When Ben's eyes opened this time, he didn't waste a second staring at the glowing rock, or the twisted trees, or wondering if the old summoner's ghost was watching.
He already knew where he was. He already knew what to do.
Last time, he'd fumbled around for days, figuring out how to light a fire, how to make an axe, how to avoid starving. This time?
He'd do it all in one day.
Step One: Sticks and Stones
He ran straight to the grove where he'd found good branches before, scooping up straight, dry sticks and tossing them into a bundle over his shoulder.
No examining, no second-guessing — he knew exactly what shapes worked best.
Next, he hit the stony outcrop on the slope near the edge of the ruins. This time, he didn't waste half an hour deciding which rocks might be sharp enough — he grabbed the ones he knew would chip easily, the ones with natural edges that could be lashed into tools.
"Perfect. Just like last time," he muttered, already starting to chip one into a rough blade as he jogged back toward camp.
Step Two: Fire in Ten Minutes
Last time, it had taken hours — and a ridiculous amount of cursing — to get a fire going. Now?
Ben already knew which dry grass in the area burned hottest, where to find resin for extra fuel, and how to angle his sticks for the fastest ember.
By the time the sun was halfway up the sky, his campfire was burning steady.
He smirked at it like he'd just beaten a boss fight on the first try.
"Speedrun strats, baby."
Step Three: Food Chain Upgrade
He remembered the apple trees. And the rabbits.
This time, he didn't try to stalk the rabbits for hours like a clumsy predator — he simply collected a few apples, then placed them in a shallow pit near camp, weighed them down with stones, and waited.
Sure enough, a curious rabbit hopped in within minutes.
Rock. Throw. Dinner.
It wasn't glamorous, but it worked.
Step Four: Tools, Walls, and the Revenge Blueprint
With food secured, he pulled his focus back to what mattered most — not just surviving, but not dying again.
That meant walls.
And weapons.
And eventually… payback.
He lashed together a crude stone axe even faster than before, this time with a tighter grip from the vine bindings and a sharper edge thanks to a specific stone he'd remembered.
He also started gathering thicker branches — the kind that would make a proper fence, not just the decorative twig barrier he'd built before.
The memory of the Shadow Horror still lingered in the back of his head, but now that he knew they were light-sensitive, it was less terrifying.
Every trip outside the ruins, he kept a torch on hand.
Every pile of firewood was stacked close to the camp so he could relight quickly.
He wasn't going to be caught bleeding in the dark again.
As the day went on, Ben couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Every crack of a twig made him glance over his shoulder.
Every rustle in the undergrowth had him gripping his axe tighter.
The memory of four sets of tusks barreling toward him was still raw, and though he hadn't spotted a boar yet, he knew they were out there.
He wasn't ready to take them on again — not yet. But this time, when the day came, he'd be the one doing the ambushing.
Step Five: Expanding the Plan
As the sun dipped lower, he reviewed the day in his head.
Sticks? Collected.
Stones? Shaped.
Fire? Done in record time.
Food? Stored.
Weapons? Ready.
He'd basically condensed seven or less days of survival into one.
But now, he wanted more.
Tomorrow, he'd start building traps. Pits lined with spikes. Weighted logs on rope triggers. Anything that would give him the upper hand when the boars inevitably came sniffing around.
If they'd hunted him before out of revenge, then this time, he'd return the favor.
Night — The Quiet Between Deaths
The fire crackled in front of him, casting warm light over the grass bed he'd thrown together. The ruins' holy light glowed faintly in the distance.
For a brief moment, the forest felt… calm.
Ben lay back, staring at the canopy above.
"Still don't know why I come back," he murmured. "Don't know if it's a curse or a blessing. But if this is the game, fine. I'll play it."
His eyes drifted closed, and for once, sleep came without the sound of footsteps in the leaves.
Tomorrow, the real preparation would begin.
Ben woke before the first rays of sunlight hit the treetops. No lazy morning stretches this time. Today was trap day.
