Damn Academy - Chapter 240

Chapter 240

Claridyum (7)

“Do you also think it’s because of the mirror?”

What on earth is this about?

Lilith stood there blankly, as if she couldn’t believe what she had heard.

I grabbed her wrist, pulled her back inside, and shut the door. Then I asked the old man again.

“Could you explain in detail?”

“I don’t believe in that curse. It’s all lies concocted by those in power.”

“…?”

“I’ve had a mirror set up at my front door for over ten years. I learned it from my grandmother. Is it suddenly a problem now? I don’t believe it one bit.”

He seemed like a stubborn, skeptical old man you’d find in a crowded market.

“Why is that?”
T h i s w a s c o p i ed f r o m kingm t l .org

“Why, you ask? It’s an old custom of Claridyum!”

“What do you mean by that?”

His words differed from Rosalyn’s, piquing my curiosity.

T h i s w a s co pi ed fr o m k in gm tl.o r g
“This city was formed by exiles, refugees, and those fleeing witch hunts. They were abandoned by the nation and had to make do with whatever tools they had to survive on this cursed, beast-infested land, and thus, magic studies advanced. These customs are the remnants of ordinary folks, with no talent for magic or skill with a sword, struggling to survive.”

“…Do you know the origin of this custom?”

“No one knows anymore. But I still believe in tradition. It’s not a curse.”

His stubbornness was palpable. Though it sounded like denial, Rosalyn had only been in Claridyum for a few years, so the old man’s words seemed more convincing to me.
T h i s w as co p ie d f r o m ki n g mtl. o r g

Lilith nodded as if she also found the old man’s words reasonable.

If it’s not a curse ritual, then it must mean something else. A message, perhaps? A warning? Or a mark for prey?

If not, maybe the mirror serves to ward off a specific beast. But that seems unlikely. Vampires aren’t afraid of mirrors, and what kind of beast enters a home through the front door?

Hearing him mention customs made it seem more likely that a vampire moved the mirror. Vampires who’ve lived for centuries would have a much more conservative lifestyle than humans. If they’ve been rooted in Claridyum longer, their understanding of tradition would be deeper.

“I understand. Oh, and do you know where the prophet Proxima is?”

The old man closed his eyes tightly, as if something were bothering him, and stammered slightly.

“Pro-Proxima should be at the Acates Temple. Though, she hasn’t been heard from in a while, as if she’s gone into hiding.”

Temple… could it be the one the Skyship crashed into?

“Is something bothering you?”

“I swore a long time ago not to rely on prophecies.”

His face suggested an untold story.

T his w a s c o pi e d f rom k i ngm t l . o r g
“…I see.”

***

We headed to find Lotulek’s studio. Lilith followed me silently, her expression serious, as if deep in thought.

Things were becoming increasingly complicated. We had no clues about the ageless man, and our list of tasks kept growing. Perhaps going to the prophet for help would be more effective than asking around the city.

Lilith suddenly asked, “Damian, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“When they said you can’t trust anyone in this city, how do you feel?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I feel… there’s something strange about this city.”

“…It was strange from the start.”

Lilith abruptly grabbed my wrist and stopped in the middle of the road.

“This is it, Damian.”

“We’re still far from Lotulek’s studio.”
Th i s w a s c o p i e d from ki n g m t l . or g

“No, this is the place.”

Lilith gestured with her chin at a nearby shop.

Beside us was a restaurant that looked like it had been abandoned for years. The windows were broken, and debris was piled chaotically, covered in dust and cobwebs.

“…What are you talking about?”

“The beef stew place. The coachman we met in the slum last night recommended it.”

“…What?”

The realization hit me like a splash of cold water.

I looked up. It was true. The tilted sign read “Jenny and Finny,” and next door was Roland’s Drapery, just as the coachman had said.

“The coachman clearly said he had a meal there yesterday.”

“…”

I vividly remembered. But claiming to have eaten there was absurd. Inside, there wasn’t even space to sit.

I grabbed Lilith’s wrist and went straight into Roland’s Drapery next door.

The cramped interior was packed with fabrics. A middle-aged woman weaving alone greeted us with a bright smile.

“Do you need bedding for couples?”
T h is w a s c op i e d f r o m k i n gm t l.o rg

“No, may I ask you something?”

“Sure, ask away.”

“When did the shop next door close?”

“About a year ago. Why do you ask?”

“It was a place I liked, and I was surprised to see it closed.”

“Exactly, they left without a word. I wondered if something happened.”
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T hi s was c o p i ed f r o m k i n g mtl . o rg
“Did you know the owner next door?”

“Oh, we shared a wall for ten years, of course I knew them. It felt a bit sad they left without saying goodbye.”

“Thank you for the information.”

