Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Spreading the Gospel to the Snobby Bitch (4)
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Luxy was having some busy days.
But not busy reading books, as usual.
"It's back to normal."
"Uh... so, you should probably head to Gangwon-do next? And then the aquaculture farm in Kimhae too..."
"...I'm exhausted..."
"Hmm, sh-should I at least say something to the boss?"
"......"
"Y-yeah, maybe not..."
Kang Gamchan wilted under her gaze, which looked at him like he was the world's biggest idiot, and turned his head away.
Luxy was unleashing a silent scolding: Why bother calling when you know he'll just chew you out?
After venting her complaints like that, Luxy quieted down.
'The boss's name comes up, and she turns meek right away.'
Kang Gamchan felt a strange mix of pride and intimidation knowing that this woman, who had performed such an incredible miracle, was utterly powerless against the boss.
'He says it's for the farms, but working a mage like this... The boss really isn't your average guy.'
Kang Gamchan wasn't thrilled about suddenly playing manager either, but watching Luxy's magic in action was entertaining enough to make his current gig pretty fun and exciting.
The day the fine dust vanished from the skies.
Luxy's spell had even messed with convection currents, completely upending the air flows.
It wasn't a bad thing per se, but the sudden shifts in air currents and weather could disrupt countless crops and natural ecosystems.
Which is why Yuseong had given Luxy a special mission.
- You made the mess, so you clean it up.
Luxy had been thrilled at first to use her magic freely, but after doing this three, five, ten times, even this grew boring.
It was repetitive labor, grunt work. A waste of time for a mage, offering zero thrill.
Luxy had said she didn't want to do it anymore, but Yuseong warned her firmly.
- If I hear next year's strawberries are ruined? You're getting hit. Potatoes or sweet potatoes ruined? Still getting hit.
- ...That's unfair.
- In exchange, I'll knock some debt off.
- ......How much?
With a deal to pay off a billion out of her hundred-billion debt, Luxy had no choice but to hustle.
Even for her, scraping together a hundred billion in ten years felt impossible.
She could develop new drugs or use magic, sure—but that required initial capital and research facilities first.
Magic wasn't omnipotent, after all.
She needed connections for funding and labs, but her only contact was Yuseong. Otherwise, her debt would just pile up more.
'If I wrap this up well, I should ask for a research facility.'
She wouldn't dare haggle, but maybe a cautious suggestion? Luxy hoped so.
Drurruk!
"......What?"
"...I'll go with you."
"......"
Luxy scowled as Alicia interrupted her big dreams.
Alicia ignored her completely and spoke to Kang Gamchan.
"Heading to the sea?"
"Ah, y-yes..."
"I'd like to tag along. That okay?"
"Uh....... Sh-should be fine, ...sure."
"Good. Thanks."
"...?"
"???"
Kang Gamchan was stunned that the ever prickly Alicia had actually asked his opinion. Luxy looked like she'd witnessed a racist sociopath catch a terminal illness!
'Did she just... ask nicely?'
The Alicia she knew was a monster.
An elf, the embodiment of racial superiority bred by her society...
And now that woman was asking permission from a human she despised?
......Was it terminal?
Luxy harbored those suspicions, but Alicia said nothing, just leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Like someone dying to see the ocean.
"Lu-Luxy-ssi?"
"......Let's go."
In the end, she didn't kick Alicia out.
A flicker of curiosity about the elf's sudden change of heart—what could have caused it?—outweighed everything. It took priority over watching her.
A small deviation from the boring grind, the first for Luxy in ages.
'What am I even doing here...'
Alicia gazed at the sea.
It had been an impulsive choice. Just a desire not to be wherever Yuseong was.
The ocean was filthy.
The beach was littered with plastic trash, and the water choked with garbage and pollutants.
Seeing a sea so horrific it was unimaginable compared to Midgard's oceans, Alicia barely suppressed a wave of nausea.
'This is the world I'll have to live in from now on...'
The day before, she hadn't been able to counter Yuseong's words at all.
Even knowing her kin were being insulted, she couldn't muster a proper rebuttal. She'd already lost the argument.
