Chapter 102: Painting, Prophecy! (Please Subscribe and Monthly Tickets!)

Chapter 102: The Painting, The Prophecy!

Karen opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the steps, discovering quite a few people standing around him.

Right now, he was utterly exhausted, yet at the same time, incredibly spirited.

Exhausted was his body, having once again reached the critical threshold of overexertion, merely a fraction better than how he felt after his last conversation with Count Recar.

Spirited was his purpose; men fear the night because it veils their direction, but once a bright beacon truly appears before you, the darkness that was just clawing and snarling instantly becomes nothing more than a dull, tedious backdrop.

"Apologies, I dozed off just now."

Karen slowly stood up, and Alfred reached out a hand to support him.

At that moment, Eunice proactively stepped forward.

Alfred hesitated for a brief second, then subtly stepped back half a pace, allowing Eunice to take his place and support the young master.

"Take me back to the bedroom," Karen said to Eunice.

"Mm."

Supported by Eunice, Karen returned to the bedroom. He first sat down on the edge of the bed while Eunice helped him make it ready, then she held him gently as she let him lie down.

"I am not that weak," Karen smiled.

"Your body has been acting up constantly of late; you must pay more attention to your rest," Eunice replied.

"Mm, alright."

Karen lay down, and Eunice pulled the blanket over him.

"Right, Eunice."

"What is it?"

"Could you help me borrow a set of painting tools from your father?"

"Of course, but you absolutely cannot paint right now—not until you have rested up, at least."

"Naturally, I intend to paint after I wake. I just had a dream, and I want to paint it down immediately after I rest. You know how it is; if too much time passes, one might no longer remember what the dream looked like."

"I understand. Before you wake, I will have the painting tools prepared for you. Which brand of pigments do you need? Father has all sorts of varieties over there."

"There is no need for pigments, I will mix them myself. Oh, right, there is a box in the cabinet over there containing three portions of pigment. Help me take one out and give it to your father."

"Father does not need them."

"Oh, your father asked me for them of his own accord."

"Is that so?" Eunice walked over to the cabinet and opened it. Sure enough, there was a box inside holding three portions of pigment, their craftsmanship appearing incredibly exquisite. "I shall take one, then?"

"Yes."

"I thank you on behalf of my father."

"No need to be so polite."

"Then, get some good rest."

"Alright."

Eunice carried the pigment and walked out of the bedroom.

A moment later,

Pu'er arrived in the bedroom riding the Golden Retriever, leaping directly onto the bed.

"Karen, just now you..."

Karen, who had just lain down, turned his face to look at Pu'er.

Pu'er, who had been right on the verge of asking whether Karen had just completed a divine revelation, suddenly choked back the words for some inexplicable reason upon being swept by Karen's gaze.

Pu'er silently backed away, then leaped down from the bed.

The Golden Retriever was also sizing Karen up with great curiosity, though that did not stop it from matching Pu'er’s rhythm, slowly backing away toward the bedroom door.

It was not fear, nor was it majesty, but rather a sort of indescribable, indefinable sensation. His gaze told you that he did not particularly wish to speak right now, and thus, you consciously refrained from disturbing him at this moment.

After stepping out of the bedroom,

Pu'er's eyes widened, looking back with a hint of bewilderment at the door that had already been closed by Alfred.

"What kind of look was that?" Pu'er asked.

The Golden Retriever shook its head, indicating it did not know either.

"So, what kind of divine revelation did the God of Order actually give him?" Pu'er asked again.

The Golden Retriever shook its head once more.

"Then, let us wait until he has rested well."

The Golden Retriever nodded vigorously.

Pu'er looked up at Alfred, only to find him with his hands placed over his chest, looking entirely enraptured.

"Radio sprite, what are you doing?"

With his eyes closed, Alfred replied:

"Have you two not realized? Just now, the young master's eyes were filled with absolute clarity and profundity.

The Great Existence has already illuminated his path;

He shall become strong,

He shall become majestic,

He shall march forward with unwavering steps,

The great chapter

Shall set sail at this very moment."

The Golden Retriever stared with wide eyes at Alfred, who was deeply immersed in his own self-induced moved state and unable to extricate himself.

Pu'er, however, chuckled:

"Was your antenna struck and broken by lightning?"

A dismissive smile played at the corner of Alfred's mouth.

"What is the meaning of that smile?" Pu'er questioned.

"Woof!"

