Painting, Prophecy!

Karen opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the steps, and noticed quite a few people standing around him. Right now, he felt utterly exhausted, yet at the same time remarkably energized. Exhausted in body, which had once more reached the brink of overexertion—only marginally better than after his conversation with Count Rekar. Energized in purpose. People feared the dark because it obscured their path; but once a bright lamp truly appeared ahead, the darkness that had once bared its fangs and brandished its claws instantly dwindled into a dull, tedious backdrop. "Sorry, I dozed off for a moment." Karen stood up slowly. Alfred reached out to support him. At that moment, Eunice walked over on her own initiative. Alfred hesitated briefly, stepping back half a pace to let Eunice take over supporting the young master. "Take me back to my bedroom," Karen told Eunice. "Mm." Supported by Eunice, Karen returned to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed first while Eunice smoothed the bedding, then put her arm around him and helped him lie down. "I'm not that fragile," Karen chuckled. "Your health has been acting up constantly lately. You need to rest more," Eunice said. "Alright, I will." Karen lay back, and Eunice pulled the quilt over him. "By the way, Eunice." "What is it?" "Could you borrow a set of painting supplies from your father for me?" "Of course. But you cannot paint right now—not until you've rested, at least." "Naturally. I plan to paint after I wake up. I just had a dream, and I want to paint it right after I rest. As you know, if too much time passes, the details of the dream might fade." "I understand. I'll have the supplies ready before you wake up. Which paints do you need? Father has all kinds." "No need for paint; I can mix my own. Oh, right—there's a box in that cabinet over there with three portions of pigment inside. Please take one and give it to your father." "Father doesn't need any." "Oh, your father asked me for it himself." "Did he?" Eunice walked over to the cabinet and opened it. Sure enough, there was a box inside containing three portions of paint, exceptionally exquisite in craftsmanship. "I'll take one?" "Yes." "I'll thank you on Father's behalf." "No need to be so polite." "Then get some good rest." "Alright." Eunice stepped out of the bedroom carrying the paint. A moment later, Purr rode the golden retriever into the room, leaping straight onto the bed. "Karen, just now, did you..." Karen, who had just lain down, turned his head toward Purr. Purr, who had been about to ask whether Karen had just completed God's Revelation, abruptly choked back the words for some reason the instant Karen's gaze swept over him. Purr silently backed away, then hopped down from the bed. The golden retriever also scrutinized Karen with curiosity, yet that did not stop it from matching Purr's rhythm as it slowly edged toward the bedroom door. It was neither fear nor majesty, but an indefinable sensation. His eyes told you that he simply did not feel like talking right now, and so you instinctively refrained from disturbing him. Once out of the bedroom, Purr's eyes widened, looking back in bewilderment at the door Alfred had already shut. "What was that look?" Purr asked. The golden retriever shook its head, indicating it had no idea either. "So what kind of God's Revelation did the God of Order give him?" Purr asked again. The golden retriever shook its head once more. "Then let's just wait until he's rested." The golden retriever nodded vigorously. Purr looked up at Alfred, only to find him with his hands clasped over his chest, utterly enraptured. "Radio goblin, what are you doing?" With his eyes closed, Alfred replied: "Didn't you notice? Just now, the young master's gaze was brimming with clarity and depth. A great existence has illuminated his path; He shall become strong, He shall become towering, He shall stride forward with unwavering resolve. A magnificent chapter Sets sail at this very moment." The golden retriever stared wide-eyed at Alfred, who was completely lost in his own self-indulgent reverie. Purr chuckled. "Did lightning fry your antenna?" A contemptuous smirk curved the corner of Alfred's mouth. "What's that smile for?" Purr demanded. "Woof!" Alfred waved his hand dismissively, pulled a nearby chair over, and sat down. He would remain here to watch over the resting young master. "In your eyes, the young master is another young Diss; "But in my eyes, the young master has always been a truly magnificent being. "When it comes to loyalty and faith toward him, neither of you compares to me." With that, Alfred closed his eyes. Inwardly, he added silently: *Foolish mortals.