Chapter 2676 Second Level <TOC> Chapter 2678 Aedannis and Ouro
Translator: SumTLMan
Angel was indeed in the Hanging Prison Stairs of the Nightmare Plane when he first saw oil paintings. However, all those paintings were concentrated at the topmost level, which was the warden’s residence.
The warden of the Hanging Prison Stairs seemed to be an individual who greatly adored oil paintings. Everywhere he lived, each corridor was full of paintings, every single one of them a masterpiece from a famous artist.
Back then, when Angel left the Hanging Prison Stairs, he even took two paintings from the warden’s gallery back into reality.
To this day, those two paintings still lie within Angel’s bracelet.
The oil painting on that ruined wall is certainly not one of the two he brought out, but he did see a similar painting in the warden’s gallery.
Which suggests that this painting very likely came from the topmost floor of the Hanging Prison Stairs, the warden’s gallery.
But how did it get here from the warden’s gallery? Was it carried here by the void storm that caused the paintings inside to scatter, so it just happened to land here? Or is this entire stretch of wall actually a piece of the warden’s original gallery?
Angel pondered for a moment and stepped closer to where the painting hung.
Even before he reached the painting, Angel was certain this wall fragment was not part of the warden’s gallery but originally belonged to the cell walls on the second level. The warden’s gallery walls, as well as the frames, were all made from the same expensive lacquered wood. The only difference was the deep purple matte paper covering the gallery walls.
Yet here, the ruined walls were of a stone-and-wood mix, a cheaper material that was even more economical than Deep Sea Wood. Its only advantage was its relatively strong capacity for conducting energy, which allowed it to support the energy conduits of magic formations.
Though the wall is not from the top level of the gallery, the painting itself is indeed one of the warden’s treasures.
It is an oil painting of pastoral leisure: in the distance are abundant fields of golden wheat, full of farmwives bent over their work. In the foreground stands another farmwife, though she is neither working nor stooping, she is resting against a tree. From the sweat at her temples and the farming gloves placed beside her, one can discern that she must be in the midst of her labor or pausing after finishing a portion of it. Golden curls spill out from one side of her headscarf; she is youthful and vigorous, her lovely green eyes gazing off toward the distant mountains with strands of wistful longing. It is as though, in those faraway peaks, there resides the lover she cherishes deeply.
The backdrop is the warm palette of early autumn’s harvest; the glow of midafternoon is hazy. Although it doesn’t employ many colors, the painting manages to convey a rich sense of depth.
Angel remembers this particular piece partly because it was one of the rare “leisure paintings” among the warden’s collection.
Other works were either laden with deep meaning, or they were abstract in concept, or highly realistic, or else portraits.
There were only a scant few depicting leisure scenes.
Precisely because such leisure paintings were so uncommon, among the two paintings Angel had chosen to bring out at that time, one was also a leisurely piece, —Herdsman Milking—. This —Afternoon Countryside— was a candidate he had considered, so it stood out strongly in his memory.
The Black Count flew over at this moment and asked: “Is there something wrong with this painting?”
His tone betrayed his confusion because he assumed Angel must have heard his earlier conversation with the Sovereign of Wisdom. The Wise One had clearly stated that the Wood Spirit was not in this place, so why was Angel lingering in front of this painting?
The others, too, looked at Angel in curiosity. He rarely did anything superfluous, so his lingering here had to hold some purpose.
Angel: “I’m just curious why this painting is hanging here.”
Although Angel was answering the Black Count, his gaze rested on the Sovereign of Wisdom.
The Sovereign of Wisdom raised an eyebrow: “Why can’t it hang here?”
Angel: “I think an artwork like this belongs in a beautiful gallery, not in some rubble. So someone must have deliberately put it here, right?”
The Sovereign of Wisdom merely smiled without answering.
He had thought Angel had really discovered something significant, turns out it was just curiosity about why the painting showed up here. On second thought, that made sense: a painting from a nameless artist of ten thousand years ago could hardly be recognized by a mere junior.
Angel then turned and looked at the Sovereign of Wisdom: “Did you hang it here?”
The Sovereign of Wisdom shook his head: “No.”
Then he paused and continued: “If you want more details, we can exchange answers to questions.”
That he brought up an exchange of questions at this point even surprised The Black Count slightly. It implied the Wise One considered this query substantial enough for Angel to trade for. In other words, the identity of the one who hung the painting here was not so simple.
