Chapter 13: Who’s the Saint?
by fnovelpia
“…It’s finished.”
After about half a day of intense concentration, Emil finally completed the piece she would be submitting for the competition.
She took a deep breath and carefully inspected her work, nodding in satisfaction.
‘It’s better than the piece I submitted for the concours.’
The texture was flawless, the contrast between light and dark impeccable, and it radiated a vividness that made it feel like it could move at any moment.
It was a faithful recreation that gently melted together the techniques pioneered and taught by Yaltarion and the vague inspiration she received from Chloe.
A masterpiece into which Emil had poured 100% of her abilities.
Catching her breath, she glanced nervously at her companions.
“How is it?”
Gwahwah~.
Yaltarion’s spirits trembled with joy. Their cries of delight seemed almost audible.
Maybe it could be hung in Yaltarion’s atelier?
If it’s there, we could see it every day!
Though they couldn’t speak in words, the affection in their reactions was clear.
Thanks to them, Emil regained a bit of her confidence.
It was only natural.
‘These little ones have aesthetic senses rivaling top painters.’
First-rate artists could read an artist’s emotions from their work.
Spirits, however, could perceive even deeper than that.
They could read not just a magician’s aptitude but even the subtle emotions hidden in a painter’s brushstrokes.
Bogrurr….
They even sensed the faint uneasiness Emil had hidden in the painting.
Are you… going to lose?
A friend’s anxious question.
Emil answered with a rare certainty.
“I’ll win.”
Though fatigue was plain on her face as she said it.
She was exhausted.
And hungry.
Since the paint hadn’t dried yet, Emil left the painting where it was and stepped out of the studio.
As soon as she exited, she found Groomrok on the first floor of the atelier, who had been staring intently at a canvas.
He dusted off his knees and stood up.
He had made use of a chance acquaintance to receive some guidance from Yaltarion and had apparently been squeezing out inspiration since morning today as well.
Looking around, Emil noticed Yaltarion was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Grandpa?”
“He had something urgent and had to step out for a bit.”
Emil nodded in understanding.
Her grandfather was a busy man.
It would be a lie to say she didn’t feel a little lonely, but she was used to it by now.
Still—
“Formal speech.”
“…Pardon?”
“It’s burdensome. Please speak comfortably.”
“How could I possibly speak informally to the granddaughter of His Excellency—”
“I know who you are, Master Groomrok. I’m a fan.”
Emil shook her head.
“I even have one of your paintings at home. I begged for it as a birthday gift.”
“That’s… quite surprising. And a great honor, too.”
Groomrok was genuinely at a loss for words.
Yaltarion, the great artist.
And Emil, the young genius recognized by him.
To think that genius knew, and even liked, his paintings?
If he felt no emotion hearing that, he wouldn’t be a true artist.
“I want to be respected through art, not words.”
“Of course… of course. Did you finish your work?”
“Yes. Now I’m going to rest.”
Emil looked around the first floor.
“Chloe’s not back yet?”
“She’s still at it. But she’s quick with her hands, and I’ve given her a few days off at my discretion, so she should finish soon.”
“…Does she usually not get to rest?”
“Even His Excellency says that, but you’re making me sound like some tyrannical workshop master…”
Even in the Yaltasance, the day of rest was respected.
Artists weren’t supposed to be slaves to time.
Still, Groomrok was sweating buckets.
‘But Chloe practically hasn’t rested for the past month…’
And it couldn’t be helped.
Even when Groomrok pleaded with her to rest, she wouldn’t listen.
Understood! I’ll sneak in for weekend shifts if needed!
No, I’m telling you not to come at all!
Got it! I understand perfectly!
No, you don’t!
There’s no hidden meaning!
Just go home and rest!
She was clever enough to avoid showing up at the workshop too often though.
Well, I can’t just slack off and cause resentment among my seniors, can I?
When he asked her why she was acting like this, she simply blinked innocently and said that.
Feeling uneasy, Groomrok asked for clarification, and the reply was absurd.
If I work too hard and stand out, people might wrongly think the senior artists are slacking off, right?
So, on weekends, I’ll just quietly work in the storage room.
Don’t worry!
If anyone asks, I’ll just say I came in voluntarily, right?
