In the dim light, Stirling studied the map. He saw that the Red Cross had stopped moving after entering the village. It seemed to be inside a villager's house.

  He got up and moved to the window. He looked through the gap between the cover and the frame, hoping to see something odd near the red cross. Unfortunately, the other houses blocked his view.

  Stirling frowned behind the window. Then, he went back to the table to think of a plan.

  The oil lamp on the table had long been replaced with an enforced one. The temple-provided oil lamp wouldn't last more than a week if used every night. Only the reinforced one would last longer and do more damage to the ghostly hornets.

  But must not let the demon monk find this. If he does, he will see that it does not belong to his temple.

  After a moment, Stirling snuffed out the oil lamp. Then, he felt his way to the kitchen and hid it in the firewood pile.

  In the low moonlight, Stirling crept into Old Larry's room. He lay down, pretending to sleep. But he practiced the Aether skill in bed instead.

  Meanwhile, in the small house near the village entrance, two heads, mouths open a fraction and eyes wide, lay side by side on the table.

  Next to the table, Monk Green sat straight. He gulped the red liquid from his teacup. He then licked his lips and sighed with satisfaction. Monk Green glanced at the two heads on the table and let out a chuckle.

  Monk Green thought to himself, stood up, and paced to the window. He pushed it open with one hand, and at once the thick smell of blood from the room spread out. A few seconds later, the sound of flapping wings drew near. Then, a cluster of dark, cold figures appeared before Monk Green.

  Seeing this, Green flicked his sleeve at the oil lamp on the table, and it went out. Next, the hornets swarmed into the room in a flash. In the dark space, ghostly hornets swooped down on the two bodies on the ground and even the head on the table. But strangely, they seemed to ignore Monk Green standing by the window, as if he did not exist.

  Monk Green stood still, watching the hornets eat the corpse. Soon, they flew out of the window. And then he went to the table and relit the oil lamp. The flickering flame returned bit by bit, revealing the broken ground in the dull light. The dry yellow ground was now speckled with blood. Two corpses had been devoured completely. Only a few gray hairs and some tattered cloth in the dirt hinted that two people had been there.

  Monk Green observed the gruesome scene before him, unfazed. He squatted down, curious, then picked up the scattered minced meat and licked it. A hint of confusion crossed his face.

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  Green stood up and walked to the window, leaning sideways to gaze out. He looked into the darkness for a moment. Then, he returned to his bench after the hornets had disappeared into the night.

  The monk stroked his beard, pondering for a few minutes before he concluded.

  Green pondered; the image of a young man flashed before his eyes.

  Let me see, is it you, little mouse? Monk Green chuckled at the thought. He stood up, opened the door, and with a single step, disappeared into the night.

  In the darkness, Stirling, lying in bed, frowned instantly. Then, beneath the covers, his hand reached for the hilt of his blade straightaway. Stirling has been practicing the Aether Skill with the elixir day and night. As a result, his hearing and vision are much sharper now. Even the slightest sound within a ten-meter radius cannot escape his ears. At night, this perception increases by thirty percent.

  Stirling heard footsteps coming from outside. They stopped right by the window. He was not sure if the figure outside was human, a ghost, or the demonic monk who had come to the village. But he knew one thing: he was being targeted.

  At this moment, Stirling's heart skipped a beat as a sudden realization struck him. Though the villagers felt odd and blending in seemed safe, wouldn't his normal behavior stand out like a light in the dark? Unless the monks are blind, and sure enough, they are not.

  Stirling cursed the monk's cunning in private. This was no foolish villain straight out of a drama; he was far more calculating. A wave of tension tightened in Stirling's chest.

  Stirling took a deliberate, steady breath. He slowed his breathing and suppressed his rising anxiety.

  Outside Stirling's window, Monk Green stood like a statue. His expressionless face peered through a narrow crack in the wooden slats. In the dim moonlight, Monk Green observed the bare interior and detected a faint trace of blood in the air. This discovery sent a thrill through him. The corners of his lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. Yet Monk Green did not act immediately. He withdrew step by step, fading with the shadows until he vanished into the night—gone as if he had never come.

  Inside the room, Stirling's right hand relaxed on the blade under the cover, while as his left hand remained clenched into a tight fist—a clear sign of inner alert.

  After a long ordeal, a ray of warm sunlight filtered into the dim room, waking Stirling, who had fallen asleep a little. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, acting as if nothing had happened. He casually got dressed, rose from the bed, and sat at the table to eat some dried meat. Then, he opened the wooden door and was going to leave. But as soon as he stepped outside, Stirling encountered someone he had not expected.

  Monk Green stood in front of the house across from Stirling's. The morning light bathed him, making him look like a calm and wise monk. He smiled holy as Stirling emerged.