That Painting Was Truly In The Divine Realm

After the trial course at the art class ended, a female staff member was cleaning up by herself.

Today, there were also preparations to be made for the final judging of the Bladra Grand Art Prize. They were completely short-handed.

(…I need to hurry and finish cleaning up so I can go help with the grand prize selection!)

The female staff member briskly continued her work.

At that moment, a single painting caught her eye.

It was a strange painting. It was clearly different from what the other participants had drawn.

To describe it simply, it was a painting of “the mutilated corpse of an octopus grotesquely nailed to a willow tree.”

(…I thought the subject was a chair and fruit, so how did it end up like this?)

The female staff member tilted her head.

That was what she thought, but she stopped investigating further. In any case, she was busy today. She had mountains of work to do, so all she needed to do was clean up quickly.

Apparently the other participants had taken their paintings home.

(…Well, normally you would take it home, right? As a keepsake. Leaving it behind means they must be a pretty unusual person.)

That must be why it was such a strange painting. The female staff member found herself oddly convinced.

After loading the one abandoned painting onto a cart, the female staff member rolled it rattling down the corridor.

When she had made it about halfway――

“――Hey! Wait a second! Sorry, but we do not have enough hands, so could you help out!?”

When she turned around, a coworker came rushing over in a panic.

“We do not have enough carts, so could you come with me?”

Naturally, the female staff member had no objection. Cleaning up after the trial course was overwhelmingly low on the priority list.

“Understood.”

The female staff member set the painting she had loaded down by the side of the corridor. She could just collect it later and throw it away.

“Then let us go.”

Leaving the painting behind, the two of them headed deeper into the building.

Some time after that――

A male staff member came hurrying over. Judging by how much he had been running around, he was panting heavily for breath.

“Uh, a p-painting! Is this it!?”

One of the paintings meant to be delivered for judging was missing―― and the male staff member had been running all over the building to find that one missing piece. He glanced at the painting―― and frowned.

(What is this painting of “the mutilated corpse of an octopus grotesquely nailed to a willow tree”!?)

He could not understand the style at all, but on the contrary, the male staff member felt relieved.

It was a candidate for the grand prize in painting. It would not be strange for there to be something this challenging. In other words, this had to be the painting he had been searching for.

Now he would not have to keep running around looking for it――letting out a sigh of relief, the male staff member picked up the painting and hurried back to the grand prize judging venue.

That evening, Orfred, the leader of Black Dragon’s Fang, was riding in a carriage on his way to the art class.

He was going to serve as a special judge for the Bladra Grand Art Prize.

(…I do not have much interest in it, though…)

That was what Orfred thought with a weary feeling.

Though Orfred was both a Sword Saint and a Sage, he had no aptitude for art. He had studied it as part of his education because he needed to be able to converse with nobles and royalty, but it never went beyond the level of obligation.

In reality, the actual judging was entirely thrown onto Soltage, the artistic Eight Star.

It would be fine even if he were not there―― but the name of Orfred, the man whose story would be passed down as a legend, had value. If it became known as a prize competition in which Orfred was involved, that alone would add prestige.

Any prestige that could be added ought to be added.

Because this prize was Black Dragon’s Fang’s business.

The winning work would be put up for auction, and most of the sale price would become profit for Black Dragon’s Fang. The value of an important “product” should be driven up as much as possible.

The carriage came to a stop.

The door opened, and the coachman respectfully bowed his head to Orfred.

“We have arrived.”

“Mm.”

With an exaggerated nod, Orfred stepped down from the carriage and headed toward the judging venue.

On the way there, Orfred asked the attendant staff member beside him:

“Has Soltage arrived?”

“I believe he should be here very soon――but not yet.”

“I see.”

In the judging venue, around thirty paintings were hanging on pillars. The judges who had already arrived were evaluating them with memo sheets in hand.

The moment they saw Orfred, they all bowed low in greeting.

Orfred then went around looking at the paintings one by one as well.

(They are all skillful works.)

As expected of pieces that had made it through such a strict preliminary round. Every one of them was of a quality that would not look out of place in a first-rate museum.

But that was all Orfred could tell.

He had no criteria for deciding which among the highest-quality works was the very best.

(…Well, I can leave that to Soltage.)

All Orfred had to do was nod at the conclusion Soltage reached. That was his role.

As he moved along without pausing, looking at each painting, Orfred’s steps―― stopped.

“…Th-this is…!?”

At the sheer unpleasantness of it, Orfred let out a low groan before he realized it.

It was a grotesque painting that could only be described as “the mutilated corpse of an octopus grotesquely nailed to a willow tree.”

It was clearly different in taste from all the other paintings.

(…Is this art? No, ridiculous. This is surely just someone misunderstanding art. They are simply too self-important. It must be the work of some fool who became convinced, ‘This is what art is supposed to be like!’)

Orfred laughed inwardly.

Losing interest in the grotesque painting, he began walking again.

That was when it happened.

The atmosphere suddenly stirred. The judges all turned their eyes toward the entrance.

When Orfred looked that way, a single man was standing there.

He appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was slender, but stood around one hundred ninety centimeters tall. His limbs were long and lean, and he wore sharply styled clothing. His face was handsome, but his neatly trimmed brown bangs and bright red round glasses stood out strangely.

He was Soltage of the “Stellar Spirit,” the artistic Eight Star of Black Dragon’s Fang.

“My apologies for keeping everyone waiting.”

After bowing with polished grace, Soltage walked straight over to Orfred.

“I must apologize for my late arrival.”

Then Soltage looked around at the venue.

“At a glance, they are all quite small in scope and neatly put together――so neatly put together that they are dull.”

He voiced a merciless critique.

“To show such things to Orfred-sama is truly disrespectful.”

Orfred held an impression different from Soltage’s, but he did not voice it in particular. The foremost authority was speaking with smug confidence. He only needed to agree.

“You are right. They do not draw much interest.”

“As expected of Orfred-sama. You understand very well.”

Soltage nodded in satisfaction.

“Art is an explosion of sensitivity and emotion! It is the act of destroying the boundaries of matter through one’s own egoism! It is the Aufheben of madness and sanity! If a thin membrane of reason still clings to a painting, it is out of the question. It remains far removed from the profundity of true art!”

It was a speech that did not interest Orfred in the slightest, but he nodded again with dignity.

“I agree completely, Soltage. That insight is worthy of one of the Eight Stars.”

“As expected of Orfred-sama. You are the only one who can truly understand my words!”

“…Naturally.”

That concluded the exchange.

Soltage then strode off and began appraising the other works.

“…Mediocre, mediocre, mediocre… Good grief, artists these days――their ambition is truly so low――”

Soltage’s muttered voice, laced with a sigh, suddenly cut off.

His steps stopped as well.

“…Th-this is!”

A note of astonishment lit Soltage’s voice.

The thing in Soltage’s line of sight was the painting of “the mutilated corpse of an octopus grotesquely nailed to a willow tree.”

Orfred gave a faint laugh.

“So that painting caught your attention as well. It is a terri――”

But before he could finish saying terrible painting, Soltage shouted with enough force to blow the words away.

“Th-this is!? I-incredible! This is art! A miracle of art exists here!”