Chapter 345

“So, you have a good sense for paintings, right? Otherwise, you would have never become so good with my Primordial Spell.”

Jacob didn’t really know what to reply to this man, because he had absolutely no sense for paintings. He had not one artistic bone in his entire body. He was a miner. He came from the mine. He came from a city called Shit’s Creek. If he had ever tried drawing something, he would have been beaten within half an inch of his life. People didn’t care about painting while in the mines. You just finished your work and got back and slept. Getting drunk was the only optional thing you could add to your entire life. There was nothing else. That was literally it.

But he had also just destroyed a priceless artifact of this man’s. And so he wasn’t really in the mood to reveal to him that he had absolutely no idea how one painted, how one evaluated paintings, or even what the pigments in paintings were made of. It was something so removed from his life that he just said, “Yeah, I could make out that you were a great artist the moment I saw you.”

Jacob wondered what counted as artistry. But he just nodded carefully and followed the chubby King Blade and his massive mustache to one of the entrances he had already been through. This was exactly the entrance where Jacob had been tossed into the Dungeon of the Worthy by Kamenev.

“You know, I came up with the Dungeon of the Worthy, actually. Rafnov left the bones of it but never got around to finishing it, so I had to be the one completing it. I could have never done it if it had not been arranged the way it had been. And it took a great deal of work. I painted runes for three years straight.”

That’s when Jacob said, “Oh, so you were the one who made it. I just went through it.”

King Blade lit up. “Oh, you did? And how many rooms did you get right before you came out? Since you’re still alive, I think that either you passed it with flying colors, or Kamenev here got soft. And I know that the second is just an impossibility.”

King Blade laughed after that. Kamenev made a stiff smile appear on his face, and Jacob said, “Well, a few. It wasn’t that easy, let me tell you.”

But all three — Kamenev, Princess Yekaterina, Count Myshkin — couldn’t believe their ears. Jacob had mocked the Dungeon openly before, saying it had been very easy. And now he was lying shamelessly to King Blade, saying that it had not been that easy.

“Oh, and what Skill did you end up getting?”

“You know, that part wasn’t me. That was all Rafnov. I aspire… well, I aspired, before my body failed me, to become a miner half as great as he was.”

“Your Majesty,” Kamenev coughed. “Um, Jacob Cloud used a very unusual way of—”

“Kamenev, did I ask you to speak? I am talking to the kid.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Kamenev deflated.

Jacob, though, wasn’t sure he should tell the truth. He only had two Skills. So either he said that he got the Heartfire from the Dungeon, or the Lullaby Skill. And he wasn’t sure whether the lie would cost him his life. So he just said, “It was a very unusual Skill, Your Majesty. I— I am a little ashamed. Um, I truly do not understand the intent behind Rafnov’s choice. He must have picked this himself, in spirit.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I racked my brain so many times trying to understand some of the choices our ancestor made.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jacob asks, and then goes for the kill. “Would you mind telling me more about this?”

He shares the screen of his Skill with King Blade, who looks at the Skill and scratches his chin. He starts muttering, “Well, our ancestor never does anything by mistake.”

But even King Blade seems unsure as to why Jacob got a Lullaby Skill. It makes no sense to him. But now, looking around and seeing that everybody expects a long explanation that would shed some clarity on such an absurd choice, he clears his throat and says, “Well, you will find out in due time, Jacob Cloud.”

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And he gives a short laugh and changes topic.

All those present are clearly stunned by the fact that King Blade obviously has no idea himself what the Skill is for, why a Lullaby Skill would ever be of any use to a miner, and that he has chosen to lie and treat it as a big mystery when he himself has no clue.

King Blade is currently twirling the long end of his mustache nervously, and asks Jacob, “Well, Jacob, what is your favorite drink? Uh, do you prefer light or dark beer?”

Kamenev almost falls face-first into the ground hearing such a clumsy attempt to change the conversation. And Jacob replies, “Your Majesty, I’m not really an expert on beers. I’m sure you know them much better than me. I haven’t had the occasion to drink much beer in my lifetime. Perhaps you shall enlighten me on the topic.”

And the brown-nosing immediately flatters the man, who regains all his composure.

