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The three-story mansion of the D'Armont family was undoubtedly a masterpiece of classical imperial-style architecture. The white marble, the tall columns, the stained glass windows, and the numerous bas-reliefs by renowned sculptors were a work of art, the work of some of the finest architects in the Eternal Empire. Its size was also impressive: it could easily accommodate several hundred people. And that was not counting several separate outbuildings and a residential building for servants. A huge garden surrounds all this splendor. It was also created by high-level specialists. Hundred-year-old sprawling trees of various species, well-tended flowerbeds full of beautiful flowers, life-size marble statues of humans, non-humans, and monsters on pedestals, perfect lawns, several fountains, and a small pond with the purest water.

The D'Armon were an ancient, powerful, and numerous family dating back to the time of the founding of Eternal. There were ups and downs in their history, but in the end, they managed to stay afloat, acting somewhere with sword and magic and somewhere with quill and dagger. For a century and a half now, they have been among the hundred most powerful families of the Eternal Empire, but the memory of past failures and failures has not been erased from their minds. Therefore, they always paid the most careful and reverent attention to the defense of the family estate. Despite its refined appearance, their mansion was a real fortress that could withstand a very serious siege.

Among the ornamental plants in the garden were plenty of those, at the will of their owners, quickly turned into deadly traps, entangling their enemies with vines and roots and wounding their victims with sharp poisonous thorns. Some of the oldest trees were elaborately disguised Dendroid Warriors, sunk in a deep slumber for the time being. Half of the statues in the garden were actually mothballed battle golems of dwarven workmanship. In the cellars of the manor, there was a decent supply of provisions, and in several separate rooms, there were magical energy storages capable of maintaining the most powerful defense barriers for quite a long time.

The walls and windows of the manor were enchanted down to the last brick. The armory of the family guard had enough armor and weapons for a full two hundred men. What to speak of the ancestral arsenal and the secret room where the most valuable family artifacts, armor, and weapons were kept. After all, not all, but quite a few of the D'Armon family had combat or semi-combat classes. There weren't as many truly strong and powerful fighters as they would have liked, but they were certainly not defenseless.

Except, much to the dismay of Duchess Ravena D'armon, the current matriarch of the great family, on this cursed day for Eternal, two-thirds of the family's strongest fighters were absent from the city. As were half of the guardsmen. After the start of another escalation with Alishan, her eldest son, who was just one of the strongest fighters in their clan, had gathered a considerable force and left the capital. One of the provincial estates, which brought the D'Armons a very substantial portion of their income, was dangerously close to the border. In the event of large-scale hostilities, it would inevitably come under attack. That was why the family council had made the difficult decision to remove all the most valuable assets as soon as possible. At the time, it had seemed the right decision to Ravena. Now, looking out the window of her office at the rampage going on in Eternal, she could only bite her elbows and feel the clammy fear spreading down her spine.

The first strike, most dangerous due to the surprise factor, they were able to repel, albeit at great cost. Several factors saved them. First, the fact that at the moment of the Fall of the Eternal, Ravena was in her office, where all the defense nodes of the estate were brought together in one way or another. Second, the fact that most of the guardsmen and members of the family who remained in the city were inside the mansion at that moment. Had it not been for these two factors, their fate would have been much sadder. For the accursed inhabitants of Hell had clearly been preparing for the assault on their ancestral nest for a very long time. The outer line of defense, anchored by a four-meter high stone fence reinforced by numerous stationary defensive and attacking magical systems, had been breached by the attacking Devils and their cultist puppets almost instantly and without casualties.

None of the traps or battle charms worked, identifying the attackers as friendly objects. Ravenna's attempt to activate them manually also failed. It turned out that the magic weaves controlling the defenses were no longer under her control.

Most of the combat garden flora, which had cost their family a lot of money (after all, the services of a druid around the fortieth level can't be cheap), hadn't entered combat mode. The few plants that did manage to awaken were almost instantly destroyed by specially selected poisons or alchemical fire. Of the ten Dendroid Warriors, only three awakened from their sleep, and only one was able to do any damage to the attackers before they were doused with liquid fire. The others remained standing as pillars.

More specifically, trees. Of the two dozen battle stone golems, not a single one worked. The expensive masterpieces of dwarven golem-building, for which their family had paid a lot of money, turned out to be useless statues. The reason was established almost immediately, with the help of the Duchess's personal assistant-visionary. All the golems had trivial discharged storage devices. More precisely, someone cleverly replaced the necessary type of energy in the crystals-storage devices with one that was completely inert and useless for the golems. Thus, turning dangerous combat units into fabulously expensive and useless statues.

