By then, I was utterly exhausted, possessing no strength left to deal with the vapor, merely watching it warily as I looked up.

The black mist stopped in mid-air when it was still five or six meters away from me.

I had no idea what it intended to do, but it gave off a distinct sense that it desperately wanted to draw closer, yet dared not.

As a test, I looked up at the vapor and declared, "If you don't disperse now, I'll absorb you!"

Unexpectedly, the black vapor suddenly let out a cackling laugh, then spoke in a grating, unpleasant voice, "I know you possess powerful psychic energy, but don't think I fear you... If it weren't for that fellow protecting you, the outcome of who absorbs whom would be uncertain."

After those words, it fell silent for a moment before continuing, "You destroyed the flesh body I was temporarily inhabiting. I will certainly have my revenge for this. We shall meet again."

With that, it dissolved into four streams of gas and vanished instantly into the darkness.

Watching the black vapor depart, I finally let out a sigh of relief.

After resting for a while, I took a swig from my water skin, and before I knew it, my mind drifted back to the meditation method recorded in that book.

One section, complete with diagrams, was specifically dedicated to conserving jing (essence), accumulating qi (energy), and restoring physical stamina.

So, I settled into the prescribed posture and began to meditate, soon falling into a deep trance.

This time, the trance led directly into sleep. I have no idea how much time passed before I slowly awoke.

Upon waking, I immediately noticed that my stamina had indeed recovered remarkably well, and I felt more energetic than before.

Discovering this phenomenon, goosebumps erupted across my entire body, because it mirrored descriptions found in cultivation novels far too closely.

Could it be that cultivation, xiuzhen, is actually real in this world?

But if not, how could I possibly explain the way I manipulated arrows to fly with my will?

I shook my head, forcing myself to stop pondering such things.

Standing up, I stretched my limbs, preparing to leave the blockhouse and continue my exploration into the deeper recesses of Hell.

However, when I turned back, I realized the stone door of the blockhouse was closed.

"This is going to be troublesome..."

Gazing at the stone door, which looked as if it weighed a thousand pounds, I felt utterly helpless.

If I wasn't being eaten by rats, was I now destined to starve to death, trapped at the top of this watchtower?

I approached the edge of the observation deck and looked down. The drop was nearly thirty meters high—equivalent to seven or eight stories—a jump that was undoubtedly fatal.

And I couldn't climb down the wall like a rat; my fingernails weren't long enough for purchase.

In truth, I could have climbed down the rope attached to the grappling hook, but when I launched the hook earlier, the rope, being severely rotted, had snapped immediately, leaving only a three-meter stub protruding from the muzzle.

I sighed, finally sinking back down to sit.

I looked at the rope hanging from the ceiling of the cavern. After I had cut a section, only about eight meters remained, and it dangled perhaps ten meters away from me. If I jumped from here, I could manage at best three or four meters of horizontal travel, nowhere near enough to grab it.

Scratching my head, I felt I had once again fallen into a predicament.

My current situation was like an ant on a hot pan—every direction led to doom. The ant on the lid would be cooked; if I remained trapped here, I would starve.

I emulated the ancient sage, Brother Ikkyu, sitting on the ground, propping my chin in my hand, and began to think of a solution.

Indeed, this posture aided deep thought, and I quickly conceived a method.

Previously, I had only attempted to influence the direction of already moving objects, leading me to believe that my psychic power could only affect things already in motion. But I had never considered that to alter an object’s trajectory, an external force must be applied.

Therefore, my will must be capable of generating force, even if that force is minuscule, because a moving object requires only a slight push to change its direction.

To prove that I could exert force upon an object, I extended my hand toward the rope dangling from the cavern ceiling ahead and began to channel my intent, trying to move it.

Soon, I noticed a faint green mist rising from the rope, enveloping it.

As I moved my focus, the rope actually began to swing back and forth, barely perceptible, as if moved by a breeze.

Although I was somewhat disappointed by the sheer weakness of the force, it meant I could still make the rope oscillate and jump to catch it when it swung closest to me.

Once I grabbed the rope, though I couldn't reach the ground directly, I could swing back to the original blockhouse.

Many rats had died beneath that structure. While the sight was repulsive, jumping from there onto the pile of rodent corpses would surely provide enough cushioning to prevent me from being smashed to death.

This was my meticulous and detailed plan, contingent entirely on whether I could catch the swinging rope.

The rope was less than nine meters long; even at its maximum outward swing, it would still be about five meters from me. To leap across that gap would require every ounce of strength I possessed.

