Warhammer Divine Throne

”I always thought that no one in Nord’s wilderness would understand High Gothic Language,” Laine quipped casually. ”No problem, you can stay here; it’s safe, no one will harm you, and also, just call me Laine.”

”Thank you! Laine, I mean... Laine.” Amelia was very happy, this was clearly what she wanted.

Under the girl’s nimble fingers, Laine’s disguise was completed.

”How long can it last?” Laine looked at himself in the mirror. He was very satisfied because this look was very similar to that unforgettable figure in his memory.

”Within a day, as long as it’s not burned by flames or splashed with corrosive acid, there shouldn’t be any issues,” Amelia said softly.

”Great!” Laine put on a black tailcoat, then flamboyantly inserted a rose into his chest pocket. ”All set, ready to go.”

Laine initially wanted to approach Veronica, but the witch disdainfully refused him: ”Don’t come near me with that face.”

”Alright, I’m leaving then.”

At 8 PM, outside Marinburg, at Aesthetic Society’s Violet Manor.

Tonight, Violet Manor was bustling with guests. Artists from all over the Continent gathered joyously to participate in the art salon hosted by the beautiful Agneda Krausner. Many townsfolk, small nobles, and merchants who couldn’t get into the salon crowded around the manor gates to watch.

”Look! That’s Durer, the painter from the Southern Realm!”

”Oh my! Even Rubens from the Empire is here!”

”That’s the famous sculptor Anger!”

No matter who the guest was, Agneda Krausner warmly greeted each at the door. She wore a green low-cut evening gown, and even in the cold winter night, her beauty was unaffected. ”Welcome, maestros.”

”Wow! I didn’t expect the great architect Foster to be here too!” an excited onlooker exclaimed. ”Wait! Master Foster seems to have brought a young man with him?!”

”He looks like a Southern Man!”

”Who is he?”

Alighting from the carriage, the elderly Foster, with a head full of white hair and a slightly unsteady gait, was supported by Laine as he got off. The old gentleman whispered in the young man’s ear, ”If it weren’t for Schultz’s request, I really wouldn’t want to attend such a dull salon with a knight who’s always fighting.”

”Thank you so much, Master Foster!” Laine spoke softly, with utmost respect.

”Stay close to me, and remember, a reputable artist must never be alone or sideline themselves from the conversation,” Foster, whose face bore many wrinkles, advised. The elderly gentleman was seventy, a standout architectural art master of the past fifty years who had overseen several renovations of the Human Empire’s Imperial Palace, being one of the very few authorities in the field.

”Oh! My dear! It’s Master Foster! A very warm welcome!” Agneda’s eyes sparkled. ”Your arrival graces this manor with brilliance.”

”You’re too kind.” Foster deserved such praise; the old gentleman simply nodded to acknowledge the greeting.

”And who might this be?” Agneda curiously eyed the young man beside Foster. The young man had short black hair, and what was unusual was his black eyes. His physique was very muscular.

”Introduce yourself,” Foster prompted.

To which the young man stepped forward politely to greet.

”Hello, President Agneda. My name is Van, Van Darkholm. I am an artist, a performance artist. I am hired by people to fulfill their fantasies.”

”Their dark♂deep♂fantasies.”