The situation was critical, and Ravenna had to make a difficult decision as she watched in her office on the large-scale map of the estate as the enemy approached the central building. Nearly a hundred dwarven booby traps, loaded with a variety of explosives, had been placed evenly throughout the garden more than twenty years ago at the insistence of her now-deceased mother. The price the bearded little men had asked for them was monstrous. And how much trouble it had been to install them in secret was too much to remember. But Ravenna's mother was adamant in her demand. There must be at least one defense system in the mansion not tied to magic. Only simple, mechanical action. Turning a key. The pull of a lever or a button. It doesn't matter. As long as there's no magic involved. Simple mechanics.

In the field of mechanics, the people of the mountains had never been bettered. And today, Ravena was able to see that for herself. As well as the wisdom of her late mother. When, with shaky hands, she pulled the inconspicuous lever behind the false section of her office wall, nothing happened for the first second. In the next instant, the dwarven mines exploded with monstrous power, spewing out enchanted shards, multidirectional elemental charges, and the most powerful blast wave of all. The magnificent garden around the D'armon mansion was no more. In its place were dozens of craters, splintered trees, and small fragments of statues.

This strike came as a surprise to the Devils. It was largely due to the special metal the mine casings were made of. It was the reason why the dwarven products were so expensive, but it was also the reason why they were so hard to detect by all kinds of seers. It was also because only three living people knew about the mines. She, her eldest son, and her cousin led the guard, but no one else was aware of this element of defense. But unfortunately for Ravena, the explosion of even a hundred mines had not been fatal to the Devils. The most powerful and dangerous creatures managed to sense something a moment before the explosion and escaped. Some of them were tangentially hit, but it didn't matter much. But the rank-and-file cultists had been thinned out. At least more than half of them had been wiped out, and only those who had been covered by their masters survived, many of whom were injured in some way.

In any case, this unexpected blow gave the d'Armon the most valuable thing in this difficult situation. Time. It wasn't much time, but it was enough time for the alerted guards to gather their strength and arm themselves fully. Fighters took up positions at loopholes, stationary enchanted arrows, and magical battle wands. Almost every possible attack and defense system in the manor had been activated. Now, it was possible to give the inhabitants of Hell a much more confident fight. Only the latter didn't take it, instead retreating in an organized manner.

Ravena tried to make the most of this brief respite. In the office, which had been turned into an emergency military headquarters, all the high-level members of the clan, the strongest of the mercenary fighters, and all the seers were gathered, urgently united in one circle. Three different enchanted volumetric maps, each an artifact of epic grade, were spread out on a large table. One projected the mansion and the surrounding garden. The second is their street. The third is their neighborhood of Eternal. Unfortunately, due to the powerful interference, only the map that displayed the mansion worked reliably. It took more than half an hour to get a more or less complete picture of what was going on, and several scanning artifacts of epic and one legendary grade from the emergency supply of family, as well as a set of expensive restorative potions for the Duchess's personal seer and her assistants, who had to work their asses off to the max. The result was extremely discouraging.

In short, they were in a very deep asshole. The fact that the whole capital was in that part of the body with them was of little consolation. There was no communication with the outside world, but they managed to reach a third of their contacts in the Eternal. The rest did not answer. Those who did respond were in a similar situation to the D'Armon's, if not worse, and were looking for help and rescue. It was impossible to reach the Imperial Palace because everyone else was trying to reach it. The communication channels were overloaded.

There was no way to get out of the city. The powerful stationary teleporter, located in the back of the mansion, worked only within the boundaries of Eternal. All exit points outside of it were cut off completely. Contracts with several powerful elemental spirits were also cut off by the Devils. The celestials could not even be mentioned. The youngest of Ravena's children, a seventeenth-level cleric with the unusual class of Devotee, who had lost all of his class abilities and his connection to his celestial patron, was adamant that "all clerics are in this state, and there is no hope for help from the deities." So we'd have to make it on our own. Which was lacking.

