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chapter 3
Silvester, as if spellbound, reached out and grasped the frame.
“What do you think? Isn’t she stunning?”
Hubill smiled wryly and handed the portrait into Silvester’s hands.
“…Where did this come from?”
Silvester naturally took the portrait and found himself captivated by the woman within it.
Her black hair flowed softly in gentle waves, her skin as fair as starlight, and her eyes a mesmerizing green.
“Some fisherman brought it! He said he found it.”
“…Found it? Something like this?”
Silvester looked at Hubill in disbelief. Hubill just shrugged.
“It was on the beach. There’s not a single scratch on it, so, well… unbelievable as it is, there’s no other explanation. No one could have stolen it.”
Silvester examined the portrait again. There was something intoxicating about it.
It wasn’t just that the woman was beautiful, nor that the painting was a masterpiece…
“…….”
Silvester felt instinctively drawn to the portrait, pulled by a force beyond words, a force that gripped him with irresistible strength.
It was a feeling he had never experienced before.
“…Fine.”
The origin didn’t matter. Murmuring to himself, Silvester gently caressed the frame.
“Give it to me. I’ll take it.”
“Well… I was going to give it to you anyway. Are you sure you want it?”
Hubill asked cautiously, scratching the back of his head. Silvester, his eyes fixed on the portrait, answered firmly:
“It’s fine. If it was really abandoned like this, no one’s going to come looking for it.”
Even if someone came to accuse him, his life couldn’t sink any further into the mud. Silvester smirked and tucked the portrait under his arm.
“Thanks, sir.”
He waved to Hubill and headed home.
His brisk steps seemed unusually lively.
The path from the bookstore to his house was sparsely populated, so Silvester occasionally stopped to gaze at the portrait.
Though these pauses could have delayed his return, he reached his street in the usual time. His unusually brisk steps guided him swiftly home.
‘…What?’
But there, waiting for him, was a familiar carriage.
“Hah.”
Silvester muttered, frowning. He scowled at the back of the carriage.
Black body with silver trimmings, gray crest, and a brown horse tied in front.
It was Baron Gale.
‘He was here just five days ago… so bored, really.’
Tightening his grip on the portrait, Silvester ground his teeth and eyed a side path.
The side road was too narrow for the carriage, and Gale preferred entering through the main gate. If he took this route, he wouldn’t be noticed.
“What a nuisance…”
Silvester shook his hair in annoyance and headed down the side path hidden by bushes.
As a painter, he was usually caught off guard when Baron Gale visited, meeting him at home while painting.
But today, he had been lucky to step out and return. He glanced at the portrait.
‘I can’t let this get damaged.’
Silvester knew Gale’s vicious nature all too well.
After all, Gale had repeatedly barged into his house, kicking over his belongings and breaking things.
Gale had always made Silvester’s already difficult life even more miserable.
Silvester turned down the narrow alley to an old warehouse. Using a spare key, he locked the portrait safely inside.
“Yeah…”
There was nothing left in life to sink further into the mud.
Raised alone without parents, Silvester’s life had always been nomadic.
He had wandered from place to place without a proper home, only buying this house at a cheap price as he neared adulthood.
‘Let’s see what happens now.’
Yet even this house had fallen prey to the whims of a single noble.
Gale’s interference had stopped the occasional painting commissions, and clients no longer visited. His household was in shambles.
Silvester smirked and locked the warehouse door, heading toward the back door of his house.
He had endured Gale before because he was a noble, fearing trouble or causing collateral damage in the village.
He grabbed the door handle.
Apparently, Gale’s temper made him an outcast even in noble society.
There was nothing left to fear.
Click!
He flung the door open.
“Daring to keep a noble waiting!!”
Thud!
A stool flew straight at Silvester’s head, crashing to the floor with a clatter.
He lowered his head.
“…Heh.”
A chuckle escaped him.
“…W-what?! You’re laughing now?!”
Yes… only this kind of nonsense could come of it.
That bastard had already smashed up the house, leaving nothing else to destroy.
“Hahaha…”
Silvester laughed, amused.
His head drooped, hair hanging in shadows, shoulders shaking with amusement.
Enraged, Gale lunged at Silvester. His stubby hands reached upward.
“This…!!”
At that moment, Silvester lifted his head.
“Laugh, will you, you bastard.”
He grinned wider than ever.
Bang!
Silvester attacked Gale. The overfed, pampered noble toppled noisily.
“Argh!!”
“Master!!”
Gale’s servants and the coachman rushed in, but Silvester ignored them and punched down again.
Thwack!!
“Argh…!”
Gale trembled, covering his face.
“That bastard…!”
