It was as if Eric had never been there, and as if nothing had happened at all. The Second Painter had...consumed Eric's body in the most grotesque, disgusting way Adam's brain could comprehend – then acted like nothing was particularly out of the ordinary.

"Well?" The Second perked up its mist like an eyebrow. "Surely you have more questions, yes?"

For a single moment, Adam felt his hand twitch. That was all the emotion he allowed himself. No matter how despairing or abhorrent the sight had been, letting it get in the way of finding out more about the Painted World would've been unforgivable.

"I do have a few more questions," he said, with a shrug and an uneasy smile. Need...need to stay calm. There's too much to lose. Getting emotional right now won't help. And over what – Eric? "Mind if I ask?"

Outwardly, he appeared undisturbed.

"Of course," the Second replied. "What would you like to know?"

Inwardly, he was boiling.

A fever burned, pulsed from head to toe. His heartbeat raced so fast it might as well have been frozen still. Adam felt overrun with an anger so bright that his mind was reduced to a passive observer in his body.

"I..."

He may have accepted all of Eric's sins in his mind, but the wounds would take a long time to heal, if ever at all. His decade of friendship with the monster was still imprinted on his heart.

"I wanted..." Adam began, with a false smile he desperately tried to embrace. Don't give in. Don't...this guy is a near-omniscient God. You can't hurt him. "Wanted to know if..."

And it was his heart that drove him, his instincts faster than any objections his mind could devise. Adam conjured up the Stains inside his Canvas, wrapping them around his hand.

"I WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU CAN BLEED!"

The Second and Third Painters clashed inside Adam's Canvas.

It was brief. The Painter Lord of Penumbria took his Stained Ink – the very curse that the Second Painter of Rot had wrought upon this world – and wielded it as a sharpened knife. He lunged forward, his emotions propelling his advance.

The attack didn't land, of course.

Adam had half-expected it to end exactly as it did: with his furious blow falling just short of the Sculptor, an invisible magnetic force slowing his momentum until it stopped completely.

That didn't make it any less frustrating.

Contrasting his fury was the Second Painter's pure joy. "I had not expected your blood to run so hot," said the monster, with an air of amused interest.

"To be honest..." Adam trailed off, a sudden exhaustion driving him to his knees. "I'm surprised too. Thought I could control my emotions just a little better than this."

He looked up with a defiant smirk. "Can't say I dislike it, though."

The Sculptor harrumphed. "Surely this outcome does not come as a surprise. You've already witnessed this Divine Law on numerous occasions, have you not?"

His mist shimmered, rearranging itself until it formed clearly-defined letters and words.

7th Divine Law: Talents cannot be used to inflict harm upon someone with a stronger Talent.

It was information that Adam was already aware of. Many times, including just now, and when he'd faced off against Eric, his Talents of weaker Rank had been supernaturally prevented from harming his opponent.

But...there was something else here. Something that didn't seem right.

The 1st Law – it doesn't quite match up.

Adam recalled the definition from earlier.

1st Divine Law of the Painted World: Talent is Absolute

No other magic can overcome the laws of Talent.

Moreover, Talents cannot ignore other Talents – a Talent is the same as one's soul, and all souls are equal. No one is immune to a Talent. Every being of this world has the ability to acquire a single Talent.

If Talents were equivalent to one's souls, and all souls were equal, then that should mean no one was truly stronger than anyone else. In fact, that very much seemed to be both the letter and the spirit of the Divine Law.

Moreover, the gap between the Laws...the 1st and the 7th...it suggested that some time had passed between them. The idea that stronger Talents were immune to weaker Talents was implemented later.

But when? By whom?

And did it imply what Adam thought it did?

I might as well gamble on it. Should try to make the best out of losing my shit. He's less likely to be on guard after overpowering me like this.

Even now, Adam was still on his knees, breathing hard before the Sculptor of Mist. If I'm wrong, no harm done. But I'm right...

He called upon an arrogance he did not feel, a frustration he could not conceive, all the emotions he needed to look as desperate as possible – and that the Second would delight himself in witnessing. "Swear to me," Adam shouted at him. "Swear to me that we will meet again, and that you will answer all my questions."

