Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 33: A Masterpiece
“You work at the Red Amber?”
Salaar asked directly. It had to be said, “Young Master Karns’s arrogance” made for a very useful mask.
“The Red Amber employs many artists. I’m one of them.”
Anti adjusted his top hat and turned away. “Yes, I must work. I’m merely an ordinary nobleman of modest family means. My residence may not live up to your expectations.”
…How to put it? After seeing Anti’s residence, Myss genuinely couldn’t tell whether that was an act of genuine humility or not.
Anti’s home truly wasn’t large. It was a three-story house with a courtyard—a dwelling that many wealthy commoner merchants could easily match.
But his residence was, to put it mildly, unique.
The three-story house was completely symmetrical from left to right; even the garden mirrored itself with absolute precision. The hedges had been trimmed into neat squares, the trees around the garden had all been pruned to the same height, and the arrangement of their branches was eerily similar. The climbing vines had been fixed in place with metal wire. Rather than natural decoration, they looked more like some sort of artistic pattern.
In the shade, Myss spotted a sleeping terrier. The little light-brown dog was napping in the sun, completely unaware of their arrival.
The interior decor was elegant but rigid, though at least spotless. Old paintings hung on the walls, and each vase held a fresh bouquet but there was no mixing of varieties; each vase contained only a single type of flower.
Notably, the rooms displayed quite a few taxidermized specimens.
Butterflies perched on flowers, small birds standing in gilded cages, a deer’s head hung on the wall… They looked no different from when they had been alive. The deer’s fur shone like satin, its eyes were moist, and its nose gleamed with dampness, as if it might exhale in the next second.
Myss couldn’t help glancing several more times, making sure there was no strange magical fluctuation around them. These specimens weren’t products of arcane magic, but genuine handcrafted works.
“I don’t stay here often. Previously, there were no butlers and no servants. A cleaning maid and a gardener come once a day, so please don’t order them to do anything extra. I still have work tomorrow, but if anything comes up, you may contact me through the communication crystal.”
Anti introduced the house as he walked. “There’s no need to worry about daily life. I have already hired a temporary cook and servant, and dinner will be ready soon.”
Salaar nodded absentmindedly but didn’t let the Red Amber topic go. “Work? Didn’t you say the Red Amber is closed?”
“It’s only closed to the public. Work still needs to be done.”
“Oh? Then what kind of work do you do at the Red Amber?”
“Taxidermist.” Anti kept it brief, with no intention of continuing the conversation.
Well, that explained it. Myss shifted his gaze to the lifelike canary inside the cage. If these were all Anti’s work, then even an utter layman like him could tell Mr. Anti was exceptionally skilled.
Myss quietly glanced at Anti’s Magibase. A huge and beautiful white peacock slept inside him.
However, just as everyone had put down their luggage and were preparing for dinner, Salaar, no, “Kendrick Karns,” began his scheming antics once again.
“I want some alone time with my darling.”
Salaar hooked an arm over Myss’s shoulder again. “Oh right, and we’ll need to bring Father along too. We agreed to go try the local specialties.”
“That’s right. He said he’d treat me to a grand meal, so naturally he has to pay for it himself.”
A vein twitched at Myss’s temple. Not willing to be outdone, he wrapped an arm around Salaar’s waist and quietly put some force into it. Salaar’s expression remained calm and unruffled as he discreetly squeezed back. To an outsider, the two of them looked practically inseparable.
“That’s the spirit, darling,” Salaar said tenderly.
“Don’t mention it, love,” Myss replied with a fake smile, flashing his sharp teeth at him.
“And besides, the soundproofing here may not be very good. My darling is always very… passionate.” Salaar looked at Anti again. “I checked the beds earlier. They’re rather too small.”
“What are you even saying? You’re the ‘passionate’ one obviously.”
Myss worked hard to maintain his smile. “Not only do you forcefully keep me locked up, you provoke me every single day, at all hours, and every time you insist on dragging it out for half the day.”
…For more than three hundred years, even.