“Of course, of course. After our trial of artistry, Jacob Cloud, we shall delight in having a few drinks, and I will expound all the benefits of beer for a miner.”

Jacob sighs in relief, happy that he has found a way out of this pickle.

Then, since they’ve stopped, Kamenev points at the painting above his head and asks Jacob, “Do you have any comment on this painting?”

Kamenev suddenly freezes. He’s the only one who knows that this picture of Rafnov is something that King Blade painted himself.

“Well,” Jacob looks at the painting and hesitates, “it seems to be poorly painted on purpose.”

At that comment, Kamenev explodes. “How dare you criticize my master’s—”

“Kamenev.” King Blade glares at the man. “Silence. Go on, Jacob Cloud.”

What Jacob is doing is just using the Grimoire, which just said that the painting has a few brush strokes that disrupted its Mana flow. It’s actually a Primordial Spell that is being painted with brushstrokes instead of runes. Each stroke is actually a small rune, and it all blends together to form this painting.

“If I may,” Jacob says, pointing at the painting. “Can we get that down here? I think I know what to do.”

King Blade crosses his arms, pleased, and says, “Of course.”

Suddenly, the royal painter comes, and seeing that King Blade himself has appeared — recognizing him from all the paintings he has worked on — he immediately bows deeply.

“Your Majesty, I thought they were pulling a prank on me when they said that King Blade himself has appeared.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no. What is your name, dear?”

“My name is Sytin.”

“All right, Sytin. Uh, would you mind lending us a brush and some pigments? Mana-infused ones, please.”

“Oh, Your Majesty,” Sytin says, looking at the painting that Jacob is currently holding by its extremities. “Oh, someone has finally taken down that piece of crap.”

“Excuse me?” King Blade frowns.

Kamenev puts both hands in the air, and Count Myshkin can’t help but give a little laugh.

“Yeah. I’ve hated that painting so much, and I’ve begged the royal family to take it down. It’s so ugly. It’s such a terrible representation of Rafnov. A sword? Our ancestor with a sword instead of the pickaxe? Whoever drew that must be—”

Jacob coughed so hard that the royal painter jumped.

“Well, King Blade may have drawn that painting,” Jacob says, straining his face into a large smile, “and it is meant to be much more than just a painting. So perhaps the artistry is lost on those looking for purely aesthetic beauty.”

King Blade seems minorly pacified by those words and says, “And our ancestor did fight with a sword and a pickaxe, Sytin. Get your tools out and shut up now.”

The royal painter obeyed and gave Jacob a palette and some brushes. Jacob hesitantly approached the painting and, guided by the Grimoire, slowly scraped away some of the paint and redrew it in order to complete the spell.

Suddenly, the painting started shining brightly, and Jacob felt his pickaxe rumble and appear from his Interspatial Ring. The painting’s pigment jumped from it upon the pickaxe, which suddenly started changing color. The almost rotten wood became a deep brown, and the metal became shiny again.

“Oh, I thought that the spell wouldn’t fully trigger. I didn’t expect you to actually complete it this well,” King Blade muttered. “And you have one of Rafnov’s pickaxes.”

King Blade stretched his hand out, and Jacob passed the pickaxe to him.

“This is the genuine item. Congrats, Jacob Cloud. It shows that you must have passed quite the difficult trial to gain this.”

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Jacob said hesitantly.

“You’re also humble. Come, then. This was just the appetizer. Now that you have proven you have the heart of an artist, we can move on to the real trial.”

“Oh, this wasn’t the trial?” Jacob says between his teeth.

“Of course not. The next one is the actual trial.”

“Just like this one?”

“Uh, yes. Similar. More deadly, though.”

Jacob looks at King Blade and feels like dying.

“More deadly because it provides a great opportunity?” Jacob asks, hoping at least he will get something more than his pickaxe gaining back some shine.

“Not for you, kid. But you know what they say, right? A great deed in someone else’s favor is the greatest reward you can get.”

Jacob looks at King Blade, pretty sure that the man just made that up on the spot.

“Come on. We have to enter the test location.”

King Blade gently takes the palette from Jacob and starts sketching on the wall. Jacob sees, thanks to the Grimoire, that the landscape King Blade is painting is actually another Primordial Spell. A portal one.

What kind of magic is that? Jacob mutters. And how do I learn that?