Published at 5th of December 2025 7:34 am

Chapter 2342: Capital of the Arts

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A shadowy figure flew across the boundless night sky, standing upon the thin clouds.

Beneath his feet lay a sprawling city of lights.

Even from several hundred meters above, he could vaguely hear the music strings and smell the fragrance wafting up from below.

"Saint Sem City, truly deserving of its reputation as the city of art." The artistic atmosphere seemed to soar straight to the heavens.

The person high above sighed with admiration, his eyes roaming until they fixed on the only dim street in the city below.

The shadow dived downwards, finally landing silently in a dark and deserted alley.

With the sound of footsteps echoing, he walked out of the alley, where a pile of burning dead wood illuminated his face clearly.

Red hair, golden eyes, lazy yet handsome.

It was Angel after using the Shapeshifting Technique.

Angel looked around; this was a street scorched by fire.

Chaos reigned everywhere—besides the burning dead wood at the alley’s entrance, the houses on both sides of the street also had rekindled flames and various charred and burnt remnants. Even the air was scattered with glowing embers.

A pungent smell permeated the entire street.

A stone brick house on the left remained relatively intact. From a sign on the soot-stained wall, a few burnt words could be faintly discerned: Cypress Street West Lane 1-349.

This was Cypress Street, once the art gallery next to the Silver Heron Royal Palace, now turned into ruins.

Angel sighed imperceptibly and walked towards a nearby pile of fire.

This pile of fire blocked the street; upon closer inspection, it was a heap of street-side oily wood that hadn’t burnt out completely.

Angel squatted down, slowly extending his hand, attempting to sense the fiercely burning flames through touch.

"Young man, don’t do anything rash!" A hurried voice suddenly came from behind.

Angel shook off the embers on his hand, stood up, and turned to look.

He saw a plump middle-aged woman, draped in a fireproof cloth, running towards him, urging him to get away from the fire.

"Young man, always think positively. Even if the house is burnt, as long as you’re safe, everything can start anew." The middle-aged woman was evidently well-educated. Although the ugly black fireproof cloth hid her attire, her obviously styled hair suggested she came from a fairly affluent family.

However, the pretty curly-haired face was marked with soot, likely from the dust floating on Cypress Street.

When she saw Angel’s face, the middle-aged woman paused for a moment. His young, handsome appearance, paired with a clearly expensive gentleman’s suit, didn’t look like someone who would despair over a burnt house.

Moreover, he wore a courteous smile with the demeanor of a traditional noble, a stark contrast to the ember-scattered ruins.

"Are you... Did you lose a beloved painting? Is that why you’re feeling desperate?" The middle-aged woman seemed to think her guess might be close to the truth and quickly murmured, "Were you influenced by the young man from yesterday? Sigh, that young man, foolishly thinking a painting could be more important than a life, recklessly rushed into the fire and almost got burned."

"Young people these days, they’re obsessed. Chasing trends, treating art as life."

"But this path has gone astray."

"Oh, why has it gone astray?" It was Angel speaking. Initially, he intended to stay and explain to avoid misunderstanding, noticing her good intentions; however, her ensuing words piqued his interest.

"Come here, and I’ll tell you. This fire is unusual, strange even, and it burns so fiercely that water can’t put it out; stay away from it."

"I think, madam, you misunderstood. I’m not having any suicidal thoughts; I’m just wandering around here." Angel moved around the fire to a safe distance.

"Wandering around here for what?"

Angel smiled without replying.

The middle-aged woman realized he wasn’t going to answer and decided to let it go. As long as he wasn’t suicidal, nothing else mattered.

"Even if you’re wandering nearby, stay away from these fires. They sometimes rekindle, and whatever’s here may be burned beyond repair."

From her words, Angel understood she concocted a scenario in her mind. Did she take him for a scavenger?

"Why are you here in the middle of the night?" Angel asked in turn.