He'd been prey long enough. Time to flip the script.
Sitting cross-legged by the fire, he started sketching lines in the dirt with a stick. They weren't elegant — more like lopsided doodles of "holes with spikes" and "logs with smashy potential" — but they gave him direction.
He remembered two things from the survival videos he'd binge-watched years ago:
1. Boars were incredibly strong, but also incredibly stubborn.
2. Their vision was poor, but their sense of smell could track an apple from a hundred meters away.
Perfect.
He already had apples. He already had vines. And he already had grudges.
Trap One: The Pit
The pit trap was simple in theory, exhausting in practice. He found a patch of soil between two crooked trees — a perfect choke point.
Stone pick in hand, he started digging.
The soil was loose at first, then stubbornly packed.
Hours passed. Sweat soaked his shirt.
By midday, he'd carved out a pit about as deep as his chest. Not ideal — the boars could probably clamber out if they tried hard enough — but the real danger would be what he put inside.
He sharpened thick sticks into crude spikes, driving them into the pit floor with the blunt end of his axe. Then he layered them with leaves and grass to disguise the danger.
From above, it looked like an innocent patch of forest floor. From below… well, he hoped he'd never have to fall into one himself.
Trap Two: The Swinging Log
This one was trickier.
Ben found a dead tree trunk lying half-buried in moss. With effort — and several swear words — he stripped it down to a heavy, manageable section.
Next came the ropes. Well… vines. Lots and lots of vines, braided together until they were thick enough to hold the log's weight.
He strung the log between two trees, high enough that it could swing freely. The idea was simple: boar charges in, steps on a trip vine, log swings down, and — wham — instant headache.
Was it likely to kill a boar outright? Probably not. But it would stun them long enough for him to finish the job.
Trap Three: The Funneling Wall
If he'd learned anything from building his half-finished fence, it was that wood could guide movement as much as it could block it.
He built two angled lines of branches leading toward the pit trap, like a crude funnel. A charging boar wouldn't think twice — it would just follow the open path right into his deadly surprise.
To hide the unnatural angles, he scattered leaves and broke branches so it looked like storm damage.
The Bait Plan
Ben sat back at camp that afternoon, turning an apple over in his hands.
The boars wanted food. He wanted revenge. This was a perfect exchange rate.
He smeared the apple with crushed berries for extra scent, then placed it just beyond the pit's edge — far enough that a greedy snout would have to step forward to reach it.
And then… he waited.
Hours of Tension
The forest was too quiet.
Every rustle made him tense. Every gust of wind in the leaves made him grip his axe tighter.
He hid himself up in a low branch a few meters from the trap, torch and axe within reach. His heart thudded like war drums.
Then… the sound he'd been waiting for.
Snorting.
Hooves in the dirt.
The heavy, deliberate pace of something big.
A boar emerged from the undergrowth. Not as massive as the one that had first attacked him, but still the size of a small fridge with tusks. Its beady eyes locked on the apple immediately.
It snorted again, stomping closer.
Ben held his breath.
One step. Two steps. Three—
CRUNCH.
The boar's front legs vanished into the pit. It squealed — a high, panicked noise — as its weight carried it forward and down.
Ben saw the leaves shift violently. Heard the thud of its body hitting the spikes.
The squealing turned into pained grunts. It thrashed, kicking at the sides of the pit, but every movement just seemed to drive the spikes deeper.
Ben didn't waste the moment. He jumped from his perch, axe raised, and delivered a brutal downward strike.
The boar went still.
Ben stood over the pit, panting, axe dripping.
He'd done it. For the first time since arriving here, he'd taken down a threat on his terms.
No running. No scrambling. No last-second luck from holy light or fire. Just planning, execution, and victory.
It felt… good.
Dangerously good.
Dragging the carcass out of the pit was its own mini-battle, but eventually, he got it back to camp.
The smell of roasting boar filled the air within the hour. The meat was tougher than rabbit but rich, and the sheer amount meant he could store cooked portions for days.
