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The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 70 (Book 3 Chapter 9)
🕑 Added 2025-03-05 00:07:17 +0000 UTCThe royal procession had been frozen by a tense silence.
King Adam banished it. "Do it," he ordered.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," answered the Detective.
Valeria smirked, tilting her head just enough to let the shadow of her hat obscure her golden eyes. Her sword, the very weapon that had once felled the Ghost of Waters, pulsed with a heartbeat, red, wet, and breathing. Her own blood seeped into the blade, drawn in by slow tendrils, vanishing into the steel as if it were a whispered promise.
But she wanted no part of hushed secrets. Manic eyes gleamed with the hunger to expose all that was concealed, her scarlet blade descending like a guillotine that sliced fiction from truth.
With a vicious, gleeful, strike, she destroyed the barrier obscuring the Hidden Village.
"The elves' sanctuary of seclusion lies before us!" Valeria declared with a flourish. Everything started to shift around them, as if their field of vision was a still image being split in two, falling apart to reveal the true reality beneath. "Elder Lorival's Talent is not Stealth, but rather that of Illusions!"
It was no magical citadel, no fortress of gods – but it was there. The Hidden Village. A settlement large enough to house, at a rough estimate, over a thousand elves.
Standing there before the vine-covered wooden gate, Adam felt an uneasy sensation that no doubt his companions all shared: guilt. A fog of hesitation hung in the air, as if they'd exhumed a secret best left alone.
Only Valeria and her Bloody Truth showed no hesitation at the sight. If anything, she seemed immeasurably proud of her handiwork. How is she the most relaxed person here? Isn't she an elf too?
"Unbelievable," Solara muttered. Her voice was steady, focused, not even so much as a stutter...but she couldn't keep a touch of awe from sneaking in. "Mother of the Forest, did you just see that?"
Adam nodded slowly. I don't hear her use elven terms often. "Yeah...this is insane, isn't it?" He laughed in disbelief. "Can't imagine how this whole thing feels for you. To see this village after all this time and–"
"–Isn't her Detective Talent of the 6th or 5th Rank nowadays?" Solara asked, with a puzzled expression. "Even Spies of the 2nd Rank failed to do what she just did. Doesn't that bypass the way Talents typically interact with one another?"
Odd as it was for her to focus on that, she'd made a good point. Adam let out a sigh of amazement as he contemplated the empty space where there'd once been a barrier so effective it fooled the Emperor himself. "Nonviolent Talents can bypass higher-Ranked ones," he noted thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving the discovered Village. "I suppose her Talent doesn't count as 'violent,' then."
That rule was important to remember. It was what had allowed him to force the Second Painter into a Contract some time ago.
"Destroying an illusion feels a bit violent to me," Solara remarked.
"It's still just an illusion. No one was actually hurt."
"Fine," she relented, her eyes rolling. "However, Valeria did manage to kill the Ghost of Waters using this very ability. With your help, mind you, yet murder seems rather violent to me."
To him as well, if he was being honest – but not necessarily to the person who'd originally created Talents. Adam had never met the mysterious First Painter, but he sounded like a very...pedantic sort of man.
"Same goes for my paintings though, doesn't it?" he mused. "We should look over the exact definition of her Bloody Truth together later. There might be a hint there."
Solara raised an eyebrow at him. "Wait, that's on the table? Since when can you do that?"
He frowned. Oh, right, he hadn't actually told her about how the empty canvas he carried around everywhere was actually his tablet. "I promise I wasn't keeping secrets," Adam told her quickly. "I just...forgot."
She smirked. "I'll think of a way for you to make it up to me later."
"Wait, what do you mean by–"
Before Adam could inquire further, the Village's gates swung open.
The wooden entryway creaked and groaned with the weight of years as it opened. Not quickly, not in a rush, but steadily, as if the Village itself was taking a slow breath. Adam's entire body tensed, and he knew all others there felt the same.
A voice shot out from within. It was low, detached, neither warm nor hostile.
"Enter."
No movement beyond. No figures in sight. Just an invitation – or perhaps a test, waiting for them to make the first step.
"Enter," it repeated.
Even at the voice's insistence, none in Adam's group dared to respond for a time. Gaspar was the first to break the silence.
"Well, that's as nice a welcome as we could've hoped for," said the Fallen Lord, arms lazily wrapped behind his head as though stretching. "Shall we go? It's what we came here for."
"True enough," Adam admitted. He drew a deep breath. "I'll go first," he said, mounting his horse in as dignified of a manner as the gesture allowed. I really wish I had a mounting block. Getting up on a horse is tough – those things are taller than you'd think. "Follow behind me."
