“The Three Great Gods?” The word startled me, and after a moment's hesitation, I spoke, “It shouldn’t be the Three Great Gods, right? I think it should be the Four Great Gods.”

“You mean…” Nie Chuan also paused briefly.

I knew Nie Chuan hadn't personally experienced the events at the Durban Ruins; he only had a vague impression of the four True Gods' origins, which I had told him about.

And now, he was thinking the same thing I was.

The Four True Gods, birthed from the Witch Clan’s sacrificial tower, descending through the sacrifice of the flesh of the First Emperor of the Durban Dynasty—each one possessed the destructive power to shatter heaven and earth.

They had lived for millennia, awaiting Nie Chuan's appearance, with the express purpose of eliminating him.

And now, we had brought Nie Chuan to the lair of one of these True Gods. This felt undeniably like courting death.

If our suspicions were correct, then Xie Yuting leading us into the tiger’s den this time meant he was after something incredibly important; otherwise, no one would take such a risk.

But whatever he was looking for, we were all trapped now.

If Xie Yuting and us were all stuck in this labyrinth, perhaps continuing forward would lead us to meet them.

And if Xie Yuting and the others had already found their way out, maybe they had left some kind of marker behind.

Although Xie Yuting’s markers might not have been intended for us, since he never expected us to get this far.

Xie Yuting's markings could have been for the Fourth and Second brothers who couldn't keep up, or perhaps even for himself.

We often saw people leaving marks for themselves in labyrinths; it was an effective way to know if one had already passed through an area.

Given that, our best bet was to press on and see if we could find any further signs left by Xie Yuting.

Following the stairs forward, after what felt like another three flights, we still found nothing of note.

Whether looking down from above or up from below, the staircase seemed endless.

As we walked, Da Xiong, who was ahead, suddenly stopped.

I thought he would start complaining or getting angry, just like the previous times we encountered labyrinthine sections.

But this time, he seemed a bit more composed; he merely spread his palms and sighed, “Fine. I guess pressing on won't help. We’re trapped again.”

I saw him bracing his knees, sweat beading on his forehead like rain, his breathing labored. I remarked, “You… you can’t be serious. Just climbing a few flights of stairs and you’re this exhausted.”

As I spoke, I realized my own stamina was flagging too.

Looking at Nie Chuan beside me, he was equally drenched in sweat.

“This… this labyrinth is strange. I feel like climbing it is unusually tiring, and my body feels so heavy.”

I had clearly noticed it too and agreed, “Right. There must be something peculiar going on here. I think we should rest for a bit.”

With that, the three of us sat down on the steps and took some water.

Silence settled between us, making the atmosphere feel rather heavy.

I recalled dreaming in the temple earlier, where my grandfather told me the entire structure was ascending into space.

I couldn't help but wonder if this staircase was also carrying us up into the void.

But that seemed far too absurd; no one had ever seen a spaceship shaped like a stairwell.

Unless the entire Dragon Tower itself was flying upward, but that possibility was also minute; such a dilapidated structure would surely fall apart long before reaching any significant altitude.

So, the fatigue we felt must have another cause.

There were two conventional explanations: either we had entered a state of oxygen deprivation, similar to altitude sickness, or the air contained some chemical substance causing physiological changes in our bodies.

There are many ways to test for low oxygen levels, the most common being ignition.

If a flame burns vigorously, the oxygen content is normal; if it’s less robust than usual, the oxygen is low. If the air contains gases other than the normal components, the flame’s color might also shift.

Since we had been relying on glow sticks for light until now, I pulled out the matches from my backpack and lit one, thinking of this test.

As I lit it, I explained my reasoning to the other two.

So, when I struck the match, both of them immediately focused on the flame in my hand.

However, the match flame looked completely normal, burning as it usually would.

Seeing this, both of them looked somewhat disappointed.

But just as we were about to dismiss any abnormality, suddenly, right as the match was about to burn out, the flame sputtered and flared brilliant green, growing more vigorous until it almost reached my fingers.

Startled, I quickly threw the match away.

Once the match was extinguished, the sudden burst of light vanished, and the surrounding darkness instantly deepened.

The three of us exchanged nervous glances. After a moment, Da Xiong swallowed hard and said, “It looks like there’s another gas in the air, and it might be toxic…”

Nie Chuan and I both knew that what Da Xiong said was very likely the truth.

I didn't know what kind of gas would cause such fatigue, but staying in this confined stairwell for an extended period could lead to far more serious consequences.

Nie Chuan declared, “We can’t stay here. We have to find a way out immediately, or we risk chronic poisoning.”

Saying that, he slapped the wooden wall on the outer side of the landing turn, adding, “Use something to smash this open and escape.”

I frowned, considered it for two seconds, and decided, just like Nie Chuan, to abandon caution for a moment.

At least if we broke through the wall, fresh air would rush in, slowing down the poisoning process.

In reality, we didn't need heavy objects to open the wall; the knife Little Brother had given us was a sharp tool for breaching walls.

In Da Xiong’s hands, the blade acted like a chisel. In just a few strikes, he carved out an opening over a meter wide. Then he wedged the knife in and wrenched it with force, tearing open a gap large enough for a person to pass through.

I poked my head through the opening and peered left and right—it was utterly black.

There were none of the brilliant stars of the night sky, no faint silhouette of the moon, not even the gentle dance of fireflies. Everything was silent.

Feeling strange, I tossed the glow stick I was holding through the opening.

Instead of arcing downward to a ground twenty meters below as expected, the glow stick was stopped by something almost immediately. It bounced twice and seemed to hover above the ground.

“Is this… a hidden room?” I asked the other two, a note of inquiry in my voice.

Hearing this, they both leaned over to look.

After observing, Nie Chuan remarked, “There seems to be something inside. Perhaps the source of the toxic gas is in there. We should go in and check it out.”

I nodded without a word and slipped through the opening.

Because the room was pitch black, I lit one of my very limited supply of cold flares.

Simultaneously, I activated a few more glow sticks and tossed them into different corners of the room.

Soon, the layout of the room became clear to us.

I struggled to find words to describe the state of the room, only that it was extremely small and dedicated entirely to displaying masks.

Along all four walls, there were over a hundred bizarrely shaped masks.

Many were representations of animals, but a significant portion were masks of yōkai—monsters.

For example, there were masks of white-faced demons with single horns, and masks of beasts covered in tiger stripes or possessing only a single eye.

Most of these masks were crafted from wood, exhibiting extremely fine workmanship.

The Yamato people of Japan, like any nation, were deeply superstitious.

They not only worshipped the Six Paths Sages who created the world and the Eight-Headed Serpent, but they also revered masks.

This veneration of masks was akin to totem worship in China—a reverence for patterns found in nature.

Most ninjas during Japan’s Warring States period wore masks; different masks carried distinct symbolism. For instance, the cat symbolized slaughter, and the wolf symbolized ruthlessness.

Masks representing yōkai and deities, however, were more often worn to signify a belief system or during rituals and sacrifices.

This chamber of masks before us was essentially an encyclopedia of all Japanese masks.

While examining the various masks, I suddenly noticed that on the wall directly in front of us, the central position was empty, a space clearly meant for one particular mask.