As he chewed, he kept glancing toward the forest, half expecting the boar's friends to come charging out in revenge again.
They didn't. Not tonight.
Sitting by the fire, belly full, Ben leaned back and grinned.
"Alright," he murmured to himself. "If I can take down one boar with a trap, I can take down anything."
The thought was both comforting… and dangerous.
Because now, in his head, this wasn't just survival anymore.
It was a hunt.
And in a cursed forest full of monsters, that meant he was going to get very busy.
Three days later, Ben sat cross-legged by his campfire with the world's most ridiculous grin on his face.
In front of him lay a masterpiece.
Not a weapon. Not a trap.
A map.
The Banana Revolution
It had started two days ago when he'd stumbled upon the banana tree — an actual, living, not-cursed, not-glowing, not-whispering banana tree.
For a moment, he'd thought it was a mirage, the kind you'd see in desert movies where the dying hero stumbles toward an oasis only to eat sand. But no — it was real.
The bananas had been delicious, sure, but the real jackpot was the leaves.
Big, broad, and smooth. The perfect canvas.
With sharpened stones and a bit of charred wood from the campfire, he could scratch out landmarks. Not exactly Google Maps quality, but it beat wandering in circles until he walked into another boar ambush.
The Center of His World
He marked the [Ruins of the Holy Light] right in the middle of the first banana leaf.
A glowing stone in the middle of the forest that scared away shadow monsters? Yeah, that was base camp forever.
He'd already drawn rough lines showing his known territory — the pit traps, the stream where he'd washed after the boar fight, the banana tree itself.
The rest of the forest? Big green mystery.
Time to fix that.
Preparation Montage
Ben went through his gear like a man packing for a vacation to the worst place imaginable.
Axe: Sharpened.
Torch: Wrapped in resin-soaked cloth for longer burn time.
Bananas: Three, for energy… and to bribe any hypothetical monkey lords.
Banana Leaf Map: Folded carefully into a pouch made of woven grass.
Rocks: A handful for throwing or last-minute rabbit dinner.
And of course, his usual belt of crude stone knives. He was starting to look like the fashion disaster version of a video game protagonist.
The morning light spilled through the trees as he stepped out of the Ruins' protective glow. His first rule was simple: never lose sight of some landmark he recognized.
He started by heading northwest.
The forest was… weird.
Not just creepy-forest weird, but like the terrain itself didn't want to be consistent. One moment he was pushing through thick undergrowth, the next he was walking under archways formed by twisted trees that looked like they'd been frozen mid-scream.
He scratched marks into the trunks every so often, just in case the forest decided to move things around.
After about half an hour, he heard the sound of running water. He followed it until he reached a narrow creek with crystal-clear water.
He knelt, took a sip, and nearly cried. Fresh water without the metallic taste of the cursed ponds he'd seen before. This was a game changer — hydration that didn't feel like it was slowly hexing his insides.
On the map, he drew a little squiggly line northwest of the Ruins. Next to it, he added a banana-shaped doodle. Why? Because it was his map and he could.
Further north, he found the first sign that something big had been through here recently.
A tree — no, half a tree — lay splintered across the forest floor. Whatever had knocked it down had done so with sheer brute force.
He saw tracks in the mud nearby.
Boar? Nope. Bigger. Wider spacing between the prints, claw marks at the tips.
"Oh good," Ben muttered. "Because regular-sized monsters were getting boring."
He decided not to follow the tracks. Survival rule: curiosity kills more than cats.
Heading east, he stumbled into a wide clearing. The grass here was short, almost as if something grazed regularly.
But what caught his attention was the strange structure in the center — not ruins, but a single stone pillar. Moss covered most of it, but faint carvings peeked out beneath the green.
He stepped closer.
The carvings looked like… symbols? Letters? He traced them with his finger, but they didn't match any language he knew.
As he squinted, faint golden specks seemed to shimmer in the air around the pillar. The same holy light vibe as the Ruins, but weaker.
He quickly sketched it on his map. No name yet. Maybe "Diet Ruins."