* Hm? No, it should be: *Foolish beasts.* *** Lying in bed, Karen did not fall asleep immediately, keeping his eyes open instead. He desperately wanted to paint the scene from his dream. At moments like this, the limitation of a camera became painfully apparent: it could capture the reality of the world, but it could never photograph your dreams. That was why Karen had Eunice take a portion of the pigment Linda had given him and deliver it to Mr. Bede. He knew there was undoubtedly a connection between Mr. Bede and Linda. Without a doubt, the moment he woke up, Mr. Bede would come straight to see him. Then, Karen could ask him to help paint that scene from the dream. It was merely a single visual image, carrying no other entanglements. Karen also believed Mr. Bede possessed the skill to render it perfectly. So, should he sleep now? No, he wanted to wait a little longer. Karen sat up, retrieved the notebook from beneath his pillow, and pulled out the pen clipped to its cover. Turning to the latest blank page, he paused before setting pen to paper. He knew full well what he was about to write. In many circumstances, human thought was free. Though blasphemy against gods existed in the mind, committing it to writing was a completely different matter. The moment you put words onto paper, in whatever form, the possibility of someone else reading them was born. Yet this hesitation did not last long. Karen set pen to paper and wrote a title: "God's Revelation Is, in Truth, a Deception." "If humans can deceive even themselves, why can't gods?" As he wrote this line, Karen's pen hesitated slightly over the sentence. In the end, he drew a single line through it, but did not strike it out with second or third strokes, leaving it visible. He continued writing: "God blinds your eyes and tells you an endless abyss lies ahead; "God covers your ears and tells you vengeful spirits are shrieking all around; "God strips away your limbs and tells you that you are alone, lost, and helpless; "God makes you weep, because he just so happens to hold a handkerchief to wipe your tears; "God guides your lost soul in the right direction, yet never tells you that you were on the correct path to begin with; "If, from the day you are born, you are told the sky is black, the grass is blue, and the clouds are red; "Then in your perception, 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 the same color, the grass and the tree's shade are of the same color, the clouds and the white sands are of the same color. "Therefore, God cannot be wrong. "When you choose to believe in and revere God, "God is supreme." Karen paused. After a short while, he wrote further: "Why must God lie?" "What is God actually afraid of?" "Is God truly what we call a 'god'?" Suddenly, the pen tip began to tremble. It was not the pen trembling, but Karen's hand—and with it, even his teeth were chattering. He began taking deep breaths continuously, but the more deeply he breathed, the heavier the exhaustion weighed upon him. He knew he needed rest—badly. Yet Karen gritted his teeth, steadying his shaking wrist to write down one final sentence: "Now that I've become a god, no one else is permitted to walk the same path as me?" Finished, he closed the notebook, tossed aside the pen, tilted his head, and fell asleep. *** "How is Young Master Karen?" Old Anderson asked Eunice as she came downstairs. "He needs to rest; otherwise, he's fine." "Ah, that's good." Old Anderson looked somewhat puzzled. "Why does it feel like the young master's health..." "I think it might be because he healed my body, which drained him," Mike said guiltily from his wheelchair. Mr. Bede added, "That should be it." "In any case, we must take good care of the young master's health. Eunice, please pay extra attention to him," Old Anderson instructed. "Yes, Grandfather." "Good. Everyone, get back to work. The funeral arrangements cannot be delayed." "Yes, Father." "Yes, Father." Once everyone 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 hands. The instant his fingers wrapped around it, his body shuddered faintly, yet he forced himself to remain calm. "When Young Master Karen wakes up, I'll thank him in person." "He wants you to paint a picture for him. I imagine this paint was meant as a token of gratitude." "Oh, is that so? I understand. Of course, no problem at all. By the way, could you check on the head housekeeper and see how they are coming along with polishing the silverware?" "I