Chapter 67
Chapter 67
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 67: Lan Qi’s Painting Class
Led by Bachel, they stepped once more into the teaching zone. Descending the spiraling staircase layer by layer, they were swallowed by ink-black emptiness until dim, amber lights began to glow ahead. Behind them, the stairway dissolved, replaced by an ancient stone corridor.
This starting corridor seemed to cradle the very heart of the teaching zone. Lime crusted the walls, etching the passage with the weight of years. Candlelight shimmered faintly across the stone, carrying with it the damp breath of old rock.
Every corridor had its unique marker—a carving, a worn patch of stone, even a strange square of metal flooring.
For Bachel, these subtle differences were his lifeline for navigating the labyrinth.
Following his lead, Lan Qi and Huperion passed corridor after corridor, sinking deeper into the academy’s gut.
At last, he halted before a modest, ornate wooden door.
Etched across it blazed three full demonic seals.
“They say this is a painting classroom. One of the very few arts classrooms rated at difficulty 3.”
Bachel’s voice trembled as he explained.
Huperion instinctively stepped back half a pace. Her mind still carried scars.
Demonic art… in her eyes, had become something terrifying.
She hadn’t yet shaken off the nightmare of that difficulty-2 music classroom.
But by a stroke of fate, Lan Qi’s strongest magic—his natal card, Great Poet of Love—was precisely aligned with musical magic.
This time, though, they faced something far less familiar: painting.
“Lan Qi… how’s your drawing?” Huperion asked cautiously.
“Just a little here and there.”
Lan Qi smiled with practiced calm.
“…Mm.”
Relieved, Huperion nodded.
She couldn’t gauge his real confidence, but she had chosen to trust him.
Together they entered.
The classroom was surprisingly fresh and airy.
Circular in design, its walls were lined with pale stone and murals. There was no traditional “front” or “back”—instead, seats were arranged in a perfect ring around a central round table, granting a 360-degree field of view.
This layout encouraged interaction between teacher and students alike, and made discussion effortless.
It was, in fact, the most “normal” classroom Lan Qi had seen so far.
【Seminar: Demon Realm Art Appreciation】【Location: F17 Corridor, Painting Archive & Study Room】
The slate walls bore clear inscriptions.
Every wall here seemed usable as a board for teaching.
And the classroom’s rules were just as clear:
【Do not attack other students】【Seminar task: Judge whether a given painting was created by an academy professor—“Yes” or “No”】【Senior Professor Mogut will randomly select works from the archive】【Some will be from academy professors, others from graduates, with varying skill levels】【Students must distinguish between them】
When Lan Qi and Huperion took their seats, there were only five students in total.
At the far end stood an elderly demon professor. Checking his pocket watch, he judged it nearly time to begin.
Silently, he opened the door behind him and wheeled out a small cart stacked with canvases. He chose four, hanging them on the walls where all could see.
“I am Mogut, senior professor of Fine Arts. First, I’ll show you examples: these two works here are by academy professors, and those two by students.”
His voice was steady, deliberate.
At once, the students leaned forward, eyes locked on the paintings.
The four works were varied—oil, watercolor, charcoal, and more. To Huperion, their styles seemed so scattered she couldn’t tell quality from quality.
Beside her, Lan Qi rested his chin on his hand, glancedbriefly, and nodded slightly.
“The rules are as follows,” Mogut continued. “Correct answers earn +1 point. Wrong answers, -1 point. Fail to respond within five minutes, and you lose 1 point. Fall into the negative, and I will carry out your execution.”
“If no one volunteers in the first round, I will select someone at random and proceed clockwise. From the second round onward, free-response mode begins.”
“By the end of the session, as long as you have not fallen into the negatives, you pass. The higher your score, the better your reward. At present, the record is 21 points.”
His gaze swept across the five students. None of them seemed particularly outstanding. He didn’t expect anyone to break the record today.
—
Meanwhile, in the Mechanical Arts Institute’s laboratory, bright yellow lamps illuminated cluttered workbenches and countless tools. Though it was deep into the night, several students sat before a massive screen broadcasting a Shadow World session in real time—so vivid it felt like reality.
Their faces were weary, but their eyes shone with excitement, glued to the display as though watching a tournament.
This particular Shadow World was proving explosively entertaining.
Though the music classroom had been agony for them all, they had slowly realized—Lan Qi was a walking joke machine. They had never seen a Shadow World run like this.
“Difficulty-3 classroom… will it be even more terrifying than the difficulty-2 music room?” one artificer wondered aloud, echoing Huperion’s own fears.
“Definitely. But even if it’s torture, I still want to see the Great Poet of Love. She’s just so beautiful, I—”
“Cough! A man must not—must never—fall in love with a magic card! You need to reread Professor Boral’s Ethics and Codes of the Cardmaster!”
“But wait, if you don’t know art, how are you supposed to tell the difference anyway?”
The artificers broke into debate.
From a sofa nearby, a young man raised his hand and pointed.
“Paintings, besides skill level, will carry traces of magical energy. If one’s magic sense is sharp enough, you can detect the creator’s signature. After a few rounds, you’ll begin to recognize the professors’ traits. It gets easier.”
“The real danger lies in the very first round. Those initial questions are the riskiest, because you’ve no prior data to lean on—only raw analysis or sheer luck.”
His explanation made the second-years in the front row nod in sudden clarity.
“As expected of His Highness Ainor!”
They gave the young man a thumbs-up.
That youth—smiling as though carefree—was none other than Ainor, second prince of the Hedon Kingdom. He looked nothing like royalty, relaxed as an ordinary upperclassman.
“Didn’t Princess Vivian say this Lan Qi fellow was quite the art connoisseur? Wouldn’t that mean he’ll shine here?” a silver-rank cardmaster girl asked, seated at his side.
“No, no. The difficulty is high. The lost-era styles of demonic art are utterly foreign to us. Even those four example paintings—if I judged them myself, I wouldn’t be fully confident.”
Ainor frowned thoughtfully.
“Then if you were to judge the next piece, what would your chance of success be?”
The girl gazed at his handsome, sage-like profile.
“Fifty percent,” Ainor declared with certainty.
“???”
The girl blinked.
Wasn’t that just… the default odds of a true/false question?
Grinding her teeth, she barely contained her exasperation, clenching her fists tight.