After calculating the available forces, the nervous duchess thought. On the one hand, it was dangerous to leave the fortified mansion. On the one hand, it would be dangerous to leave the fortified mansion. On the other hand, there was no way to stay put. If she had at least a large part of the guard and fighters of the family at hand, it would be a different matter, but in the current situation, she only has three fighters above the fortieth level. Because of that, leaving the manor was very discouraging. Moreover, most of the people who had gathered for the council were also strongly opposed to leaving the fortified position. The head of a star of high-level mercenary adventurers hired shortly after the escalation with Alishan was the one who objected the most.

"We'll just get slaughtered out there. We need to stay here until the Imperial Legions counterattack and break the creatures' backs. Until then, we have no business being there. I spotted two level 47s among the creatures that attacked us. Without the support of your manor's defenses, lady d'Armon, we don't stand a chance."

"Why don't we try to break through to the palace after all?"

"I might make it through. Some of my men and a couple of yours, too. The rest of you will fall into the hands of the Devils. You know what they'll do to you?"

Ravena didn't guess. She knew. And that was why she was very reluctant to leave the relatively safe manor. But was it really that safe?

"These creatures overcame our outer defenses without the slightest resistance! Can we be sure they haven't picked up the keys to the rest of the defenses?"

"If they had managed to do that, we wouldn't be talking to you right now," the leader of the adventurers, who had taken command of the defense as the highest level fighter, shook his head grimly.

"But I do not doubt that they have studied our defenses well, and they probably have a backup plan...."

"Wait! Where's Nicholas?"

The question from one of Ravena's aides threw everyone into a stupor. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then one of the guardsmen said uncertainly:

"Did he stay in his workshop?"

"Goddamn it, send for him now!"

"What's the use of him now..."

"Now! He might come in handy."

Painter is an uncommon class, but it's rarer than some epic ones. The reason was simple. The development of the class required quite a lot of investment in consumables, and not the cheapest. Canvases, paints, easels, brushes. Of course, you can draw a picture on the wall with a piece of charcoal. But the only thing is that there will be as much experience with it. Although, it depends on what kind of painting and how it is drawn... Inspiration also plays a big role in the development of the class. And also depends a lot on what the artist was going to write. It's one thing to paint the landscape of a sniffy village of Shit Hole and another thing to paint a battle of two huge armies that you had the opportunity to observe.

In short, the class is not easy to develop. But at the same time, opening up huge opportunities for those who have developed it to sufficiently high levels. Nicholas Falmel was deservedly considered a very good artist. He has a thirty-fifth level. He had upgraded the Painter class to a rare grade and had chosen the epic grade Portraitist as his second class. Yes, against the backdrop of other combat class holders, at first glance, not at all impressive. But the abilities and peculiarities granted by the classes more than paid for the lack of combat techniques. For the sake of these features, Ravenna's late mother had brought the skinny but talented young man closer to her. And not only did she bring him closer, equipped him with a workshop and provided him with very expensive supplies in the form of rare paints or brushes made of exotic animal hair.

The treasurer of the d'Armond family had torn his hair out more than once, calculating how much money the Lady was spending on a useless freeloader. And many agreed with him. It was even whispered that he had been brought closer solely because of his good looks and talents in other areas, but no one had ever dared to say such a thing out loud. Ravena's mother had a stern temper and ruled the d'Armon family with an iron hand. There were rumors, though. In any case, her patronage and spending on a talented artist was considered unjustified by many. And when she allowed him to have a couple of personal maids and modeling girls of very attractive appearance...

The opinion of others quickly changed when the adult man reached the twenty-fifth level and took the second class. That's when the investment began to pay off. Just a portrait and a portrait painted by the hand of a Portraitist of epic grade are two big differences. The second can have a very wide range of unusual properties, depending on the materials used in the creation of the picture and on what goals are pursued by the portraitist. For example, to increase permanent or temporary characteristics, to play the role of a "lightning rod" for a curse or a means of distraction. Or, on the contrary, to greatly assist in the search or spoiling by the malefic. It was rumored that truly high-level artists could paint a portrait of a person so authentic that any wound was instantly transferred to the original. Up to and including a fatal wound. Or conversely, a mortal wound could be taken over by the portrait. Of course, this requires a level of forty-five at least, but as they say, not all at once.

Over time, the manor had a separate private gallery full of portraits of various people. Members of the d'Armont family, allies and foes alike. The court painter's usefulness to the family was appreciated, and he was treated more warmly and even turned a blind eye to another pair of maids who served as his inspiration. The portraits painted by Nicholas saved some members of the family, if not their lives, then a considerable part of their health.

