The Night of Art
The wounds had healed, yet the Reaper paid no mind to the fact that his body remained strapped to the surgical frame.
What mattered far more was the presence of someone before him who understood his art. He was genuinely, purely delighted. Or perhaps his brain was simply refusing to process the reality of his situation.
“Understand, you say…”
Chairman Vlad Tepes tilted his head at the words.
“I have no particular desire to understand your art.”
He spoke with calm detachment after the tilt of his head.
“As a fellow artist, I simply feel an overwhelming sense of dismay.”
“W-what?”
“You claim these victims’ states constitute art?”
So saying, Chairman Tepes once again offered the photographs capturing the victims’ suffering. Limbs severed or twisted, human flesh torn, sliced, and excavated—these were his so-called objects.
“Y-yes! The victims’ screams as they writhe in agony, the unreachable despair! The sweet melody born from their cries…! That is the crimson art I create with blood…! The harmony of slaughter and madness!”
Solomon listened to the ensuing drivel in silence, his face twisted in disgust. In a way, he felt almost relieved. This was far better than the irredeemable fool being captured intact by the Sword Watch and receiving some mundane legal punishment.
“This is the ultimate work—sublimating my boundless hatred and rage into art!”
This ending suited his “sins” much more appropriately.
Failed art school and decided to become a dictator, huh.
Solomon thought, utterly dumbfounded. Chairman Tepes continued.
“So, by your logic, the generals and conquerors of this world must be the greatest artists of all.”
“W-what…?”
“Have you ever witnessed the horrors of a battlefield?”
Chairman Tepes asked, as if out of pure, innocent curiosity.
“It doesn’t matter the era. This one will do. If the ‘atrocity’ of people killing, tearing, and slicing one another—as you describe it—is art, then surely the true price of that art must be paid by generals and rulers, not anyone else.”
Chairman Tepes spoke with quiet composure.
“After all, they are the ones who design and raise the curtain on the grand, horrific stage of massacre.”
“N-no, that’s wrong! I—”
“What exactly is wrong?”
Chairman Tepes pressed on, as though genuinely unable to comprehend.
“There is no difference. The art you speak of is, at the very least, something every common soldier on the battlefield experiences daily. In a sense, it is utterly trivial. Inflicting pain, suffering because one cannot endure it, the body breaking apart… all those various processes.”
Mid-sentence, Chairman Tepes unconsciously tilted his head once more.
“Ah. Perhaps… you have never experienced war?”
The question was asked with pure innocence, yet the Reaper’s face crumpled. Chairman Tepes shrugged, his expression suggesting he had expected nothing less.
“As I thought. That is why you dare call such ignorant, low-class vulgarity art.”
For the first time, unmistakable contempt and revulsion surfaced on his face. Only then did the Reaper seem to remember he was bound to the surgical frame.
He also remembered that those who had healed his wounds were not doctors, but chefs.
“Well, the value assigned to any work differs from person to person. In that regard, this could be considered respect for your art.”
With those words, Chairman Tepes gestured.
Men in sanitary gowns approached the Reaper. In his terror, he thrashed wildly as they raised scalpels that gleamed with sinister light.
“W-wait! What the hell is this?!”
“What is this, you ask? Isn’t this precisely the art you described?”
Seated comfortably, Chairman Tepes tilted his head, fork and knife held with refined precision.
“Physical mutilation, agonizing screams—do they not contain every artistic element you mentioned?”
“No! It’s different! It’s completely different!”
“How so?”
The sole difference was that the roles of victim and perpetrator had been reversed.
“There is no difference at all.”
Chairman Tepes smiled as he spoke. The red-haired girl was not holding utensils but polishing ten razor-sharp nails like blades with both hands. As if those were her fork and knife.
“Hehe, Ilya. It seems your table manners still need refinement.”
“Uuu! But it tastes better this way!”
“Chairman, how shall we begin the first course?”
“Hmm. Let me see.”
At the chef’s question, Chairman Tepes smiled with genuine pleasure.
“For tonight’s course, I feel like savoring it slowly and at length.”
“As you wish. We will prepare a course that keeps him alive as long as possible.”
“Ah, I look forward to it.”
“We will serve the kidneys and pancreas as an appetizer, followed by the well-marbled meat from the forelegs.”
“!”
The Reaper’s face drained of all color, paler than it had ever been. Just like the victims who had once fallen into his own hands.
“Ah, might I make one request?”
“Of course, Chairman.”
“Leave his tongue until the very end. I wish to finish with it alongside the heart.”
“As you command.”
“H-hiiik…! W-wait! I was wrong! Forgive me! Please forgive me!”
Strapped to the operating table, the Reaper thrashed in pure terror, as though belatedly confessing his sins.
