"do we know each other?"
Ed endured the stench of decay and climbed into the cellar along the ladders of different thicknesses. It was dark inside, with only a dim light shining brightly behind the wooden barrels where pickled vegetables and salted fish were piled.
"Yes, ten years ago, in Sisan Workhouse. You must have lost your memory."
The voice just stated, not surprised or curious, as if everything had nothing to do with him.
His childhood parentage is unknown, he was adopted from the Sisan workhouse, and later adopted by the speculator Ludvik Waikolo - Ed thought of the personal files he saw at the police station.
He does know me.
In the darkness, the candle was almost dry, and the melted candle tears gathered into a small pool of irregular patches on the ground. And the figure reflected by the candle - thin, withered, exuding the sallow color of malnutrition, like a skeleton wrapped in human skin.
The young man in front of him had a messy beard, blond hair as scruffy and skinny as moldy hay, his clothes were baggy and torn, and his pants were stained with urine stains.
The arms were withered and curled like twigs, only two fingers wide at most, as if they could be broken with just a slight force. His right hand holding the paintbrush could only be raised to his chest with difficulty, while his left hand holding the palette was hung low above his navel, as funny as an upright mouse.
If you didn't look at his eyes, the whole scene would be extremely miserable.
But his eyes, which were as golden as his hair, were not as yellow as grass, and shone with the richness of honey and gold.
His eyes were calm and indifferent, as if he was indifferent to his own tragedy. It just reflects the painting in front of me.
The characters in the painting are twisted due to the trembling arms, and the colors are distorted due to inferior paint, but the expressions are imprinted on the canvas with every detail like woodblock printing——
Or loyalty, or cunning, or nobility, or hypocrisy... No one has been able to depict real feelings on unreal shapes like this.
"My hair blocks my view." His words didn't sound like a plea, but like a condescending order.
Alas...how should I put it? Maybe because we are acquaintances, we speak more casually.
Ed deliberately ignored Buck's rudeness, stepped forward helplessly, and pushed his sheep-like messy forehead hair to the sides.
"Much better." He nodded slightly without saying thanks.
"Ed, are you okay?"
Miss Quinn's shout came from outside the cellar, as if she was worried about herself. She quickly slid down the ladder and crashed to the ground, causing the rats in the corner to flee in all directions.
"Please don't disturb me, miss, you are adding unnecessary confusion to this small space." There was a strange sarcasm in his weak tone.
"No problem." Faced with such humiliation, Quinn sneered and replied, "Stone Kuntu, where is this person? I will leave as soon as I know."
"I will tell you. But you must first stop barking and leave my studio. The light from you is too strong and violent and will interfere with my color vision."
Buck said calmly, his eyes still fixed on the drawing board. Nothing could move him from there.
It seems that he is not friendly to strangers either.
Ed stopped Quinn. Buck's physical condition could not withstand any of her blows:
"You go out first and leave this place to me. He knows me, no problem." He persuaded in a very small voice, trying to calm Quinn's emotions.
"Heh... ok, okay..."
Her smile became more ferocious and her teeth became more obvious. But in the end, she turned around.
But suddenly, she turned around again and kicked the pile of wooden barrels containing pickles and salted fish hard——
Everything was turned upside down for a moment, and the barrels collapsed like dominoes, knocking over Buck's easel and knocking his painting to the ground. The already foul-smelling air added a bit of filth, making it unbearable.
After doing all this, Quinn walked away and slammed the cellar door back with a bang.
"Uh, I'm sorry..."
Ed said while moving the barrel that was pressed against the easel. He was worried that Quinn's behavior would anger Buck into silence about Mr. Quinto's whereabouts.
"Why apologize? I'm afraid of her, she hates me, that's all. Fake respect means nothing."
However, Buck did not seem to be angry. He just stood up silently, knelt on the ground, and tried to lift the easel up again. Ed was about to help him, but he smiled and said:
"You don't have to pretend to care about me anymore, old friend. Go do what you really want to do. There is a small sunflower field in the sawmill on the western outskirts of Silvermist City. Kuntu's family cemetery is in the sunflower field. Further west, you can’t go wrong.”
"Buck..."
Ed didn't expect that things would come so easily. He thought it would take him a long time to get Buck to reveal the location of the Kuntu family's tomb.
Buck struggled to lift the easel and continued:
"There is also the elixir of relics. Kuntu told me about his family potion. He said that it would revive the memories of the rotten flesh in the belly: 'Swallow the black flesh and spit out colorful colors.'"
"...That's all I know. Stone Quinto trusted me and thought I would keep his secret, and he was a complete idiot."
Buck sneered, his eyes full of sarcasm. The dark indifference made Ed shudder.
"you can go now."
he said at last, eyes returning to the drawing board like nails to the wall.