Alfred waved his hand, pulled a nearby chair over, and sat down. He intended to remain here to guard the resting young master.

"In your eyes, the young master is merely another Diss in his youth;

But in my eyes, the young master has always been the truly Great Existence.

In terms of loyalty and faith toward the young master, neither of you compares to me."

Having said that, Alfred closed his eyes.

In his heart, he silently added another line: Foolish mortals.

Hmm?

No, it should be:

Stupid beasts.

...

Karen, lying in bed, did not fall asleep right away, but kept his eyes wide open.

He deeply desired to paint the scene from his dream,

At this moment,

The limitations of the camera became apparent; it could capture the scenery of reality, but it could not capture your dreams.

That was why Karen had Eunice take a portion of the paints Linda gave him and deliver them to Mr. Bede;

He knew that Mr. Bede and Linda were certainly connected. Without exception, upon his waking, Mr. Bede would surely come looking for him, and then, he would ask for his help to paint that very scene from his dream.

It was merely a single image, nothing that would involve anything else, and Karen believed that Mr. Bede possessed the ability to present it for him flawlessly.

So,

Sleep now?

No, he wanted to wait a little longer;

Karen sat up, retrieved the notebook kept beneath his pillow, and pulled out the pen clipped to the cover.

He flipped to the latest blank page,

And before setting pen to paper, he paused.

Because he knew exactly what kind of thing he was about to write down.

More often than not, human thought is free, and though it may bear the sin of blasphemy, it is an entirely different concept compared to committing it to text.

The moment you write down words, regardless of the form, at the very instant your pen falls, it is destined to create the possibility of being read by others.

Yet this hesitation did not last long; Karen began to write, penning a title:

"Divine revelation is, in truth, a scam."

"Humans can deceive even themselves, so why not gods?"

Upon reaching this sentence, the tip of Karen's pen hesitated slightly over the words, and in the end, he drew a single line across the text, though he did not add a second or a third, leaving the words unblotted.

He continued to write:

"God will cover your eyes and tell you that a bottomless abyss lies ahead;

God will cover your ears and tell you that malicious ghosts are howling all around;

God will erase your limbs and tell you that you are lonely, you are wandering, you are helpless;

God will make you cry, because he happens to hold a handkerchief to wipe away tears in his hand;

God will guide your lost self in the right direction, yet never tell you that you were actually walking on the right path all along;

If, from birth, you are told that the sky is black, the grass is blue, and the clouds are red;

Then, in your cognition, the sky is black, the grass is blue, and the clouds are red.

You are correct, because you will say the sky and the sea are of one color, the grass and the tree shade are of one color, the clouds and the white sand are of one color.

Therefore, God is not wrong.

When you choose to faith and revere God,

God is supreme."

Karen stopped his pen, and after a short while, continued to write:

"Why must God lie?"

"What, exactly, is God afraid of?"

"Is God truly the so-called 'God'?"

Suddenly,

The tip of the pen began to tremble,

Not because the pen itself was shaking, but because Karen's hand was shaking, and along with it, Karen's teeth were chattering.

He began to take deep breaths continuously,

Yet the more he breathed deeply, the heavier that sense of exhaustion became;

He knew,

He needed to rest, needed it desperately.

But Karen still gritted his teeth, pressing down on his trembling wrist, and wrote the final line:

"After I become a god, no one is permitted to walk the same path as me?"

Finishing his writing,

He closed the notebook,

Dropped the pen,

And tilting his head to one side, Karen fell asleep.

...

"How is Young Master Karen?" Old Anderson asked Eunice as she came downstairs.

"He needs rest, everything else is fine."

"Oh, that is good." Old Anderson looked somewhat puzzled, "The Young Master's body, why does it feel..."

"I think it might be because the Young Master helped treat my body, which caused him to overexert himself," Mike said with great guilt from his wheelchair.

Mr. Bede said, "It should be so."

"In any case, the Young Master's body must be well taken care of. Eunice, put a bit more heart into it." Old Anderson instructed.

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Mm, everyone carry on with your work, there must be no delay regarding the funeral."

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, Father."

After everyone had dispersed, Eunice caught up with her father.

"Father."

"What is it?"

"Karen asked me to give this paint to you."

"Oh, paint?"

Bede took the paint from his daughter's hand, and the very instant it was held in his palm, his body shuddered slightly, yet he still forced himself to maintain a calm demeanor:

"When Master Karen wakes, I will go to thank him in person."

