Chapter 8: Kongkongkong Contest

“You recommended Synthia for this competition?”

“Yes.”

Painter’s Guild Atelier.

The Guild Leader’s chief apprentice couldn’t hide his shock at his master’s reply.

“How can that be? The one who despised Synthia’s style the most was—”

“Me.”

The Guild Leader cut off his apprentice and offered him tea.

It was expensive tea, a symbol of wealth and power.

“Are you curious why I’m boosting that kid’s reputation?”

“Frankly speaking, yes. I am.”

“Because my atelier should only be filled with geniuses.”

“…Ah!”

The Guild Leader’s chief apprentice wasn’t chosen for his painting skills alone.

He also needed the sharp wit to match his position.

That was why he understood the answer and expressed admiration.

“You’re planning to take her on as an apprentice.”

“You guessed right.”

Chloe’s paintings were awful.

It was hard to call them works of art.

Products, maybe.

However.

“Painting? She doesn’t have to be good. As long as she’s fast.”

A painter doesn’t necessarily have to be an artist.

If she’s just an assistant, speed is all that matters.

Painting is hard labor, and those in power are always hungry for slaves.

“We can give her a suitable award at the competition.”

“You come up with the plan. You’re used to this, right?”

“Is that even a question?”

The chief apprentice grinned.

Inflate their ego with rigged victories and praise,

Then let them plummet from the heights they were raised to.

The difference between being called a genius and their downfall.

The benefactors who graciously forgave my failures and mistakes.

It’s a brainwashing technique that turns even grown adults into powerless slaves, stripped of their pride, before they even know what hit them.

It was a common tactic the Guild Leader employed.

Doesn’t art blossom by using the mediocre as fertilizer?

“Yaltarion… since His Excellency has shown no interest, there’s nothing more to worry about. Hurry up.”

“Yes. I’ll get right on it.”

Isn’t it wrong to ruin a child with a bright future?

It’s a foolish question they wouldn’t agree with in the slightest.

“It’s more than enough for a girl whose only merit is fast hands.”

“Hmm, as it should be. We’re giving her food and shelter.”

“Haha! Even animals know to be grateful for kindness.”

Besides, Chloe is a woman, isn’t she?

Would she starve to death just because she can’t paint anymore?

‘If she has any sense, she’ll find a suitable man and make her own way.’

And a sparkling line on her resume for those courtship activities.

Former apprentice of the Painter’s Guild Leader!

What a fantastic title.

Ten years of labor dedicated to her youth.

It was more than enough compensation.

With this much, she shouldn’t have any trouble finding a man.

Unless her face looks like a smashed potato.

“…Hm?”

“What now?”

“No, it’s nothing, but you said you haven’t met this kid, right?”

“No. I’ve only seen the application form.”

“Pfft… Is that so?”

Then who knows.

Maybe she’s a face that should give up on marriage early on.

‘If she were pretty, that orc would have brought her to the guild.’

The chief apprentice twisted his lips.

“An orc, acting above his station, monopolizing such a masterpiece. It was an eyesore, so this is good.”

Good deeds are truly rewarding.

Whether it’s garbage cleaning or job creation.

As the chief apprentice was leaving, he said,

“Can I have one of Synthia’s paintings? I’ll need it when the competition is over and rumors start spreading.”

“I knew you’d ask. Here.”

The chief apprentice examined the painting he received.

He snorted.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

He was once called a prodigy.

“I could paint something like this in two hours.”

What’s so great about the Saintess?

The guild members were becoming pathetic.

“Two hours? I could do it in one.”

“Ahaha! I dared to show off my meager skills in front of my master!”

The Guild Leader and his apprentice laughed together.

They couldn’t find any artistic innovation in this painting.

Unlike Groomloc, who saw the same painting.

And… unlike the true geniuses.

A genius born in a land of magic and nurtured by a city of art.

Yaltarion stopped in a section of Yaltesance.

A sunny two-story building.

It was his granddaughter Noemillica’s atelier.

“Emil! Grandpa’s here!”

Yaltarion, who had even brought gifts, grinned.

Only until his granddaughter didn’t answer.

“Noemillica?”

Why isn’t this kid answering?

Did she go out early in the morning?

It was the moment he casually inserted the key into the door and turned it.

Yaltarion’s expression changed completely.

“…

What the hell.”

The door wasn’t locked.

Creak– Bang!

He flung the door open and ran into the living room.

His stamina and speed were unlike an old man’s.

“Emil!”

After bursting into the living room like a whirlwind, Yaltarion’s face now looked like he could even treat the Great Demon King as a junior.

A work that appeared to be near completion.

The painting his granddaughter had poured her heart into for the competition.

It was ripped to shreds, canvas and all.

“How dare… How dare some punk!!”

The Archmage’s furious roar.

The manifestation of his raging mana almost further wrecked the already messy living room.

“…Grandpa?”

“Emil!”

His granddaughter’s voice calmed Yaltarion.

“Emil! Are you there!”

“Of course, I am. It’s my atelier.”

“Are you hurt? I was worried! Which bastard did this to your painting—”

A dark room.

Where his granddaughter’s voice was coming from.

Yaltarion entered the room and fell silent.

His granddaughter was huddled under a blanket.

A pencil sharpener was clutched in her hand.

Was that it?

No.

“Grandpa.”

It was because his granddaughter wasn’t looking at him.

She was staring blankly at a painting.

“You said it before. You called me a genius.”

The culprit who tore his granddaughter’s competition piece to shreds.

When he realized the culprit was his granddaughter herself.