"Of course," the Second Painter said, in a transparent lie. "I swear that when you summon me next, I will tell you everything you wish to know about this world."

A comforting yet annoying thought dawned on Adam. Despite all the Sculptor's pretenses, he had never really intended to divulge everything, even before the attack. He was only saying whatever benefited him, directing the conversation so he could point Adam like an attack dog at the First Painter.

On one hand, it meant he hadn't really screwed much up by attacking the Sculptor.

On the other hand, it meant this godlike man, one with the power to rewrite history...wasn't yet done with him.

That second thought was decidedly unpleasant. However, Adam couldn't get too worked up over it. It was only fair that the Second felt that way.

After all, Adam wasn't done with him yet either.

The Sculptor hasn't noticed, he thought, feeling the link manifesting. I should end this before it becomes visible within my Canvas. No need to give him more clues.

"I think I've had enough for today," Adam said. "Let's meet again at a later date. Send me back."

"Of course." The Second made a huge show of granting him a respectful bow. "As I said, I would never intrude upon someone else's privacy."

"But you would rewrite their past."

"We all have our vices," the Sculptor remarked, shrugging. "Fear not – very little time has passed outside your Realm. If you work fast, you might be able to save at least some of the soldiers that the First's Assassin killed."

That had been weighing on Adam's mind. Tired or not, he'd still wanted to save Captain Diego and the others. "You're too kind," he told the Second dryly.

The Mist-shaped human convulsed into laughter. "I must confess – this is the first time that charge has been laid at my feet."

And so, Adam woke up.

–

Days Later

Adam studied the outskirts of Penumbria from inside his carriage.

Much had changed since the last time he'd been here. Three differences in particular stood out the most to him.

The first – and most easily seen – change was the city's geography.

It was impossible to miss the results of the intense duel that had taken place just a short week prior. Tenver's giant-slaying arrows, each taller than an armored knight, dotted the city outskirts like lances fallen from the heavens themselves. The wide craters that they'd excavated painted a rough and terrifying picture of his confrontation with the Emperor.

And it wasn't just the land that had been altered. There were also battle scars upon the city proper, the tall stone walls that surrounded it now showing considerable wear and tear. A number of Stained Creatures had attempted to breach through during the Battle of Penumbria, their efforts just barely rebuffed.

But even with all that, it wasn't the change to the city walls, but rather the change to the Realm's Walls that constituted the second-biggest difference Adam had noticed.

Penumbria's Realm had been reconstructed with a new set of Laws – and this time, they were carefully crafted to forbid allies of the Emperor from entering the city. It was a very difficult restriction to impose; one that Adam himself wasn't yet skilled enough to pull off.

The reason Penumbria could now exist with such a sophisticated rule was that its Walls hadn't been created by Adam, but by its former lord, if only temporarily.

And he hadn't so much as hesitated when his carriage rolled into the city.

My Lord Talent is stronger than Aspreay's, Adam thought, with an eerie calmness. Even if he's more skilled than me, I can shatter his Realm without issue if he tries to claim Penumbria again.

The eeriness he felt came not with the thought itself, but with the underlying assumption that Adam didn't actually believe it would come to that.

Aspreay had shown up at the end of the fight to save Penumbria – well, to save Vasco. He'd also risked his life to save Adam's before, and that time had been motivated by the city's well-being. Somehow, after everything, despite everything else...the Painter was quite confident the former Lord wouldn't make himself difficult to deal with.

Not that he trusted him, but, still.

His presence here wasn't the only oddity. The winds of change were blowing over Penumbria. Aside from geography, and aside from the Realm Walls, there was one transformation that surprised him most of all.

"Hail Lord Adam!" cried the crowd.

"LORD ADAM!"

"KING ADAM!"

"THE PAINTER KING!"

"THE LORD OF INK!"

"THE KING OF PENUMBRIA!"

"THE KING OF THE FRONTIER!"

The third and most shocking change in Penumbria had been its people.

They were feasting, they were celebrating, and...and they were happy. There was still uncleaned rubble from the crumbling stone walls near the city's edge, yet it did little to deter their uproarious festivities.