"He wishes for Father to paint a picture for him, and I believe this pigment is meant as a reward."

"Oh, is that so, I see, of course that is no problem. By the way, I must trouble you to go to the maid housekeeper once more and check how they are finishing with tidying the silverware."

"I understand, Father."

Watching his daughter walk away, Mr. Bede clutched the pigment and hurried into the basement, using his key to unlock the door to his studio, then immediately locking it again from the inside.

The servants of the house, even his own family, never actually entered his studio, yet this lock was not to keep outsiders out, but rather a psychological cue for himself.

Bede sat down before a blank easel, unscrewed the pigment in his hand, and began to mix colors upon his palette, and having completed his preparations, immediately commenced his painting.

The speed of his brushwork was rapid, requiring almost no thought and no pause; rather than saying he was painting, it was truer to say he was developing the "negatives" stored within his mind.

Soon,

The image began to gradually manifest.

Allen Castle, an ancient and magnificent structure;

The focus and main perspective lay at the entrance, upon the steps, where a blonde young man sat as if dozing, though his countenance bore signs of struggle and agony;

Before and behind the youth stood a figure each, keeping him protected.

As the painting deepened, the form of every character began to grow distinct, which was in truth the very perspective of Mr. Bede himself as he had stood there earlier.

Karen sitting upon the steps experiencing the "divine revelation," and the others standing around him.

Even the servants busy in the distance, and even the cat and the dog in the corner, were all painted in by Mr. Bede.

Having painted to this point, Mr. Bede set down his brush and stood up;

He began to pace anxiously back and forth before the easel, even starting to gnaw at his own fingernails.

"Where has it changed, what is wrong, it should not be so, it is wrong."

Mr. Bede began to mutter to himself, as though fallen into some form of frenzy.

Suddenly,

He walked over to a painting covered by a white cloth and tore the cloth away.

Within this painting, the scene depicted was also Allen Manor, yet the sky was the color of blood, while the ground below was entirely consumed by darkness.

Inside the manor, many people lay upon the ground, their faces twisted in agony and wailing; at the windows, many also sought to flee, only to be dragged backward by some inexplicable force.

This was a tragedy of the human world, no, a tragedy of Allen Manor.

Behind the castle in the painting lay an extended dark shadow, its exact nature indiscernible, yet it imparted a bizarre sense of oppression.

It was very high, and very long, and one could perceive black vine-like existences continuously extending outward like the tentacles of a demon, capturing its own sustenance.

Within that mass of dark mist, several human faces could faintly be seen, already nearly submerged.

Beholding this painting, Mr. Bede grew no longer anxious; his countenance grew calm, and his breathing began to steady.

Every painting in the studio, in truth, bore no signature, for Mr. Bede had never intended to hold a private exhibition of his own, so naturally there would be no such thing as a stamp.

Yet upon every white cloth, the date was noted in the corner with a fountain pen.

And this painting, titled "The Tragedy of Allen Manor," had been created a year ago.

"Hehehe... hehe..."

A smile suddenly surfaced upon Mr. Bede's face; he seemed highly satisfied with this painting.

Then, laughing all the while, he walked toward another painting nearby and pulled away the white cloth above it.

In the painting, it was still a scene within Allen Manor, where everything was entirely normal; the people in the painting were walking and chatting, the very everyday life of Allen Manor.

The smile upon Mr. Bede's face began to gradually fade, yet he still forced himself to maintain it, and it could be clearly felt that his laughter was extremely strained.

Immediately following,

Mr. Bede walked to the wall and tore away the white cloth upon it, revealing the scroll of Linda summoning the Wall Goddess Reriersa.

"Urrghh, urrghh..."

Strange noises began to arise from Mr. Bede's throat, and he began to lose control of his limbs, gesticulating wildly in a display of bizarre excitement.

This state endured for a long time,

Before he uncovered yet another painting, which was placed in the furthest corner of the vast studio; pulling away the white cloth, inside was the scene of a study, a very ordinary study;

A desk, with no one behind it;

Yet there ought to have been someone, for the lid of the teacup floated in midair, and the fountain pen stood upright.

"Aaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!"

Mr. Bede opened his mouth and shrieked at this painting.

"He lied to you, he lied to you!"

Mr. Bede began to shout.

"He lied to you, he lied to you!"

Mr. Bede lifted the easel and slammed it violently against the ground.

