184 Painting
When Lumian stepped back into the Auberge du Coq Doré, his mind was still filled with the exorbitant cost of painting supplies.
Among his colleagues at the Salle de Bal Brise, Charlie’s monthly salary as a waiter was considered decent. However, it would take him two months of forgoing food and drink just to afford a single roll of canvas!
Lumian couldn’t help but view painters as a destitute lot. How could they ever afford canvases, brushes, paints, wooden frames, human models, and all the other expenses that came with their craft?
Perhaps they relied on financial support from their families just to get by. Shaking off these thoughts, Lumian closed the door behind him and carefully placed the stack of items on the wooden table.
Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t afford proper canvases. Instead, he settled for the cheapest brushes, paints, paper, and other necessities. The truth was, Lumian didn’t aspire to be a painter or have his work displayed in an exhibition. He simply needed a medium to imbue the supernatural power, obtained from the Mystery Prying Glasses. The quality of the paint, the possibility of cracking, the fading over time, or even his painting skills were all inconsequential matters.
And so, Lumian spent a total of 30 verl d’or, acquiring his modest supplies.
Mixing a palette of vibrant colors and unfurling a flexible sheet of white paper, Lumian prepared himself for the ritual ahead. With the sanctified silver dagger in hand, he crafted a wall of spirituality within Room 207.
His intention was to explore what he could draw and observe the effects it would yield.
Based on the reaction of Madam Magician’s messenger at Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian surmised that there was nothing particularly abnormal about this place. The only notable issue seemed to be the abundance of bedbugs. Susanna Mattise’s predicament most likely had its origins in Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons or perhaps even an underground cavern.
Taking a slow breath, Lumian retrieved the brown glasses with golden rims and carefully placed them upon the bridge of his nose.
In an instant, the world around him seemed to spin, as if he had plummeted from the sky into the depths of the earth.
During this disorienting journey, Lumian beheld the inverted motel with its occupants moving about in a similar fashion, an underground bar, roots of trees and soil extending beneath the surface, rats lurking in the corners, and vermin scurrying about.
Deeper and deeper he fell, enduring the nauseating sensation of weightlessness.
And then, he caught sight of an immense network of brownish-green roots stretching in all directions, reaching into the distance and vanishing into the void.
“Ugh…” Lumian nearly expelled the contents of his stomach. The remnants of his unfinished dinner rose to his throat, threatening to escape.
Swiftly, he removed the Mystery Prying Glasses and fought the urge to vomit. Fueled by an insatiable desire to draw, Lumian picked up a paintbrush, dipped it into the paint, and began sketching upon the blank canvas.
Unbeknownst to him, his spirituality infused the brush with an increasing vigor.
After a few minutes, Lumian halted his strokes and gazed upon his creation.
What in the world have I drawn? The question echoed in his mind.
Upon careful observation, he managed to discern the subject of his artwork: a triangular house with a grayish-blue hue, its roof adorned with green trees, and rain resembling mud.
Lumian stared at the painting for a moment and suddenly felt an itching sensation on the back of his hand. Unable to resist, he scratched it, only to witness his skin turning red and swollen, accompanied by an all-over itchiness.
Could this be the Beyonder influence of the painting? Lumian’s heart stirred as he looked away, attempting to soothe the irritation through the friction of his clothes. But his efforts were in vain, and he couldn’t help but scratch a few more times.
As he averted his gaze from the child-like graffiti of an “oil painting,” the itching gradually subsided and eventually vanished.
The urge to paint had vanished as well.
He turned around and contemplated the details.
I have to stare at the painting for at least three seconds before my body itches…
It’s challenging to use it in battle. I can’t just stick it on my face, can I?
If I use it as a trap, it might have some utility…
I wonder if there are any paintings that can be used without drawing the target’s attention?
After careful consideration, Lumian resolved to make another attempt.
He donned the Mystery Prying Glasses once more, and the experience was nearly identical.
However, this time he also glimpsed deep darkness and shadowy figures moving within it.
Amidst the waves of nausea, Lumian removed his brown gold-rimmed glasses, retrieved a fresh sheet of paper, and took up a paintbrush.
This time, he didn’t surrender to impulsive strokes but instead focused on visualizing what he desired and endeavored to bring the drawing closer to the image in his mind.
With this approach, Lumian crafted a golden-red sun, surrounded by a vibrant circle of colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.
As he finished, Room 207 suddenly warmed, and the chill in the air dissipated.
It seems to have a simple exorcism effect… Lumian wasn’t entirely certain.
He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully observing the changes.
Over time, the warmth, which initially evoked restlessness and unease, began to fade.
Lumian attempted to fold the painting, keeping its back facing outward. The warmth promptly vanished, and the loss of spiritual essence within the painting slowed to a barely noticeable pace.