At this moment, my first priority was to get the rope swinging as widely as possible.

After a few seconds, the rope reached its maximum arc. I relinquished control, first tossing my bow and saber down from the blockhouse to reduce my weight, then waiting for the rope to swing back toward me so I could jump.

When the rope was about to swing back toward my side's highest point, I stepped back a few paces, took a running start, and leaped off the observation deck.

The jump was remarkably high, achieving an almost perfect parabolic arc.

But as I reached out to grab the rope, I realized I was still coming up short by nearly half a meter.

At that instant, the rope reached its apex and was about to swing back, while my body reached its limit and was about to fall.

My heart plummeted, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Perhaps I should apologize—I am an idiot—but before I could utter a word, my body began to descend, and the rope moved farther away.

Just as I braced for the fatal impact, I suddenly felt as if something had nudged my body upward slightly.

I thought, Seriously? Am I a novel protagonist? Do I have protagonist aura that manifests just before death? I’m not dying.

A strange thought flashed through my mind, and then I urgently reached out and seized the rope.

The moment I grasped the rope, I was already swinging toward the opposite blockhouse.

When the rope neared its next apex, I let go, letting my body fly outward.

This time I traveled about four meters forward, but I was still short, meaning I would collide with the wall.

My anxiety spiked, and the sensation from before returned. This time, I perceived the green mist enveloping me from beneath, forcefully propelling me forward three or four meters.

This time, I landed steadily on the ground and finally breathed a long sigh of relief.

Watching the pervasive green aura gradually fade, I sensed that I seemed to have mastered a new skill.

After studying that mysterious ancient text, I felt I was rapidly advancing toward becoming a superhuman; the progress was astonishingly swift.

With the urge to test my new ability, I rested no further. I went straight to the edge of the observation deck, chose a spot where the pile of dead rats was thickest, and jumped.

Just before impact, I focused on instinctually channeling the ability I had just discovered.

This time, I distinctly felt my body suddenly struck by a massive cushioning force, and the landing on the pile of rats felt incredibly gentle.

It was safe to say that even if I had jumped from that height directly, I might not have been killed by the fall.

Suppressing the nauseating stench, I climbed out of the heap of scorched rodents and walked to the base of another blockhouse, retrieving my bow and saber.

Orienting myself, I continued deeper into Hell.

Although I initially hadn't intended to experience the other levels of Hell, it now seemed that if I was to investigate the origin of the rats and the cause of Hell itself, I had no choice but to press onward.

Since the path ahead was profoundly dark, I had no choice but to bundle all my remaining glow sticks together and ignite them simultaneously.

After encountering the rats, I understood that many other dangers surely lay ahead. Compared to losing my life, using a few glow sticks was inconsequential.

I tossed this bundle of glow sticks ahead to scout the way, then walked to its vicinity and kicked it forward again. This way, if a deep chasm or a large monster appeared ahead, I would have advance warning.

After kicking it forward several times, the rolling glow stick seemed to strike something and bounced back.

I approached carefully for a closer look and found it was a large pile of human bones.

I knew that the presence of so many human remains meant I had reached another layer of Hell.

Treading cautiously through the bones, I soon saw with the light of the glow stick that a wall, about ten meters high, stood ahead.

The wall was studded with blades at least a meter long; though centuries had passed, these blades remained incredibly sharp.

"This is it. This must be the 'Mountain of Blades' in Hell," I murmured to myself.

The 'Mountain of Blades,' the 'Sea of Fire,' and the 'Pot of Boiling Oil' were three of the most notorious levels among the eighteen hells.

The Mountain of Blades involved forcing minor demons to climb, naked, up walls covered in blades until they were sliced into ribbons and fell. It was a horrifyingly cruel punishment.

I could not tell how wide this wall was, making it impossible to go around, but fortunately, it wasn't excessively high, giving me a chance to climb over.

However, when I tossed the glow stick upward, I saw that the ten-meter-high Blade Mountain was merely a platform, and the platform itself was littered with white bones.

And above that platform, there was another layer of Blade Mountain wall, stacked layer upon layer, seemingly endless.

"No wonder they call it the Mountain of Blades, not the Wall of Blades," I quipped wryly.

"What now?" I stood still, thinking for a moment, and immediately arrived at the only solution: I would have to leap from one level to the next.

The old me would certainly have been trapped here, but now, with my new skills, it seemed I had abilities specifically designed for facing the Mountains of Blades and Seas of Fire.