The sheer opulence of the Zandalar Tower's interior was comparable to that of any Fortune 500 headquarters.

Amidst the palpable panic and widespread fear gripping the building, the woman’s trembling voice sent an unsettling chill down everyone's spine.

San Zai casually retrieved his Platinum VIP resource card from some high-end Ice Fire Dragon club and flashed it in front of the woman, speaking with stern authority: “Please verify our identities. We are experts dispatched by the World Health Organization. Due to a sudden surge in gamma rays from the sun, certain viruses attached to ancient artifacts in a state of suspended animation have reactivated, leading to an ancient viral outbreak! You have already been infected, although it is currently in the incubation period. Take us there now; there might still be a chance to save you!”

San Zai’s story was obviously riddled with holes, especially using a high-end club’s Platinum VIP card as credentials, which clearly implied he thought the elderly woman couldn't read Chinese characters.

Fortunately, while the building's décor rivaled that of the world’s top five hundred corporations, the quality of its staff was worlds apart. Coupled with the intense atmosphere of impending death that pervaded the tower, it naturally demolished any lingering sense of caution.

The woman was immediately swayed by the Platinum VIP membership card, seeing San Zai as her only lifeline, and fiercely clutched onto him: “Good, I’ll take you. I know where the source is!”

Reef surprisingly produced an instrument and stated seriously: “How could you possibly know? Don’t mislead us!”

The woman screamed, her voice hoarse with desperation: “I won’t lead you astray, it must be that cursed mask! Please, hurry and let me take you!”

Facing this self-appointed guide, Fang Senyan and his crew muttered under their breath, ungraciously questioning whether the woman would lead them astray and impede their progress, while simultaneously cataloging the building’s flaws: windows that didn't meet proper lighting standards, thus encouraging bacterial growth; poor ventilation that could trigger a cold epidemic; inadequate floor cleaning leading to microbial proliferation… To the elderly woman, these remarks sounded like, “I don’t understand what they’re saying, but they sound incredibly authoritative…”

The Zandalar Chief rarely had pressing official duties. Since his tribe had secretly ruled Benghazi for over a decade, everything was already running smoothly. Even if minor issues arose, his sons would eagerly compete to handle them to prove themselves. Thus, the Chief had very little administrative work. In his free time, the old man preferred spending hours at the local premier brothel.

Consequently, the Zandalar Chief’s office functioned as a multi-purpose area, encompassing a reception hall, a study, and even a bedroom—the space being least used for actual office work. Therefore, it was highly unlikely to house any valuables, much like one wouldn't keep their bank savings or cash in a relatively public area like the living room.

So, when Fang Senyan and the others entered the Zandalar Chief's office, the resistance they encountered was far less than anticipated. Of course, because of the dream, not everyone had given up on smashing the mask—the supposed culprit—in vengeful fury. However, four guards managed to stop them. Although the current Zandalar Chief was dead and the Nigerian Chokwe Gold Mask had seemingly lost its protective charm, it actually possessed another safeguard: its exorbitant purchase price.

Before a new Zandalar Chief could be chosen and a decision made regarding the Chokwe Gold Mask, these four guards dared not bear the responsibility of letting the mask be taken. Thus, they blocked Fang Senyan’s party.

This was the first, and entirely unsurprising, battle Fang Senyan and his group engaged in after entering the fortress.

The Chokwe Gold Mask appeared broad yet possessed a certain curvature. To put it delicately, the legendary ‘pig’s belly’ face shape must have been deeply ingrained in popular imagination; this gold mask seemed custom-made for someone possessing such an exaggeratedly wide facial structure.

Blood-dripping tusks jutted from the mask’s mouth corners, and though the eye sockets were hollow, they held an indescribable, abnormal malice. The mask’s features were deeply etched and distinct, looking as if carved by axe and chisel, yet the overly wide cheeks softened its expression into one of tolerant majesty.

