After leaving the village, Stirling used the Quicksand Map now and then. He oversaw the surroundings as he walked. Soon, he reached the boundary shown on the map.

  Stirling frowned at the three-way fork in front of him.

  In this edge area, there are no road signs or people to ask. Without the map, it would be a big problem. Choosing the wrong path and stepping into a zone marked with a red cross is like digging own grave.

  Yet, the Quicksand Map in Stirling's possession remained completely unresponsive. All markings stopped right now, as if an outside force had cut off the paths.

  After a brief hesitation, Stirling resolved to test one path. Lingering here would serve no purpose and only waste valuable time.

  Stirling secured the strap of his pack, chose the right path, and took a bold step ahead.

  Ten minutes later… Stirling stood in stunned silence before the same fork in the road, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. He then turned his gaze toward a large rock beside the path. He had a distinct memory of this rock. It was the same one as at the last intersection. Now, it had reappeared here, making him short of breath.

  Feeling as if a million ants were gnawing at his heart, Stirling rushed to the rock and carved several marks into its surface with his sickle. Being defiant, he then proceeded down the leftmost path.

  About ten minutes later, Stirling stood at the same fork again. He gazed at the large rock and the obvious marks he had left. Then, he reached a dark conclusion. He was going in circles!

  Stirling's eyes were blank with disbelief. He muttered to himself. His right hand, still holding the sickle, loosened in despair.

  If he could not escape, it meant he would have no choice but to return to that eerie temple in a month's time. Thinking about the strange and scary scenes he might find there chilled him to the bone.

  Stirling stared at the boulder ahead, his heart in a tangle. After a long silence, the fear transformed into a complex mixture of emotions.

  He felt helpless. Helpless in the face of death upon arriving in this world.

  He felt hatred. Hatred of his own weakness and powerlessness.

  He felt anger. Anger filled the air. In a world that looked bright and clear, demons and monsters roamed free. No one stood against them.

  Stirling took a deep breath. He tightened his grip on the sickle and turned back toward Rock Village.

  It had become clear that an unknown force enclosed Rock Village. Anyone trying to leave would always hit this so-called Stirling believed that no matter how hard he tried, escape was futile. He had no choice but to return and search for clues or a potential solution.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Without hesitation, Stirling made his way back to Rock Village. It was almost noon. The villagers came out, appearing in small groups along the paths.

  Some carried machetes, likely heading out for hunting or woodcutting. Others carried buckets likely bound for the village well. A few stood motionless in the sunlight, maybe in a daze.

  Stirling watched the scene, shook his head, and then went back to Old Larry's house.

  Creak. As the wooden door creaked open, a foul odor immediately filled his nostrils.

  Stirling frowned. He planned to leave today and keep the corpses undisturbed. But he did not expect to end up in such a risky situation. This left him feeling somewhat helpless.

  The good thing is that it was daytime.

  Stirling went straight to the kitchen. He got a tinderbox and headed to the door of the small room where he had slept.

  Pushing the door open, he gazed at the deep pit before him and surveyed the room. He then leaped forward, crossing the pit in a single bound and entering the room.

  He opened all the windows. Then, he started taking apart the wooden planks of the small bed, piece by piece.

  Stirling removed more than a dozen planks. Then, he picked one at random. He wrote in charcoal: "Flammable, Ultra-High Temperature, Smokeless, Long-Lasting." His eyes narrowed a bit.

  [Current enhancement requires a lifespan: 6 Days. Enhance?]

  Seeing the familiar prompt appear, Stirling immediately selected "Yes".

  In an instant, the wooden plank in his hand emitted a faint glow and transformed into a dark object.

  "Enhancement successful. Lifespan remains 4 months and 1 day."

  [Explosive Wood]

  Derived from a rare tree species, this material ignites with ease. It also generates high temperatures until extinguished. It is popular in high-altitude areas known for their spiritual energy. This makes it a precious fuel source.

  Shocked by the number, he had noticeable pupil dilation.

  He recalled his original possession of over five months of life force. Even after enhancing this wooden plank, it should not have dropped to fewer than four months.

  Stirling recalled the stone statue from the temple with a jolt. He muttered to himself.

  Without saying, the only reason for the sudden loss of life force was the statue.

  Stirling gripped the plank. His veins bulged with anger, and his voice was low and full of determination. After a long pause, he relaxed a bit. With a blank look, he went back to enhancing the planks one by one.

  Stirling strengthened seven or eight planks. Then he stopped and gathered some hay from the room. He ignited it with a flint and kicked the burning bundle into the pit.

  Moments later, he tossed the enhanced planks into the pit. Almost immediately, a fierce flame erupted from within.

  A wave of intense heat surged outward, forcing Stirling to step back several paces. The heat was so extreme that it almost singed the hair on his forehead.

  A dozen planks can create heat as intense as that from an industrial incinerator.

  Even with the flames blazing, there was no smoke. This eased Stirling's worries a bit.

  He stood in a corner, observing the firelight as it danced in the pit.

  The roaring flames faded over time, as if they had consumed everything. Only the lingering heat and the occasional crackle of wood marked the end of the fire.

  Stirling crept to the pit's edge. He looked down into the dark space below. Then, he jumped back into the main room.

  Stirling sat at the table, gazing at the two oil lamps placed before him, lost in deep contemplation.

  His time was running out. He had to find a solution fast. He could head out of Rock Village or dodge the life-draining stone statues at next month's sermon.

  After all, his shortened lifespan might not afford a second round of bloodsucking.

  Stirling ran his fingers along the lamp's edge. He looked at the odd runes carved into it. In a hurry, the thought struck him with clarity.