“What can I do, darling? I certainly couldn’t just let you loose to wreak havoc on other people.
Salaar answered in a thick syrupy voice. “Besides, you have no idea how attractive you are. It makes me want to study you thoroughly from head to toe…”
…And then find a way to destroy you, to end the Night Scourge.
The two exchanged a meaningful glance, and each found a faint trace of killing intent in the other’s eyes.
Father Kalen looked at them in confusion, unable to understand how their relationship had suddenly heated up so dramatically.
After the two of them finished their performance, Mr. Anti raised no objections. He simply gave each of them two gold rings.
“If you intend to stay out overnight, remember to send me word,” he said calmly. “There are many errand-runners in Semper. Delivering a message only costs ten copper teeth.”
And just like that, before their backsides had even warmed the seats, the three of them left the residence again. Without Mr. Anti nearby watching them, the neurotic expression vanished from Salaar’s face at once.
Meanwhile, Myss recoiled away from Salaar as though he had just been bitten.
“Mr. Salaar, what exactly is going on?”
Kalen asked, thoroughly bewildered. “Are you really that Kendrick Karns? …And if you have to return to the Karns family, what happens to our investigation?”
Salaar replied with a question of his own. “What, you know Kendrick Karns too?”
“Yes, the Karns family is very famous.” Kalen said, “But I heard the Karns family’s youngest son is unable to use magic…”
As he said this, the priest’s tone turned uncertain. After all, he had personally seen Salaar use magic, and quite skillfully at that.
“You see, you already know the answer. I’m not that notorious Kendrick Karns. Well, there are some rather complicated reasons behind it.”
Salaar shrugged. “In any case, you don’t need to worry about the investigation. I have no desire to get tangled up with the Karns family.”
Father Kalen still looked extremely confused, but he politely kept silent. Strong allies like these were hard to come by, and he didn’t want to pry too much into their private affairs.
It was evening now, and the streets of Semper were bustling.
Vendors crowded both sides of the road, their handicrafts dazzling to the eye. Poor painters displayed their work all over the place, hoping some passing wealthy merchant might take a liking to it.
The passersby were fashionably dressed, and every one of them wore at least one piece of jewelry. Even children had lovely jeweled pendants hanging from them.
Salaar bought a relatively plain half-mask and handed it to Myss. “Put it on.”
The mask was made of wood—lightweight and quite unadorned in design. Its surface had been painted with a layer of silver paint that gave off the smell of cheap coating.
Myss wrinkled his nose at it. “Why?”
Salaar didn’t wear one himself, nor did he buy one for Kalen. Yet he had gone out of his way to make Myss wear one. Myss suspected a trap.
“There are very complicated reasons,” Salaar replied again with his all-purpose explanation. “Just wear it, unless you want to be approached by that crowd of painters…”
His eyes swept over the painters by the roadside, all visibly itching to act.
“…Because if that happens, don’t expect me to step in and save you.”
Myss slapped the mask onto his face as though it had naturally belonged there all along.
The mask was like a refusal hanging from his face, and the street painters retreated in disappointment. Salaar curved his lips slightly, then bought paints and drawing tools from a stall, stuffing them into a bulging satchel.
Before the sun had fully set, Myss was dragged by Salaar to the riverbank in Semper.
Salaar deliberately picked a corner where almost no one was around. He skillfully set up an easel and gestured for Myss to remove his mask.
At this point, even an idiot could see what Salaar was planning. Kalen exclaimed in surprise, “You’re going to paint Mr. Myss?”
Myss yanked off the mask in one motion, impatience all over his face. “That’s enough already. What kind of fit are you throwing now?”
“Look at me. Yes, that expression.”
Standing before the easel, Salaar raised a charcoal pencil at Myss. “…I don’t mean anything else by it. I just want to make things bigger.”
“Mr. Anti’s residence isn’t exactly ‘clean’. I felt a trace of killing intent. I suspect he isn’t waiting for someone from the Karns family to come see us, but for someone from the Karns family to come send me to my death.”
