Once the Princess responded, whether with praise or derision for this painting, it would seem as if the Demon Race had been utterly humiliated—
Praise would represent submission, derision would signify loss of composure, and silence would suggest ignorance.
"..."
Lord Raeming bowed his head and clenched his fists so tightly that a cracking sound ca from his knuckles.
He had long known that these mbers of the Blood Clan had co to the Demon World with an air of superiority.
From the signing of the "North-South Contract," the Demon Race had never truly raised its head in the presence of the Blood Clan, and now even a Bloodline Viscount dared to mock them.
"Its na is ’The Night When The Stars Fall Down.’ The sky of the Demon World is enveloped in a strange dusk light, as if the night has yet to fully retreat, yet through it perates a dawn that cannot arrive. Within this mysterious and contradictory interplay of light and shadow, in front of the royal palace, the steps sprawl out as the peerlessly graceful Princess slowly descends, her silver hair falling naturally and draping softly over her pale blue gown. There are no stars in the night sky; the true stars are her."
The sudden eloquent voice echoed in the silent Regency Hall, and Lord Raeming, stunned, followed the voice to see the composed and calm Radiant Demon by his side.
It was Mr. McCarthy who had spoken.
"She possesses a peerless beauty that, once seen, cannot be forgotten. Her gaze is clear and proud, the world’s most beautiful amber. Whether it’s sorrow or joy, carrying a touch of delight or regret, it stirs the viewer’s spirit. She might be a lingering song of sumr, the rustling mountain breeze of autumn, or the ever-changing starry sky. With just one glance, only her figure remains in the mind," McCarthy voiced, his tone akin to reciting poetry as he beheld the epic painting.
Upon hearing this, the Fourth Ancestor, Eduado, montarily retracted his cane.
He took a longer look at McCarthy.
He possessed the tolerance of a victor.
It seed that there was no need to invoke the second plan today.
He could leave with the last princess of the Demon Race and then turn her into a pathetic plaything of the Blood Clan.
McCarthy’s impromptu critique had allowed all the demons present to breathe a sigh of relief.
"It’s no wonder he’s Mr. McCarthy."
"His words are full of sincere admiration, all directed at the Princess."
"Though, isn’t he praising her a bit too much...?"
Murmurs began to arise again, the expressions of many demon nobles visibly relaxed.
Only Hyperion, upon hearing McCarthy’s comnts, couldn’t hold back any longer.
"I’m not as beautiful as you say I am..."
Hyperion fidgeted with her dress, muttering so softly it was almost inaudible, her heart pounding uncontrollably.
She took a deep breath, knowing she couldn’t show her panic in front of McCarthy; she returned to a state of calm with the proficiency of a trained spy.
At this mont, Fallen Lord Calila, who had been beside the throne, had been quiet for quite so ti.
Since the hall had fallen silent, it was as if she had finally beco tired.
What difference did it make to avoid humiliation after defeat? The inescapable fact was the defeat itself.
Today, the Demon Race had lost the Princess in order to bide its ti and wait for an opportunity. What would they lose next ti?
"Lord Calila, there is one more painting."
Hyperion’s commanding voice rang in Calila’s ears.
"Your Highness..."
Calila glanced over, only to see the Princess appearing even more composed than she was.
At that instant, the Princess’s deanor was like a steadfast belief that the Demon Race hadn’t lost after all.
The Princess was brave, even braver than Calila had imagined. At this mont, it was she who was the most resolute of the Demon Race.
Calila had thought her a useless Princess, but now she began to feel she might have been mistaken. This witch possessed the deanor worthy of a Demon Clan Princess, of a true leader of the house.
"Good, I will accompany you to the end of this final path," affird Fallen Lord Calila with a nod.
As the host, she naturally had an obligation to complete the process.
Even if there lay in the golden cabinet but one last sealed painting, the chances of the Demon Race losing their Princess were not zero.
"Is there any need to disgrace ourselves further, Calila?"
Duke Eduado, the fourth ancestor, asked as he watched the Fallen Lord begin to move again before the throne, leaning on his cane.
As the painting that was placed at the very bottom of the golden cabinet, it had been submitted even earlier than the tenth ancestor Marquis Ulysses’ work; it was very likely a perfunctory piece like that of Lord Raeming.
"The ancient legendary craftsn of the Demon World have already lost, and there is no way that today’s Demon World could find a mber of the Great Demon Clan stronger in the artistry than True Night Sir. To say that the Demon Race still has even a one in ten thousand chance of struggling is far too optimistic," said the accompanying Bloodline Viscount, shaking his head.
The light woven with magic power gradually converged, leaving only the bright and solitary orange glow from the tenth ancestor’s "The Night When The Stars Fall Down" — like a lonely star singing in the void.
The sounds from the seats of the Demon Race nobility were quietly gathered up by an invisible hand, plunging the whole Regency Hall into a near solemn silence.
Those once-whispered murmurs had vanished completely, and even the air between the proudly standing Mist Sir and True Night Sir seed to freeze.
Many of the Demon Race did not wish to watch the golden cabinet any longer, waiting for the mocking laughter of the Blood Clan that would signify the end.
Calila used magic power to draw forth the painting that had been submitted to the golden cabinet even before the tenth ancestor Ulysses of the Blood Clan.
In that instant, the Fallen Lord seed to perceive sothing, her eyelashes quivered lightly, and hope once again seed to kindle in her eyes.
An intense orange radiance burst forth from the golden cabinet!!
The specks of light scattered and flowed, forming golden totems in the air, as the light fog suddenly spread like a blessing all around, covering the whole hall and awakening the dim eyes of the Demon Race from beneath the dark clouds.
On the painting—
From a distance, one could see ripples upon the winding canal, reflecting the sunset’s glow.
The twilight of the sky served as the backdrop.
In the painting, the girl’s face, it illuminated the world.
Her cheeks and the sky behind her blended into a tapestry of pink and orange hues; her brilliance dazzled, requiring no light to discover her radiant presence. In her golden mont that was all her own, it was as though ti stood still just for her.
[Picture·Her Golden Mont]
[Type: Artwork]
[Grade: Epic]
[Rank: 1]
[Those who behold this painting shall recover a small amount of spirit and vitality, and their trust in the girl in the image will increase. There is a chance to permanently raise the upper limit of one’s magic attribute slightly, one-ti only.]
At this mont, the Demon Race went from being dumbstruck to leaping to their feet and shouting in just one second!
Even Calila herself showed a smile of relief.
"Who painted this?"
The Demon Race stood excited, looking around the Regency Hall, seeking the creator’s figure.
However.
When they followed the Princess’s gaze.
All answers were revealed—
That mysterious rchant.
And the Princess.
Gazing at each other from afar.
The world around them seed to disappear, leaving only the two of them.
Imrsed in this beautiful and eternal mont.
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