When Eternal fell in Hell, Nicholas was in his studio painting a portrait of one of Duchess Ravena's sworn friends. He was posed for it by one of his maid-model-mistresses. As the Eternal's skies changed color, he turned around and froze shocked, staring out the huge window of his studio. For a few seconds, a slender, handsome young man in paint-stained work clothes stared at the alien skies. Then he took a few steps toward the window, bit his lip, and angrily threw his palette aside. He did not, however, let go of the long brush.

"Master?"

A pretty girl dressed in an expensive white dress threw a frightened glance at him. He mumbled frantically without paying attention to her:

"No, no, that's impossible! How--how did this happen? How did they-- No, no, no! I'm-- I'm-- damn it!"

Nicholas turned to the worried girl and, with an expression of childish resentment on his face, said, almost crying:

"It's not fair! Bloody, filthy things! They-- They! Bastards! I hate them!"

"Master, calm down..."

"Calm down? Calm down!? All this hard work, all this effort, it's all for nothing! I was so close to my goal! I didn't have much time left! So much work. So many risks, and most importantly time, time, Violeta! It's... it's... Fuck them. I hate them!"

The young man collapsed into his chair and covered his face with his hand, tears streaming down his face. The girl quickly ran up to him and sat on his lap, hugging him affectionately. In doing so, she cleverly drowned Nicholas' face in her cleavage. To put it bluntly, there was room to drown. For several minutes the girl stroked the artist's head as if he were a little boy. He sniffed unhappily and continued to curse the Devils, but at the same time, he began to actively grope the model's lower back with his left hand. He never let go of the brush in his right hand. Then, suddenly, he jumped to his feet, almost dropping Violeta to the floor, straightened up, and turned resolutely toward the window. The expression on his handsome face changed abruptly from childish resentment to a gloating grin:

"And you know what, Violeta? That's even better! Yes! For all those bastards! Yes, that's fine with me too, ha-ha-ha!"

The young man laughed for a few seconds, then turned abruptly to Violeta:

"Gather the rest of the girls. We're going with plan number six."

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The sharply matched maid-model nodded briefly:

"I obey, Master!"

Then she left the workshop in a hurry. Nicholas went to his private room, which was adjoining the workshop. It was a rather large room, divided into two parts by a screen. One was more like a study, with a desk and a couple of cabinets. Instead of books and scrolls, they held paints, paint blanks, brushes, and other art supplies. On the table were several dozen rather expensive sheets of paper with sketches for future paintings. The other part of the room was occupied by a huge bed and a couple of closets with clothes. And, of course, all the walls were covered with paintings. Mostly portraits.

Nicholas closed the door behind him and strode determinedly toward one of the rather large paintings hanging in the corner. It depicted the scene of a feast in an inn, with a table bursting with food and drink as the center of the composition. As Nicholas approached the painting, he carefully removed it from the wall, placed it on the floor, leaned it against the wall, and touched it with the tip of his brush. To be more precise, he touched the part of the painting where the door leading to the back of the inn was in the background.

The next moment the image rippled like the surface of the water, and then the image of the door began to enlarge, filling the entire space of the canvas. A few seconds later, the entire painting was just the door. A moment more, and the painting suddenly gained depth and volume. Reaching out, Nicholas turned the knob and opened the door, revealing a long corridor. If an outsider had seen it, he would have been astonished. This kind of technique was far beyond the ability of a level thirty-five level only, albeit with an epic class.

Nicholas crouched down and carefully made his way inside, finding himself in a very long and rather wide corridor with very high ceilings. It was illuminated by dozens of magical lamps in the form of crystal hemispheres on the walls. After closing the door behind him, the artist took a springy step forward along the corridor, admiring the paintings hanging on the walls. He stopped for a moment at some of them, touching them gently with his fingers. The vast majority of them were full-length portraits, single or group. They depicted a wide variety of humans and non-humans, but they had something in common. All of the paintings were explicit in one way or another. As a rule, very explicit, if not pornographic.

Standing on all fours on a bed of animal skins in the middle of an earthen cave, a naked elf with a long chestnut braid was surrounded by a dozen small goblins who were using her in a cluster with grinning faces and every possible orifice. Beside her lay green robes in which a knowledgeable person would instantly recognize the officer's light armor of the Enchanted Sharpshooters of the Forest Guard of the Eternal Forest.

