Chapter 13: Who is the saint?

“…Finished.”

After nearly half a day of intense concentration, Emil finally completed the piece for the competition.

She exhaled deeply, examining her work.

She nodded.

‘Better. Better than the piece I submitted to the concours.’

Impeccable texture.

The contrast of light and shadow.

The vibrancy that made it seem as if it would move at any moment.

The techniques pioneered and taught by Yaltarion and the vague inspiration she’d received from Chloe.

A replica that softly blended all of that!

It was a masterpiece, into which Emil had poured 100% of her ability.

After catching her breath, she cautiously gauged the reactions of her companions.

“How is it?”

– Guwaaaah~.

Yaltarion’s spirits trembled with delight.

Their cries seemed almost audible.

– Do you think he’ll hang it in Yaltarion’s atelier?

– If he does, we can see it every day!

Though they couldn’t speak, their affection was palpable.

Thanks to them, Emil regained a bit of her confidence.

It couldn’t be helped.

‘These spirits have an aesthetic sense comparable to master painters.’

First-class painters could look at a piece and understand the artist’s feelings.

Spirits were even more accurate.

Whether it was a mage’s aptitude or the emotions imbued in a painter’s brushstrokes, these spirits could discern it all.

– Bogle-lurgle….

The slight anxiety Emil had concealed within the painting.

Even that, they perceived with uncanny accuracy.

– Are you going to lose?

Her friend’s anxious question. Emil’s answer held a rare certainty.

“I’ll win.”

Though her face, as she declared this, was clearly etched with fatigue.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. She was also hungry.

Since the paint hadn’t dried yet, Emil left the studio, leaving her painting behind.

“Ah, you’re here. I’m imposing on you again today.”

As she left the room, Groomloc was on the first floor of the atelier. He brushed off his knees and stood, having been gazing at a canvas.

Groomloc, who hadn’t let their coincidental acquaintance fade and continued to receive guidance from Yaltarion. It seemed he had been squeezing out inspiration since morning.

Looking around, Yaltarion was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s grandpa?”

“He had some business and stepped out for a moment.”

Emil nodded in understanding.

Her grandfather was a busy man.

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t lonely, but she was used to it.

However.

“The formal speech.”

“Pardon?”

“It feels burdensome. Please speak comfortably.”

“How could I dare to speak informally to Your Excellency’s granddaughter-”

“I know Painter Groomloc. I’m a fan.”

Emil shook her head.

“I even have one of your pieces at home. I begged for it as a birthday present.”

“That’s… unexpected. And a tremendous honor.”

Groomloc was quite speechless.

The great artist Yaltarion.

Emil was the young genius whose talent he recognized.

That genius knew and liked his paintings?

He wouldn’t be a painter if he didn’t feel anything about that.

“I’d prefer respect to be shown through your paintings.”

“Of co-… Of course. Is yours finished?”

“Yes. I’m going to rest now.”

Emil looked around the first floor.

“Is Chloe still working?”

“She is. But she’s quick, and I gave her a few days off at my discretion, so she should be finished soon.”

“…She doesn’t usually get to rest?”

“First His Excellency, now you… Everyone keeps making me out to be some kind of sweatshop boss….”

Even Yaltesance observed days of rest.

Being a painter wasn’t a profession driven by deadlines.

Groomloc, however, was sweating bullets.

‘But Chloe hasn’t rested for nearly the entire month….’

It couldn’t be helped.

Even when Groomloc told her to rest, she wouldn’t listen.

– Understood! I’ll be discreet about coming in on the weekend!
– Discreet? Just go home and rest!
– Yes! I understand completely!

No, you don’t understand!

I didn’t mean it like that!

Go upstairs and rest!

The tricky part was that she also didn’t come to the studio often.

– Well, a newbie can’t just be seen bustling around and showing off, right?

When he asked her about it, she blinked and said that.

Feeling uneasy, he asked why.

Her answer was astonishing.

– If I’m too eager and active by myself, the senior artists might think I’m implying they’re slacking off, you know?

– So, on the weekends, I’ll just sneak into the storage room.

– Oh, it’s alright!

– If anyone asks, I’ll just say I came in voluntarily, right?