"Well, take care."
Ed left an unspeakable look, climbed the stairs, and left Buck's dark studio.
"Have you found the location?" Seeing that Quinn was still angry and silent, Father Dylan pinched his nose and asked.
After saying that, he covered his mouth and took a deep breath, fearing that the flies lingering around him would take the opportunity to fly in.
"Yes, the logging camp in the western suburbs. Kuntu has probably taken the magic potion and is performing some kind of dangerous ritual. Should we call for more backup?"
"No need. The three of us can handle it."
Quinn replied solemnly. It can be seen from the last incident that she has never been very interested in "team action".
"If it is just a one-person ceremony, the threat will not be too great, not to mention that Mr. Kuntu is not even an Extraordinary. With a third-level Extraordinary and a quasi-third-level Extraordinary present, I think it is enough to deal with most emergencies. "Dylan also gave his own analysis.
Miss Quinn's crystallization energy level should be between level two and level three, on the edge of transformation. So Father Dylan should be a genuine third-level extraordinary?
"Oh well……"
Ed nodded in agreement. No one knows what consequences Kuntu's ceremony will have. They must go to the scene as soon as possible to minimize the damage.
He has always been curious about the strength of higher-level Beyonders, and maybe he will be lucky enough to witness it today...
…
Before the invention of steam power, people could only rely on waterwheels for sawing wood production. The Industrial Revolution eliminated geographical restrictions on the location of sawmills. Steam engines with hundreds of horsepower drove sawmills to break down logs into lumber, which was then transported to cities along railroads.
Walking west along the sawmill, the roar of steam gradually dissipated in the wind, and they soon found the sunflower field. At this time, the sunflowers have just sprouted and are far from being in full bloom. The upright stems sway slightly in the wind, like an endless dream.
The sunflower is the national flower of the Kingdom of Lyrea and the emblem of the royal family, the Horien family.
Ed thought again of the sunflowers in Buck's paintings, the twisting, rotating, bright yellow liquid fireballs. It exudes ancient and fanatical vitality, just like the reflection of the sun.
"By the way, you said that the painter without arms knows you, is it true?" Dylan interrupted his thoughts.
"Maybe so. My memory of the past is limited."
"What do you think of him? Is he really as talented and intelligent as Kuntu said in his diary?"
"Buck is indeed very talented, but he is also terrible. There is no subtext in his language, and he will project his thoughts directly into his words, which scares me." Ed frowned.
"What is subtext?" Quinn suddenly asked.
"For example, a young man wants to sleep with a beautiful girl." Dylan said with a crooked smile on his face, "He will praise the girl's taste, her kindness, and how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with her and grow old together. . But in fact we all know that he just wants to get into bed with that girl."
Under Quinn's disdainful gaze, he could only finish his conclusion in a serious tone:
"But if he opens his mouth and tells his true thoughts directly, it will definitely shock everyone."
"That's right. That's why no agent wants to deal with Buck." Ed commented, "He can't deal with anyone except crazy people like him."
"I think it's because the backyard stinks so much," Dylan said with disgust on his face.
The Kuntu family cemetery was originally protected by a tall old stone wall, but now it is empty and in ruins. They even entered the cemetery without opening the door.
All that is left of the artistic stone statue is its mangled body, like a painful dead soul. The stone door of the tomb was tightly closed, and some mysterious and colorful unknown things were surging inside like fish at the bottom of a pond.
Quinn tried to push the stone door open. She tried her best and her teeth trembled, but she couldn't make the stone door move even half a step. Then she inserted the sharp butterfly-wing folding knife into the crack of the door and tried to force the stone door open, but it only made a gap in the stone door.
"Did the 'Great Painter' tell you how to open this damn door?" In the end, she had no choice but to look at Ed helplessly.
"He didn't..." Ed repeatedly recalled every word Buck said, and suddenly realized:
"Wait, I get it."
He walked to the stone door and whispered softly:
'Swallow black flesh and spit out colorful colors. '
Boom——
After a loud noise that didn't sound like a machine, the stone door suddenly opened. Ed stretched out his hand and sent the one-eyed spider into the tomb, and his consciousness delved into it:
The passage was straight and elongated, like a stairway to hell. The end of the stairs was covered with mossy, colorful mucus, squirming and growing, as if it had life.
Mr. Kuntu's desperate and crazy eyes were sunk deeply into his eyes, and his tongue was swollen and black, hanging out from between his copper-colored lips. His clothes and hands were stained with oil paint, becoming bright and bizarre, like the person in the painting.
And the dreamy and rich colors like oil paint slowly poured out from his eyes, nostrils, ears and throat...
In the direction where his eyes were facing was a work hung on an easel but framed in a rectangular frame.
In the portrait, a woman stares at Mr. Kuntu with gentle and calm love...