“If that’s the case, then making a big scene will at least be a way to throw a wrench in their plans.”
Myss gave an only half-comprehending “Oh.” Once the subject turned to intrigue and scheming among humans, his brain automatically entered a half-dormant state.
Especially that trace of killing intent. Myss was only used to sensing Salaar’s killing intent. As far as he was concerned, hostility from anyone else felt about as significant as a light scratch.
“…And stepping into the spotlight first will help us get close to the Red Amber.”
Salaar continued, “The Red Amber likes artists and models, and there is only one thing in this world that can increase the value of both at once.”
“A masterpiece,” Kalen said, understanding at once.
Salaar smiled and picked up the brush. “Exactly. I will paint a masterpiece the Red Amber desperately wants. If things go well, they will come to us themselves.”
“Aren’t you a little too full of yourself?”
Myss raised a brow. Surely the Great Hero couldn’t actually be good at absolutely everything—that would be too absurd. “Can you really just paint something on that level whenever you feel like it?”
“I happen to possess the rarest model in the world.”
Salaar replied, “And tell me, what do you think is the most important thing in a painting?”
Myss honestly shook his head.
Salaar lifted his eyes. The setting sun illuminated those lapis-lazuli eyes.
“It’s ‘emotion’,” he said.
The brush swept across the canvas in quick strokes. From where he stood, Myss couldn’t see what was on it. But he could read Kalen’s expression. Father Kalen’s face first showed confusion, then surprise and admiration. As time passed, his expression settled into one of sheer, unadulterated shock.
“…Finished.”
By the time the moon rose, Salaar finally set down the brush.
Curious, Myss went around to the other side of the easel and finally saw Salaar’s work. For one second, he understood Kalen’s shock.
The composition was simple. There was only Myss, the blazing red sky, and a river reflecting the sunset glow.
Myss’s position in the painting cleverly obscured the setting sun, as if all the radiance in the sky poured down from him. The wind stirred his ash-gray hair, covering the lower half of his face and giving the figure in the painting a strange, ethereal sense of weightlessness.
Stranger still was the fact that Myss in the painting wasn’t looking straight at the viewer, but had turned his face slightly aside, casting a fleeting glance.
Myss didn’t know how to describe that glance. It possessed a fatal, mesmerizing power—
The painted version of him gazed beyond the frame, that stare piercing outward from those blood-red eyes. It was as though heaven and earth, all things in existence, had ceased to matter— as if the only true reality, the one thing truly alive, was the object of his gaze…
How contradictory. That glance was as sharp as a blade, yet it also felt like some sort of absolution, or perhaps, a benediction of glory.
The model looked toward the painter. And was the painting itself not equally the painter’s gaze made manifest?
With an intensity as deep as the abyss, the artist had captured and imprisoned this feeling moment, mixing it into pigments, then fixed it in place with the tip of his brush. Two gazes devoured one another, distorted one another, ultimately achieving a precarious equilibrium upon the canvas.
…It was hard to imagine all of that had been born from a few ordinary tubes of paint.
Myss drew in a sharp breath. “Is this really how I look at you?”
Salaar surveyed the painting with a look of deep satisfaction. “More or less.”
“What nonsense. Clearly there’s something wrong with the way you look at me.” Myss absolutely refused to admit it.
“Say whatever you like.” Salaar rolled his shoulder.
Then he dried the painting using golden magic, carefully applied a protective varnish, and dried it with magic again once the coating was done, making sure the final surface was flawless.
At last, he placed it inside an ordinary wooden frame and wrapped it in a piece of soft dark-blue cloth. The oil painting was not very large, making it fairly convenient to carry around.
“Aren’t you going to give this painting a name? It will surely become immortalized,” Kalen asked in admiration.
Myss’s steps paused for a moment, and he quietly pricked up his ears.
“I already decided on one long ago,” Salaar said. “It’s called ‘The End of the World1’.”
Myss relaxed and lowered his ears again. That title he could accept. Though really, The Apocalypse1 would have been even better.
