Mo'an's wife was stunned for a few seconds, realizing how utterly destructive her husband's subordinates had been, before suddenly screaming—but the scream was a ruse. She whipped her hand out from under the counter, pulling a handgun and aiming it directly at Zi's delicate face, ready to pull the trigger.

In a fit of pique, Zi thrust out a hand, and half of the counter exploded into ruin. The bullet had vanished into who knows where.

Immediately following, the stout, dark-skinned woman tumbled out from behind the counter like a raw piece of meat, crashing messily against the edge of a nearby table, clearly unconscious and motionless.

The group searched and shockingly found two Black children upstairs, both glaring at them with eyes full of hatred, like wolf cubs sizing up food with a chilling glint.

However, Fang Senyan still had his limits. No matter how they looked, he would only offer a faint smile. With Mo'an’s wife and children in his hands, it was effectively impossible for the man to truly escape; the monk might run, but the temple couldn't.

Yet, Fang Senyan had miscalculated this time—it wasn't his first misstep, as his error was based on applying traditional Chinese sensibilities to the worldview of Mr. Mo'an of Libya. For 99.9% of Chinese people, the moment they learned their wives or children were in danger or held hostage, they would rush to the scene of the incident no matter what.

But for Mr. Mo'an, who already possessed seven wives and over twenty children, viewing them as mere property akin to a flock of sheep, would one risk everything for less than one-sixth of one’s assets? Obviously not... This was the reason for Fang Senyan's flawed deduction. Thus, they waited for over half an hour. Realizing that the government troops maintaining order here were the only ones who arrived, they promptly slipped away. Fighting them was not an issue, but the key problem was that there was no need to engage in a direct conflict with these local snakes.

Next, Fang Senyan, left with no other choice, had to find a place to get online and make calls. Thanks to the recent resurgence of the base's power, they managed to secure another phone number after two transfers. Less than an hour later, a heavily built Black man with a buzz cut found them and listened to their request.

This man, nicknamed Scorpion, then frankly informed them that he dared not provoke the Zandara tribe of Benghazi. In fact, even the government forces entrenched there couldn't afford to offend this tribe and could only try to court their favor. Scorpion’s advice was for them to leave immediately; he knew a way to secure them the next available flight—though it wouldn't be free.

Fang Senyan pondered for a moment but didn't agree to Scorpion’s proposal. Instead, he shot back one question:

“Then can you find Mo'an for us?”

Scorpion immediately grinned, his thick lips pulling back:

“That’s no problem.”

He even offered a 20% discount on his fee for this task, citing the mutual acquaintance who made the introduction. Fang Senyan ignored the gesture and directly offered three times the usual price, demanding that Mo'an be located within two hours.

Scorpion appeared to be a man of considerable means. He immediately led them swaggeringly into the military compound, using the freshly acquired US dollars to pave the way at every checkpoint. Five minutes later, they were speeding off in the best-preserved off-road Jeep from the barracks—a lightly used Dongfeng Mengshi Jeep procured from the Chinese side (a picture was posted on Weibo). Stomping on the accelerator, even on this dirt track resembling farmland, the sensation of being pushed back into the seat was intense.

The Jeep was also heavily armed. A mounted NSV heavy machine gun trailed a long belt of ammunition. This weapon utilized a gas-operated automatic mechanism and a unique bolt-block locking system. Any firing point or bunker within two kilometers would certainly be silenced before it. Of course, using such hardware was not cheap. BZ armor-piercing rounds and BZT incendiary armor-piercing rounds were its standard ammunition. Scorpion stated that an armor-piercing round cost five dollars, and a BZT cost eight dollars... Its sustained rate of fire was an astonishing 700 to 800 rounds per minute!

“Mo'an has three likely locations,” Scorpion said, turning to flash his pearly white teeth with a smile. “A brothel, a casino, or his own tribal ground. I suspect he has already heard news of you looking for him, so returning to his tribe is the most probable scenario. But we can swing by the first two places on the way; it won't take too much time... As they drove through the crowded and backward streets, flanked by low, primitive houses, speed was impossible. It was no wonder that when people speak of Africa, they often begin with poverty and hunger. The slums on the outskirts and the rudimentary mud huts in the countryside that Fang Senyan and the others witnessed were shocking.

Maltuba, possessing an airport, was considered a relatively developed area. On its streets, cigarette vendors opened packs of twenty and sold them one by one. In the free market, cooking oil was sold by the spoonful, illustrating the extremely low purchasing power of ordinary citizens.

