Teeth clenched, Zheng Zha turned his head, muttering, "If you guys get killed by the Indian Team, I swear I'll tear them limb from limb! Absolutely!" Between the team and the individual, those in superior positions often have no choice. For some reason, he began to understand Chu Xuan's feelings; standing where he was, one needed to focus vision on the whole picture. He could only try his best to save everyone; he was not a god. O'Connell and the other three rushed into the tomb first, followed by Zhang Heng carrying Zhang Jie on his back, with Xiao Honglv, clutching a handgun, close beside him. Only after those three were inside did Zheng Zha and Zhao Yingkong follow.

In that brief window, Zheng Zha's mind raced, analyzing their current situation. The people still alive included himself, Zhao Yingkong, Zhang Jie, Zhang Heng, Xiao Honglv, Zhan Lan, Qin Zhuiyu or Gao Hongliang. Of these, only three possessed combat strength, and Zhang Jie was unexpectedly unconscious. In other words, only he and Zhao Yingkong in this group stood a chance in a fight.

The situation was extremely dire. Their only hope was to strip Imhotep of his magic first, and then figure out how to defeat the Indian Team. Otherwise, total annihilation awaited them.

"The Jackal Doctor is mine," Zhao Yingkong suddenly stated.

Zheng Zha was startled, glancing at her. "But your shoulder is already..."

Zhao Yingkong shook her head slightly, speaking with grave sincerity, "I am an assassin, not some street thug looking for a brawl, nor a reckless warrior charging head-on. An assassin gets only one chance with their chosen method of attack. Failure means certain death, a fact he must understand clearly. Therefore, for an assassin, there is no concept of being 'too injured.' He has strayed from the Assassin's Way, foolishly attempting to enforce a truce through brute force."

Zheng Zha looked at Zhao Yingkong's resolute expression and nodded as well. "Alright then. We have no turning back this time; if we fail, we all die. Let's survive, Zhao Yingkong. I don't want to lose another partner we stand shoulder-to-shoulder with."

As he spoke, the figures of the Indian Team were gradually appearing in the distance.

They had finally advanced into the City of the Dead amidst the reappearance of the cavalry force. Here, amidst countless broken stone walls, they had no need to fear even if a thousand cavalrymen surrounded them. Given the immense destructive power of the little monk's twin-headed cobras, or the werewolf's agility and terrifying close-combat ability, these thousand riders would be nothing more than punching bags, at most draining a little of their energy.

Zheng Zha stared fiercely at the little monk floating in mid-air, wishing desperately he could tear him to pieces. As Zhao Yingkong retreated into the tomb, he picked up a stone from the ground. His eyes glazed over, the muscles in his right hand gripping the stone suddenly bulging violently. The next second, he hurled the stone with crushing force toward the distant little monk.

Having unlocked the second stage of the Gene Lock, Zheng Zha's enhanced musculature granted him strength surpassing even the muscular Iman from before. The stone shot forward like an aerial cannonball, whistling directly toward the little monk. Although Zheng Zha's throwing force was sufficient, at such a distance, a millimeter's deviation would result in a massive miss. The stone whistled past the little monk's face, mere centimeters away, before slamming into a massive stone pillar. That pillar, thick as it was, was pulverized over half its diameter and then collapsed entirely.

The little monk touched the crimson scratch left by the strong wind near his face and began to laugh maniacally, his aerial speed increasing rapidly. Just seconds after Zheng Zha and Zhao Yingkong entered the tomb, the cobra heads beneath his feet opened their mouths and spat lightning. The tomb entrance instantly exploded, as if a bomb had detonated there. When the dust settled, the rock at the entrance had been blasted into powder.

The monk took a deep breath and said coldly, "We advance together. Do not split up, Arote! Drop that insane posturing of yours. If it's because of you that Ram and Manavia die, I will personally carve you into pieces! Don't force me to kill you!" "Then according to the plan, we find the High Priest Imhotep first. He should have regained his power by now. Once we rendezvous with him, the situation will be settled. Do not disperse our fighting strength; concentrate everything!" The blond doctor, Arote, suddenly asked, "What about her?" He was holding a large, constantly dripping cloth sack—though 'sack' was generous; it was merely a crude bundle wrapped in a few pieces of Indian clothing.

The little monk snarled, "If I don't kill her now, I will tie up every member of the Central Continent Team, every character from the plot, and slice them up piece by piece! I will make them taste the torments of Avici Hell! I will make them live in hell forever!" Arote licked the crystal scalpel in his hand. Despite the blade's sharpness cutting a gash in his tongue, he seemed to relish it, sucking in the blood that welled up, following the little monk's twisted form like a shadow.