Banana Break
By midday, Ben had circled back toward the Ruins from the east. He sat on a fallen log, unpeeled a banana, and took a big bite.
The map was starting to look decent. Not professional, but enough to avoid getting lost. He'd even added little "danger" marks — a jagged X for the broken tree, claw marks for the animal tracks.
Still, something nagged at him.
The forest was too quiet again.
...
The sound came first — a faint rustle, not far behind him.
Ben froze, banana halfway to his mouth.
Another rustle.
He turned slowly and saw… nothing.
He set the banana down and reached for his torch.
This time, the rustle came from his left.
His grip tightened on the axe.
A shadow flitted between the trees — thin, long-limbed. Not the same as the boars. Not exactly like the Shadow Horror either.
It stopped just out of the sunlight streaming through the canopy, tilting its head at him like a curious predator.
Ben didn't wait to find out what it was. He lit the torch and stepped forward, brandishing it.
The shadow thing flinched back. Not gone, but retreating.
Ben let out a breath. Another thing to add to the map: "Shadow Lurker territory."
Heading Home
By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, Ben had covered a rough loop around the Ruins.
The final map on the banana leaf now showed:
Northwest creek (safe water).
Northern "Do Not Go" claw-mark zone.
Eastern clearing with Diet Ruins.
Southern trap field.
Western banana tree.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
He reached the Ruins just as the forest shadows lengthened. As soon as his feet touched the glowing stone's light, he felt the tension in his shoulders loosen.
That night, eating roasted boar meat by the fire, Ben kept glancing at the folded banana leaf beside him.
Three days ago, he'd been fumbling to survive a single day without dying. Now, he had a base, food stores, traps, and an actual map.
The forest was still deadly. Still cursed. But now, he had direction.
Tomorrow… tomorrow he'd go further.
Because somewhere out there, past the Diet Ruins and the claw-mark trees, this cursed forest was holding its real secrets.
And Ben?
He intended to steal them.
One day later.
The western part of the forest had a different atmosphere.
Not just a "new biome" kind of different, but a "the trees are whispering about you" kind of different.
Ben didn't like it.
Unfortunately, liking something wasn't part of the survival equation anymore. He needed more rocks, bigger rocks, better rocks. His axe and dagger equivalents were fine for boars, but every time he fought one, the handles splintered and the edges chipped. If the tools broke mid-fight, he wouldn't get a second life to complain about it — he'd just respawn and lose all his progress.
Also, food. Boars and rabbits weren't an infinite resource, and if he hunted too many too quickly, the forest's animal population would crash. That's how you ended up in the "starving caveman" stage of the survival game.
So, west it was.
The Secluded Entrance
The forest slowly narrowed, trees growing closer together until they formed a kind of natural tunnel. The ground dipped, forcing him to climb down short slopes of moss-covered rock. It was damp here — the kind of damp that clung to your clothes and whispered "mold is in your future."
Then he saw it.
At first, it looked like just another shadow. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized it was a hole in the world. A dark, narrow opening in the cliff face, maybe three meters tall. The stone around it was smoothed by years — no, centuries — of something coming and going. The moss around the mouth of the cave was thicker than anywhere else, giving it the look of a natural curtain.
Ben stopped dead. His gut screamed trap, but his brain replied,
"Bigger rocks. Possible food. Maybe shiny loot. Go in."
He sighed, gripping his axe tighter.
"One day," he muttered, "my brain is gonna get me killed for the last time."
The cave sloped downward almost immediately, forcing him to move slow so he didn't slip on the slick stone. The air changed too — colder, but stale, like it hadn't been properly ventilated in ages. He expected pitch black, but instead…
There was a faint orange glow ahead.
He crept forward, one hand on the wall, until the tunnel widened into a small chamber. There, about ten meters away, was a campfire. Not a roaring blaze, but a circle of blackened stones with embers still glowing faintly in the middle.
It wasn't the only thing in the room.
