Chapter 617: Delicious

Her voice echoed through the ruins.

A Xing didn't look back, just raised a hand and waved it casually.

San Yue Qi shouted again, "You have to come back!"

A Xing's hand lowered, his silhouette receding farther until it finally vanished behind the collapsed buildings and twisted rebar.

San Yue Qi stood in place and watched for a long time.

Lin walked over, Tail gently swaying behind the skirt, a face bearing an indefinable mix of teasing and comfort: "Stop looking, banana, everyone's gone far, banana."

San Yue Qi only then withdrew his gaze.

"I'm just afraid she'll run off again without saying a word."

She muttered something, her voice so soft that only Lin beside her could hear it clearly.

Lin didn't reply, just reached out and patted her shoulder.

The Tail also swayed once, as if in agreement.

Bai Hang stood nearby, watching everything, a corner of the mouth lifting briefly before being quickly suppressed.

She turned around and called back to the two of them, "Let's go, that building is still waiting for us far away."

San Yue Qi grabbed Lin's hand and hurried after them.

Lin staggered from the pull, the Tail snapping up sharply and swinging several times behind, and she quickly used her other hand to hold the skirt, her voice changing tone: "Take it slower, banana! My Tail, banana—"

Ilya didn't know how long she had been walking.

This stretch of ruins seemed endless; no matter where she went the scene was the same—broken columns, shattered tiles, ruined steles, toppled stone statues, all alike, a gray haze with no visible edge.

The vermilion columns shattered into several pieces scattered everywhere, the exposed wood fibers flaring outward like fireworks frozen at the moment of explosion.

Bluish‑gray tiles piled into little hills, their edges smoothed round; stepping on them produced a fine crackle that echoed in the open space for a long time, as if something deep within was responding to her.

Stone steles lay haphazardly, the characters on them battered beyond recognition, occasional strokes discernible, crookedly jammed together as if hastily carved in the final moment before the stele was smashed.

Ilya clutched the ruby in her arms; the Magic Staff, bent like a noodle, pressed against her chest, its fine cracks rippling slightly as she walked.

The staff's temperature had cooled a bit from before, yet remained warm, as if something inside was still alive, just sleeping deeply.

"Ruby…"

She whispered, "Are you still there?"

After a long while the voice finally sounded, fragmented, like static from a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.

"Here… here… "

Ilya exhaled, but only half‑relieved, because she could barely make out any of the ruby's next words.

"We… should… go… that way…"

"Which way?" Ilya stopped, perking up her ears to listen.

"…go…"

"Go which way?"

"…direction…"

Ilya stood in place for ages, and the ruby never spoke again.

She lowered her head to look at the limp Magic Staff in her arms; the faint glow on its shaft dimmed further, the fine cracks seeming deeper.

"Ruby?"

She gently shook the Magic Staff, "Are you still there?"

No response.

Ilya waited a while longer, still no response.

She sighed, pressed the ruby back into her chest, and chose a random direction to continue walking.

After walking a bit, she couldn't help speaking again: "Ruby, why did that green‑haired little girl want to eat you?"

After a long while the voice sounded again.

"Hungry… maybe…"

Ilya's mouth twitched, "Hungry? She's hungry and eats a Magic Staff?"

"Maybe… because… she… thinks… I'm… tasty…"

Ilya imagined the scene—a green‑haired little girl, expressionless, squatting by the bedside, picking up the ruby, stuffing it into her mouth, chewing, swallowing, then clapping her hands and walking away.

She shivered and forced the image out of her mind.

"Then why did she eat me too?" she asked again.

This time the ruby remained silent even longer, so long that Ilya thought it had fallen asleep again.

"Maybe… because… you… are also tasty…"

Ilya halted, lowered her head to stare at the ruby in her chest, her expression exceedingly complex.

"Ruby, can you speak in one complete sentence? You keep stopping halfway, and it's exhausting to listen."

The ruby was silent for a moment, the faint glow on the staff's shaft flickered, as if gathering strength.

"Okay…"

Ilya waited a few seconds.

"…the…"

Ilya inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, feeling something lodged in her chest, unable to rise or fall.

She kept walking, cradling the ruby, the broken tiles beneath her foot emitting a fine crackle that echoed through the open ruins, as if something followed her, stepping to the same rhythm.

She didn't know how much longer she walked, and the ruins finally changed—not improved, but stranger.

The broken columns were no longer vermilion but a deeper, darker hue, as if soaked through by something, exuding an ominous black from their very core.

Ilya slowed her pace, her heartbeat quickening.

At that moment, a huge crash sounded from afar.

The sound didn't fall from the sky, nor rise from the ground; it came from deep within the ruins, as if some enormous thing had collided.

Ilya's body instinctively crouched, shrinking behind a tilted stone tablet, exposing only half her head.

Not far ahead, the ruins suddenly opened up into a clearing, as if something had smashed it out; the surrounding broken columns and shattered tiles were thrust far away, piled at the edge into a low wall.

In the clearing, two figures were colliding wildly.

One was someone she knew.

That dark‑purple Mecha, though battered and riddled with cracks and holes, was instantly recognizable to her—Berserker.

The monster that had plagued the Yuanban Family for so long, the one that had nearly taken her life, now stood at the center of the clearing, its cracks and holes filled with a strange teal Flame; the Flames seemed to sprout from its body, filling every fissure, covering each hole, turning the damaged parts into a form that was indescribable as either Mecha or Flame.

Its movements were still that swift; each punch carried a whistling rush of wind, but the teal Flames surged from the cracks at the instant it swung, encasing the fist in a burning sheath, and when it struck, a green after‑image lingered in the air.

The other was someone she knew even better.

Saber.

Ilya was about to shout, but the syllable "Sa" that surged to her throat was forced back down.

That wasn't the Saber she knew; the Saber she knew had golden hair and wore silver‑blue armor.

But the Saber before her had silver‑gray hair, jet‑black armor, no expression on her face, and eyes as cold as two pieces of temperature‑less amber.