Chapter 286: Cheap

"I can save you."

She stated the fact calmly, "Reversing to this extent is troublesome, but not impossible."

Kenneth's eyes instantly burst with astonishing hope.

"But,"

Black Tower's next words snuffed out that glimmer, "Unnecessary."

She tilted her head slightly, as if stating a principle: "Since you chose to step into this life‑risking game, you should be prepared to bear all consequences, including exiting in the most disgraceful manner. Inferior skill or bad luck are part of the wager. The current outcome is one of the possibilities you must face by participating. I have no obligation, nor any interest, in rewriting the game's ending for a loser."

Kenneth's gaze fluctuated violently; that hope quickly turned into deeper Despair, then into a certain understanding.

Immediately, another intense emotion rose in his gray‑defeated eyes—suicidal longing.

Yes, he does not want this barely‑surviving, every second tormented by both body and soul "living."

He would rather end this pain completely.

Black Tower read the change in his gaze.

She slightly curved the corner of her mouth, a very faint arc.

"Hm."

She hummed softly, "Pray to me for release? Do you even deserve it?"

A failed Magus, a pitiful creature unable to control even death, what right does he have to make her act?

Even if it's just to grant a swift ending.

Yet, watching the increasingly faint yet clear plea in his eyes, the spark on Black Tower's face completely vanished, replaced by boredom.

"…Fine."

She, as if feeling spoiled, averted her gaze, no longer watching the unpleasant scene on the ground, "How boring. You're cheap now."

As the words fell, she casually snapped her fingers.

Snap.

A light sound.

Kenneth Ai'er Meiluo A Qibo'erde's shattered body, from the edges outward, swiftly turned into gray‑white dust, disintegrating silently.

The process was quiet and rapid, as if he had never existed there.

Before the final speck of dust drifted away, Black Tower seemed to catch the last fragment of thought transmitted from his eyes, which were about to be fully extinguished.

(Thank you.)

Black Tower turned, left the Abandoned Factory without looking back, casting that insignificant dust and ending completely behind her.

The thin winter sunlight filtered into a secluded Back Alley, coating the piled debris and mottled walls with a pale gold.

A Xing stood deep in the alley, her gaze firmly locked on a green public trash can ahead.

The can's body was slightly rusted, its lid half‑open; in A Xing's eyes, it seemed bathed in holy light, its rim shimmering with an inviting glimmer of exploration.

(Perfect curve… just the right wear… the half‑open lid seems to issue a silent invitation…)

(That's it.)

She inhaled deeply, like a hermit about to perform an important rite, beginning the pre‑exploration preparations.

First she carefully smoothed the hem of her coat to ensure no stray folds hindered movement; then she flexed her wrists and ankles, regulated her breathing, letting her heartbeat steady; finally, she retrieved a pair of relatively clean cotton‑thread gloves from her small bag and solemnly put them on.

After completing all this, she approached the radiant trash can with a near‑pilgrimage stride, slow and resolute.

Three steps, two steps, one step…

Just as her fingertip was about to touch the icy rim of the lid, she stopped, as if a pause button had been pressed.

(Wrong.)

(One more step remains.)

A Xing slowly turned, her eyes, lacking any highlight, precisely fixed on the junction of sunlight and shadow at the alley's mouth—where a tall man in a Black Priest Robe, expression vacant, had been standing for an unknown time, silently watching her every move.

Yan Feng Qili.

Since the chaotic battle outside the Yuanban Residence last night, he had taken notice of this ash‑haired girl.

Her combat style was so efficient it seemed instinctual, with no superfluous moves, and she remained unusually calm under the Assassin's assault.

What concerned him more was that she possessed a… indescribable purity, not the purity of a saint, but one closer to emptiness.

This resonated in a twisted way with the unfillable void inside him.

So, when the Church received reports of suspicious individuals rummaging through trash cans across the city, he followed personally.

He wanted to know what this strange girl was actually searching for.

What in that trash can could fill her, or… give him some tangible sense?

Eyes met.

A Xing: "…"

(Inside: Who is this person? A pervert? Or someone trying to steal my trash can?)

Yan Feng Qili: "…"

(His face expressionless, his gaze deep with probing void.)

They remained silent for about ten seconds.

A Xing decided to act first.

She pointed at the trash can behind her, asking in a matter‑of‑fact flat tone, "You, also want this?"

Yan Feng Qili hadn't expected such directness, paused, and answered honestly, "No. I'm just curious what you're looking for."

"Searching?"

A Xing tilted her head, seeming slightly puzzled by the term, "It's not searching. It's exploration, it's Exploration."

She turned again, facing the trash can, her tone taking on a near‑preacher's solemnity, "Every container never explored carries the city's forgotten possibilities. The process of Exploration itself is meaning."

In Yan Feng Qili's hollow eyes, an extremely faint ripple seemed to flash past.

Possibility? The process is the meaning?

These words combined together, in a strange way, faintly stirred his nerves.

What... could there possibly be in here?

He took a few steps forward, still keeping his distance, but his gaze also fell upon that ordinary green metal bucket.

The rotting smell was already faintly detectable.

A Xing did not answer, but instead expressed it through action.

Her gloved hand, with a steady and gentle force, lifted the half‑closed lid, as if unveiling a treasure chest.

The air in the alley seemed somewhat more 'rich'.

A Xing was utterly unaffected; her gaze became focused and sharp, and she began Exploration in an orderly manner.

Yan Feng Qili instinctively stepped back half a pace, yet her eyes involuntarily fixed on A Xing's movements; all one could see was that she plunged her hand in without hesitation and began to search in an orderly manner.

First, she carefully shifted aside the top layer of several desiccated drink cans and discarded newspapers, her movements as gentle as if she were doing archaeology.

Look,

She picked up a flattened juice box printed with a cartoon pattern: "A child's sweet choice, abandoned here. It bore witness to fleeting joy, then fell silent. This is a cross‑section of the cycle of consumption."

Yan Feng Qili: ""