will, Father." Watching his daughter walk away, Mr. Bede clutched the paint and hurried down into the basement. He unlocked the door to his studio with a key, then locked it behind him immediately. The household servants—even his own family—never entered his studio, but this lock was not meant to keep outsiders out; it was a psychological reassurance for himself. Bede sat down before a blank easel, twisted open the paint in his hand, and began mixing colors on his palette. Once ready, he started painting right away. He painted with astonishing speed, scarcely pausing to think. Rather than painting, it was as if he were developing a photographic negative from his mind. Very soon, the image began taking shape. Allen Castle—an ancient, imposing structure. The focus and primary perspective rested at the entrance. On the steps sat a blond young man, seemingly dozing, yet his expression bore traces of struggle and torment. In front of and behind the young man stood two figures, shielding him. As the painting progressed, every figure grew sharper. This was precisely Mr. Bede's own perspective from where he had stood earlier. Karen sitting on the steps undergoing God's Revelation, surrounded by the others. Mr. Bede had even painted in the servants bustling in the distance, and even the cat and dog in the corner. At this point, Mr. Bede set down his brush and stood up. Anxiously, he paced back and forth before the easel, even beginning to gnaw on his fingernails. "Where did it change? What went wrong? It shouldn't be... it's not right." Mr. Bede began muttering to himself, as though slipping into some sort of hysteria. Suddenly, he walked over to a painting draped in a white cloth and ripped it off. This painting depicted Allen Manor as well, but the sky was blood-red, and the ground below was pitch-black. Inside the manor, countless people lay sprawled on the ground, their faces twisted in agony and wailing. At the windows, many tried to flee, only to be dragged back by an unseen force. It was a tragedy of human suffering—no, a tragedy of Allen Manor. Behind the castle in the painting, a sprawling black shadow stretched outward. One could not clearly tell what it was, but it exuded an eerie, suffocating dread. It was tall and long, and black, vine-like tendrils could be seen constantly extending, like the tentacles of a demon capturing its nourishment. Within that black mist, several human faces could faintly be seen, already mostly consumed. Seeing this painting, Mr. Bede actually ceased being nervous. His expression grew calm, and his breathing evened out. None of the paintings in the studio bore a signature, for Mr. Bede had never intended to hold a personal exhibition, so there was naturally no seal or stamp. However, on each white cloth, a date was inscribed in ink at the corner. And this painting, *The Tragedy of Allen Manor*, had been created a year ago. "Hehehe... hehe..." A smile suddenly surfaced on Mr. Bede's face. He seemed pleased with this work. Then, laughing as he went, he walked to another painting nearby and uncovered it. This one still depicted Allen Manor, but everything was normal. The people in the painting were walking and chatting—the everyday life of Allen Manor. The smile on Mr. Bede's face gradually faded, yet he forced himself to maintain it. One could clearly sense how strained it was. Next, Mr. Bede walked up to the wall and tore away the white cloth there, revealing the painting of Linda summoning Rielsa, the God of the Wall. "Urgh, ah, ah..." Strange sounds began bubbling from Mr. Bede's throat. He began flailing his arms and legs uncontrollably, consumed by a bizarre excitement. This state persisted for a long time. He then uncovered yet another painting, tucked away in the farthest corner of the vast studio. Beneath the white cloth was the scene of a study—an ordinary study. A desk, with no one behind it. Yet someone should have been there, because the lid of a teacup hovered in midair, and a fountain pen stood upright on its nib. "Ahhhhhhhh!" Mr. Bede opened his mouth and screamed at the painting. "He lied to you! He lied to you!" Mr. Bede began shouting. "He lied to you! He lied to you!" Mr. Bede hoisted the easel and smashed it violently to the floor. The easel shattered, but the canvas fell free. "He lied to you! He lied to you, damn it!" Mr. Bede knelt before the painting, his hands clutching it tightly as if wanting to tear it to shreds, yet holding himself back. "You've already strayed off course! This is your family's destined doom! Even if you already knew, you should have chosen to be a silent