The easel broke apart, yet the canvas fell loose.

"He simply lied to you, he lied to you!"

Mr. Bede knelt before this painting, his hands gripping it fiercely as if he wished to tear it to shreds, yet he was restraining himself.

"You have already taken the wrong path; this is the destined misfortune of your family. Even if you already knew of it, you should have chosen to be a silent onlooker.

Just like the transition of the four seasons of a year, you must not lament the departure of the verdant green, nor celebrate the passing of the summer heat, much less cling to the fruitfulness of autumn, or flee from the biting cold of winter;

Whether you care or care not, they will come anyway;

Whether you hinder them or hinder them not, they will depart all the same.

You should step out, stand on the outside, to watch it, to appreciate it, to... praise it!

When your heart is no longer bound by fetters, only then can your perspective, your brush, manifest the purest things!

These principles, you understand them all in truth, do you not?"

Mr. Bede tilted his head and held up this painting of the study.

"You have already taken the wrong path; you actually attempted, in order to avoid the family's misfortune, to seek the aid of another.

He promised you,

But look,

What has changed?

Why do you not sit back down, and continue to finish the painting you left uncompleted just now?

Do you dare?

Do you dare?

When you take up the brush, you should be entirely without fear; you should complete your artwork in the most realistic manner!

"Instead of running away!"

"Aaaaargh!!!!!"

Mr. Bede cast aside the canvas before him, then began to frantically kick down the easels in the studio, one after another.

Finally,

The piece he had been working on since entering the studio was toppled, sending a portion of the pigments from his palette spilling across its surface.

Two colors dominated the mess: one black, the other red.

The black fell entirely upon Cullen within the painting, completely blanking out his form, and then, spurred by the initial splatter and its own spreading momentum, it crept outward like black vines, linking itself to every single figure surrounding Cullen.

The red, meanwhile, washed over the canvas in a broad sweep, staining everyone red except for the pitch-black shroud burying Cullen.

Mr. Bede stared blankly at the painting.

He had never intended to finish it, yet finished it was.

It resembled a massive black tree, sprouting from Cullen, its vines piercing the bodies of everyone present; Mr. Bede looked down and found that his own chest had also been splattered by the flying pigment.

The red, on the other hand, meant blood, symbolizing death.

"Do you truly believe he wants to help the Allen family? No, he merely treats the Allens as a sacrificial offering for his own grandson, hahahahahahaha!"

"Only you remain naive enough to believe him, thinking he could bring the Allen family a chance to avert disaster. Look at it now! Just look at it now!"

"The original calamity is still destined to happen, but the beneficiary has changed."

"Yet a sacrifice remains a sacrifice, after all!"

Mr. Bede dropped to his knees before the painting, his eyes vacant.

If the canvases he had previously uncovered were arranged by the dates on their white cloths, from first to last they would be:

The Allen Manor Tragedy, The Study, Linda Summons the Wall God, Daily Life at Allen Manor, and finally, this newly completed piece before his eyes.

"This is a destined calamity, a turning point granted by God to make you grow, to make you progress, to allow you to possess the divine gaze and courage to appreciate the true scenery of this world!

You have already defied God's will once, but God will forgive you, for she has given you a second chance, and you ought to seize th—hm? How is this possible!"

Upon the remaining pigments on the palette, specks of silver-white light began to swirl and flow, beautiful and utterly pure, while the black that had previously stained Mr. Bede's chest began to dissolve into drifting motes of light, resembling... shimmering bone ash.

Simultaneously, within the painting before him, the last pool of black that had splattered across it was rapidly melting away—no, it was evaporating.

Cullen, who had been buried beneath that heavy pool of darkness, gradually became clear once more.

Once the central blackness had almost completely evaporated, the black "vines" extending from Cullen's position also began to vanish; because these black lines happened to link every person together, as the black evaporated along those paths, the red on everyone else began to dissolve away with it.

In the end, the red on every person vanished completely, and the red on the surrounding scenery faded drastically, creating an atmosphere akin to a sunset glow.

Mr. Bede closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again, the previous frenzy and hysteria almost entirely gone, replaced by a profound calm.

In his mind rose the scene from the study and the old man sitting behind the desk;

His gaze, however, fell upon the young man in the painting, who was receiving a divine revelation yet bore an expression of sheer agony;

Ultimately,

He pursed his dry, bleeding lips,

And murmured:

"Can God never make a mistake?"

-----

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