News of the war must've reached Penumbria a week ago, Adam thought, smiling softly at the sight. And they're still celebrating.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

By now, they should all have heard the announcement: Adam had secured a way to keep the Rot at bay. Furthermore, he had also brought a number of Orbs into the city as 'war reparations' from the Empire.

It was an empty gesture, of course. Ciro would invade again as soon as he'd mustered up a better reason to mobilize his troops – he would need to invent another excuse after Adam's parentage had backfired on him so heavily. But the people likely didn't know, and the few that could reason this out still didn't care.

For now, they would survive winter.

For the first time in Penumbria's history, no one would starve to death or fall to the Rot when snow fell.

To them, this meant...everything. It was enough that Adam's loud, yet unofficial declaration of independence from the Empire had spread like wildfire among the masses. To the common citizen of the Frontier, who'd likely never even seen Ciro in person, being ruled by the Painter who'd made the city richer and safer than ever before was a much more attractive status quo.

One they would die to defend.

And that steep price was something Adam refused to overlook. It would be oh-so-very-easy to do so; to drown it out in the clamor of cheering crowds, the deafening chanting of his name.

All the more reason why he couldn't.

"My lord," the coachman nervously began. "The manor awaits your glorious return. Are you certain that you'd like to–"

"–Yes," Adam firmly stated. "It's my duty to see them first."

"But wouldn't you rather celebrate right now?"

"Yeah, I would." He paused. "But they would too – and they weren't given the option."

The Coachman offered no other protests, other than mumbling something about how Prince Tenver and the others were anxiously waiting on Adam's return. Still, the man did as he was ordered.

He drove the carriage to Penumbria's cemetery.

Though the battle had been relatively bloodless, that was only true when compared to the alternative of a downright massacre – a fate they narrowly avoided.

Dozens of soldiers had perished keeping Nayt, the Elven Hangman, from entering the city. Hundreds had died defending the Santuario das Chamas from Valente, the Dark Captain.

It felt wrong to celebrate without first acknowledging their sacrifice.

"I...don't even know your names," Adam began, kneeling before the graves. "And I hate that. I hate that so many of you died because of my decisions that I can't even remember all of you. I hate that I can't visit each of your grieving families and offer my apologies."

The soldiers' loved ones wouldn't starve this winter, but their survival had come at the cost of a wound that would never heal.

"I wanted to keep anyone from dying. This was the best I could do." He shook his head. "Vasco's men were buried in Gama. I...I'll visit their gravestones too. Let them know that it wasn't in vain – that their people will be safe."

"They would like that," said a new voice.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew closer. "And know that you are no master of treachery, oh Lord Painter. Do not take away their choice with your guilt."

Adam hadn't known the man for long, so he recognized his grandiose words before his voice. "Ferrero," he said, rising to his feet, "I owe you a great deal."

The Duelist glanced over from the gravestones, looked Adam up and down, and then laughed. "You jest, my lord. You saved my life during the Ghost Ship incident, and you've also stood up for Puppets with a nobility so unlike noblemen. If anything, I dare say the ledgers are not yet balanced."

"Has the city given you trouble?" Adam's voice was sharp. "I pray no one has tried to..." He trailed off, letting the unspoken ring loud.

"Not so much as a whisper," Ferrero assured. "Hatred of Puppets is strong, but someone has seen to it that tales of my duel with the Hangman were spread far and wide. For now, the people are happy to consider me and my kin as monsters that protect them. It will pass once the victory celebrations run dry, of course, but I will be happy to indulge in the momentary glory."

"I heard of your duel," Adam said, shaking his head in amazement and widening his smile. "You truly fought a Hangman in single combat – and came out alive."

"As did you, my lord."

That was different. It had been Adam's unique Talent that allowed him to survive his duel with Eric – and even then, only barely.

It would be rude to voice this, however. "I confess that when you told me you wouldn't lose even to a Hangman...I couldn't quite believe you at the time," Adam admitted.

"You and them both." Ferrero gestured at the gravestones, his expression bitterness. "Despite Prince Tenver's orders, they would not entrust the city's fate to me. I could only fight once they had fallen. If I'd just been able to convince them–"

"A wise man once mentioned something about the guilt of the living and the choice of the dead."

The Duelist laughed. "A fool, more likely. And even he would know those words apply to a Lord, not a mere duelist."