Emil, with disheveled hair and hollow eyes, pointed at a painting.

“Do you still think so? After seeing this?”

“Dear, what are you talking about? How did this…”

Yaltarion’s gaze, guided by his granddaughter, turned to the painting.

A third-rate canvas with common techniques haphazardly scribbled across it.

Undeniably, a painting of a mediocre artist.

But Yaltarion, looking at it, was no mediocre artist.

He was different from Chloe or Clicker.

Different from the Spirit King, the Painter’s Guild Leader, and his apprentice.

Yaltarion was a true artistic genius.

“Gasp…!”

Therefore,

He could see it.

The styles of masters, melted into a mediocre painting.

Generative AI.

This technology, which sounds like cutting-edge technology just by its name, is surprisingly simple in principle.

Data crawled and inputted.

It simply deconstructs and reassembles those styles according to requests.

For instance, if you request a cat painting, it pieces together the fragments from the collected data with the file name “Cat.”

Want to easily and conveniently enhance the quality of a painting?

Just copy more ‘blatantly.’

That’s why high-quality AI art often has a familiar feel to it.

And that meant…

AI art carries the styles of the ‘real artists’ it learned from.

‘This is uglier than any magic I’ve ever seen… and more beautiful than any painting.’

Yaltarion swallowed hard.

The magnum opus contained within a mediocre painting.

Because he saw the fragments of masterpieces created by humanity.

The techniques of the turbulent era of art contained in the [Mona Lisa],

The reinterpretation of the world held within [The Starry Night],

The three-dimensionality within the canvas shown by [Les Demoiselles d’Avignon],

Flooded the soul of the great artist with a torrent of inspiration.

It wasn’t entirely strange.

It was like throwing a 19th-century film director into a modern movie theater.

The chaotic combination of data that shook the Spirit King.

Even that looked beautiful to Yaltarion.

The artistic genius could sense the lives of the masters, stained with blood, sweat, and tears, in this painting.
However.

‘Could this really be the work of a single artist?’

Even the greatest artist in the world couldn’t grasp the principles of AI art.

Well, it would have been similar for anyone.

Artificial intelligence that reassembles millions of paintings?

Even people on Earth before 2022, who knew the concept of AI, couldn’t have imagined this.

It was even more difficult for the people of Luntraval.

Therefore, in their eyes, this was a single talent.

“…A genius.”

A talent so great that one might doubt their humanity.

It was a clear portrait of that.

“Emil. Whose work is this?”

“Synthia. A recently debuted newcomer.”

“What?!”

This person.

Is this the genius driving the Painter’s Guild members mad?!

Yaltarion belatedly understood Emil’s feelings.

‘I see. If she saw a work like this, she might tear up her own painting out of frustration…’

Emil’s painting was excellent.

Undoubtedly a well-painted piece.

But in the end, it was just an ‘excellent work.’

It lacked the innovation of this painting.

If he had encountered this painting when he was nine years old?

Yaltarion might have burned his own paintings in frustration too.

“Emil.”

So he didn’t speak for long.

Yaltarion simply gripped his granddaughter’s shoulder.

“Go. Go and meet your rival.”

Because a genius doesn’t need comfort.

“And… come back victorious.”
“……!”

The question of ‘how’ was meaningless.

They were painters.

People who dedicated their lives to painting.

The question of ‘where’ was also unnecessary.

A rising star who appeared like a comet.

A genius with skill but lacking experience.

What’s the fastest way for such a person to gain fame?

Emil immediately arrived at the conclusion.

“The competition.”

“That’s right.”

Art competitions generally don’t have age restrictions.

Late-blooming newcomers are not uncommon.

Famous painters refrain from participating.

There’s an unspoken rule like that.

So if she goes there, she’ll most likely meet her.

An unidentified genius.

A rival worthy of Emil’s lifelong competition.

Chloe A. Turing.

“…I’ll go.”

The young genius didn’t show her disheveled appearance or tears.

It was too early to express gratitude.

“I’ll go, fight… and win.”

Words of thanks will come after defeating her rival.

A brilliant light bloomed in the genius’s eyes.

A light called fighting spirit.

However.

That fighting spirit would never clash with Chloe’s.

“The winner of this year’s competition is—! Painter Noemillica Altzenova!”

“Why.”

“Huh?”

“Why did I win?”

Emil, who didn’t meet Chloe at the competition,

Won the final round like a lie.

It was a walkover.

“Huh? The competition? I’ll pass on that.”

Around the time Chloe, having picked up her long-lost conscience, gave a big middle finger to the Painter’s Guild Leader and the Archmage,
The weather in Yaltesance was turning chilly.

Crash!

Groomloc’s Atelier, top floor.

Chloe’s attic door was flung open violently.

Like a pre-planned assassination attempt!

The self-proclaimed boomer’s response was swift.

“Eeeeeeek-! I’m sorry! Please spare me!”

Throwing her brush aside in terror,

Chloe hid under the bed and screamed.

“I’ll never sell that trash for money again! I’ll donate all the money I earned to the church, so please just spare my life… Huh?”

Begging for her life was fine, but

Something was strange.

The intruder she thought would be a bulky thug,

Turned out to be a small girl with orange hair.

“It’s you. You’re Synthia. I know it. I came prepared.”

The genius girl who won by default without even a fight.

In short, Emil, her face flushed red, fumed.

With two canvases tucked under her arm.

“You’re that good at painting?”

“No! It’s a misunderstanding! You’ve got the wrong per—”

“Fight me. Right now.”

Why even ask if she’s not going to listen?

Chloe dove back under the bed.