Chapter 71

The next morning, Toren went out with his butler to explore the village.

They first went to the rowdy and bustling public market where the citizens thrive with their businesses, still making a living for their families amidst the ongoing great war.

Some still managed to smile and laugh and talk with their fellow workers and entrepreneurs with a lighthearted conversation and some good exchanges of ideas.

Toren's brandings and designs were clearly embedded in the merchandise as the people accommodate and patronize them with utmost enthusiasm.

Toren's flair has been paying off until now after his years of efforts in painting and painting pictures that pop out of his brain. Since he was a child, he was already introduced to the aesthetic of canvas sheets and brushstrokes and colors.

The dimensional reality where he intertwined his imaginations.

Everything turned beautifully weaved.

And so, the people could not help but get fascinated.

His artworks were masterpieces at the league of royalties and majesties.

Thinking about these arts made him forget for a few hours and a few years that war did not exist in the first place at all.

Thinking about how he could shade the shapes with juxtapositions and shadowing made him somehow think that he was chiseling an entirely different world out of his own thoughts. Amidst the aging war, it somehow got frozen for that particular young artist.

Toren overcame such painful ordeals, the loneliness he was supposed to deal with, and the curse of his own birth because painting existed for him.

The blank canvas would always wash away his doubt and beckon him to forget everything else.

And the scene was quite similar to what he had seen at the untouched places.

The spaces where bloodbaths would not linger – at the public markets, at peaceful parks, at narrow isles, and at low hills.

When they had finished their exploration as the butler had grown weary, they returned to the household.

It was quite refreshing for Toren, he said, that he would not feel exhausted no matter how long they walked.

He felt quite immortal with the convenience of being a ghost, silently observing the people who cannot even see or hear him.

His invisibility gained him confidence and superior complexity. Toren led his butler down the underground room through the trapdoor at their pantry and opened the cupboard where his paintings were hidden.

"Bring all of these artworks at the castle," He instructed. "The emperor asked for these, did he not?"

"I guess you have heard of our conversation last time," The butler noticed. "Yes, he was interested in increasing his profit through these paintings. I guess some magnates would be interested to buy these brandings and mark their merchandise and products with these. However, will it be alright for you? Since you are already deceased along with your father, they might forego the intellectual rights. Even your brother is imprisoned, your mother is quite powerless, and the orphanage was already gone."

"Credits do not matter much to me," Toren answered. "Give the paintings. I am willing to forfeit ownerships peacefully. You can focus on serving the emperor as your master now."

The butler only stared at him with uncertainty spread across their faces.

Toren completed painting the image of the underworld with the butler's help.

When the picture was dried off, they rolled the canvas sheet like a scroll and left it at the bed.