"Oh, you’re asking me? I went over to Birch Lake to check on the fish... I used to feed them every night, but the fire prevented me from visiting these past few days. Now that the fire’s mostly out, I wanted to take a look." She didn’t hide her schedule and explained it in a few words while shaking her leather pouch, heavy with breadcrumbs.

Birch Lake. Angel remembered that Birch Lake was not far from the Silver Heron Palace, which he intended to visit. He suggested, "I’m headed that way too. If you don’t mind, we might go together? I’d also like to hear what ’gone astray’ means."

"Sure, sure," the middle-aged woman replied with a smile.

On the way to Birch Lake, Angel learned the middle-aged woman was named Connelly. She used to reside on Cypress Street and had a son who was so obsessed with art that he nearly sacrificed his life for it.

"When I say they’ve gone astray, I realized this from observing my son."

"Do you know why my son is obsessed with art?"

Angel guessed, "Because he loves it?"

Mrs. Connelly shook her head, "I wish it were love, but it’s not. His heart isn’t truly passionate about art; his obsession comes from environmental influences."

Connelly sighed, gazing at the distant, bustling Saint Sem City nightscape, and softly said, "The Central Empire is also known as the Nation of Art, and Saint Sem City, being its center, is naturally called the City of Art. The artistic atmosphere here is intense—most are raised amidst art’s subtleties from childhood: paintings, music, theater, sculpture, architecture..."

While Connelly is now affluent and worry-free, her past was different; she was once a farmwoman associating with the impoverished class, leaving no room for her son’s artistic pursuits. However, once he attended school, his classmates constantly discussed art. To blend in, her son began studying it.

Connelly, as a mother, knew her son well. His supposed passion for art was actually a form of infatuation, a self-induced drunkenness in the heavy artistic atmosphere.

Such instances aren’t rare in Saint Sem City.

Art’s outcomes are elegant, but the process of achieving art is tedious and trying—hardly anyone has the patience to love art for its own sake. Environmental compulsion, simple as that.

In a conformist society, those who don’t follow the crowd are bound to be alienated and excluded.

Connelly previously dismissed this concern until her son nearly sacrificed his precious life for art; only then did she start taking it seriously.

"Initially, Queen Rowling advocated for a love of art because the Empire had experienced a devastating war, and in the aftermath, most people were immersed in the pain of ’loss.’ She hoped to rekindle the people’s hope through art."

"She probably never expected that the art in Saint Sem City would eventually lose its essence. Art for the sake of art itself is not true art."

As Lady Connelly spoke, they happened to arrive at Cypress Lake.

Not far from the shimmering lake surface, it looked serene and inviting under the starry sky.

"Young man, I’ve arrived. I’m going to feed the fish now. Remember, don’t go near the fire, and don’t be like my son, sacrificing for art—that’s foolish behavior."

Lady Connelly waved to Angel and then walked toward the lakeside with a bag of feed.

Watching Connelly’s slightly plump and unattractive figure, Angel lowered his head and chuckled softly: compared to most people in this city, the farmer-born Connelly seemed to understand life better.

It is precisely because of people like Connelly...

"That’s why I love humans."

Angel smiled and turned around, heading toward the Silver Heron Royal Palace.

The brief companionship with Connelly, listening to the values of an ordinary person, was just an insignificant little interlude. However, this little interlude still occupied some space in his memory. If Angel were to write a wizard’s travelogue in the future, he might include her story when writing about the city of art.

Setting aside this little interlude, Angel reached out his left hand, slowly opening the fist he had been holding. A few sparks gently floated out.

The sparks ascended, transforming into small flames before Angel.

"It really contains a trace of special flame power," Angel remarked. "Though very faint now, it still carries the taste of Dangross."

Angel watched the flame, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Although it’s just a tiny spark, its residual warmth is quite remarkable. If it truly ignites, its temperature might only be slightly lower than Kelonkcro’s.

