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Chapter 3
Until she met Ceres, Isel had never properly learned sculpting.
And yet, there was something in her work—something utterly unique that couldn’t be found in any other piece.
Watching her sculpt was enough to leave one speechless.
With light, rhythmic, and incredibly swift strikes of her hammer, she boldly carved away at the stone without the slightest hesitation.
Once an image formed in her mind, she would begin sculpting immediately, without a moment’s delay.
In sculpture, the most important elements were spatial awareness and lighting.
It was as if Isel instinctively understood how her work would appear under sunlight or firelight.
Perhaps that was why her sculptures always seemed so alive.
One felt that if they looked away for even a moment, the piece might start moving. Those who saw her sculptures often found themselves unable to tear their eyes away, as though enchanted by magic.
All Ceres was really doing was teaching Isel the technical skills she lacked after having taught herself for so long.
And yet, even that was enough—Isel was improving at a terrifying rate.
At this pace, she would surpass Ceres before long.
‘Looking at the piece she brought today… she might already have.’
Ceres muttered as he looked down at the bust.
“I don’t even know who’s teaching whom anymore…”
When he first met Isel, he had wondered whether those delicate hands and arms could even handle a hammer.
But that concern had proven completely unnecessary.
Seeing her effortlessly lift a heavy hammer despite having no visible muscle mass had left Ceres utterly stunned.
It made no sense—how could such a small, fragile-looking body possess such monstrous strength?
Unable to contain his curiosity, Ceres had once asked if she drank some kind of potion to enhance her strength.
In response, Isel simply smiled and showed him the silver rings she wore on her pinky fingers.
They bore the mark of Karmius—the god of war and strength.
They were sacred artifacts, blessed by a high priest of Karmius, capable of doubling the wearer’s physical strength.
With the rings on, she said, even hammering felt effortless.
“Still… it doesn’t last all day, so I have to use it sparingly.”
When Ceres asked what she meant, she demonstrated.
Interlacing her fingers, she clasped her hands together.
“Karmius.”
As she whispered the name, the rings emitted a soft glow.
Sacred artifacts were exceedingly rare.
Even among popes and high priests, only those with exceptional divine power could create one—and only once in their lifetime.
Ceres asked where she had gotten such a thing.
“…It was a gift.”
As she answered, Isel lowered her gaze slightly, looking down at the ring.
From whom?
Ceres almost asked—but stopped himself.
Her pale green eyes had darkened, as though sinking into memories of the past.
He didn’t have the courage to pry open her wounds.
She was a girl who made one worry in many ways.
Ceres was still lost in thought about her when the studio door suddenly burst open without warning.
Bang!
The wooden door slammed violently against the wall, and the bell attached to it fell off, rolling across the wooden floor.
It was the bell Isel had given him as a gift.
Ceres’s eyes sharpened as he turned toward the culprit.
Who the hell—!
But the moment he saw the man’s face, he froze.
The man shut the broken, rattling door behind him and stood there.
It was someone Ceres knew all too well.
“Rahan El Kanox…!”
Ceres stared at him in shock as the man grinned.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Hah. I’d rather it were a ghost.”
Ceres looked him up and down with clear displeasure.
The man was dressed in plain, colorless attire—simple clothes one might mistake for those of a commoner.
And yet, anyone could tell at a glance that he was a noble.
Ceres had already heard rumors that the Duke of Kanox had returned to the capital after three years, having led the victory in the Terbe War.
But he hadn’t expected him to show up at the studio so soon.
“When did you get back?”
“A week ago.”
“That explains it. The capital’s been reeking of blood since around then.”
Despite the sarcastic tone, Rahan didn’t so much as frown.
His gaze drifted to Ceres’s long brown hair, and he smirked.
“Seems you’ve taken quite a liking to dressing as a woman.”
“Shut it. Still better than swinging a sword on the battlefield for fun.”
Despite their harsh words, the two were close.
They had been friends for six years at the Imperial Academy.
Ceres’s real name was Cerestian Taria, the son of the Marquis of Taria.
But uninterested in politics or swordsmanship, he had long since given up his inheritance.
He preferred a life of painting and sculpting over inheriting the marquisate.
Naturally, his father had been furious.
“If that’s what you want, then get out of the house!” the marquis had shouted.
Ceres had happily obliged.
The one who helped him after he left was Rahan.
Most of the buildings on Delion’s Third Street belonged to the Kanox ducal house, and Rahan had given him a place to open his studio.