Lilith looked up at me wordlessly. I took her wrist and led her back outside.

She stood there, unfocused, and spoke, “The old man at the bookstore said it, didn’t he? You can’t trust anyone in this city. I think I understand what he meant now.”

“…”

I wholeheartedly agreed. Why had the coachman said that? Surely, traveling around the city, he would have known the place was closed.

“Damian, you saw the same thing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It feels like being haunted by a ghost.”

From the moment we arrived in this city, something felt off. Priscilla constantly vibrating with sword energy, my nerves inexplicably on edge. The crashing Skyship, disfigured corpses, the mirror curse, the mysterious figure spying on the house—all within two days.

It felt like there was one crucial puzzle piece we were missing, causing the other pieces to scatter without connections. What are we overlooking?

***

“Master Lotulek is currently unavailable.”

We moved three blocks to find Lotulek’s studio but couldn’t meet him directly. Instead, his assistant greeted us.

Lotulek was using an old, rundown brick building as his studio, not befitting his reputation as a master painter.

We followed the assistant through the building. In the corridor, unfinished canvases lay gathering dust. Exposed to sunlight for too long, their surfaces had cracked and discolored, but Lotulek’s intense painting style was still recognizable.

I remembered discussing Lotulek with a pink-haired girl named Misha in Rigved. Her family had supported him for generations, but at some point, he changed and altered his painting style. I vividly remembered that conversation since he was a familiar artist. How did he change after abandoning such a highly accomplished style?

“Where has he gone?”

“He is staying at the city council’s main building for a special commission.”

The city council’s main building was a place students like us couldn’t access.

“It’s a shame not to meet someone I admire.”

“Don’t be too upset. Even as his assistant, I only see him once every couple of months.”

“…He must be very busy.”

T h is was c o p ie d fro m k i ng mt l . o r g
“He’s still in high demand.”

Fellow artists had harshly criticized his change in style, but the demand remained.

“This way. You mentioned Westwood, right? It should be in here.”

The assistant stopped at the end of the corridor and opened a door. Inside, completed portraits were lined up against the wall.

I explored the paintings, hands behind my back as if at an exhibition.

“Earl Schwalbe…”

The painting depicted a man who appeared in his 30s, with a slightly balding pate. It seemed old, yet Lotulek’s unique energy remained slightly clumsy.

“Ah, that’s from 30 years ago. The Earl was once actively involved as a city councilor. The recent works are next to it.”

The next painting was so different it could have been done by another artist.

“The style has changed a lot.”
T hi s w a s co pi e d fr om k i n g m t l . o r g

“There was what you’d call a ‘great change,’ but it’s a bit different from what people say. I think he has improved, if anything.”

The assistant wasn’t wrong.

Lotulek’s distinctive blurry forms and dreamlike, unique colors were completely gone. Now, the style had shifted to being extremely realistic, as if a real person was brought into the painting and time was frozen.

Public opinion and my thoughts aligned. Technically brilliant, but the soul was missing. It was more like a historical record than art, something historians might appreciate.

“Remarkably, the master can perfectly store and reproduce an image in his mind after seeing it once. Because of this, high-ranking individuals are willing to pay extra to commission Lotulek, as they don’t have to hold the same pose for half a day.”

“Where is the Westwood couple’s portrait?”

“Here, take a look.”

The assistant pointed at a painting.

It depicted the elderly Westwood we had seen earlier and his wife. Her face bore the marks of time, but traces of beauty remained.

“May I borrow a pencil?”

“Ah, here it is.”

I took out some parchment to sketch her face for records. As I quickly sketched the lines, the assistant quietly observed and commented.

“You have excellent technique, sir.”

“Imitating is easy.”

Unfortunately, the Lotulek I admired was gone. His style, which I couldn’t emulate, gave his work its value. Now, it was just paper to me.

After finishing the quick sketch, I turned, and Lilith suddenly called me.

“Damian, this painting looks similar to the one you drew.”

Lilith pointed to a painting.

It depicted a familiar woman.

Thin, curved body lines. Dark red hair. A small, white face with perfect features that could captivate anyone at a glance. Adornments set with precious gems that I wouldn’t dare imagine affording.

Though it was an unfinished work, I could clearly recognize who it was.

“…”

“It’s someone you know, right? I’ve seen her in the art club room before.”

“Yes. She’s my mentor.”

A portrait of Silveryn was in Lotulek’s studio. The realistic colors caught my eye.

The assistant asked, “Do you know her?”

“Yes, who commissioned this painting?”

“It likely wasn’t the subject herself. Thanks to the master’s genius memory, he can create portraits of people requested by clients. Uh… hold on. Let me check.”

He lifted the back of the painting slightly and said, “This… was commissioned by the mayor.”

End of Chapter