Groomloc almost fainted.

Her refreshingly innocent smile somehow made it even more terrifying.

‘What kind of h*llish environment did she grow up in?’

Being that diligent was a sickness. Even the lean winters in his homeland of Mingar weren’t this bad.

Because she rested so little, he’d even taken her home on rest days to eat and spend the whole day playing with his wife.

He was afraid she would collapse otherwise.

‘Why is a child so accustomed to overworking herself?’

Perhaps it was because he’d come to regard Chloe as his own daughter.

Groomloc badmouthed her friend, Oliver, as if he were gnawing on ribs.

“That Oliver, he’s a terrible, heartless b@stard.”

“Oliver?”

“Ah, just talking to myself. Are you hungry? Come have some bread. I packed a bit extra this morning, just in case.”

He covered up his words and sat Emil down at the table. Unaware of his lie, Emil reached for her portion of bread.

“Thank you. I’ll enjoy it.”

Last night’s outburst seemed like a distant dream now.

This young lady was also smart and well-behaved.

Still, she wasn’t quite like Chloe.

That child had smiled wryly while receiving the bread.

As if she knew Groomloc was looking out for her.

‘With a child like that, there’d be no need to send her to a monastery.’

Nonsense about her being a troublemaker. He’d be overjoyed to have a daughter like Chloe.

Groomloc clicked his tongue repeatedly.

This was a usual scene, with Oliver Turing’s reputation plummeting further and further.

Quietly nibbling on her bread, Emil suddenly murmured,

“How far along is she? With her painting, I mean.”

“Who knows. Are you curious?”

“A little.”

She was curious.

How surprised the spirits had been by Chloe’s painting.

How much they rejoiced.

Perhaps they were even more excited than the spirits who had seen Emil’s painting. Emil genuinely thought so.

‘Though I hate to admit it out of spite…’

Because Emil honestly thought Chloe’s back, as she poured her heart into her painting, looked beautiful.

It had been a little over a month since I was exiled to Yaltesance.

Every moment, I felt like I was going insane from the constant barrage of this world’s absurdity.

“This is so dirty and underhanded; I’m quitting being a mage.”

[Don’t give up! Magic can be quite useful!]

Then why doesn’t the magic book I copied work?!

I clutched my head.

The book I had perfectly copied last time.

Nexo’s Magic Book, the PDF version.

It wasn’t working at all.

‘Why can’t I use magic even with the experience cheat activated….’

What gives? Is it because it’s not the genuine article?

Should I enter a license key?

‘Or am I… talentless?’

Maybe dabbling in dubious magic wasn’t a good idea.

I shouldn’t have messed with magic in the first place.

Like a true righteous martial artist, I should’ve taken the monk route at the monastery.

Did I really think copying a magic book would just make it work?

Shouldn’t the crafting method itself be… ‘fantasy-like’?

Am I an !diot?

‘Of course, I copied it because it worked in the original story!’

If it worked in the original, shouldn’t it work now?

In those possession stories, the original work is practically treated as scripture.

[Just a moment ago, you were calling that original work trash.]

Now I’m being refuted even by Clicker.

I slumped dejectedly over the attic desk.

What was it?

What was different when the original protagonist distributed copies to his companions?

‘Could it really be the ink or the materials?’

If it was a material problem, that would be better.

If it wasn’t specifically mentioned in the original story, it probably wouldn’t be a difficult item to obtain.

What? The copy that caused the ModuleNotFoundError?

I tossed it in the corner of the attic.

It’s like a programming introductory book; what use is it to me?

Anyway, zero progress.

I stayed up for several nights, but to no avail.

“Shut up. Be quiet.”

[I didn’t say anything?]

Don’t lie!

You were about to say something like, ‘Every plan you’ve made has failed, so there’s no way this one will work! 😊’ weren’t you?!

[Your talent for self-awareness is remarkable!]

I wonder which is harder, my head or the CPU inside you.

If it’s the latter, I’m tempted to smash my head against a brick wall.

“You’re late.”

Was it because I’d been busy compiling the book for the past week?

When I came down from the attic, Emil, who was already there, glared at me.

“The deadline is approaching. What about your painting?”

“It’s upstairs. I finished it a while ago.”

