He wore a tattered black robe; the fabric had decayed into fragments, yet it was still recognizable as a monk's attire.

The black robe bore no decorations, no emblems, and no patterns—only a faded, dusty color from being washed too many times.

His hands were folded in front of his chest, shielding an extinguished candle.

Only a small stub of the candle remained, and the candle wax had congealed between his fingers, looking as if it had grown into the bone.

His head hung low, his forehead nearly touching the ground; it wasn't a posture of worship, but of exhaustion.

On the stone slab in front of him, words were carved—carved with fingernails, stroke by stroke, etched very deeply.

The group gathered around, and the Nightmare World automatically translated those words:

“I tried.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine candles. I lit them one by one, protected them one by one, cupped them with my hands, blocked the wind with my sleeves, and shielded them with my body.

I thought as long as one remained unextinguished, God would see.

But they all went out.

Some were extinguished by the wind, some by the darkness.

When the last one went out, the flame shrank back slowly.

Like a sigh, and then it was gone. My hands were still cupped, cupped around that cold, dead candle stub.

God did not come.

Perhaps God is already dead, or perhaps God was never in the candlelight. Then where is He?

I don't blame Him anymore.

I lit candles my whole life, not for God to see, but for those who pray in the darkness.

They don't need miracles; they just need a little light.

It shone once.

That is enough.

The candle is out, but I am still kneeling.

Because this act of kneeling was my own choice.

—Anselm”

The words on the stone slab ended there. The last few lines were carved very shallowly, as if the person carving them no longer had any strength, yet they still finished it stroke by stroke.

The group was silent for a long time.

Tie Dun stood behind the skeletal remains, head lowered, lost in thought.

“Are Anselm and Alan from the same world?”

Su Yurou spoke first, her voice much softer than usual.

“Alan was an apprentice at the Royal Capital Magic Academy, and Anselm was a monk in a Monastery.”

Zhao Hu shook his head, his gaze falling on the dry bones.

“They might be from the same world, or they might not, but their endings are the same.”

“Does that world have a God?” Su Yurou asked again, her voice low, as if asking herself.

No one answered.

Wang Wu said in a deep voice, “If there was a God, He might be dead too.”

Su Yurou turned her head and glanced at Wang Wu, offering no rebuttal.

She simply withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and looked at the staff in her hand.

The blue crystal at the top of the staff was still emitting a soft glow, casting flickering light and shadow across her face.

Jiang Zhaoyue remained silent for a long time before slowly speaking, her voice calm but carrying a trace of something indescribable:

“If even worlds with gods cannot withstand the invasion of the Nightmare World, then what about us? We have no gods, only ourselves.”

Lin Feng had not spoken. He stood before the skeleton, looking at the extinguished candle, the cupped hands, and the words carved into the stone.

He gripped the Wildfire Spear tightly. The Ancient Seal Script Runes on the spear's shaft warmed slightly under his palm, like a quiet heartbeat.

“Yu Rou, record the contents of the stone slab.”

Su Yurou looked up, her voice steady: “I've already finished recording it.”

Lin Feng nodded, shifting his gaze from the skeleton to the group.

Tie Dun looked up, Jiang Yelan's figure emerged from the shadows, Jiang Zhaoyue looked at him, Feng Qingyan looked at him, and Shi Pojun looked at him as well.

“Let's keep moving,” Lin Feng said.

He turned and headed deeper into the forest.

The Wildfire Spear gleamed with a dark red light under the cold white glow of the mycelium. The spear tip cut through hanging vines as he walked with a steady, unwavering pace.

The group followed behind him, their boots crunching softly on the fallen leaves.

The skeleton still knelt before the statue, hands cupped, protecting that extinguished candle.

...

The team continued forward. About half an hour later, the surrounding forest gradually began to change.

While the previous trees were bizarre, they were at least 'normal'—trunks were trunks, branches were branches; no matter how distorted they were, they could still be recognized as trees.

But the trees in this area were darker in color, and their bark was covered in a layer of fine downy hair that °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° felt like animal fur—soft and slippery to the touch.

Strange patterns could occasionally be seen on the trunks; they weren't carvings, but natural formations that looked like eyes, mouths, or blurred faces.

As Tie Dun walked, he suddenly shivered. He reached out to touch the trunk of a nearby tree. The downy hair flattened under his palm and then sprang back, making his palm itch.

“Why do I feel like the trees here look even creepier? It's like they've grown hair.”

Tie Dun pulled his hand back and rubbed it on his clothes.

Feng Qingyan gripped her staff alertly, her gaze scanning the surroundings. “It is indeed different. Sister Jiang, any abnormalities?”

Jiang Zhaoyue closed her eyes to scan, the silver moon emblem on her forehead lighting up. She opened them a moment later and shook her head:

“I haven't found any traces of monster activity. These trees... are just ordinary trees. Maybe they're just a different species?”

“Ordinary trees growing hair?” Tie Dun didn't believe it.

“In a Dungeon, it’s normal for trees to grow anything,” Arrow Eye added flatly from the back.

Lin Feng walked at the very front and didn't look back. “Keep going, stay alert.”

The team moved through the hairy forest. The fallen leaves underfoot were thicker than before, making no sound when stepped on. The silence was unnerving.

Arrow Eye walked at the very back, carving arrows into the tree trunks with his dagger as was his habit.

This was his routine: leaving a mark every time they passed a fork in the road.

The dagger pierced the bark with a slight 'crunch' that sounded exceptionally clear in the silent forest.

After walking for another forty minutes, the team came to a three-way junction.

Arrow Eye naturally walked toward the nearest tree and raised his dagger, preparing to carve an arrow.

His dagger hung in mid-air as he froze.

It wasn't because there was a monster on the tree, but because there was already an arrow on this tree.

Arrow Eye frowned, squatting down to get closer to the carving, tracing the lines with his fingertip.

The depth, width, and angle of the carving, as well as the signature little hook on the tail of the arrow, all matched perfectly.

He had carved this, but he clearly remembered that he hadn't made a move at this intersection yet.

Arrow Eye stood up, took two steps back, and carefully observed the tree. Its trunk was covered in downy hair.

Near the base was an old scar, like an indentation left by something that had once bitten it.

He recognized this tree. No, it wasn't 'recognized'—he had'seen' it.

He took a deep breath and turned to the group. “Lord.”

His voice wasn't loud, but his tone was heavy. Everyone could tell something was wrong.

Lin Feng stopped and looked back.