The Portrait That Stirred Eltron
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That painting hanging on the Oren Merchant Group building.”
“Ah… You’re talking about that too? It’s all anyone’s been discussing lately.”
“Oh my, look at you! Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen it?”
“Huh? Well, no. I only just returned home…”
The young noble ladies, all elegantly dressed, had gathered for tea after a long while. Many had left for their summer retreats before the rainy season, so this was their first proper reunion in some time. One lady who had stayed away longer than the rest couldn’t help feeling oddly left out.
“What on earth is so special about that painting that everyone’s making such a fuss? It’s just something some small merchant group hung up.”
She felt both bewildered and slightly annoyed that a mere painting could cause such commotion.
“Just look at this!”
“Scarlet, hurry and take it out!”
“Wait a moment! Ena, could you fetch it from my room?”
A maid was sent to retrieve a small notebook. Its stiff, thick pages looked exactly like the sketchbooks artists used.
“What’s this all about?”
“Just look.”
Flip. When Baroness Arita’s daughter turned to the first page, her eyes widened into perfect circles.
“See? I knew you’d like it!”
The other ladies giggled at her reaction.
“Whose portrait is this?” she asked urgently. The drawing seemed to have been made with her own tastes in mind—she had always loved storybooks featuring fairy-tale princes.
“No, wait. Who painted this? Actually, never mind. Is this the painting that was supposedly hanging on the Oren Merchant Group building?”
“It’s Oren, not Ogen.”
“That’s not the point! Is it really that painting?”
“Yes. We saw the one on their building and hired an artist to make several more copies. We wanted to see him in different poses and outfits.”
“Good heavens! You girls have one for me too, don’t you? Please say you do!”
“Of course. Did you really think we’d leave you out?”
At her friend’s pleading, another lady quickly handed over a neatly wrapped notebook.
“Thank you! But why isn’t he wearing a robe in any of them?”
“A robe?”
Baroness Arita’s daughter turned to her friends again.
“Girls! This face absolutely needs a robe! A brilliant young man who neglects his striking looks, buries himself in research, and never leaves his magic tower… This is perfect! Oh my!”
Her imagination had run so wild that she accidentally swore, then clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. The others burst into laughter. Perhaps people’s tastes were the same everywhere—nerds were popular no matter the world.
After the ladies’ tea party in Eltron, the local artists suddenly found themselves with far more work—and far more generous spending.
“You want to buy this paint? It’s made from ground minerals, so it’s quite expensive.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay in full. Ah, I’ll also need fine brushes. Do you have any?”
“We have some made from horsehair tails, and even the rare ones made from winter fur of snow squirrels.”
“Oh! I’ll take those too!”
“…Did you steal something, by any chance?”
“What are you saying, sir? I simply received a good commission. The client said price was no object, so long as the painting turned out well. They wanted it full of life. Haha!”
Among them, Micheletta—known for his meticulous and obsessive personality—had been especially busy with detailed works and was positively beaming these days. While he had used expensive dyes before for noble portraits, this commission had one unusual request.
— Feel free to use your imagination as much as possible. Can you do that?
Every client had emphasized “artistic imagination.” Noble portraits always required some creativity—hiding flaws, emphasizing strengths, choosing backgrounds and poses that matched personality and achievements. Still, it was rarely fun.
Most portraits existed for display or gifts, not private enjoyment. So an artist’s imagination was usually limited to safe archetypes: “brave knight,” “benevolent lord,” “sharp politician,” or “virtuous lady.”
But these clients were different.
— Paint him while he’s asleep.
…Pardon? Where should he be sleeping? Just decide that yourself.
— Make him look like a knight.
What kind of knight? …A dashing one? With sweat? Veins…?
— A mage! A mage! A mage!
They only gave vague concepts for the subject, offering no concrete plans. Some even asked when they could meet the actual person being painted.
— Ah, well… There’s a small problem with that.
With an ambiguous smile, they handed over an address. All three ladies had given the same one, so Micheletta had assumed it belonged to some high-ranking noble involved in a scandal. He thought they wanted the subject’s identity hidden.
But when he arrived at the address, he realized the truth.
“Excuse me, I have a question.”
“Yes? What is it?”
He stopped a busy-looking merchant employee.
“I was told I could meet Lord Incognito here.”