But upon reaching the city’s inner zones, Fang Senyan noticed that the entire urban area seemed to be structured around one or more large chain supermarkets, with various restaurants, cinemas, gyms, and clothing stores invariably built surrounding these hubs. Naturally, Mo'an's casino and brothel were also within this commercial district.

Entering the city’s core, Fang Senyan was surprised to find it difficult to secure a parking spot in the massive lot. Inside the supermarket, the shelves were laden with goods, though the prices appeared outrageously high:

Sale posters plastered on the wall advertised: one jin of peaches for 40 RMB; a plastic bowl for over 50 RMB; even a rubber hot water bottle cost more than 70 RMB. Inside, shoppers pushed carts piled high with goods, selecting items leisurely.

Utter destitution mixed with bizarre opulence—such absolute disparity in wealth was, of course, the root cause of civil war and instability.

When entering the casino and the brothel, Fang Senyan and his group naturally couldn't enter peacefully; resorting to violence was inevitable. Scorpion adopted a somewhat hands-off approach at this point. Fang Senyan knew the man harbored intentions of using them to suppress and eliminate Mo'an's power, thereby seizing it himself. However, Fang Senyan was a reasonable man; if Scorpion could find the target within the stipulated time, everything would be fine. But if Scorpion was just talking nonsense, he would certainly pay a very heavy price.

After a sweep, the only conclusion reached was that Mo'an must have returned to his tribe, which was his stronghold, a place where even a child no older than ten was extremely dangerous. For ordinary people, a bullet remains lethal even if the finger pulling the trigger belongs to a child.

The Dongfeng Mengshi sped across the African plains. For a vehicle boasting such excellent off-road capabilities, the deeply rutted and uneven yellow mud path was actually less challenging than driving directly across grassland. The problem of getting stuck in a mire, which most vehicles feared, did not exist for this one.

After forty minutes of jarring travel, a stretch of forest, a river, and a settlement that could be called a refugee camp appeared ahead. In this dilapidated area, where colorful clothes hung out to dry, the most orderly structures were the two watchtowers at the village entrance—which were also machine-gun turrets.

Impatiently, Fang Senyan took direct aim at the watchtowers with the muzzle of the NSV heavy machine gun and emptied between $2,400 and $3,000 worth of ammunition into them. Normally, even reinforced concrete fortifications with 5cm steel bars couldn't withstand the barrage of over three hundred armor-piercing rounds. Thus, those two wooden watchtowers and the sentries atop them were annihilated into clouds of dust without question.

The frequent warfare meant this tribe was not paralyzed by this sudden blow. Their practiced combat experience allowed them to organize a counterattack in the shortest possible time. Every member of the tribe instantly transformed into a warrior—old men, women, and children alike—because the bullets they fired were equally lethal.

However, the force they faced was absolutely not one that could be broken by bullets and gunpowder.

Fifteen minutes later, the gunfire subsided. Even Scorpion’s face had turned ashen; he was thankful he hadn't acted on the sinister ideas brewing in his mind, otherwise, today might well have been his funeral.

Ramtas silently dragged a man over. This man’s right hand had been shattered by an armor-piercing round, leaving it completely useless. His dark skin showed a shade of ghastly white as he roared and struggled, staring at Fang Senyan with furious eyes. Fang Senyan merely smiled faintly and said:

“Mr. Mo’an, although this is our first meeting, we already had a pleasant conversation over the phone. Therefore, I apologize for the harm caused to you and your kinsmen.”

Mo'an looked astonished:

“You? You’re that damned American?”

“Yes, the American who previously told you that money was not an issue,” Fang Senyan smiled. “Do you perhaps remember the last thing I said before taking my leave?”

Since Fang Senyan brought it up, Mo'an’s mind began to search. He nervously licked his cracked lips:

“If I angered you, there would be big trouble.”

“Indeed,” Fang Senyan nodded. “I am a man who keeps his word, but you accepted payment and failed to deliver service. Consequently, the big trouble has found you.”

Mo'an’s face darkened, and then he roared hysterically:

“No matter how big the trouble, it can’t compare to offending the Zandara tribe of Benghazi! They will skin every one of us alive!”

Fang Senyan’s expression turned icy:

“I don’t have time to waste words with you; I am pressed for time. An hour is 3,600 seconds. Your tribe seems to have fewer than four hundred people, so starting now, I will kill one person every ten seconds! You will be last! I will make an exception today, because it seems there are only two types of people in this damned place: desperate outlaws and those who are not!” (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please cast your recommendation votes and monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation.) RQ