A blond, short-cropped woman with a stern, but in her way beautiful face, wearing the armor of a once quite famous and powerful knightly order, standing on one knee, was concentrating on sucking the cock of a young boy tied to a tree, wearing the robe of a novice from the same order. The boy's face was a masterful picture of shame, embarrassment, fear, and incredible pleasure.

A tall, muscular, and rather fierce Orc with huge fangs, square jaw, deep-set eyes, and long dreadlocks of pitch-black hair that sat contentedly on the face of a red-haired halfling who was less than a waist high. Two of his red-haired buddies were leaning on her from behind with satisfied faces.

A handsome dark-haired young man in expensive silk robes, tightly clutching a tall, dark elf with a luxurious waterfall of snow-white hair and tattoos of the matriarch on her face, who was dressed in a very revealing version of the maid's uniform, and embarrassedly tried to pull away from him and return to mopping the floors.

A naked middle-aged woman, not the most attractive figure, but with a golden crown on her head and a dog collar around her neck, standing on all fours in the middle of a huge hall, surrounded by many richly dressed people. And next to her, a brightly dressed dwarf in a jester's cap, with a joyful smile on his face, held the leash of her collar in his hands, watching his "doggy" doing a wet job with her leg up.

A sturdily built man with a mane of red hair and a scraggly beard, standing upright and imprisoned in wooden stocks looked with horror on his face at the two big orcs approaching him with lewd grins on their ghastly faces and elbow-length erect cocks.

There were very few people alive today who would recognize the portraits of humans and non-humans. But that was only true of the portraits at the beginning and in the middle of the strange corridor. Toward the end of the corridor, there were more and more portraits of humans and non-humans in which many people would easily recognize some influential figures, mostly from the Empire of Ages. Including members of the ruling dynasty, whose portraits hung side by side. One of them stood out as a pristine canvas as if all the paint had suddenly disappeared from it not so long ago.

Though there were elves, dwarves, halflings, and beastmen, there were only a couple of the latter. All of the paintings were also quite lewd, but unlike the ones at the beginning of the corridor, they were not complete. Somewhere a background was missing, somewhere a piece of clothing was missing, somewhere a face was not fully drawn, though most of the portraits had literally one or two strokes left for a finale. A small stroke.

But Nicholas paid almost no attention to these portraits. His gaze was fixed on a huge group portrait, the only one hanging on the opposite wall from the entrance, which ended the long corridor gallery. In the center of this portrait was a man sitting on a throne, surrounded by half a dozen incredibly beautiful women, all dressed as one in the style of "find clothes on me." Among them were an elf, an orc, a dwarf, a pair of beast girls, one with cat ears, the other with fox ears, a lamia with a very long tail, and even a deviless. Stopping in front of the portrait, Nicholas sighed sadly and gingerly touched the edge of the canvas with his hand. Tears came to his eyes again.

"I'm sorry, teacher... I didn't make it. I just didn't have the time! I prepared for so long, I tried so hard... I didn't have enough time to carry out my revenge! Oh, you would have loved it, I'm sure you would have! The damned denizens of Hell, they stole it from me! And I was so close... I tried so hard. I put in so much effort. I endured so much humiliation! If you only knew, Teacher, I was so tired of hiding under the guise of various lowlifes. But I endured it all, all for your sake! I just didn't have enough time!"

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Nicholas wiped his tears and, looking warmly at the portrait, for which humans and non-humans would give much without hesitation, whispered:

"But I will not give up! I will not rest until vengeance is served! Others, yes, they have forgotten, preferred to hide, to change guises, and settle for the pitiful remnants of former power. But not me!"

At these words, a fanatical fire flashed in the artist's eyes.

"No, I will not rest until all those responsible are punished! As long as one of those who destroyed your great dream lives! But for now, I must retreat. I'm sure, Teacher, that you would understand and forgive me."

Touching once more with his fingertips the most valuable and favorite of his works, Nicholas straightened up resolutely and turned to the side. On the wall to the right hung his self-portrait. A young man in work clothes with a brush and palette in his hands, standing in the middle of the studio. For a second, Nicholas looked at himself, then his face contorted with hatred, and he sharply swung the brush as if crossing out the portrait. A moment later, the painting rippled, and the paint began to drip downward, dripping onto the floor and evaporating. In a minute, there was no trace of the former portrait, but under the paint that had dripped and evaporated without a trace was another portrait. It showed a tall, slender man with a perfect posture, wearing expensive clothes but also holding a brush and a palette in his hands. His arrogant face did not resemble Nicholas's at all. That was the intention, though. Smiling contentedly, the artist swung his brush once more, awakening his creation. Then he walked over to the four neighboring portraits.