I should be able to preserve it for about two months… When unfurled, it can only be used for three days at most… Yes, this is akin to an alternative method of creating Beyonder weapons. Lumian estimated, recalling his previous experiences.
Drawing two paintings in quick succession had placed a considerable burden on his spirituality.
After taking a short break, Lumian proceeded with his third experiment.
This time, he switched to using makeup-related painting tools.
Putting on the Mystery Prying Glasses once again, he braced himself for the sensation of spiraling into the depths. In the midst of it, Lumian caught sight of several indistinct figures lurking in the shadows. Removing the mystical item, he began smearing various substances on his face, carefully tracing lines with the aid of the glass window, which was illuminated by the light of the carbide lamp.
Similar to his previous attempt, Lumian made an effort to maintain control over his makeup, but occasionally, his instincts took over.
Reflecting on the “mirror,” he saw his appearance becoming worn and haggard. His eyebrows appeared disheveled, his cheekbones slightly more pronounced, and his lips a touch fuller.
It felt as if he were looking at a stranger. Hastily averting his gaze, he drew the curtain to conceal the result of his “painting.”
Having packed away the Itchiness and Sun paintings along with the various tools, Lumian decided it was time to venture out and verify the effects.
As he made his way to Salle de Bal Brise, he noticed Jenna engaging in flamboyant gestures while singing at the top of her lungs, and Charlie, who had just delivered some drinks to the outskirts of the dance floor.
The thugs paid no attention to Lumian, and none of them addressed him as their boss. Feeling a sense of relief, Lumian walked over to Charlie’s side, gave his shoulder a friendly pat, and smiled. “Good evening!”
Charlie, clad in a white shirt and black vest, turned around, returning the smile as he asked,
“Good evening, Monsieur. Would you like something to drink?”
Deliberately, Lumian inquired, “Don’t you recognize me?”
Caught off guard, Charlie’s eyes widened, and for a few seconds, he gazed at the distant gas wall lamp.
Suddenly, a smile spread across his face, and he exclaimed in astonishment, “It’s you! Praise the Sun. How long has it been since we last met? Just wait a moment. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m not so busy!”
Charlie pointed towards the bar counter and bid Lumian farewell.
“This kid’s acting skills are quite impressive,” Lumian chuckled with satisfaction. “He didn’t even recognize his own boss, me!”
Shifting his gaze, Lumian approached Jenna’s stage, patiently waiting for her to finish singing a song filled with vulgar lyrics.
As soon as Jenna finished collecting the copper and silver coins from the stage and descended, Lumian eagerly greeted her and exclaimed, “You sang magnificently! Can I treat you to a drink?”
Jenna immediately put on a cautious expression.
Ever since the incident with that perverted Hedsey, she couldn’t afford to be careless around any audience member who approached her. She worried about encountering another unpleasant situation.
For a few seconds, she examined Lumian’s face and forced a smile to conceal her wariness.
“I must preserve my voice for my next song! Help me out by having another drink!”
With a wink, Jenna approached the two mobsters guarding the stage, seeking their assistance.
The mobsters didn’t dare offend Showy Diva, who was rumored to be their boss and Red Boots’ lover. Stepping forward, they positioned themselves between Lumian and Jenna.
Seizing the opportunity, Jenna made her way to the lounge near the bar counter.
Before leaving, she glanced at Lumian’s hair color and scrutinized his face intently for a moment. She muttered to herself, “Bloody hell, is this some sort of fashion trend now?”
Lumian happily averted his gaze and turned toward the staircase leading to the café. The two vigilant mobsters guarding the area stopped him.
Very dutiful… Lumian smiled and replied, “Just going for a cup of coffee!”
After observing Lumian closely for a few seconds, the two mobsters stepped aside.
Entering the café and noticing that Louis and Sarkota had nothing to do, Lumian made his way to the washroom.
He didn’t dare look at himself in the mirror. Instead, he splashed tap water on his face and rubbed it a few times, gradually removing his makeup.
When he was done, he looked at the mirror and saw his pale and weary reflection staring back at him.
It drains my spirituality quite a bit… I even painted two artworks earlier, Lumian thought to himself, regaining his composure before leaving the washroom.
Louis glanced around and stood up in surprise.
“Boss! When did you return?”
“Just now,” Lumian replied, pointing towards the corridor. “I’m going to get some rest.”
“Understood, Boss,” Louis and Sarkota responded obediently, refraining from questioning further.
Lumian entered his room, compelled himself to freshen up, and settled down on the bed, drifting into sleep.
In his dream, he experienced the unbearable sensation of freefalling from midair towards the ground. As he plummeted, the earth beneath him unexpectedly cracked open, revealing a sea of raging flames. Lumian felt a searing and piercing pain in his mind. He snapped his eyes open, sitting up and gasping for breath.
In that moment, the room was enveloped in darkness and silence. Only a faint glow of crimson moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a dim light upon the desk beside the window.