The little brother shook his head and said, "The mandala in Buddhism is only one-dimensional, a pattern, a belief, but the mandala here is a concrete space, though it also represents a conviction."

Theories regarding Buddhism and dimensions were often incredibly difficult for ordinary people to grasp. Da Xiong frowned, asking, "What are you talking about? What one-dimensional nonsense? We're about to roast meat, just tell us what this place is and who these executioners work for."

I thought to myself that although Da Xiong couldn't understand our conversation, his question hit the nail precisely on the head.

But the little brother merely shook his head and replied, "I don't know yet. We'll find out if we keep moving up."

We all fell silent. It turned out the little brother wasn't as omniscient as we had imagined.

Seeing the atmosphere turn heavy, I jumped in, "You said earlier that the mandala here represents a belief—what belief is that?"

The little brother glanced at me and said, "It's written on the tombstones. The belief on this level is 'slaughter.'"

I looked at the unfamiliar characters inscribed on the tombstones. I didn't dare ask how the little brother could read them, and just said, "Does that mean the prisoners on this level have all committed acts of killing? Is that right?"

The little brother shook his head, saying, "I don't know. Only the god presiding over this place would know."

In truth, the little brother’s expression was far from relaxed; his face grew paler with every word he spoke.

I knew his injury was severe, so I stopped pressing him with questions and instead said, "Let me help you bandage that."

The little brother looked at me, said nothing, and simply sat down obediently.

So the three of us pulled out the gauze and alcohol from our backpacks and clumsily began to dress his wounds.

After a simple bandaging, I noticed the wounds were turning black—he might have been poisoned.

But he insisted it wasn't poison, but "contamination," something incurable, which would only slowly heal once we managed to leave this place.

Next, during the rest break, the little brother told us there were about twenty levels to the mandala; the higher we went, the more dangerous it became, and the greater the distance between each level. We needed to rest well here to gather the strength for the upper tiers.

The monk Leiyun we were searching for probably wouldn't be on a higher level. Once we found him and helped him take down whoever he was fighting, we would have to leave immediately.

Although I desperately wanted to follow the little brother all the way to the end to see what kind of god presided here and why they punished the wicked of the world, to avoid causing him further suspicion, we agreed to his demand.

The little brother informed us that the enforcers on this level couldn't roam freely like the executioners, so we could rest easy.

Despite his assurance, we decided to take shifts standing guard, because the space was so vast, no one could say for certain what dangers still lurked in the darkness.

After quickly eating some dry rations, we set up our tent.

The little brother, being injured, retired early to the tent to rest.

The three of us had no desire to sleep and sat outside the tent, gazing at the countless tombstones surrounding us, chatting.

After a while, our questions invariably circled back to the same points: What exactly was this place? Who created these executioners and the tombstones? What was the ultimate purpose? And why were the executioners meant to punish evil people fighting against us?

We had no answers. Perhaps the 'dangerous individuals' the little brother mentioned didn't strictly mean bad people.

I kept feeling there was a connection between the martial armor I saw below and this place. Perhaps those famous generals who once donned that armor in battle were also targets of subjugation here?

Thinking of the 'god' the little brother mentioned made me recall the Atlanteans, but this place in no way resembled a civilization created by Atlantis, especially those executioners, who appeared so utterly sinister.

Could it be that, apart from the creators, the Atlanteans, other gods existed in this world? Could the existence of this god be the 'rule breaker' the Atlanteans spoke of? Could they also be the originator of the current greatest crisis?

As these thoughts churned, I glanced at Nie Chuan opposite me. He and I were essentially the same person; although he hadn't directly experienced contact with the Atlanteans, his thoughts must align with mine. If our ideas were indeed aligned and reflective of the truth, then we were currently entangled in a conflict between gods.

As insignificant humans, mere flesh and blood caught up in such a dispute, I felt utterly helpless. What could I truly accomplish? What destiny was I carrying? Everything remained shrouded in fog.

Was Grandpa's true objective merely to avenge the persecuted Atlanteans? I couldn't be certain of that either. Did Jie Yuting, Boss Wu, and the little brother know about this? Were their actions also a final struggle against the impending breach of the rules?

These uncertainties gave me a terrible headache, especially the thought of where Grandpa was now and what he was doing.

Seeing my exhaustion, Nie Chuan told me to go into the tent and sleep. I didn't argue, just nodded, and entered the tent. Inside, I resolved not to think about anything and collapsed into sleep. Whether from fatigue or a desperate need to clear my mind, I slept soundly.

It wasn't until five or six hours later, when Da Xiong grew drowsy on watch, that he woke me up to take his place.

Stepping out, I checked the time—it was around noon. Snoring echoed from all three tents. I sat bored in front of our tent, checking my phone, only to discover there was zero signal. I had intended to contact Jie Yuting again to check on his status, but that was now impossible. I wondered how Jie Yuting and the others were faring.

Wiping the condensation off my phone, I thought, thank goodness this time we had a waterproof phone; otherwise, it would have been ruined if it fell in the river again. Usually, waterproof phones had monochrome e-ink screens, but this time we were equipped with smartphones, small in display size but capable of over forty hours of continuous battery life.

Seeing no one around, I decided to relax and tapped the icon for the familiar Plants vs. Zombies—the Japanese version I had downloaded back at the Kobe Hotel.

To get more comfortable, I shifted my position and settled onto a fallen tombstone. Just then, something fell from my pocket with two distinct clangs.

Feeling curious, I quickly looked down. It was the lodestone that had slipped out of my pocket, now stuck fast to the ground. This thing might be useful later, so I couldn't lose it here. I reached out to pick it up.

But as my hand neared the lodestone, I noticed it suddenly twitch.

"What the—?" I snatched my hand back, watching the lodestone slowly slide across the ground toward me, leaving me momentarily bewildered.

The lodestone crept to my feet and then passed directly between my legs. Since I was sitting on the tombstone, it stopped when it bumped against it. I tried to grab it to see what was happening, but at that moment, I felt an immense, strange force emanating from the ground, pushing the tombstone I was sitting on backward, me included.

Startled, I jumped up to avoid falling. The lodestone, however, continued its stubborn advance, relentlessly shoving the tombstone forward. I didn't know where the lodestone intended to push the stone, so I followed it.

After a short while, I realized the lodestone wasn't intentionally moving the tombstone; it was merely clearing an obstruction in its path. Once the tombstone was shoved aside, the lodestone resumed its steady movement forward.

I trailed the lodestone, passing rows of upright tombstones, moving as if following a pre-set track. Seeing that I was drifting farther and farther from the tent, I hesitated, wondering if I should wake the others. But I ultimately decided against it, afraid of losing sight of the lodestone.