Tenver walked up to him. "You're our leader. No need to put you in danger like that."
"We're going to need some magic to convince the elves to help us in the war." Adam's expression hardened. "Besides, I'm not that easy to kill anymore."
He was referring to how he'd acquired Eric's Hangman Talent – he was harder to kill than nearly anyone here. Tenver took it in a more metaphorical way. "Your soul has grown stronger since you got here," the Puppet Prince admitted. "This is stupid, mind you, but you are King of the Frontier – I should let you make your own bad decisions."
It took some minor debate to convince the others, but it was more time than effort. Accompanying him on his trip were Solara, Tenver, Vasco, Aspreay, Gaspar, Valeria, and two dozen elite foot soldiers.
To Adam's surprise, Aspreay was the hardest one to convince. "Kill yourself if you must," said his false father, folding his arms and huffing. "I'll protect the flank, I suppose."
"I'm not...thank you?" Adam replied, his voice uneasy. He could never quite get a handle of the man, and Aspreay had become even harder to understand as of late.
–
Adam led the way, his horse's hooves clicking against a path smoother than it should've been. It wasn't paved, but neither did it feel like untended soil. Too solid for dirt, too gentle for cement.
His curiosity quickly moved onto what else came into view – onto the everything else.
Homes were built into the trees, spiraling up like living sculptures. Bridges of woven vines connected rooftops, lanterns swinging in the breeze. The scent of pine and fresh earth lingered in the air, but beneath it was something older, something untouched by the world beyond.
This was a world apart; a place preserved by belief and secrecy. And now, it was open before them, its illusions torn apart by the Detective's blade...for better or worse.
His retinue remained quiet as they dutifully followed after him. They were just as wonderstruck by the sights displayed before them as he was.
Solara rode up beside him. "It feels as if we're being watched," she whispered. "I don't like not being able to see the sun."
She nodded upward at the many vine-built bridges above. The bridges were situated between houses, connecting them, creating a series of arching pathways that overlooked the main 'street' they now walked on. "There could be archers hiding there. Ambushes."
"I suppose so, but..." Adam trailed off when he saw Solara's face. "Huh."
"What?" She asked defensively – too defensively to not know what he was surprised about. Today, for the first time, she rode with her hood down, making no effort to hide her pointed ears.
Which also meant being unable to hide the faint blush that crept up her face. "Stop gawking, we need to keep our guard up! There could be danger lurking unseen here, remember?"
Adam grinned at her. "Yeah, of course."
He immediately understood one thing as they rode through the quiet Village - this was no Kingdom, and the Elves had no king. There were no banners, no guards standing at attention, no bustling streets lined with merchants shouting their wares. This was a place of silence, of unspoken politeness.
So silent that it bordered on eerie. Where are the elves? Are they all hiding?
Adam took a moment to marvel at a fountain that seemingly defied gravity, its water spilling upward, spiraling in slow, hypnotic arcs before vanishing midair. "Is that an elven thing?" he asked.
"Yes!" Solara's eyes beamed with unbridled joy. "Those are ancient elven tools we inherited from the Dragons of Old – they bring water from below like a well, and..."
The elf hesitated. "Okay, I don't know what it's supposed to accomplish that a well wouldn't, but – look at it! It's so pretty! I haven't seen one since Greenisle." She didn't allow the brief bittersweetness of her memory to wipe the smile from her face. "Let's keep going!"
Next, they marveled at wooden platforms that appeared to float dozens of feet off the ground. "Another piece of...Dragon technology?" Adam ventured.
Solara nodded many times in rapid succession, straightening her back with pride. "No! This one is ancient elven technology. From when we worked with the Dragons, admittedly, but – let me have this!"
"It's yours," Adam said, smiling back at her.
"If I recall correctly," Solara continued, "it supports the weight of about two people, and can't really move. So it has its limitations. But, well, looks cool, doesn't it?"
"Sure does," he replied, in a tone he hoped matched her enthusiasm. "What about that sculpture over there – can you tell me about that too?"
He didn't need his Divine Knowledge to know what Solara was thinking. Her genuine, carefree grin was enough.
This is the first time you've gotten to show someone your culture, isn't it? Adam remembered her hesitation from earlier – her admission that despite everything, she still felt like an outsider in Gama.
Enjoy yourself, Solara. Show off how awesome your history is.
It would've been more responsible to be more concerned of an ambush...but Adam struggled to think of a world where even a threat on his life would have justified erasing that smile from her face.
Solara glowed like the sun, her words tumbling out as if she'd waited too damn long already.