1Clarity: Two different terms are being used here. Salaar named his painting (世界的尽头) while Myss thinks (世界的末日) is better. Salaar uses The End (尽头) of the World, which can be ambiguous and metaphorical, so it’s kind of more poetic and artsy. while Myss uses The End (末日) of the World, which is more literal.
“…” Kalen was silent for a moment. “The bond between you two is truly wonderful.”
Salaar didn’t correct him. “Come on. Let’s go make a name for ourselves.”
He carefully held the painting against his chest and rose to his feet.
……
Semper’s Goldsand Market was somewhat famous throughout Aufon.
It was neither a hidden trade within noble clubs nor the noisy hawking of a mixed-quality street bazaar, but something in between. Participants only needed to bring a handicraft or gold, silver, or gemstone piece of sufficient quality to enter the market. As for whether they wished to sell, buy, or trade, the market imposed no restrictions.
With that standard in place, the only people who could participate were nobles, wealthy commoners, and those with truly excellent works. For artists with astonishing talent but not yet enough fame, the Goldsand Market was undoubtedly the best possible platform.
“If you wish to sell it, I can offer you an excellent price right now.”
When the appraiser at the Goldsand Market saw “The End of the World”, his eyes lit up. The old man looked at Salaar with eager anticipation, reluctant to let go of the painting in his hands.
“I’m not in urgent need of money. I only wish to show it to everyone.”
Salaar rested a hand on Myss’s shoulder. Myss had already put the mask back on, but once people saw those rare red eyes, anyone could guess who the model in the painting was.
The old man sighed regretfully, reluctantly set down the painting, and handed them two badges.
“One for you, and one for the model, sir,” he said. “I’m very sorry, but this priest hasn’t brought any artwork of sufficient quality, so he cannot enter.”
Kalen hurriedly held up the pair of bone rings. “Wouldn’t this do?”
The old man frowned at the two raised middle fingers. Father Kalen instantly realized his faux pas and began to profusely apologize.
Sadly, he failed to soothe the old appraiser’s mood. The latter snorted through his nose. “No means no! Never mind the shape. This pair of rings doesn’t even have gemstones set in them.”
“How about this? You go back to Anti’s place first and tell him that Myss and I are staying out by ourselves tonight.”
Salaar said, “If Mr. Anti asks about anything else, just say you don’t know. You’ve only known me for a short time, and you have official kingdom religious credentials. They won’t do anything to you.”
Though considering Father Kalen’s highly abnormal self-healing ability, Salaar suspected that even if someone did do something to the priest, he would probably still be fine.
Father Kalen readily agreed. “That works perfectly. I should check in with the animals too. If you two discover anything, you must tell me.”
Salaar nodded, and together with Myss crossed the barrier into the open-air market. The old appraiser’s eyes followed the dark-blue bundle until the pair disappeared into the lights, and only then did he withdraw his gaze with a mournful sigh.
“Next!” the old man called sternly.
On the other side.
The lights of the market nearly hurt Myss’s eyes.
Countless magical lamps floated in midair, illuminating the market as brightly as day.
The market had specially prepared display platforms for people’s works. As long as someone stood on the specially enchanted platform and placed their treasure in a designated spot, the object would float into the air by magic, where no one could snatch it away.
The platforms were spaced far enough apart, and each came with just enough soundproofing magic. If the exhibitor wished, they could even arrange an auction on the spot.
Myss’s eyes darted from one display stand to another. The goods here truly were of a higher class. Whether jewelry, paintings, or sculptures, none of them could be compared to roadside stalls.
Someone was selling perfume right there. More than a dozen exquisitely made glass bottles floated in the air, sparkling like gemstones beneath the lights. When Myss passed by the stand, the dense floral fragrance nearly made him faint.
Naturally, he also found people selling specimens.
To be fair, the specimens weren’t bad. But compared to what he had seen in Anti’s residence, the ones here seemed stiff and rough. At a glance, one could tell they were “corpses.”