He regarded the gravestones in silence for a few more moments before turning to the Painter with a raised eyebrow. "Say – who informed you of my duel? You've only just arrived in Penumbria."

"A little bird told me," Adam replied, with a grin. "The same one that spread the tale of your duel to the citizenry. It flew into my carriage a few days before we arrived."

Ferrero gave him a long, disbelieving look. "Once I thought of her as a detective and nothing else," he said. "Now I realize that discovering the truth lets you wield it as the most magnificent of blades."

Adam stopped as he heard some distant observers speak of him in hushed tones. The common folk heralded him as a folk hero – Aspreay's wayward, bastard son who'd returned just in time to save the city from the Emperor.

"That is not the only blade she wields," he muttered.

–

"I beg of you," Adam pleaded. "Speak to me in person for once. Must you use the ravens?"

"Aye, my lord!" The Detective's voice echoed around the courtyard as a chorus of birds repeated her words, one after the other. Every guardsman posted near Penumbria Manor appeared to develop a sudden interest in literally anything else.

When Valeria spoke again, just one of her ravens did so – the one perched on Adam's shoulder, whispering in a low voice. "The birds and this Talent belong not to me, but to the Grandmaster. I'm only able to make use of it through my proximity and their ignorance...willful or not."

Her point was simple and truthful. Adam didn't like it. "And the Grandmaster hasn't declared support for Penumbria yet. Your time at the Mines grows increasingly dangerous the more you abuse your freedom."

"Let it, my lord – or is it Your Highness these days? – if that's all it takes. We can risk my life, but we cannot risk losing access to the Talent of Communications. These birds won us the war as much as your paint did."

Adam grimaced. "You speak of your own death too freely. I wish not to sacrifice anyone, no matter how willing they might be."

"Might?" Valeria laughed softly through the raven, a low sound of high pitch. "Solving mysteries is my purpose for being; a form of art more beautiful than any portrait. Do you now understand why I would die for it?"

"No," he barked out. "I really don't. But I also know this is more than just about passion. You think there's something wrong about–"

"About how I was born, yes. Questions beget questions. Why and how did the Grandmaster happen upon so many elven corpses? And why were we so recently deceased that we could be turned into Puppets, yet not so recent that our memories remained?"

Adam gazed intently at the bird on his shoulder. "Your death would shroud that mystery forever, Valeria. Come to Penumbria."

"So would yours, my lord. And had I not stayed behind, there wouldn't be a Penumbria to come to."

This wasn't a truth he liked, but it was a truth nonetheless.

The Lord of Penumbria sighed, sipping his winecup as he peered at the setting sun. Red and orange clashed, painting brilliant hues that dazzled the eye...

Yet its vibrance was ephemeral. In less than an hour, it would be gone.

A moment of time makes all the difference in the world.

Adam shivered as he recalled the stories he'd heard of the battlefield. Tenver, desperately holding on against hordes of monsters. Solara, murdered until her Talent reached its limit.

If either of them had misstepped, even for just one moment...then they would have proven no less ephemeral than the sunset stretched out before him.

Except that if he wished, he could wait until tomorrow for the next clash of red and orange. There would never be another Tenver or Solara.

How close had his friends been to vanishing from his life entirely?

But they didn't, he reminded himself. They're here, and they're waiting for me.

Along with someone else.

"Thank you for rescuing Aspreay," he softly spoke, looking up at Penumbria Manor. He hadn't gone inside yet – mostly because of the person in question. Aspreay was no danger, but Adam couldn't imagine what their conversation was going to be like.

Even so, I'll need to enter sooner or later. Have to talk to Solara and Tenver.

No. He didn't have to.

He wanted to.

"Your praise is more than I deserve," said Valeria. Her bird took an elegant bow, gently laying its feathery wings on Adam's neck. "I merely gave you the soldier. You were the one to think of how to use him."

Adam chose not to point out the obvious – that luring the former lord into action using Vasco was simply the best move available. By saving Aspreay's life, Valeria had effectively controlled his actions already.

Tenver and Solara had taught him the value of trust, and he'd taken their lesson to heart. Adam didn't intend on reverting to his old self.

Doesn't mean I won't consider that you may have other plans, Valeria.