The pillars lining the pathways? Carved with stories of those who built them, their names still whispered by the trees. The bridges overhead? Woven not just by hand, but by magic older than empires. The wooden gates they'd passed through? Sung into existence, their growth carefully guided by generations of elves.
This was her culture, her past.
And finally, she could share it.
I'm...what's the word for this feeling? Adam felt...lucky that he was the one she wanted to share this with? No, maybe honored was a better word? Whatever it is, I'm glad to be here and see how happy she is.
For the first time in a long while, he saw her not as a warrior – but as a storyteller.
She continued on for some time. Tenver occasionally rode up to be included in her history lessons, before reluctantly retreating back to ensure that everyone in the royal procession retained their positions.
Every now and then, Solara would admit she didn't know the answer to something. "I don't...I'm not sure what that does," she said, her voice far too apologetic, nearly reaching the point of shame. "It's been too long I – I have no idea what that thing is. Sorry."
But her flashes of sorrow passed quickly. Even those intermittent reminders of the distance she felt from her people's history weren't enough to dampen her mood.
Until, that is, they reached it.
A great tree loomed ahead, its silver bark pulsing faintly. Leaves the color of burning copper unfolded in slow succession, marking the change of season. An insane idea invaded Adam's mind: perhaps it was the tree itself deciding the season's arrival.
"And this tree..." Solara choked. She stared upward in silence for a moment. "I...I think it keeps the Village's weather independent from the outside."
Her laugh was hollower than before. "It's still winter outside this village...but look! It's nearly autumn here. Ha. Ha."
As a lord, as a king, Adam should've inquired about the tree controlling seasons. Instead he asked, "The friend you mentioned earlier?"
It was the right question, he decided. "Yes," Solara nodded. "I – sorry. Just remembered how she was looking forward to watching our Tree of Seasons in Greenisle change colors. Its leaves would have turned orange like this. A few days before that, the Duke of Dread's ships reached our shore, and he burnt it to ashes."
She gave a high pitched laugh, the kind one gives when they think the alternative was to cry. "And – and we can just...see it. Right now."
Adam felt at a loss for words. "I..."
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Aspreay shouted. "BURN IT! GET YOUR TORCHES!"
The Painter turned to glare at him, but his words died in his throat. Not far ahead stood another tree. Its bark was dark and sickly, and its roots were stretching around something half-swallowed.
A body. A corpse. A mangled elf, twisted and warped, his arms outstretched as branches curled through them, splitting his bones like wood.
Was he...crucified? No, it's something else–
Oh shit.
The Lord of Penumbria had witnessed reality twist itself into a crueler, more repugnant version of itself many times since arriving in the Painted World. He'd seen the Rot infecting the living and dead both. He'd seen thousands die on the battlefield, their lives offered to the sacrificial pyre of war.
Even so, Adam's stomach lurched at the sight before him. The elven corpse's chest was hollow, his ribs stretching outward, part flesh, part bark. This man hadn't been buried.
He had been planted.
Tenver rode up to them. "Any chance you know what that is?"
"No!" Solara shouted. "I have no idea! I've never heard of it." Her voice trembled with disbelief and disgust. "Why would anyone do this? The man is dead, and they – they fused the tree with him?"
"I think it's more like they fed him to the tree," Tenver muttered. "But why?"
Adam shook his head. "My first guess is that it helps the tree grow somehow, but considering the other things they can manage, I doubt that's necessary. It feels more like...an offering."
He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe a warning."
"Correct on both accounts, outsider!"
The three of them flinched as a new voice drifted through the village. "Most impressive," it said. "Come, meet us."
It was the same voice that had welcomed them into the village. Adam looked around, but he still couldn't find its source.
A set of vines suddenly unfurled from the Tree of Seasons, diving into the ground like moles, then shooting upward out of that same ground. They began weaving onto themselves as if to draw a path – a set of directions.
"Come," said the voice. "Leave your soldiers behind."
Before Adam could reply, Valeria had appeared beside him. "Lorival's Talent of Illusions is keeping the elves hidden from us," she noted. "I can slice that apart too, but..."
The Painter shook his head. "No," he said. Not yet, he thought. "I'll go meet their leader. Without soldiers, as requested – and without violence, as implied," he added, eyes fixating on Aspreay, who threw his hands up in the air.
Solara stared at him. "Let me come. I'm an elf, they might listen to me."
"That...does make sense," Adam begrudgingly admitted. He was more comfortable going to dangerous meetings by himself. "You can come."
Valeria cleared her throat to draw their attention. "I am also an elf, remember?"