They were ordinary girls in the modest dresses of maids. Anyone in the D'Armond mansion would have recognized them as Nicholas's maids-models-mistresses. As he approached each of the portraits, the artist swung his brush just as briefly. And just like that, the paint from the portraits began to drip and evaporate, revealing images of completely different girls. But Nicholas paid no attention to that. With a determined expression on his face, he moved toward the exit, and with each step, his appearance changed. From him, as before from the portraits, it was as if the paint began to run off, instantly evaporating. As he approached the door, there was no trace of his former appearance. Nicholas was now virtually indistinguishable from the man who had been hidden beneath the first layer of the self-portrait. Except that he was a few years older.

But it wasn't just his appearance that changed. The brush, which the artist never parted with, had also changed. If someone saw it now or held it in his hands, he would be very surprised. After all, an artifact of a mythical level, a handmade gift from the teacher. As recognition of the merits of a talented and devoted student. Nicholas had written all of his best works with it. And today, for the first time in a very long time, he would use it again to its fullest potential.

Nicholas touched the door with his brush, and it lost volume and rippled again, only to revert a few moments later to a very ordinary painting of the scene of the feast at the inn. Roughly breaking the frame, he quickly rolled up the canvas and put it away in a tube. Then he picked it up under his armpit and walked out of his private room back to the studio. Where, as it turned out, they were already waiting for him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and said:

"Wow, how fast you've done it! Did it go well, Violeta?"

A tall, long-legged dark elf with anthracite black skin and long white hair braided into many pigtails, wearing light dark leather armor and holding two curved blades in her hands smiled predatorily. A level forty-eight, the legendary Dungeon Huntress and epic Scout was the high-leveled his girls. Of course, a long time ago, he had much stronger girls in his battle harem, but they had all died saving him during those fateful times. Since then had had to settle for less powerful mistresses. However, one couldn't call them helpless either. With a glint of scarlet eyes, the dark elfess said in a languid voice:

"Master, please, since we've dropped our masks, call me by my normal name, not this stupid human name."

"Sorry, weaned in so many years, my dear Cave Wetslit," chuckled the artist merrily.

Still, putting the idea in their ears that names like Bottomless Womb or Everwet Hole were normal for them was a long tradition for him, learned from his teacher.

"So, how'd it go, anyway?"

The dark elfess, hearing her 'normal' name, smiled contentedly:

"Simple enough. We took them by surprise. Then again, even the best of them are no match for us. Especially with the power your portraits gave us."

With those words, she pointed with a satisfied look at the dozens of bound and paralyzed people neatly stacked in rows against the wall of the workshop. Here were all the people who had survived the first attack, from Duchess Ravena and her strongest guards to the cooks and gardeners. They were alive but completely paralyzed and unable to move a finger, which made them extremely terrified. In addition, they had no idea what was happening.

"That's great. Where are the other girls?"

"They'll be here soon. Our lusty guests made another attempt to storm in just as we finished clearing the estate. It was a bit of a struggle, but they weren't expecting us, so we overpowered them. In consultation, we decided we could use some of them too. They'll be delivered here soon."

"You're my good girls. What would I do without you!"

With these words, Nicholas approached the dark elf and kissed her affectionately on the cheek, from which she giggled embarrassedly and immediately kissed back. The artist almost laid her out on one of the tables in the studio. Only at the last moment, he pulled away from the dark elf, who moaned unhappily:

"Goddamn, fucking Lust Fleur! Sorry, honey, we're gonna have to wait on that. We've got a lot to do first. Oh, here come the other girls!

At that moment, three women entered the workshop. The first was a tall, slender woman with long, straight, pitch-black hair in a ponytail and slanted eyes. She was dressed in a tight, hooded garment of black silky fabric that those in the know would recognize as the garb of the elite fighters of the hidden clan of assassins from the Empire of Arms. At first glance, she was unarmed, save for a pair of blades on her belt. But in fact, her robes concealed many more stealthy murder weapons, ranging from poisoned throwing needles to garrote.