“Who? Ah! Lord Incognito. Follow me. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Pardon? Ah, yes. I moved here with an administrator who was recently assigned to this territory. But how did you know I’m an artist…?”
“Anyone looking for Lord Incognito is usually the same. Here he is. Say hello. This is Lord Incognito.”
The employee led him to a large painting on the side of the merchant building—a portrait of a young farmer pruning a cherry tree, with women’s cosmetic jars depicted at the bottom.
Only then did Micheletta understand “Lord Incognito’s” secret. Incognito. One who hides their identity.
The three ladies had given the same address and name, so he had assumed it was some noble scandal. But the truth was simpler: the painting had been created to promote products, and it had become a sensation among the noble ladies.
“Then this really is a commission worth unleashing my imagination on. Excellent!”
If the subject was fictional, there would be no taboos or restrictions. For an artist—especially one specializing in detailed work—this was the most welcome situation imaginable.
“By the way, who painted this original piece? Did the artist dream of an angel, perhaps…?”
“I wouldn’t know. Our guild master commissions the work, and he’s very tight-lipped. There’s a rumor it was painted after seeing some woman in the capital and changing her into a man.”
“Is that so?”
It sounded plausible. If true, the skill involved was extraordinary.
“It’s so lifelike, as if the model were standing right there!”
People who didn’t understand art sometimes asked whether painting from imagination without a model might actually help create “the most beautiful person.” But that wasn’t how it worked.
“Painting a portrait without a model means relying entirely on memory and imagination. Memories are incomplete and vague, and imagination inevitably diverges from reality. Even with precise, detailed rendering, you’re ultimately reproducing the artist’s ideal—so the result depends heavily on the painter’s talent and technique.”
“It’s surprising that an artist of this caliber remains unknown.”
While expressing pure admiration, Micheletta’s hands moved quickly, sketching the features of the figure in the painting.
“Good luck with that.”
The employee patted his shoulder and returned to work.
Micheletta had been so absorbed that he barely noticed the passage of time.
“Heh, it feels different seeing it this large.”
A kind-faced man stood slightly apart from the onlookers, murmuring to himself.
“Artists really do have wild imaginations. To think the teacher would be painted so skillfully while farming… I’ve lived long enough to see everything. Heh.”
“Excuse me, sir!”
The middle-aged man spoke as if he actually knew the person in the painting.
“Me?”
“Yes, yes!”
“What is it?”
“Th-that man in the painting… Does he actually exist?”
The middle-aged man visibly panicked.
“N-no, of course not. H-haha! I-I should be going now!”
He wiped cold sweat from his brow and fled into the crowd, looking thoroughly guilty. Micheletta watched his retreating figure for a long time.
“Goodness, that was close.”
“Indeed. If word got out, the teacher might suffer for it. We must be more careful from now on. This is troublesome…”
The middle-aged man who had fled from Micheletta was none other than the Village Chief of Dunbrook Island.
“By the way, how is your health now?”
“Thanks to the teacher’s quick response, I’m fine. The healer said the same thing. I feel perfectly well now.”
The chief had spent some time recovering at a treatment center in the city after being bitten by a viper. Though it had only been a few days, he had been restless the entire time. Clearly, his place was here on the island.
“Chief! Chief!”
“Haha, Ben, what’s the matter?”
As soon as he stepped off the boat and reached the village entrance, the chief was greeted by a group of children running toward him. He smiled in surprise. They were crying and wailing, but none appeared injured, so he suspected they had simply gotten into some mischief again.
“The teacher did something weird again!”
“He said he’d make something delicious, but he lied!”
“Cough, cough! My eyes still sting!”
“Waaah, my tears won’t stop!”
It seemed their teacher had caused another incident. Still, the village was livelier this way. Compared to the quiet treatment center filled only with occasional coughing and crying, this felt like real life.
“Cities may be convenient, but they’re not where I belong. Heh.”
But what on earth had the teacher done this time that even the children who usually joined in his antics had come running away?
At that very moment, Patrick stood in a corner of the Village Hall courtyard with his arms crossed, tilting his head at the large baskets and jars spread out before him.
“This is how it’s done, right? Right? Hiss— If not, we’re in trouble.”
His clothes were dotted with mysterious bright red stains.