry. Give us the address.”

The Black woman nimbly accepted the stack of cash handed over by Zi. Fang Senyan, due to her complexion, was reminded of Mo’ganza, and his mood instantly dipped. After counting the bills, the woman actually produced a device to scan for counterfeit currency, checking each one individually. Finally satisfied, she clapped her hands, tucked the wad of cash into the valley between her breasts, and started to leave.

Zi immediately stepped forward and stated coldly: “The address?”

The Black woman seemed to remember something belatedly. “Oh,” she said, pulling out a sheet of paper, scribbling a few hasty lines, and tossing it over to them. Fang Senyan caught it and smiled: “What does this mean?”

What was written on the paper clearly stated: Libya, Benghazi, and nothing further. It was the equivalent of asking for a detailed address and being vaguely told, "China, Sichuan Province"—the intent to be dismissive was obvious.

The portly Black woman’s expression shifted: “The thirteen thousand US dollars you paid only buys information of this caliber.”

Fang Senyan looked at her and smiled: “You will regret those words for many years.”

The Black woman suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable and shrieked, slamming her hand down on the table! “Break their legs, strip them naked, and dump them in the jungle.”

The bar had seemed sparsely populated, with only a few patrons slumped over tables, seemingly dozing. At the Black woman’s slam, these few individuals instantly stood up, each brandishing a standard AK47. They deliberately racked the bolts with an expressionless gaze, their threat clearly visible.

Mo’an was the name of the Black woman’s husband, an arms dealer, intelligence broker, and the bar's owner. He accepted Fang Senyan’s job for the hefty reward, but he had his wife stage this scene to protect his entire family.

Mo’an knew the precise location of the Golden Mask of Ife, but he also knew the inevitable fate awaiting anyone who betrayed the Zandara tribe in Benghazi: death in a sewage ditch, riddled with at least twenty bullet holes. Yet, Mo’an was deeply covetous of the bounty...

OK, this was the predicament Fang Senyan’s team found themselves in. The only reason Mo’an hesitated to kill them was because these clients were from America, and killing them would invite significant trouble.

Fang Senyan and his team made no move to fight. Reef even cooperatively raised his hands. But Number Seven slid down from the top of the back exit like a phantom, placing his arms over the shoulders of two armed guards—as if hugging an old friend—and slammed them violently together.

The AK47s of those two guards were smashed into fragments, and their bodies went limp. Another guard, highly trained, had already leaped away, raised his weapon, and aimed. Unexpectedly, as Number Seven lunged, he nipped—or rather, licked—the guard’s neck. Though the guard’s finger rested perfectly on the trigger, he could not pull it; his body was being infiltrated by toxins from the Dubai Marshlands.

As for the last guard, he simply fainted. Mr. Kuluotego hadn't even entered a combat stance, merely tossing a coconut shell he'd picked up to knock the man unconscious, all while crunching loudly on potato chips—a recent favorite snack of Mr. Kuluotego’s. (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please feel free to cast your recommendation votes and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.) RQ