Thanks to him, Ceres was able to live his dream.
To avoid recognition, he even disguised himself as a woman.
It was a little embarrassing—but worth it for the sake of art.
Fortunately, his androgynous appearance made the disguise convincing.
With a robe that hid his figure, a wig, and a potion that altered his voice, no one recognized him.
Only two people in the entire capital knew the truth.
The loyal butler of the Taria household—
And the man sitting arrogantly before him now: the Duke of Kanox.
“So how long are you planning to stay this time?”
Rahan raised an eyebrow slightly but didn’t answer.
Instead, his gaze fell on the sculpture on the table.
After staring at it for a while, he asked,
“The person who just left. Your student?”
Caught off guard, Ceres blinked.
Had he ever mentioned Isel before?
Perhaps in passing…
“Yeah. Why?”
Rahan was never interested in other people.
This was the first time Ceres had seen him show curiosity about someone.
Suspicious, Ceres narrowed his eyes and studied his expression.
At the base of the sculpture, there was a graceful signature carved into it:
“El.”
Rahan’s eyes widened slightly as he noticed it.
His gaze lingered there for a long time.
Then, with a faint smile, he said,
“It’s nothing.”
Ceres’s eyes widened.
There was a strange tenderness in Rahan’s expression—something Ceres had never seen before.
It was as if he had fallen in love with the stone goddess herself.
Ceres rubbed his arms, goosebumps rising.
What’s wrong with him? Did he eat something weird?
As Ceres stood there in confusion, Rahan nodded toward the sculpture.
“Is this going to auction too?”
“Huh? Oh… yeah.”
It was scheduled for the auction next month.
Recognizing Isel’s talent immediately, Ceres had begun submitting her works to the monthly art auctions.
The results had been astonishing.
Even the first test piece had sold for an unexpectedly high price.
Since then, every sculpture she made sold for increasingly higher amounts.
Rumors about the mysterious genius artist spread quickly.
Some even claimed her works carried “divine blessing.”
Even Ceres hadn’t expected that.
In the Ekar Empire, where the pope’s authority rivaled the emperor’s, such a title was not given lightly.
Still, it only meant her work was highly valued.
People constantly asked Ceres about the artist’s identity.
Some nobles even requested custom pieces.
But he always avoided answering.
How could he say that this “genius” had been sculpting for less than three years?
Ceres had tried to give Isel the money from the auctions.
But she refused.
“Think of it as tuition, Master! At least buy yourself some snacks!”
She smiled brightly as she said it.
She didn’t care about how much her work sold for.
For her, the joy of bringing what she imagined into reality was all that mattered.
Watching her, Ceres was reminded of his younger self.
Just as he had been obsessed with painting, she was completely consumed by sculpting.
Still, he believed she would one day need to face reality.
You needed money to survive.
Though he threatened to spend it all, he had carefully saved her share in a vault.
One day, he planned to hand it all to her—and kick her out of the studio.
Ceres was pulled from his thoughts by Rahan’s voice.
“How much?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Rahan gestured toward the sculpture.
Ceres shook his head.
“This isn’t for sale here. It’s going to the auction—”
But, as always, Rahan didn’t wait for him to finish.
With a heavy thud, a pouch the size of a grown man’s fist landed on the table.
Even without opening it, it was obvious—it was full of gold.
“Charge the rest to my estate if it’s not enough.”
“What the hell? I said it’s not for sale! And you’re not even interested in art—what are you planning to do with it?”
Ignoring him, Rahan had already picked up the sculpture.
“From now on, I’ll buy every piece your student makes. Don’t send them to auction.”
“…What?”
Ceres was stunned.
Clearly, his friend had no idea how valuable these works were.
They were already selling for absurd prices.
Even a small white deer sculpture had sold for enough to buy ten top-quality warhorses.
Of course, that was nothing to Rahan—
But he was talking about monopolizing all future works.
Ceres frowned deeply.
“If you want it, go bid properly at the auction. Or deal directly with the artist.”
At those words, something sharp flickered in Rahan’s eyes.
Ceres instinctively flinched.
A chill ran down his spine.
After staring at him for a moment, Rahan set the sculpture back down.
“Good idea.”
“What? What is?”
“Dealing directly.”
A slow, anticipatory smile spread across his face.
Ceres’s face turned pale.
He realized, too late, that he had made a terrible mistake.
Isel’s bright, smiling face flashed through his mind.
I’m screwed…