Worst of all, she'd caught herself subconsciously agreeing with him.
'Arrogant fools... He wasn't wrong.'
In the past, she would've ended it right there—suicide on the spot.
She would've challenged Yuseong, and if she lost, taken her own life.
If it had been the past...
'But now, I can't.'
Or more precisely, she didn't know.
She had no idea how to judge or act. No 'answer'.
Answers she'd once known were now muddled, and she saw only herself reflected in the vast, meaningless ocean beyond—like that sea.
Alicia doubted herself.
Did she have what it took to live in this world...!
A world overrun by humans, nature defiled, the spirits' scent so faint it might crumble away...!!
Could she really spend the rest of her life here?
"Miss, sorry, but could you move a bit?"
"......"
"Sorry about that. That's the best spot for sketching."
An old human shuffled up, hunched over. He brushed past her without permission and claimed the spot.
Irritation flared, but she held it back.
She couldn't afford trouble now.
The old man pulled a sketchbook and pencil from his bag, slowly drawing lines.
Skritch, shaaa, skritch.
The pencil scratches, syncing with the waves, drilled into her sensitive ears.
Disrupting her thoughts—infuriating!
Alicia seriously considered teaching this short-lived child(?) a lesson, but the old man suddenly paused and looked at her.
"Want to give it a try?"
"......No need."
"Heh heh, no need to be shy alone. And those hands look like they've held a brush before..."
"......"
"Really no interest?"
"...Tch! Nosy old man."
"At my age, no nosiness means you're a corpse."
Talks a big game, Alicia shot back, then silently eyed the sketchbook page and pencil he'd offered. Slowly, she snatched them.
"Good for killing time, at least."
"Exactly."
A mere whim, perhaps—this sketch.
She'd never touch human tools normally, yet here she was, drawing without thinking.
'...Not a landscape.'
A portrait? No, not quite.
If anything...
'A holy icon?'
The kind called religious art.
Similar, in a way—from this foreign girl's hands emerged a painting of that style.
Jang Chunman, former collector and mentor to many in the art world, could tell her brushwork was no amateur hour.
'All classic techniques. Old German masters, maybe...? No, not quite.'
It defied categorization—purely original.
'Solid fundamentals, though. Rich kid, probably.'
You could tell from the hands.
Street artists had ingrained habits visible to experts.
Those drilled in etiquette classes from childhood showed obsessive neatness.
No better or worse for success, but solid basics meant growth—even without genius.
...With effort and time, of course.
'But this girl...?'
Not uniquely original.
Yet it brimmed with seasoned mastery, years of accumulation.
How could someone barely into her twenties have such polish?!
'Reminds me of that French master I met.'
Jang Chunman recalled Jean Girot, a painter active till 103, whom he'd met in his youth.
His early works screamed beginner—third-rate at best.
Yet he never quit.
Through World War II, the East German tensions—he kept painting.
Those experiences seeped into his hands; by 90, he gained notice. At 100, he bloomed into a grandmaster.
And now, from a woman who'd lived maybe 20 years? That same vibe.
If he hadn't seen her draw, Jang would've sworn it was an 80+ year-old master.
'......Talent?'
He knew the world brimmed with talents, but capturing time itself? He could only gape in awe.
......Unaware she was a nearly 400-year-old elder(?).
'Annoying.'
The old human's stare had grated since earlier, but sketching proved surprisingly fun, so Alicia let it slide.
What she drew? 'Memories.'
Irretrievable ones...
'That sight from my childhood... I'll never see it again...'
Capturing her friend—her subject—who died freeing her, Alicia felt sorrow.
'Ahh... Lucio. Why did you save me...!'
Better to let me die...!!
Calling his name, resenting yet missing him, she drew.
The portrait of living Lucio seemed ready to move—yet only emptiness filled her.
Just a picture. What meaning did it hold?
"Miss..."
"Hm? Still here?"
The old man hadn't budged.
She'd assumed he'd leave by now. Why did this geezer keep hovering?
"The reason you're still here—"
"—Miss, want to work with me?"
"...Hm?"
"I can help sell your paintings!"
"......???"
......Clearly not just any old man. A pitiful one with dementia.