At this moment, the Indian Team had four members remaining. They had left the three Indian newcomers in Cairo; presumably, after Xue Nai's death, those three had regained their senses. The four veterans were the little monk Shiva Gantian, the Jackal Doctor Arote, Ram the user of psychic steel needles, and Manavia the shield caster.

As they entered the tomb, the little monk muttered to himself, "We've killed the long-range sniper, and the guide must have been punished—either dead or stripped of combat ability. That leaves one auxiliary skill user and one female assassin. Plus their captain, a man with very strong close combat skills who unlocked the second stage of the Gene Lock. Apart from that, we should win. With Imhotep’s power, we are guaranteed victory. Ram, are your steel needles still usable?"

The handsome Indian youth gave a bitter smile. "It hurts too much. I can't concentrate. Even if I could launch the needles, I doubt I could manage anything beyond fifty meters. Too far and I can't aim."

The little monk cursed loudly again. "Xue Nai's death—that loss cannot be repaid even by killing the Central Continent Team ten times over. A talent capable of enduring mental enhancement—how rare! I must annihilate them all!" After roaring a few more times, the little monk turned to the other woman. "Manavia, what about you? Is your shield skill working fine?"

The woman quickly nodded. "Yes. I didn't use the skill much before. If I maintain continuous use of the shield, I estimate I can sustain it for ten minutes without issue."

The little monk nodded. "Good. Ram is your responsibility then. Just ensure he stays alive."

Prior to this, Zheng Zha and Zhao Yingkong had snuck into the tomb. Immediately after they entered, a violent explosion erupted behind them. Without looking back, they kept running forward. After ten steps, Zheng Zha suddenly asked with curiosity, "Zhao Yingkong, why can't I sense your presence? Every time you slip into shadow, it's as if you vanish entirely. Is this a unique assassin technique?"

Zhao Yingkong replied faintly, "It's simple logic. You hypnotize yourself—imagine becoming a part of the darkness, completely discarding killing intent and all emotions, letting your mind go utterly blank. This is one of the basics of assassin training. If you can't achieve it, you risk being detected by those with strong premonitions. Such an assassin cannot kill their target."

Hearing this, Zheng Zha fell into deep thought, then spoke, "I don't think the Indian Team will chase us. They will likely advance as a whole group deeper into the tomb. If I were them, I would find Imhotep first. Once we join forces with that endlessly powerful Undying Priest, we have essentially lost this battle. Shall we take a gamble?"

Zhao Yingkong paused, softly asking, "Gamble on what?"

"That their team is not united!" Zheng Zha stated confidently. "It's just a feeling, but I don't think Arote truly defers to the little monk, and the rest of their members seem only to fear him. We will lurk in the shadows. When they pass, I will attack the little monk first. Behind the wall Imhotep threw me into earlier, there is a hidden chamber filled with gold. I will ram the little monk into that space to fight. Arote will be yours then; you'll have to see how you fare against him. As for the rest of their team, I bet they will abandon the little monk and go look for Imhotep. I can only guarantee a one-on-one fight against the little monk, so it depends on their reaction. If they help the little monk, I am dead! If their team is not truly united—just forcefully bound together—then I have a chance to kill the little monk!"

"A gamble?" Entering the second stage of the Gene Lock, his mind was blank, thinking of nothing, knowing nothing, only silently observing from the darkness. Zhao Yingkong watched Zheng Zha in astonishment. Within seconds, he had reached a state many beginner assassins could never achieve in a lifetime: the State of No-Mind—the most crucial skill for becoming an assassin.

The two of them silently watched the Indian Team enter the tomb from the darkness, listened to their conversation, and watched them draw nearer step by step. Then the little monk said, "Fine. Ram is your responsibility. Just ensure he stays alive."

Zheng Zha stomped his foot violently. In an instant, the reinforced power in his leg muscles propelled him upward. Before anyone on the Indian Team could react, he was less than two meters from the little monk. At that moment, Arote had only turned his head halfway. No one saw Zheng Zha's figure; the sudden attack was too swift. Unfortunately, in prioritizing surprise, Zheng Zha hadn't had time to draw his dagger, so he could only deliver a brutal punch straight toward the little monk’s shocked face.

With a deafening crash, Zheng Zha slammed the little monk violently into the opposite wall, leaping forward—