Groomrok nearly fainted.
That bright, innocent smile somehow made it even worse.
‘What kind of hellish environment did she grow up in?’
At that point, her diligence seemed less like a virtue and more like an illness.
Even the spring famines back home in Mingar weren’t this bad.
She wouldn’t take a break no matter what.
On the Sabbath, Groomrok even dragged her home just to feed her and let his wife fuss over her for the whole day.
Otherwise, he was genuinely afraid she might collapse.
‘Why is a kid so used to overworking herself like this?’
Maybe it was because he had started to think of Chloe like a daughter.
Groomrok found himself cursing out his old friend like he was gnawing on a tough rib.
“Anyway, Oliver, that bastard’s a monster,” he grumbled.
“Oliver?”
“Ah, just talking to myself. You must be hungry, right? Come have some bread. I accidentally packed too much breakfast.”
He brushed it off and ushered Emil to the table.
Emil, not catching the lie, happily reached for her share of bread.
“Thank you. I’ll eat well.”
Compared to last night’s sudden raid, she was remarkably calm today.
This young lady was smart and well-behaved, too.
Still, not quite on Chloe’s level.
That girl had smiled wryly when given bread— as if she knew exactly what Groomrok was trying to do for her.
‘A kid like that shouldn’t have been sent to a convent.’
Heck, what nonsense.
He’d be thrilled to have a daughter like Chloe.
Groomrok clicked his tongue over and over.
It was the usual scene: his opinion of Oliver Turing sinking even lower.
As Emil quietly nibbled on her bread, she suddenly muttered,
“I wonder how much Chloe’s finished.”
“Why, does it bother you?”
“A little.”
She was curious.
How surprised the spirits must have been by Chloe’s painting.
How happy they must be.
Maybe they were even more excited than when they saw Emil’s painting.
Emil honestly thought that might be the case.
‘Even if it’s frustrating, I have to admit it…’
The sight of Chloe’s back as she worked so earnestly on her painting—
Emil truly thought it was beautiful.
***
It had been just over a month since I got kicked out of Yaltaissance.
At this point, I was about ready to lose my mind thanks to the sheer trashiness of Runtreval.
“I’m so done with this. I’m quitting magic!”
[Please don’t give up! Magic can be quite useful too!]
Then why the hell isn’t the magic tome I copied working!?
I clutched my head in despair.
The book I had painstakingly duplicated— the PDF-like text version of Nexor’s magic tome—
It wasn’t doing anything.
‘Why isn’t the EXP cheat working!?’
What is this, some kind of piracy block?
Should I try entering a license key or something?
‘Or maybe… I’m just not talented?’
Maybe dabbling in necromancy screwed me over.
Maybe I should’ve gone full monk at the monastery, just like a proper wuxia protagonist.
I mean, what did I expect?
You think you can just copy a magic tome and it’ll work like magic?
Am I stupid?
‘Of course I tried because it worked in the original story!’
It worked for the original protagonist, so it should work for me, too, right!?
In transmigration stories, the original always feels like a holy scripture!
[Didn’t you just call the original story garbage a little while ago?]
And now even Clicky is roasting me.
I flopped facedown onto the attic desk, defeated.
What went wrong?
When the original protagonist handed out copies to his teammates, what was different?
‘Could it really be… the materials?’
If it’s just a materials problem, that’s manageable.
The original didn’t specify the materials much, so they probably weren’t rare.
What?
A pirated copy causing a ModuleNotFoundError?
I tossed the copybook into a corner of the attic.
It looked more like a programming manual than a magic tome anyway.
No progress whatsoever.
I had stayed up several nights in vain.
“Shut up. Don’t say a word.”
[I wasn’t saying anything, though?]
Liar!
You were just about to say, ‘You always screw up whenever you try making plans, so why would this time be different? 😊’ weren’t you!?
[You have an extraordinary talent for self-awareness!]
Which one is harder: my skull or the CPU inside your head?
If it’s my skull, maybe I’ll smash it open with a brick first.
“You’re late.”
Maybe it was because I’d been cooped up for the last week stitching books together.
When I finally came down from the attic, Emil was already waiting, glaring at me.
“The deadline’s almost here. Where’s your painting?”