Viewed from the back, the Nigerian Chokwe Gold Mask seemed to contain an ethereal inner glow—a vibrant, almost boiling golden light that people naturally adored, which explained why the gold standard was universally adopted. Looking closer, one could discern several tiny pinpricks within the gold, hinting at some hidden mechanism.

Fang Senyan didn't study the artifact for long; he only needed to confirm if this precious relic harbored hidden dangers like the Crystal Skull. However, he suddenly felt a strange resistance: his fingers appeared to touch the surface of the Chokwe Gold Mask, but in reality, they stopped two or three milliseconds short of contact, as if an invisible, transparent membrane prevented him from truly grasping the mask's physical body.

“What’s going on?” While Fang Senyan was puzzled, a loud crack echoed from a nearby cabinet. A toweringly muscular black man emerged, built with the explosive power, strength, and agility reminiscent of an NBA star like Garnett, stepping out purposefully.

But this man's vacant eyes, ashen skin, and somewhat mechanical movements betrayed his identity: this was a puppet, similar to a Voodoo zombie reanimated corpse. San Zai and Zi’s voices sounded simultaneously: “Brother Yan, I sense something is being summoned!” “Sailor, the space is fluctuating. It’s not summoning anything from other planes; it's teleporting something from within this world! We’ve hit an invisible shield; it will take at least three minutes before we can assist you.”

Fang Senyan’s face darkened, his entire body tensing up.

He wasn’t naturally paranoid, but the previous events rushed into his mind uncontrollably… an unforeseen car crash, the team being split and isolated, one unit being focused down… The difference was that previously, he was the one pushed out, and his teammates were activated and isolated. Now, it was his turn to struggle for survival while his teammates could only watch from the sidelines!

Overreacting, Fang Senyan lunged forward, throwing a full-power uppercut into the zombie’s jaw. This punch was thrown with all his might, sending the creature flying backward violently. Its flesh and blood soared upward, crashing into the ceiling of the floor above, shattering an exquisitely decorated chandelier, before being flung back down with a thud, hitting the ground in a mangled mess. Broken white bones protruded from the ruin, barely resembling a human form.

Yet, the zombie clearly ignored the pain, mechanically attempting to pull itself up. Fang Senyan immediately kicked out, twisting its head back seventy or eighty degrees before sending the entire body flying five or six meters away.

The zombie grabbed a nearby mahogany bookcase to regain balance, causing it to tilt violently and spill its contents—books untouched since purchase—across the floor. But before the zombie could even rise to a forty-five-degree angle, Fang Senyan pounced, hooking his elbow and slamming a heavy hammer blow onto its left chest.

Under the impact of terrifying strength exceeding 100 points, a distinct snap of breaking ribs could be heard. Even the zombie couldn't withstand such a ferocious blow, spewing a mouthful of asphalt-like thick fluid, which Fang Senyan immediately stuffed back down its throat using a book.

The book’s cover displayed Steve Jobs and Bill Gates smiling politely, their images slowly being stained black by the zombie’s bodily fluids. This time, Fang Senyan intended to solve the problem permanently. He stepped around behind the creature and swiftly twisted its head one hundred and eighty degrees!

The sharp crack of cervical vertebrae signaled the complete severance of the brain from the spinal cord connection, rendering the zombie no longer a threat to Fang Senyan. Nevertheless, he gave it one final kick, sending it several meters away.

Just then, the Gold Mask flashed again. A splitting sound erupted from the right wall of the reception room, and immediately, a giant palm tipped with razor-sharp claws struck outward, causing a dazzling burst of smoke.

Next, a massive African lion burst through the hole. This creature didn't look fresh either; its shriveled eyes and dry, coarse fur suggested it was also some form of undead being—a being summarized by brute strength, fearlessness, and brutality.

At this point, Fang Senyan understood why the cursed Gold Mask was crafted in the rare ‘upside-down shoe’ shape: it likely wasn't designed for humans. As soon as the lion appeared, the mask automatically flew towards the beast’s face and adhered tightly, forming a bizarre composite: a giant lion wearing a glittering, sinister gold mask…