Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1340: Chapter 1338: The Pontiff’s Clumsy Artwork

Is the effect a little too good?

A scene as brilliant as fireworks, yet fleeting like fireworks as well.

The meteors quickly either flowed or dimmed, and when everything came to a halt, the starry sky was already filled with chaos and disorder.

Almost instantly, Fu Qian felt a certain indescribable danger from it.

It seems to have fulfilled the promise made earlier; as the Master of the Dream Realm, he finally developed some advanced techniques.

As he praised himself, Fu Qian could clearly feel the overwhelming pressure that the Mythical Form was bringing to his body as time went on.

The feeling was no longer of the blood bar rapidly depleting but of the fuel gauge completely losing its values.

Yet Fu Qian still did not cancel it.

The next moment, he focused his view completely on the painting in the “reality,” not missing a single piece of information.

Earlier, amid the calamity, in the moment of starry chaos and turbulence, as the Master of the Dream Realm, he acutely noticed a certain intriguing change occurring simultaneously—the existence corresponding to the real world of the dream realm became blurred.

This small space became excluded by other parts.

In contrast, in the true Clear Dream Ring at this moment, the connection with the surroundings was smoother.

At that moment, Fu Qian believed that anything, whether human or worm, could enter this dream without hinderance.

Just like the Bloodline Clan did tonight.

…

Patterns, colors, shapes, textures… many elements spread out before his eyes.

Under the full attention of the Divine Beings, anything contained within the painting was laid bare before him.

At this moment, this painting could almost be truly called a nightmare.

A professional would hardly give up easily.

Though under the iron-fisted push, the increasingly clear truth also became increasingly pessimistic.

But Fu Qian has always had good and non-human thinking habits.

Like the methodology mentioned at the meeting with Lady Bally, disregarding the bias about whether the premise can be established, directly using it to deduce.

So, regardless of the investigation result telling him everything was already meaningless, Fu Qian never gave up on a certain thought, which was what would happen if this painting genuinely resided in a nightmare?

Without the restraint of law definition, would it still retain a little bit of meaning?

…

Conceiving is one thing, wanting to create such an effect in this world is not easy.

Though due to recent changes, people’s entry into nightmares by The Sect has nearly become a daily routine.

Even when he and Reginald explored the hospital within that dream, he brought Lady of the Pocket Watch inside.

But essentially, it was still only a projection of the item itself.

Do you not see, until out of the nightmare, he stuffed the “prize” to himself, indicating that The Sect wouldn’t take pointless advantage?

Because if given in the dream, at the time of coming out, finding the pocket watch missing, it would immediately expose the trick.

What I need to do is make this painting truly reside in the Stars Association’s abandoned realm, utilizing all available resources.

Back in Mist Town, Fu Qian had already decided on this, which is why he asked Amila to help him take leave.

Pre-determine where the painting is to save the maximum amount of time.

And at the risk of great peril, it seemed finally time to validate the idea.

It even seemed, in appearance, that the risk was not wasted at all.

In Fu Qian’s perspective, a kind of abstract concept rippled from the painting and swept around.

Hard to describe with precise words; if one must describe, it’s as if everything surrounding is dehydrating, collapsing, then finally smeared like paint onto paper.

Fu Qian did not resist, even canceled the Mythical Form.

The next moment, even deeper nightfall swept over him.

…

In extremely dim light, Fu Qian watched the swirling wind and snow through the stained glass window.

No need to look back; he knew he was no longer in the art museum.

Because the shape of this window was too familiar to him.

His gaze descended, and Fu Qian looked at the giant easel in front of him.

Beside the easel was a high stool, with several paintbrushes placed and a dried-out palette.

Everything was a familiar scene, seemingly never changed.

Only this time, there was no figure seated on the high stool overseeing vast territory.

Yes, Fu Qian was absolutely sure; he was currently located in the place where he was invited to repaint the World Within the Painting, the little hidden studio.

And besides the Witch no longer being present, the painting on the easel in front of him had actually changed.

Although the colors were somewhat old, Fu Qian immediately recognized the place where he currently worked—the art museum of Leytin.

The art museum painted here? This place painted the art museum?

For the outside world, this world is a painting, but for this place, the outside world is a painting?

There’s a kind of conjugate beauty.

Fu Qian nodded slightly, feeling deeply intrigued.

Normally, the state is naturally the former, but in the case of the outside world being abandoned by the Stars Association, the situation begins to incline towards the latter? Hence the feeling of being smeared on paper?

He didn’t really think the outside world was truly painted this way; compared to before, the power of the painting in front of him was much weaker, hard to imagine it supporting such a city.

It felt more like using this special way to preserve a hidden entrance for this world.

“At least I realize why you didn’t dare to embarrass yourself then.”

After carefully examining, Fu Qian sighed and murmured to himself.

“This craftsmanship even falls short of Tan Ying’s.”

…

Almost without a doubt, the painting before him was crafted by the Pope.

And Fu Qian didn’t show any bias because of it, still providing a fair evaluation.

And upon ensuring nothing was overlooked, Fu Qian didn’t linger and directly left the studio.

It was still the layout in his memory, though much more worn with time compared to his last visit.

Including the night scene amidst the blizzard, which was much darker and gloomier.

However, it could be seen that those parts once buried by snow had already been cleared.

Considering it was once chosen as the Church of the Dark Moon and aligns with what he witnessed in his conversation.

Only at this moment, the festive grandeur during his last conversation with the Witch was no longer visible.

Along the way, there was no life to speak of, not even the seven lights in the sky.

The entire place was engulfed in deathly silence, not even affected by Fu Qian’s footsteps if not controlled intentionally.

Of course, the dim light had no impact on Fu Qian’s actions.

Recalling the structure in his memory, Fu Qian traversed the darkness continuously.

Squeak!

And at a certain moment, he stopped, raised his hand, and pushed open the large door before him, staring inside expressionlessly.

In the slightly piercing sound, a familiar grand hall came into view.

And at the end of the hall, a figure was leaning on an elaborate and luxurious long seat, resting their hand on a cheek, looking asleep.