“Forgive you?”
Watching him, Chairman Tepes tilted his head once more.
“There is nothing to forgive. No matter how horrific and talentless an artist you may be… I am merely showing it the respect it deserves. Shall we begin?”
“W-wait—GYAAAAAAGH!”
In exactly the same manner he had once practiced.
Even while fighting back nausea, Solomon felt an indescribable emotion at the sight of the villain before him receiving the exact price for his crimes.
The night of cuisine and art grew deeper still.
“I offer you my thanks, Mister Solomon.”
The most nauseating meal in the world had concluded. The heart and tongue of a man heavy with sin now digested inside someone’s stomach.
“Forcing me to watch that spectacle is pretty twisted taste, even for you.”
Solomon sneered coldly. Chairman Tepes replied with a gentle smile.
“Oh, my apologies for involving you unintentionally. However, Mister Solomon, you performed the request admirably. Therefore, you have earned the right to enjoy a fitting reward.”
“Reward?”
“The sight of evil in pain carries its own righteous pleasure, does it not?”
“……”
Solomon offered no reply.
“Ah, of course that is not all. As promised, along with the forfeiture of his heart, a suitable compensation awaits you as one who successfully carried out a commission for our Wallachia Company.”
The first district of Guild City—Megacorp Street. The reward granted for completing a request from that colossal guild.
“Now that sounds interesting.”
“Let me see… your hotel membership rank has only just risen to Silver, correct?”
“…Yeah.”
Setting aside how the man before him knew that fact, Solomon did not deny it.
“Through a letter of recommendation from our Wallachia Company, we will elevate your hotel membership from Silver to Gold.”
Silver → Gold
Room 244 → Room 319
“Why go to such lengths?”
Solomon narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, many things change once one reaches Gold rank. But the true reason lies elsewhere.”
“Then?”
“I wish for you to rise even higher, Mister Solomon. I wish for you to become a VVIP of the hotel.”
“Why?”
At the mention of Hotel Snark’s VVIP status, Solomon asked again.
“Have you ever seen one of the hotel’s VVIPs?”
“A few.”
The image of the Faceless Man unconsciously rose in his mind. A powerhouse capable of driving a blade into Beelzebub’s back while being a Curator of the Black Museum. Along with him, the long-term resident of Room 1004 whom Solomon had seen at the Deadlock Guild—Evangelist Gunter.
“They are the ones who, in a sense, could be called the cleaners of this city.”
Chairman Tepes continued, never losing his relaxed smile.
“They are the hotel’s strongest monsters—beings even organizations like ours cannot touch lightly.”
The strongest monsters of the hotel that even the Black Museum could not touch lightly.
“That is the only way for you, Mister Solomon, to resist evil that cannot be resisted.”
In other words, becoming such a monster was the sole method by which Solomon could resist the beings before him.
A VVIP of the hotel was proof of exactly that kind of strength.
Which was precisely why Solomon understood it even less.
“Why are you showing me this much consideration?”
“As I said, it is the aesthetics of evil. As an artist… call it a form of stubborn pride.”
Chairman Tepes smiled with clear delight.
“Resisting evil that cannot be resisted is not art. It is merely meaningless violence and sadism.”
So saying, Tepes gestured toward the Reaper’s corpse still bound to the surgical frame.
“Rather, evil can only truly exist within meaningful resistance.”
The Reaper’s deeds had been irresistible evil inflicted upon those who could not resist. And Tepes refused to call that art.
“When a being with pride, with honor, with things worth protecting hardens their will more than ever before…”
Chairman Tepes twisted the corner of his mouth.
“The instant everything they tried to protect, everything they cherished, everything they believed they could resist, is shattered…”
He preached the most twisted evil of all.
“The aesthetics of evil blooms like a flower only in that fleeting moment.”
“…So you’re telling me to put up a proper fight.”
Hearing the rest, Solomon let out a hollow laugh. Chairman Tepes answered with a bright smile.
“Precisely, Mister Solomon.”
“Welcome back, Mister Solomon.”
At dawn that day, Solomon returned to Hotel Snark. The ghost hotelier greeted him as though it had been waiting.
“Congratulations, Mister Solomon. You have successfully completed the request from a mega-guild.”
“…Yeah.”
“Wallachia Company sent us an evaluation report praising your performance. Accordingly, your membership rank has been specially upgraded from Silver to Gold. Your assigned room has also been changed from Room 244 to Room 319.”
“I’m moved to tears.”
“Furthermore, in accordance with your new Gold membership, a special service will be provided to you immediately.”
“Service?”
As Solomon tilted his head, the ghost hotelier bowed politely.
“Yes. The hotel tailor is waiting for you.”