Angel also picked up on the hint but shook his head: “Forget it. We came here this time to look for the Wood Spirit, so let’s put everything else aside for now.”
The Sovereign of Wisdom did not mind Angel’s choice. He simply smiled and stepped away.
But just as the Sovereign of Wisdom was about to return to the void path, he suddenly saw Vai, who was facing him, widen his eyes in shock and stare at something behind the Wise One’s back.
Simultaneously, Daus exclaimed: “What is that? Is it the Wood Spirit?”
Upon hearing that, the Sovereign of Wisdom froze, then swiftly turned around.
He saw Angel’s hand, though he did not know precisely when, reaching into the painting. From within it, Angel was slowly withdrawing a dark-brown cylindrical log.
As Angel pulled that log bit by bit out of the painting, the painting’s surface rippled like a lake disturbed by gentle waves.
Everyone looked on, dumbfounded, including the Sovereign of Wisdom. Even he wore an astonished expression.
How…did he know?
Under everyone’s gaze, Angel drew out this dark-brown log, about two meters long and ten centimeters thick, from inside the painting.
And as the log left the painting entirely, the tree that the farmwife in the painting had been leaning against seemed to wither and die. All its leaves fell away, leaving only a desiccated trunk.
That was already a startling sight, yet the transformation had not ended.
Within the painting, the farmwife, originally half-turned in profile, gazing longingly toward the distant mountains, suddenly turned her face fully forward, revealing that the other side of her face was as dark and hollow as a black void. The tenderness in her eyes morphed into virulent malice.
She glared fiercely at Angel, then dissolved into a faint layer of black smoke and vanished.
At that moment, the painting itself changed again.
The tree, once withered, sprouted green leaves anew, and the farmwife reappeared. However, she was no longer the beautiful young blonde woman; she was now a freckled girl with brown hair in a ponytail.
This new scene lasted only an instant before further changes began.
The painting grew old at a speed visible to the naked eye.
From pristine and fresh, it grew mottled and yellowed. Eventually, the canvas cracked and crumbled away into fine dust, until at last the painting vanished entirely, leaving only an empty frame behind.
“What’s going on here? Why did the painting change? Why did that half-face-black-hole woman become a freckled girl? And what is that log? Finally, why did the painting turn to ash?” Daus fired off his questions in rapid succession.
Usually, if Daus started rattling off questions like a machine gun, The Black Count would have taunted him. Yet this time the Black Count did not interrupt, because he too wished to know the answers.
Angel, however, ignored Daus’ barrage of questions for the moment, focusing instead on the hefty log in his hands, carefully examining it.
After a good while with no reply, the Black Count could not help but speak: “Is this the Wood Spirit?”
Such a meticulously hidden piece of wood made everyone’s thoughts jump first to the Wood Spirit. Yet one thing puzzled the Black Count: if it truly was the Wood Spirit, why would the Sovereign of Wisdom have deceived them earlier, claiming there was a trap here and that the Wood Spirit definitely was not?
Moreover, the Black Count had surveyed the painting himself but detected nothing unusual. How had Angel discovered it?
Angel: “It’s not the Wood Spirit, but it seems related.”
As he said this, Angel turned his gaze upon the Sovereign of Wisdom.
This time, the Sovereign of Wisdom did not stay silent but spoke in a low voice: “When I first encountered the Wood Spirit here, it put on a little ‘shell-shedding’ performance to evade me. This should be something it created, or perhaps an offshoot of its original body.”
After speaking, the Sovereign of Wisdom immediately asked: “How did you find it?”
Angel answered casually: “Is that an exchange of answers?”
The Wise One did not reply, but all three of his eyes remained fixed upon Angel, as though he wished to see through him. Of course, this was merely an illusion, any direct look from the Wise One was something Angel conjured through illusions, containing no genuine intimidation.
Nevertheless, Angel did not try to provoke him. He slightly evaded that gaze, then said in a neutral tone: “I happened to have seen this painting before.”
The Sovereign of Wisdom was puzzled: “You’ve seen this painting? Impossible. How could you have?”
Angel: “Scarob Bright.”
The Sovereign of Wisdom asked in confusion: “He is…?”
Angel: “Does the Sovereign of Wisdom not know? Scarob Bright is the one who painted this piece.”