“Upstairs. I finished it ages ago.”
“Bragging now, are we.”
Why do you assume I’m bragging!?
Did you peek into my workshop?
This world isn’t exactly the kind to accept me grabbing onto a magic book and headbanging as performance art.
“Hm. Looks like you’re all mentally prepared.”
Yaltarian and Groomrok watched our expressions carefully.
Emil, on the other hand, looked suspicious.
“What’s this?”
“What do you mean ‘what’? We need to judge the contest. Come along.”
“Where. Why.”
Does this guy have a disease where he dies if he talks too long?
Yaltarian chuckled and patted his baker’s hat.
“Well, Chloe said, if it’s just me and this friend here, we can’t properly judge the competition.”
Emil looked at me, and I just gave a little nod.
Yaltarian.
Great Archmage and freelance artist.
Would Groomrok, facing him, have the guts to say, “Your taste sucks. I disagree with you”?
‘He would.’
This orc uncle is that serious about art.
But that doesn’t mean there’s no pressure.
That’s why I brought it up with Yaltarian beforehand.
“He suggested we put the paintings up in our atelier and have visiting guests vote on them.”
“…So that’s why you kept disappearing.”
“Exactly! Now we just need to bring the paintings over and the judging begins.”
Perfect.
A world where only Clicky (the spirit) gets hurt is complete.
[Why though?]
Why, you ask? Think about it.
It’s not just one or two people — we’re using a vote to find the median preference.
Obviously, the better painting will win.
And between us, the better one is Emil.
It’s not because Clicky’s painting is AI-generated.
It’s because I’m a complete beginner at art.
‘Even the spirits reacted badly to my caricature.’
How badly?
They tried to act all cute just to hint at me to take them outside.
That bad.
No saying “You won their love through abuse,” okay?
It wasn’t gaslighting.
It was a harmonious, responsible bonding session with my companion spirits.
‘Anyway.’
I’ve set it up as a voting contest — that’s good enough.
Now, neither Emil nor Groomrok nor I will get hurt.
And no, I definitely didn’t busy Yaltarian on purpose just to prevent him from taking my spirits back when I finished drawing.
(Absolutely not!)
Ma chiara!
Even in Gangwon Province, men don’t like cute things that much!
“Why are you hugging the spirit so tightly?”
“Want to hug it too, Emil? It’s warm.”
“I’m sick of it.”
Lucky bastard.
May the heavens punish you.
And so, hiding our names and faces, we hung the paintings in Yaltarian’s studio for a few days, making it easy for visiting guests to evaluate.
Then, after a few days──
===
Title: [The Promise of the Spirit and the Vibrancy of the Still Life]
Current Votes:
[35 votes]
◇
Title:
[I Like This One]
Current Votes:
[2 votes]
===
Emil was leading the contest with an overwhelming score.
“…Heh.”
Hehehe.
Hehehehehehe…!
“My victory, you hateful little intellect!”
[Excuse me, but you are losing.]
But your defeat is my victory!
Compared to the masterpiece that Noemilica (Emil) painted, the painting Clicky (the AI spirit) and I picked — in a field I’m totally ignorant in — was bound to polarize opinions.
Obviously, this is Emil’s (and my) win.
The ultimate art, engraved into the Yaltessance!
I reveled in the success of my plan.
Turns out there are still sane people in this crazy world──
“Saintess?”
Huh?
“Saintess?”
“It’s the Saintess!”
“The Saintess’s artwork is here!”
What?
What? What? What?
Out of nowhere, a mob of artists appeared.
And in the face of their madness, I didn’t even have time to pat myself on the back for hiding my identity.
===
Title: [I Like This One]
Current Votes:
[6 votes]
→ [13 votes]
→ [28 votes]
===
Our chances of winning plummeted instantly.
“What the heck.”
Seriously, what is going on.
What the heck are you guys doing!!
“It’s the Saintess’s first solo piece!!”
“My god!! It’s so cute!!”
Who the hell is this ‘Saintess’ you lunatics──!!
[Whenever you make a plan, it always blows up spectacularly, so there was no way it’d work out this time either! 😊]
I gladly bashed my head into a brick wall.
Unfortunately, my head was harder than the brick.
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