“Don’t boast.”

Why do you think I’m boasting?

Did you peek into my studio?

This isn’t a world that would interpret my headbanging over magic book pages as performance art.

“Hmm. It seems you’re both ready.”

Yaltarion and Groomloc observed our expressions. Emil looked suspiciously at us.

“What?”

“What? We have to judge the winner. Follow me.”

“Where? Why?”

Does this guy have some kind of disease that prevents him from speaking in complete sentences?

Yaltarion chuckled and patted his beret.

“Well, Chloe said, how can we judge fairly with just me and this fellow?”

Emil looked at me, so I just nodded.

Yaltarion.

Archmage and Ribeyong Artist.

Would Groomloc have the courage to tell him, ‘Your judgment is questionable. I disagree with you’?

‘He probably would.’

This orc was that passionate about art.

But it wouldn’t be without its burdens.

So, I’d spoken to Yaltarion about it beforehand.

“She suggested we display the paintings in our atelier and hold a vote. Each visitor gets one vote.”

“…So that’s why you kept stepping out.”

“Indeed! Now, all we need are the paintings, and the judging can begin.”

Perfect.

With this, I’m the only one who’ll have their feelings hurt by Clicker’s artwork.

[Why?]

Why? Think about it.

It’s not just one or two people; we’re talking about a vote, finding the median opinion.

Common sense dictates that the better painting will win.

And between us, the more skilled artist is Emil.

It’s not because Clicker’s painting is AI-generated.

It’s because I’m a complete beginner in art.

‘Even the spirits reacted poorly to that caricature.’

How poorly? Poorly enough that they would show me grateful, almost apologetic affection if I took them outside.

Saying I bought their affection through abuse is forbidden.

It wasn’t gaslighting.

It was quality bonding time with my companion spirits.

‘Well, whatever.’

I steered the judging process towards a voting system, so that’s enough.

This way, neither I, Emil, nor Groomloc will be hurt.

It’s definitely not because I kept Yaltarion busy so he wouldn’t take the spirits away after I finished my painting.

Shut up!

Real Gyeongsangdo men don’t like cute things!

[TL Note: “Gyeongsang-do man” = a man from Korea’s Gyeongsang region, often seen as tough and blunt, not into cute things.]

“Why are you hugging the spirits so tightly?”

“Do you want to hug them too, Emil? They’re warm.”

“I’m too irritated to care.”

You spoiled, silver-spoon-fed brat.

May you be smitten by divine punishment.

And so, we hung our paintings in Yaltarion’s studio for several days, our names and identities hidden.

So that the visitors could easily evaluate them.

And a few days later…

Title:
[Promise of the Spirits and the Still Life’s Pulsation]

Current Votes:
[35 Votes]

◇

Title:
[I Like This]

Current Votes:
[2 Votes]

Emil was leading the competition by a landslide.

“…Huh.”

Huh huh.

Uh huh huh huh huh…!

“I win, you abomination of intellect!”

[With all due respect, you’re losing.]

But your defeat is my victory, right?

Compared to Noemillica, who brought a masterpiece, my choice, Clicker’s painting, employed techniques unfamiliar to most and was bound to be divisive.

This is obviously Emil’s (and my) victory.

The greatest art, etched into the history of Yaltesance! I rejoiced at the unfolding of my plan.

As expected, even in this crazy world, there were still sane people—

“Saintess?”

—Huh?

“Saintess?”

“Saintess! It’s the Saintess!”

“The Saintess’s work is here!”

What?

What? What? What?

A group of painters appeared out of nowhere.

Their collective frenzy left me no time to congratulate myself for successfully concealing my identity.

Title:
[I Like This]

Current Votes:
[6 Votes]
→[13 Votes]
→[28 Votes]

Our chances of winning rapidly plummeted.

“What the h*ll.”

What the actual h*ll.

What are you guys doing?!

“It’s the Saintess’s first individual piece!!”

“Oh my god!! It’s so cute!!”

Who is this Saintess, you disrupting lunatics?!

[Every plan you’ve made has failed, so there’s no way this one will work! 😊]

I gladly bashed my head against a brick wall.

Unfortunately, my head proved to be harder than the brick.