The Wise One truly did not know who had created it. Though as an alchemist, he possessed some aesthetic sense, it was primarily in the realm of pharmaceutics, and that did not require the same level of interest in painting and artistic appreciation as those who practiced metal and stone forging. Moreover, while it was a fine work, it was ultimately painted by a mortal, so the Wise One considered it wasteful even to mount it in an extraordinary frame, let alone carefully study it.
The one who truly had an interest in such paintings was Franklin, the warden of the Hanging Prison Stairs and one of the key powers in Nightfall City.
Now that he heard Angel mention the artist’s name, the Wise One had no way to verify whether it was true or false.
Angel continued: “Although I’ve never seen the original, I’ve had the fortune to see a collection of that artist’s works, compiled in a volume owned by an alchemist who loves paintings. Among those collected works was this artist’s piece, reproduced by later generations.”
Angel paused, then spun his tale further: “Besides —Afternoon Countryside—, I remember some other works of his, for instance —Herdsman Milking—, —Fisherman Returning at Night—, —Evening Hues….”
While Angel spoke, he conjured illusions of painting after painting. In terms of style, they truly did resemble the one they had just seen.
From the Sovereign of Wisdom’s perspective, he actually recognized several of these images, indeed, Franklin had collected their originals.
Could Angel be telling the truth? Did he genuinely know what the original looked like?
Previously, the Wise One was entirely skeptical that Angel had ever seen this painting before. After all, this was the work of a mortal painter who lived ten millennia in the past. Even if the painter had been famous at the time, thousands of years were enough for him to fade from living memory.
And yet here someone claimed to have seen his paintings. The Wise One found this very difficult to believe.
But Angel’s examples did line up with pieces the Wise One remembered, so the Wise One could not refute him outright.
Moreover, on second thought, it was not entirely impossible.
Mortals alone could not preserve an artist’s work across ten thousand years, but wizards very well could. Franklin loved this painter’s works, why could some other wizard not also love them? Angel even mentioned it was an alchemist who had collected them, and indeed, most alchemists, because of their need to create blueprints, typically cultivate a sense of aesthetics. Collecting the works of mortal painters is not at all rare for them.
And with the preservation methods wizards possess, saving them for ten thousand years is certainly feasible. Wizard organizations and wizard families often replicate ancient texts from time to time to avoid losing them as single copies. So if Angel truly saw the painter’s work in an alchemist’s collection, it was not impossible.
Still, the Sovereign of Wisdom felt something was off. Could it really be such a coincidence, Angel just happened to have seen that artist’s works, and then he just happened to appear here?
This was just the latest of many coincidences. Angel seemed perpetually shrouded in a veil of mystery. The Wise One could not help suspecting Angel had come prepared, or that Angel was in some way descended from wizards connected to Nightfall City, whether that connection was friendly or hostile.
Hence, curiosity about Angel’s identity only grew stronger for the Sovereign of Wisdom.
As the Wise One silently contemplated Angel, Angel continued speaking: “Oh yes, the original version of —Afternoon Countryside— looked like this.”
With a sweep of his hand, Angel conjured another illusion.
This so-called “original,” matching the final glimpse they saw, the farmwife was not a youthful blonde but a ponytailed, freckled girl.
Angel: “And precisely because the original differs from what we just saw, I sensed something was off, then tried to unravel the painting’s mystery.”
Angel gestured at the scene: “We all witnessed the outcome.”
“The life force keeping the painting perpetually fresh came from the wood’s energy, while the log itself was hidden inside the painting’s space… Or more precisely, inside a reflective film across the painting’s surface.”
Angel paused pointedly: “That film bore a certain resemblance to a mirror.”
A mirror?
Hearing that word, everyone frowned. They recalled a rumored ‘nonexistent’ Demon God: the so-called Demon God of Mirrors.
They had even discovered what they believed to be the “Demon God of Mirrors’s” mark, a design half resembling a long-haired woman’s profile and half resembling a hat-wearing man’s profile.
Meanwhile, the half-profile farmwife they had seen in the painting earlier bore a faint resemblance to that long-haired woman from the mark.
Could it be that this painting was connected to the Demon God of Mirrors?
The Black Count, pondering this possibility, glanced askance at the Sovereign of Wisdom. Earlier, the Wise One had hinted that whoever hung this painting here was noteworthy enough for Angel to trade questions for. Which would suggest a link between the Demon God of Mirrors and the Sovereign of Wisdom, or at least a link worthy of deep scrutiny.
Chapter 2676 Second Level <TOC> Chapter 2678 Aedannis and Ouro