Two bats clung upside down to the far wall, their wings twitching occasionally, beady black eyes half-lidded in whatever passed for bat-sleep. And twenty meters further, lurking in the farthest corner like a bad memory, was a Shadow Horror.
It wasn't attacking. Yet. Maybe the dim firelight was enough to keep it at bay. But Ben knew how fast those things could move.
Bats weren't exactly on his dream dinner list, but they were meat. And more importantly, they were potential trouble. The last thing he needed was to wander deeper into this place and have one bite him in the back of the neck.
He picked up two stones from the cave floor, weighing them in his hands.
"Alright, Bat No. 1," he whispered. "This is gonna be personal."
The first throw was clumsy — it bounced off the wall next to the bat. The creature let out an annoyed squeak and shifted its grip. The second throw, though, was dead on, cracking into its side. The bat screeched, flapped wildly, and dropped. Ben darted forward and finished it with a sharp jab from his axe.
The second bat woke at the noise, but Ben was already moving. Two hits later, it joined its friend in the "future dinner" pile.
The Shadow Horror, still in its corner, hadn't moved. Good.
Cooking in Enemy Territory
Ben dragged the bat corpses to the campfire. The embers were almost dead, but he found a few loose stones, scraped them together until sparks caught, and fed the flames with some dry moss. Soon, the fire was flickering enough to cook.
The bat meat sizzled faintly on a flat rock he'd propped over the flames. The smell was… better than expected. Not great, but not "I'm definitely going to vomit" either.
While he ate, he kept one eye on the Shadow Horror. The thing just watched him, its body twitching unnaturally, like it was vibrating in place. Every now and then, it shuffled a few inches closer to the darkness behind it, as if testing its limits.
The moment the meat was gone, Ben decided it was time to move.
The tunnel beyond the campfire curved sharply to the right and then sloped down again. Ten minutes of slow, cautious walking brought him to something strange.
At first, it sounded like dripping water. Then he saw the faint shimmer of light reflecting off stone.
It was a fountain. Right here, in the middle of the dungeon.
Not just a puddle or a cracked basin — this was a carved stone structure, water flowing gently into a wide bowl. The surface of the water seemed to glow faintly, as though lit from below.
Ben approached cautiously, dipped two fingers in, and tasted it.
Cold. Clean. Refreshing.
And then it hit him — his legs stopped aching, his shoulder where the axe strap had been digging in felt fine, and the tiny cut on his knuckle from the bat fight sealed shut.
"Oh-ho-ho…" he grinned. "Okay, you, my friend, are getting a name."
He reached into his pouch, pulled out a banana peel he'd been using as improvised map parchment, and marked the spot:
[Fountain of Healing]
Or, for short: [FOH].
The tunnel continued on, winding like a snake. The walls here were rougher, jagged, and littered with small stalactites. The air was cooler, and somewhere in the distance, Ben thought he smelled… something sweet?
Rounding the next bend, he stopped dead.
In front of him was a small cavern, the walls dotted with cracks where faint daylight filtered in. And growing in the center, in a patch of loose, dark soil, were plants.
Not cursed plants. Not withered or dead. Real, healthy plants.
And not just any plants — pumpkins. Big, round, orange pumpkins. And beside them, a cluster of bright red tomatoes.
Ben's eyes went wide.
This wasn't just food. This was farming potential. Seeds. Variety. Vitamins. Civilization.
He practically sprinted over, kneeling to inspect them. Perfectly ripe. Untouched by animals.
He marked the location on his banana-peel map immediately: [Pumpkin-Tomato Patch]. Then, because he couldn't resist, he added: "God-tier loot zone."
He didn't take any of the plants just yet — carrying too much food now would slow him down, and he wanted to see if there was more deeper in. But this… this was a game-changer.
Pumpkin stew. Tomato soup. Maybe even bread one day if he found wheat. He could see it now — his own little farm near the Ruins of the Holy Light. A proper base.
For the first time since waking up in this cursed forest, Ben felt something new in his gut.
Hope.