It was hard to, seeing as she presented herself as less of an elf and more of a Puppet. The woman had sliced off the sharp edges of her ears and cosmetically altered them to look more human-like – all for the sake of blending into human towns during her investigations.
Frankly, she's a Detective before anything else. Somehow, Adam felt like her presence wouldn't help when meeting with the elves. He also had no idea how to say that.
I should just tell her no, he decided. Don't need to offer an explanation. I'm king.
But before he could do so, Valeria spoke. "I'm more likely to notice something that's out of order than any of you. If you insist on limiting those who accompany you, then I am your best choice."
Tenver puffed his cheeks in annoyance. "And what makes you a better choice than me?"
The Detective shrugged. "Without me, we never would have found the Hidden Village at all."
That, in fairness, was a good point.
–
After following the guided path the vines provided them, Adam's group quickly reached their destination: a deceptively simple doorway carved into a tree. The entrance was adorned by an arch of woven branches, curving into a perfect oval, its bark smooth as polished stone.
It didn't look like much. Just...a door, leading into a tree. No traps or misdirection that he could spy.
Still, better to be careful than–
Valeria opened it. "Adventure awaits, my friends!" the Detective declared with wide eyes. "Let us sally forth!"
"Wait–" Adam began to shout, as Valeria sprinted past them, disappearing through the doorway.
"You're not going ahead!" Solara protested, giving chase.
"Not you too, stay – ah, screw it!" Adam grunted, entering with them both.
The soft rustling of the village outside faded into silence, engulfed by something heavier. A passage stretched before them that was impossibly vast for the space it should have occupied. The wooden walls bent like ribs, the grain of their bark twisting in unnatural patterns. There were no torches, no glow of elven lanterns.
Only darkness, stretching endlessly ahead.
"Stay with me," said Valeria. "A shroud of twilight like this could easily result in our untimely demise." Her tone was far too excited for the concern she professed. "Fear not – Puppets can see in the dark. So can elves, theoretically, but..."
"I can't," Solara dryly noted. "Elves lose that ability if they don't practice it often."
"So give me your hand," said the Detective.
Adam heard the sound of someone – perhaps forcibly – grabbing something. "What are you–"
Solara's protest was cut off by the sound of another sudden grab, this one directed at Adam's wrist. Okay, definitely forcibly, he thought, feeling Valeria's grip grow tighter around his arm.
"Come now, let us hold hands and embark on an adventure! Is that not what life is about?" Valeria asked, with what Adam could best describe as a kind of manic, dangerous innocence. "The unknown awaits!"
Adam sighed. "Lead the way," he said, in a weary voice. And so they walked.
And walked.
How large can this place possibly be? The tree had been massive, yes, but this was absurd. They'd been walking for far, far too long for this to make sense.
Just as he was about to voice this observation, the darkness parted.
Like a curtain drawn back, the all-encompassing blackness peeled away. Light filled the air around them, revealing a vast, imposing chamber.
Where are we? Adam wondered. A courtroom? A tribunal? A king's court?
It was all of these things and none of them. This was a place without kings, he remembered. A place that wasn't ruled, but guided.
Elves surrounded them. Dozens sat in tall wooden chairs, towering overhead like silent watchers in an amphitheater. Their expressions were unreadable, hewn from centuries of patience and restraint. Some observed with quiet curiosity – others with open suspicion. They loomed, their judgment heavy in the air, yet none spoke.
And then there was the one above them all.
At the far end of the chamber, seated higher than any of the others, was the elf Adam immediately knew to be Elder Lorival.
His throne – if it could even be called that – was carved from the very heart of the tree itself, woven seamlessly into its living roots. The Elder's presence was not loud, not imposing in a conventional way, and not physically crushing like the Grandmaster or the Emperor's had been.
Yet Adam felt it immediately. The weight of centuries of inherited history. The quiet pressure of something ancient and knowing.
Elder Lorival did not move.
He simply watched.
Waiting.
Expecting.
The silence stretched, the room holding its breath, as if waiting for the first words to be spoken.
When they did, they were words of accusation.
"YOU!" Solara shouted. She shook a furious fist toward the throne. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE YOU FUCKHEAD?"
It took Adam too long to realize she wasn't speaking about the Elder, but of the second-highest chair positioned to his left.
Nayt, the Imperial Hangman, the Elven Swordsman who attempted to raid Penumbria and crossed blades with Ferrero last battle...sat there with a lazy, disinterested look on his face.
"Oh," he said. "Aren't you the undying woman who stepped on my face last time? Heard you killed Ernanda. That's great, I really didn't like her."
--
Thanks for reading!
Comments
Zachary Sloan
Holy shit, hell of a surprise at the end there.