At the moment, she was dragging a paralyzed high-level cultist, who was bursting with borrowed power but unable to even blink. Had he been examined by a sufficiently experienced mage-healer, he would have quickly diagnosed the condition: severe damage to the key energy points of the subtle bodies, completely blocking all class abilities and the ability to control the body. Considering that the woman was a level forty-five and a legendary Grand Master of Martial Arts, as well as an epic Assassin, this was not surprising.

She was followed by a slender, frail-looking, short-haired, white-haired woman in a dark blue robe embroidered with silver. She was leaning on a long, thin staff of white wood with a crystal ball head. Forty-fourth level, epic Barrier Mage and Portalist classes. In front of her, a translucent sphere floated in the air, inside of which was a deviless

The last to enter was a short, cheeky, red-haired dwarf with a rather lush form, dressed in the military gear of dwarven riflemen, with an impressive-sized double-barreled lead shotgun in her hands and a belt full of enchanted cartridges. Fortieth level, a rare Mountain Marksman class, and an epic Monster Hunter.

Walking into the workshop, the assassin threw the cultist at Nicholas' feet and, with her hand pressed to her chest, spoke in a slight accent:

"Master, the enemies have been destroyed, and the estate has been cleared. Of all the minions of the Deils, this was the only one who could be of any use. The rest were just trash, filled to the brim with vice."

"It's okay, Yui. I'll work with what I have. Agatha, my dear, let me take a look at your charming prisoner. Oh, not bad! It's not my usual material, but it'll be all the more interesting!"

Nicholas, who was looking at the captive deviless with interest, walked around the sphere. At one point, the frenzied captive suddenly froze when she saw his Status, which he did not hide on purpose. With widened eyes, she looked at the artist. Then she tried to crawl away from him as far as possible, wriggling panic-stricken.

"Oh, I see you recognize me! Oh, my goodness! I'm really honored. No, really, it's nice that even after all these years, there are those who remember me. Since you recognize me, I suppose you know what's in store for you?"

That question made the deviless shaked even harder.

"Yes, yes, I will paint your portrait! I don't have much time, of course, and the material isn't the best, but I'll try. Still, I'm not the worst painter. Agatha! Place it here. A little to the right. Yes, right there! It's perfect. Well, I'll do the writing now, and in the meantime, would you be so kind as to make arrangements for our departure?"

Nicholas grasped his brush, and for a few seconds, he stared at the devil wriggling panic-stricken in the sphere. Oh, it had been a long time since he had been able to create at full power! Truly, without holding back! Still, he was being a bit deceitful when he spoke to the deviless. There were enough people in the world who still remembered him. Especially those with long, sharp ears and even longer arms when it came to the likes of Nicholas. Of course, it had been a long time since he had been searched for as fiercely as he had been in the first decades after his teacher's death. But that didn't mean he could relax.

His class abilities, when used to their fullest potential, left an overly distinctive trail. If you knew what to look for and how to look, it was easy to trace. So he had to restrain himself or only work in the safest and most protected places possible. That was the reason his revenge plan had taken so long. But now that everything had fallen apart because of the damned Hell, he could afford not to hold back. Oh, what a pleasure it would be!

Grinning contentedly, Nicholas ran his brush across the blank canvas his girls had set before him. He didn't need paint. Not today. Today he would paint portraits in a special way! Reality itself would be his canvas. Honed brush movements and the outline of the deviless began to gradually emerge on the canvas. At the same time, the prisoner convulsed inside the sphere. Her body and her essence were changing, transforming, acquiring outlines and properties necessary for Nicholas, obedient to his will. Normally, painting an average portrait would take an entire workday. But today, it was possible not to hold back, so the portrait of a much-changed deviless (not so much externally as internally) was written in ten minutes. No one could call it average if they knew how much he had enhanced Hellspawn. Nicholas exhaled, wiped the sweat from his forehead, then ordered:

"Eh, this is so great! Next!"

Painting portraits of all the captives, even with his brush, would have taken several days. But luckily, he had billets of almost all the inhabitants of the manor of some high level. As a result, the workshop had a new gallery of paintings in just two hours. To be fair, Nicholas had only really worked and invested his energy in portraits of the highest-level prisoners who could be good. The rest had to settle for simple sketches. Just to strengthen them a little and make them do what he needed. When the last of the portraits had taken its place, the artist, who was tired and had lost almost two-thirds of his reserve, collapsed tiredly into his chair. All the inhabitants of the manor, as well as the captive Deviless and the cultist, were lined up in front of him. All of them silently looked with devoted eyes and identical facial expressions at the one who had become the new meaning of their lives.