There were astonishing numbers of young painters nearby. Each had carefully selected seven or eight of their best works to fill up their displays in a full and attractive way. Most of the paintings were classic portraits or beautiful landscapes, the sort of subjects upper society liked best.
Quite a few nobles paused before painters they fancied, discussing whether to commission a portrait.
“This place will do. Let’s begin.”
Salaar paid no attention to those “competitors.” He quickly found an empty display platform and hung “The End of the World” there.
Then he pulled Myss up onto the platform too. The two of them stood on that small stage, looking down at the passing crowd.
With Myss in a mask, Salaar dressed almost entirely in dark colors and blending into the night, and only a single lonely painting on display, they looked entirely inconspicuous.
Still, Myss’s ash-gray hair was unusual enough to catch a few people’s eyes. And once those eyes turned to The End of the World, they could no longer look away.
“Is this your work? How much for it?”
A gorgeously dressed noblewoman stopped in her tracks. She covered her lips with a fan, her gaze passing between Salaar and Myss.
“It is indeed my work.”
Salaar smiled and shook his head. “But this painting isn’t for sale. It’s for display only.”
The noblewoman sighed softly. “Then what about commissioned portraits?”
“I have no time for that at the moment, I’m afraid, beautiful lady.” Salaar answered politely. “I only wish to show the world my work, nothing more.”
The noblewoman sighed again and snapped her fan shut. She stared fixedly at the painting in the lights, unwilling to leave for a long time.
“The model is this charming young man, isn’t he?” Her gaze swept over Myss once again as she murmured, “At least tell me the name of the painting.”
“The End of the World,” Salaar answered promptly this time.
“I thought you would use the model’s name,” the noblewoman said. “Everyone uses the model’s name.”
“To me, my darling is the end of the world.”
Salaar lowered his gaze and drew Myss closer by the shoulders.
The noblewoman had gotten the answer she wanted, yet she still didn’t leave. She only stared fixedly at the painting. It was hard to say whether she was captivated by it or intimidated by it.
Then another person, and another…
The crowd gathered faster and faster, like ants discovering a lump of sugar. They kept asking the same three questions over and over.
“Is it for sale?”
“Can you do commissioned portraits?”
“What is the title of this painting?”
In the buzzing mass of voices, Myss started getting sleepy. The lights before his eyes blurred now and then into soft glowing clumps. Fork slept soundly in his pocket, utterly unbothered by the noise.
Just as Myss’s eyelids began to droop, Salaar suddenly squeezed his shoulder. At some point Knife had crawled into Myss’s clothes and pressed its cold body against the side of his neck.
Under the double jolt, Myss barely managed to recover his senses. When he saw the tightly packed sea of heads below the platform, he nearly jumped.
In the blink of an eye, the crowd beneath the platform had become packed solid. They silently stared at the painting, their faces full of astonishment mixed with a trace of fear, as though under some kind of curse. Their eyes kept straying toward Myss’s own, trying to find the gaze from the painting there.
Unfortunately, they failed miserably. The model’s glance toward them was empty, as if they didn’t exist here at all, utterly different in force from the figure in the painting.
And at the very front of all those watching eyes stood an unfamiliar young man.
The moment Myss saw him, his eyes shifted. He now understood why Salaar had woken him.
The young man was dressed magnificently, yet not gaudily, and gave off exactly the right degree of romantic flair.
He was quite handsome, with smooth light-brown curls loosely tied back with a ribbon and beautiful champagne-gold eyes. Even compared with the surrounding crowd, even compared with the nobles, his bearing was entirely different, as if he stood beneath an invisible spotlight.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Iver, a ‘Gold Prospector’ from the Red Amber Collection Hall.”
He smiled at them warmly, and the enthusiasm in his tone felt genuinely pleasant.
“…Time is precious, so I’ll ask directly. Would the two of you be interested in working for the Red Amber?”
The author has something to say:
The End of the World (literally)
Father Kalen: And you’re still saying you’re not in love?
..Arch-rivals ought to target each other obsessively. [heart]
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