The Goblin King's Masterpieces
Artis spent quite some time recounting tales of the treasures he had discovered while wandering through ruins. His lifelong adventures began in the blank slate of his youth, when he knew nothing at all, and stretched all the way to his fading twilight years. Even as the end drew near, his passion burned as fiercely as ever. Like stars glittering brilliantly in the darkness, the presence of books—his lifelong treasures—filled the night sky like a shimmering galaxy. Throughout his short goblin life, he had read countless volumes, and not a single one had failed to shine. Neromeltia and Lusteria felt a deep respect for the old goblin's fifty-year journey and came to honor the path he had walked.
As Artis spoke of his life, his demeanor shifted with every moment. The colorful stories he wove inspired a sense of reverence in his listeners. Sometimes he waved his hands through the air as if dancing to the melody of memory; at others, he clenched his fists and shook them as though addressing a crowd. When he closed his eyes with an ecstatic smile, it was as if he were reciting poetry. When he mixed in a cackling laugh, he seemed like a mischievous trickster. The ancient relics slumbering in ruined wastelands—books—were his faith, his religion, and his love.
“I have pursued knowledge in every way possible. Even now, I only regret that my life is fading, yet I have never once stopped searching for and studying books. Knowledge has been the sustenance that sustained my life, the strength that helped me endure a harsh existence, and the very meaning of life granted to me in a world where mere survival was the sole goal for most.”
Each of his words was like a beautiful line of poetry. Moved by his story, Lusteria closed her eyes and quietly nodded. Neromeltia, equally touched, smiled gently at him and nodded as if she understood everything.
“So that knowledge earned you the title of Goblin King. Everyone recognized your efforts.”
The touching, theatrical atmosphere shattered in an instant. Artis’s eyes widened, and he tilted his head in confusion before waving his hands dismissively, denying her words.
“That’s not it at all. When civilization collapses and we enter an age of barbarism where survival and strength come first, knowledge is treated as less valuable than pebbles by the roadside. They never acknowledged my knowledge in the slightest.”
If what Artis said was true, then there was nothing to be done, but the once-moving mood had been thoroughly doused, like cold water thrown over a fire. Wondering if she had missed something or if there was more to the story, Neromeltia asked another question.
“Then how did you become the Goblin King? You don’t seem particularly strong… and from what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like the position is hereditary. Did you have some special weapon?”
“Ohohoho… I thought you might be curious. Of course you are. In that case, I shall tell you the unvarnished truth!”
With a meaningful smile, Artis strolled toward one wall of the tent. He grasped the edge of the fabric, and beyond it, another layer of cloth could be seen. Artis’s tent had a double structure—the outer fabric visible from outside and the inner fabric visible from within were different. Upon closer inspection, the inner cloth was not part of the tent itself but rather a hanging curtain.
“The source of the power that granted me the modest authority of Goblin King! It is art!”
With that, Artis yanked the curtain aside with all his strength. The hanging that had covered an entire wall of the tent was pulled away, revealing what lay hidden behind it.
“Kyaaaaaaaah!!!”
“Th-this is…!!!”
“Ohohoho… hohohoho…! Ohohohohoho!!! How about it! These are the masterpieces of my lifetime!!! This is the melody of life! The harmony of existence! The orchestra of the soul!!!”
Lusteria let out a scream, her face flushed crimson as she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with both hands, turning away. Neromeltia stared wide-eyed, unable to tear her gaze from the sight. And Artis, as if possessed by another personality, grew wildly excited, intoxicated by his own creations as he passionately praised them.
Beyond the curtain hung countless paintings of all sizes, packed so densely that not a single empty space remained. A vast collection covered the entire wall. Every single painting depicted nude women. Beautiful women of every kind struck alluring poses. The artworks varied—charcoal sketches, watercolors, oil paintings, prints—and their techniques differed wildly, yet every model was a beautiful woman.
There was a painting of a pure-looking elf with striking green hair bathing in a moonlit lake. Another showed a red-haired demonian woman whose armor had been torn in the midst of battle, her breasts fully exposed as she swung her sword and shouted. A pair of tiny fairies sat facing each other on a red rose, surrounded by sparkling fairy dust like starlight, sharing a kiss. A blonde demonian woman in a pure white dress unbuttoned her garment to reveal pale skin, squeezing her own breasts. A healthy, fox-eared Anima woman with a toned body tripped, her lower garments caught on a branch and pulled down, exposing her large, supple rear to passersby as she wept in shame. A silver-haired vampire woman lay naked on crimson velvet sheets, barely covering her nipples and intimate area with her hands while casting a seductive gaze. A humian female knight bound by a dryad’s vines was being teased by a thick vine thrust deep inside her, tears streaming down her face as the dryad licked them away with a smile. A mermaid woman drenched in a massive amount of semen ejaculated by an ogre licked her own body, tasting the fluid with an ecstatic expression. A golden-haired angel bathed in radiant light sat naked on a bed, spreading her legs vulgarly and using her fingers to part her slick, dripping folds, revealing the inside while licking her lips.
The paintings grew increasingly explicit and lewd the farther right one looked, with the most obscene and lascivious works dominating the far right end.
“Th-this is…! It’s good…! I mean, it is good, but…!! Can you really draw pictures like this!?”
“Hnnngh…”
Neromeltia’s true feelings had slipped out, but she quickly glanced at Lusteria and corrected herself. The succubus made a sound like a tiny puppy whimpering and kept her head lowered. With her pitifully embarrassed secretary beside her, Neromeltia found it difficult to openly approve of Artis’s ultimate expressions of lust. It would be troublesome if her adorable, precious secretary came to dislike her over something like this.
“Ohohoho. My, my, Your Majesty, your tastes are quite refined after all. Ohohoho.”
“Wh-what are you talking about.”
“You say that because you’re mindful of the lady beside you… but Your Majesty’s eyes don’t lie. They simply refuse to leave the paintings on the far right. Ohohohoho.”
Artis whispered into Neromeltia’s ear in a voice too quiet for Lusteria to hear. He spoke considerately, as if he understood the situation completely, and Neromeltia replied in an equally hushed tone. She wanted to deny his words, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Everything he said was true, and he wore a confident smile, as though he could see straight into the Demon Lord’s heart. The wrinkles around the goblin’s narrowed eyes seemed to hold a gleaming desire. The corners of his widely split mouth revealed his obsession with sex. The problem was that Neromeltia’s own instinctive gaze, trembling yet unable to look away from the rightmost paintings, was no different.
Only Lusteria, who had covered her eyes, remained unaware. In that moment, a subtle sense of camaraderie began to blossom between the Demon Lord and the Goblin King.