"Ugh... I haven't been this tired in a long time. All right, then. You!"

The tip of the paintbrush pointed at the deviless who had gotten close.

"Take them all and go back to your mistress. You know what to do."

"I obey, my Master!" the deviless said in a languid voice and then wriggled her way out. All the other inhabitants of the manor followed her. Except for Duchess Ravena, who was still lying against the wall. Nicholas decided to keep her. After all, her mother had been so kind and generous to him. One could not leave her beloved daughter in the hands of the Devils after such a thing. Then again, it was long past time to see which of the two of them would be better in bed.

"All right, we've left a parting gift for the Devils. Now we can bow out. Agatha, what about our evacuation?"

The white-haired sorceress, who had been working in a separate corner all this time, looked at her master with a look of intense anxiety on her face:

"It's not working! I can't get through!"

"What?! Even with the help of my paintings?!"

"Even with them! What they cut us off with is too strong. I've tried everything, but nothing works..."

"Holy shit! Why didn't you tell me this in the first place?!"

"You yourself told me never to disturb you or distract you while you were painting, Master." the sorceress said, almost crying.

"Dammit..."

This is bad! He had hoped that with the help of his prearranged paintings and Agatha, he would be able to get away for sure. Now it looks like it's much worse than he originally thought. And he's already very tired. That's too bad. What should he do? Should he bring back his new puppets before it's too late? What's the use? Damn it, how did he get so screwed up...

At that moment, the Emperor's Will had spoken, and Nicholas suddenly felt his strength and abilities return to him in full. He turned to the window in surprise and looked toward the Imperial Palace.

"Very unexpected, but very nice and incredibly timely. Thank you sincerely! Okay, Agatha, let's try it together. The two of us should be able to do it."

Nicholas approached the sorceress. She was standing by a huge painting of a log cabin in the middle of the forest, gently touched it with the tip of his brush, and listened. Nothing. No response. Bad, really bad. No wonder Agatha had failed. Okay, jokes aside. Exhaling a few times, Nicholas grasped his hand and touched the cloth once more. Then he activated his most powerful ace ability:

"I'm an artist! That's how I see it!"

It was like being stabbed in the chest with an icy blade. The reserve was one-third empty at once. His breath caught, and his throat constricted. But nothing happened. There was still no response. Nicholas gritted his teeth and hissed:

"I'm an artist! That's how I see it!"

The reserve was down to half, his ears were ringing, and his nose was bleeding. Reality stubbornly refused to change. The devils had prepared very well so no one could escape them. Ha! They mess with the wrong guy! He did feel a response. Faint, barely discernible, almost inaudible, but there it was!

"I'm! An Artist! That's How! I See!"

Every word is like a punch in the gut. The reserve is less than a quarter. Blood's coming out not only from his nose but also from his bitten lips. His heart is pounding like a madman. He can hear the response, but reality won't change! Damn you, you damned things! He hadn't survived the assault on his master's capital to escape his pursuers and die in Hell!

"I'M! AN ARTIST! THAT'S! HOW! I! SEE! IT!"

The reserve showed the bottom. A few system messages flashed before his eyes, but Nicholas paid no attention to them. His gaze was fixed on the painting. A cursed hut in the middle of a cursed forest. Agonizingly slowly, with great difficulty overcoming the stubborn resistance of reality, went in waves. Which became stronger and stronger until suddenly, the picture gained depth and volume. The frame immediately shattered into tiny splinters, but Agatha got her shoulder in time to keep the portal from collapsing. In the same second, the dark elf and the assassin picked up the nearly unconscious Nicholas under her arms and rushed forward. The sorceress and the dwarf rushed after them. The latter was dragging the bound Duchess Ravenna on her shoulder, who was close to losing her mind because she didn't understand what was happening.

Once in the middle of the forest clearing, the women turned around. For a few moments, the window leading to the workshop was visible in the air. Then the rapey reality closed the gap in its flesh with a deafening pop. A moment later, Agatha, who had spent all her reserve, collapsed to her knees, clutching her staff and breathing heavily. Nicholas, pale as death. His face is bloody. He is unable to stand on his own. Suddenly he laughed quietly, much to the amazement of his companions.

"Master? Are you alright?! Master?"

"Ugh... Everything... just... wonderful... Ugh... After all... it's not every day you reach level seventy-five, hahaha hahaha!!!!"

* * *