Moreover, the special hidden meaning within this flame is not mixed; it’s quite pure, suitable for refining many magic ores requiring pure fire. No wonder Fritz takes an interest in Dangross.

"I haven’t really seen Dangross unleash its full firepower before; I didn’t expect it to be quite impressive," Angel muttered, grasping the floating flame tightly, extinguishing it.

Without further delay, he took great strides toward the palace.

His visit to Saint Sem City this time was to bring Dangross back. And Dangross, at this moment, was deep within the Silver Heron Palace.

Throughout the journey, the guards and knights seemed to be completely unaware of Angel’s presence, allowing him to pass as if in an empty realm.

After passing through a series of elegantly designed palaces, Angel arrived before a high wall.

He could sense Dangross was in some corner within the high wall.

This gray wall had no visible door; to enter, one needed to input magic power to find the hidden passage or simply fly over.

Clearly, ordinary people couldn’t achieve this.

Inside the high wall was where the Silver Heron Royal Wizard Group resided.

Angel did not choose to fly over because he was right before the hidden passage. If he could walk through, there was no need to waste energy.

As Angel’s body made contact with the wall, the previously perfect wall suddenly rippled like water waves, engulfing Angel’s figure.

When Angel reappeared, he was inside the wall.

Standing right before him was a middle-aged beautiful woman wearing a light red wizard robe.

"Neya." Angel softly called out her name.

"Master Pat." Neya quickly bowed in ceremony. Upon sensing unfamiliar energy entering within the walls, she immediately flew over, thinking there was an external enemy intrusion. Unexpectedly, it was Angel who had arrived.

"No need for excessive ceremony; I’ve come to take Dangross away this time," Angel said.

Neya’s face flashed with embarrassment. When she returned, she learned Drue had sent word to Frode about Dangross setting Cypress Street ablaze. At that moment, she realized Drue had informed Angel, probably fearing Dangross and hoping Angel would promptly take this troublesome ancestor away.

Although Neya also somewhat feared the flames Dangross produced, suggesting Angel to take Dangross away through implication would bring disgrace upon her.

Besides, she worried it might offend Angel.

"Actually, Dangross is quite fulfilled here, and lately it’s been researching the art of pottery-burning. Perhaps the master could allow it to stay a bit longer?" Neya said with some reservation.

Angel: "Better not. I’ve seen the situation at Cypress Street; it’s extremely severe."

Neya: "It’s okay. Cypress Street is burnt, but it can be rebuilt; there were no deaths."

Angel: "I’m afraid if it stays longer, without restraint, it might burn half of Saint Sem City."

Pausing, Angel continued: "Let’s go. Since you’re here, why don’t you lead the way?"

Neya sighed gently in her heart and nodded: "Please follow me, master."

Soon, Angel was in a backyard paved with rubies, where he saw Dangross rolling on the ground.

Dangross had its eyes closed, flipping its entire hand over the exquisite rubies, wearing a face of enjoyment. Beside it, an elderly apprentice in a fiery red wizard robe was flipping through a handbook on a stone bench, occasionally using a red feather pen to gently dot toward Dangross, causing some fiery liquid to sprinkle over.

Dangross did not dodge or evade, allowing the liquid to soak into its skin, continuing to roll on the gems, moaning as if intoxicated.

This scene was rather unsightly, and Neya couldn’t hold back a couple coughs.

"Ahem."

The elderly apprentice immersed in the handbook, raised his head in confusion. Upon spotting Neya and the man behind her, he abruptly sprang up.

"Ma-ma-master," the elderly apprentice murmured with a slight trembling.

"Is he Fritz?" Angel asked. He had seen a title on the open handbook in the elderly apprentice’s hand—Boiling Blood Red Water.

Cypress Street had been burnt because Fritz attempted to refine a material for Boiling Blood Red Water, which resulted in an accident.

Neya nodded: "Yes. Fritz had been confined by me earlier, but this morning Dangross came to plead, so I let him out again, only ordering him to stay by Dangross’s side."

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