"Please go ahead, Mr. Adam," the servant said, hurrying toward him. His tone was much friendlier than before. "Please follow this path, through the front door, and into the right-hand corridor; you will find Lord Alva there."
"I am afraid I cannot accompany you further," the servant added, though Adam could sense that the elder had glanced at him once more as he spoke.
Adam nodded in acknowledgment, murmured his thanks, and proceeded inside. He could still hear the murmurs of conversation behind him.
"Mr. Alva is not here today," the elder said, his voice quivering slightly in a poorly concealed manner. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
Adam didn't need to look back to sense the ill-disguised hostility from both the elder and the coachman. He couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by Alva's servant. It was clear that Alva had significant influence—so much so that he could directly refuse the noble visitor.
Curious, Adam thought to himself, What business does the noble have with Alva that would warrant such an abrupt dismissal?
As he approached the main entrance, Adam faintly overheard the elder mentioning something about retrieving a painting, but it felt inconsistent with Alva's usual demeanor.
This doesn't match Alva's usual image at all, Adam mused as he entered the grand hall, the lavish décor starkly contrasting with the memory of the somewhat unkempt Alva.
"Right corridor," Adam muttered to himself as he followed the servant's instructions, his footsteps muffled on the soft carpet. He walked down the corridor and entered a room filled with portraits.
The moment Adam stepped inside, a sense of unease washed over him, and he instinctively furrowed his brow. It felt as though countless eyes were upon him, a sensation reminiscent of being called on in class, only to be mocked for a mispronounced word.
A surge of embarrassment and anger bubbled up from within, but Adam quickly realized that such emotions had no place in his current self. That was a memory from a different time, long gone, he reminded himself. This feeling is artificial, an effect of the room.
It became evident that the room had some peculiar influence, a force, perhaps related to bloodlines, that stirred up the past and made one subconsciously reveal their abnormalities.
Realizing this, Adam calmed himself and regained his composure.
Truly troublesome, he thought, shaking his head. No real problems?
"Alva?" Adam's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Alva himself. Adam turned to find Alva standing behind him, dressed in his customary white robe, speckled with various paints.
"Come with me," Alva said impatiently, turning away.
"Yes, Master," Adam replied promptly, his gaze lingering on the portraits for a moment. Most of them were portraits of people, with only a few landscapes scattered about. In the people's eyes, Adam felt as though they were alive, staring right at him.
He quickly noticed a portrait of three people. Unlike the others, this one lacked the vivid, lifelike quality. The figures in the painting stood frozen, lifeless, making them stand out among the rest.
The painting was highly realistic, but Adam didn't linger. He quickly followed Alva out of the room.
"Wait..." As they stepped out into the corridor, Adam sensed something was wrong. He turned and saw that the corridor he had just entered was now depicted in a painting.
"Master, what is this?" Adam asked, his voice tinged with shock. Only then did he realize why the elder had looked at him so carefully when guiding him earlier.
"And the painting?" Adam's mind raced, recalling the three figures in the portrait. One was a jovial young man sitting in the middle, his expression full of mirth. Had he aged and let his appearance go, he could have been the very image of Alva.
"And the other..." Adam's eyes narrowed. The figure on the left stood out with its grim expression, a look that seemed strangely familiar.
As his gaze shifted to the right, Adam noticed the final figure, whom he didn't recognize. In the bottom right corner of the painting was a signature: Alva LaTou.
Suddenly, the name The Three Masters of Sacred Sound surfaced in Adam's mind.
Master Summer, the head priest. Comparing the gentle, wrinkled face of Master Summer with that of the grim young man in the painting, the familiarity was finally explained.
"Could it be that Alva is also on the path of a knight?" Adam wondered, his thoughts swirling.
After all, a person's energy was finite. While geniuses did exist, it was rare for one to excel in two professions to the highest degree. If it weren't for his own bloodline abilities, Gold wouldn't have suggested that Adam pursue both knight and sorcerer paths.
Considering Alva's previous performances, Adam had always assumed him to be a sorcerer. He could hardly lift a bucket of paint, after all.
In this world, there were many ways to extend one's life, though most methods, as seen by the Church's monks, were considered unnatural. The Church believed in the natural cycle of life—aging and death were accepted as inevitable.
On the other hand, sorcerers, being focused on the soul, had many methods of prolonging life, most of which were connected to mutant bloodlines.
The most conventional way to extend life was through the knightly path. A knight in the Maintain stage could live up to around 120 years, and those who completed the Accomplishment stage could live as long as 300 years. As for knights at the Ascension stage, no one truly knew, since the first knight to reach that stage had lived for over a thousand years.
"It seems I still have much to learn about extraordinary powers," Adam muttered, frowning. His lack of understanding regarding the traits of powerful professionals was a dangerous gap in his knowledge. Simply put, he couldn't recognize the big players.
Roya, as a border city, appeared ordinary at first glance. Even those with extraordinary abilities blended into the masses. But the deeper Adam delved, the more he realized how deep the waters ran here.
"You needn't worry about these things. Just follow me," Alva said dismissively as he walked ahead, unconcerned. Adam suppressed his thoughts, trying to maintain his composure.
They entered the actual studio, surrounded by canvases, paints, and brushes of every kind.
Alva stood in the center of the studio, placing two items before Adam.
"You do indeed have talent, to have awakened your spiritual energy naturally," Alva said, still frowning. Despite the praise, it was clear he held no affection for Adam.
"Spiritual energy? Is it that force formed from intention?" Adam asked, feigning confusion, his emotions carefully calibrated. Alva regarded him with a complicated look, clearly recognizing Adam's potential, but harboring disdain for his ambitious nature. Such people, Alva believed, were better off gone for the world to be peaceful.
"Adam needs proper guidance," the words of Alva's old friend, Master Summer, echoed in his ears. But Alva had always disagreed with his old friend's view.
"Congratulations, Adam. The Thousand Paintings Studio hasn't uncovered your spiritual aberration," Alva said, not answering the question but instead offering praise, though his expression remained tinged with regret.
He tapped the two items on the table, one a paintbrush, the other a letter.
"Now, you have a choice," Alva said, pointing to the brush. "One is to continue learning painting from me, and I will teach you all my techniques, and you may inherit my gallery."
"The other... here is a letter of introduction. Take it, and it will guide you to someone who can teach you how to develop your spiritual energy."
"Adam, I know you," Alva continued. "Your ambition won't allow you to settle for becoming a famous painter. Take the letter, leave now, and this is my advice as your teacher."
Alva pushed the letter forward, clearly eager for Adam to take it and leave.
Adam, realizing he had learned nothing more from Alva's response, considered the options presented to him.
Deep within, Adam's mind was racing. On the surface, Alva wanted him to choose the letter, to forgo the brush. However, from the contempt Alva displayed toward him, Adam suspected that choosing the brush was the real opportunity.
Since entering this mansion, the strange decor, the corridor filled with paintings, and the peculiar servant all hinted that Alva's life was far from ordinary. Continuing to learn painting and inheriting Alva's techniques could be a clear benefit.
"But Alva spoke of inheriting his gallery, promising only his techniques—nothing beyond that," Adam thought, studying Alva's face. He knew that expression well—the instinctive disdain tempered by necessity.
Unlike before, when Adam had felt trapped, this time, Alva had given him a choice, though it was laden with traps.
Alva's previous actions had all been part of a mind game—like thinking he was playing on the first layer, but actually operating on the fifth.
With this realization, Adam knew that he would have to discard the alluring temptations and choose what he truly needed.
He took the letter in his hand.