A servant grabbed Silvester’s right arm, but he shook him off roughly.
“Let go.”
“I can’t stop him!”
The coachman joined, but couldn’t hold him either. Silvester shoved both men aside.
“Until now, you just stood there…”
A crooked smile spread across Silvester’s face. Blood dripped from the spot where the stool had struck.
“And now you tell me to stop…”
Blood matted his bangs, sweat trickled down his nose.
Even with his head battered, he smiled.
“Ugh… You’re truly insane!!”
The coachman lunged again, pulling at his arm with the servant.
“Cough, what a reckless bastard!!”
Seizing the moment, Gale countered with a punch to Silvester’s cheek.
Thwack!
His head snapped back.
“Ugh, hngh…”
“….”
His body went limp. Movement ceased.
Suddenly, silence fell.
The servants hesitated, bewildered. Did he… faint? they murmured, pulling him upright.
Gale caught sight of Silvester’s face.
“H-Hiiieeek…!”
He shrank back in terror. Among the bloodied shadows, piercing yellow eyes glared at him menacingly.
Clatter!!
Suddenly, Silvester twisted violently.
He kicked away the weakened servants, leapt onto Gale, and struck his face.
Thwack!
“Move, aah!”
Gale flailed, defending his face, but Silvester bit down hard on his arm.
“Gaaah…!!”
“You insane fool! Aaah!!”
Gale trembled, nearly collapsing. Silvester sank his teeth further into his arm.
“P-please… someone stop him!!”
Gale screamed as the servants desperately pulled at Silvester’s arms.
“I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!! Hurry, aaaah…!!”
It was useless. They resorted to kicking him.
Thwack, thwack!
“You beast!!”
“Get off our master!!”
The coachman kicked Silvester’s side with all his strength.
Cough…!
Silvester fell, clutching his stomach, slowly crawling across the floor.
Haa… haa…
A mixture of saliva and thick blood dripped from his mouth. He braced himself on the floor to rise.
Their eyes met—Silvester and Gale.
“…Hngh, aah.”
Silvester grinned through his bloodied mouth. Gale groped at his injured arm.
“…Ah, ah, aaah…!!”
“Good heavens…!!”
“Master!!”
Gale’s arm had grotesque grooves carved into it.
“…Tch.”
Silvester had torn the flesh. He smirked.
“…Kicking… almost swallowed it…” he said, bowing mockingly in noble etiquette.
The servants and coachman were aghast, sweating as they hurriedly supported Gale.
“Hurry! To the carriage!!”
“My… my arm… my arm…!!”
Yet a noble fattened on wine and rich meat for days wasn’t easy to lift.
Watching them struggle, Silvester rose, clutching his side and staggering forward.
“Haha… need a hand?”
“Hiiiek…!”
“Enough! Go! Get out!!”
The servant reluctantly dragged the heavy Gale.
Silvester matched their pace until they exited the house, watching them board the carriage.
“Filthy pests…”
As the carriage doors closed, the servant looked at Silvester. He smiled, giving a polite noble bow.
He heard them mutter something about him being crazy.
‘Who’s crazy, now?’
The coachman cracked the reins, and the horses moved.
Once the carriage vanished from sight, Silvester wiped the blood from his mouth. Next time, even if they came for his neck, he couldn’t help it.
He washed his hands at the tap and headed to the warehouse.
The awe he’d felt when Hubill first showed him the portrait…
Even this filthy feeling would be cleansed in ecstasy upon seeing the painting.
He entered the warehouse via the back path and lifted the portrait.
“This deserves clean hands…”
His hands, scraped and bruised from the earlier fight, caressed the painting. He held it to the sunlight.
A strange sense of fulfillment rose deep within him. Silvester smiled gently and carried it home.
“….”
He placed the portrait on the table, gazing at it for a long while. Looking at it calmed him, yet strangely made him yearn.
“…I don’t know why I feel so happy.”
His heart thumped awkwardly like a teenage boy, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
Perhaps because the portrait seemed almost alive. He scrutinized the colors as if freshly painted.
The colors were unlike anything he used, the style and materials classical.
No one today could reproduce such a masterpiece with just ink and a few simple pigments.
The painting looked pristine, the materials appearing ancient.
‘I don’t know how it was preserved… but the artist doesn’t seem to be alive anymore.’
Perhaps it was because of the old materials.
Even in a perfect painting, Silvester sensed a faint, inexplicable longing. He stood up.
“…I’ve decided.”
He set up a nearby easel, prepared his paints, and retrieved the stool Gale had thrown.
“I’m going to paint you.”
Hands that seemed more suited to fighting than painting held the palette, spreading the paint.