bystander! "Just like the passing of the four seasons: do not mourn the departure of green spring, do not rejoice over the retreat of summer's blaze, do not cling to autumn's harvest, and do not flee winter's bitter cold! "Whether you care or not, they will come; "Whether you hinder them or not, they will still leave. "You should step outside, stand beyond, and watch it, admire it... praise it! "Only when your heart is free of earthly attachments can your vision and your brush present what is truly pure! "You understand all of this, don't you?!" Mr. Bede cocked his head, lifting the painting of the study. "You've already taken the wrong path! To avoid your family's doom, you actually tried to seek someone else's help! "He agreed to help you, "Yet look, "What has changed? "Why don't you sit back down and finish the painting you started just now? "Do you dare? "Do you dare?! "When you take up the brush, you should be fearless! You should complete your painting in the most true-to-life manner! "Not run away!" "Ahhhhh!" Mr. Bede tossed the painting aside, then frantically began kicking down the easels in the studio one after another. Finally, the painting he had begun upon entering the studio was knocked over. A portion of the paint from the palette spilled across the canvas. Mainly two colors: black and red. The black fell completely over Karen in the painting, covering his body entirely. Immediately after, the splattered paint and the mass of black spread outward on its own, like black vines connecting to every figure around Karen. Meanwhile, the red spattered broadly across the canvas, staining everyone except the pitch-black mass that was Karen. Mr. Bede stared blankly at the painting. He had not intended to finish it, yet it had finished itself. It looked like a great black tree growing out of Karen, its tendrils piercing into the bodies of everyone present. Mr. Bede looked down and found that his own chest was stained with the paint that had splattered earlier. The red represented blood, symbolizing death. "Did you really think he wanted to help the Allen family? No, he merely treated the Allen family as a sacrifice for his own grandson! Hahahahahahaha!" "Only you were naive enough to believe him, thinking he could bring the Allen family a chance to dispel the disaster! Look at it now! Look at it now!" "The original disaster is still destined to happen, only the beneficiary has changed!" "Yet the sacrifice remains a sacrifice after all!" Mr. Bede knelt before the painting, his eyes vacant. If the paintings he had uncovered earlier were arranged by the dates on their cloths, from earliest to latest, the order would be: *The Tragedy of Allen Manor*, *The Study*, *Linda Summoning the God of the Wall*, *Daily Life in Allen Manor*, and finally, the freshly completed piece before him. "This is a destined calamity, an opportunity granted to you by God to make you grow, to make you improve, to endow you with the vision and courage of a god so you may behold the true scenery of this world! "You have defied God's will before, but God will forgive you, because She has granted you a second chance! You should seize this—wait, how is this possible?!" Within the remaining paint on the palette, specks of silver-white light began to swirl. The light was gorgeous and pure. The black stain on Mr. Bede's chest also began dissolving into drifting motes of light, like... crystalline bone ash. At the same time, on the painting before him, the pool of black paint that had splattered last was rapidly melting—no, evaporating. Karen, who had been submerged beneath that thick pool of black, gradually emerged into clarity once more. Once the black in the center had nearly evaporated away, the black "vines" extending from Karen's position began to evaporate as well. Because these black patterns happened to connect to everyone, as the black evaporated, the red staining each person also began to evaporate alongside it. In the end, the red on everyone's bodies vanished completely, while the red across the surrounding scene faded significantly, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a sunset glow. Mr. Bede closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. The earlier frenzy and hysteria had vanished almost entirely, replaced by composure. In his mind surfaced that scene in the study, and the old man sitting behind the desk. His gaze fell upon the young man in the painting, who was receiving God's Revelation with an agonized expression. Finally, he pressed his chapped, bleeding lips together, and murmured: "Can a god... never make a mistake?"