The Face Behind the Veil

Artua, befitting his status, had covered the entire exhibition hall floor with smooth marble.

He had even mobilized dozens of slaves to clean it spotless without a speck of dust, but it was still unsuitable for walking barefoot.

Sometimes newly purchased slaves were trained by making them walk barefoot, or owners who even felt shoes were a waste forced their slaves to do so.

But Vanessa belonged to neither case.

A thin golden anklet hung around Vanessa’s ankle.

He simply was not wearing shoes, but that anklet alone showed how loved a s*ave he was, and how generous Fren was as an elf.

Then why on earth isn’t he wearing shoes… Ah!

Staring only at Vanessa’s pure white feet, Artua realized Fren’s intention the moment Fren approached.

Without shoes, every light and graceful movement Vanessa made was clearly visible.

Vanessa looked truly like a fairy.

A real fairy who needed no shoes at all.

“Your Highness?”

Half-lost staring at Vanessa, Artua snapped back at the soft voice.

Fren bowed deeply in greeting.

“I pay respects to His Highness Artua Anata Mren, heir to the noble bloodline of the royal family.”

“…Yes, thank you for coming. Let us put the formalities aside. Come sit. I’ve received excellent wine.”

“I would love nothing more than to share a drink with Your Highness and talk freely, but I simply cannot resist the urge to view the exhibition. I am dying to know how many works you completed this time.”

“……”

“Your Highness?”

The hand holding the glass began to tremble.

The vassals beside him looked puzzled.

Artua attempted to regain composure, but he stuttered,

“T–thank you for saying that. It is an honor.”

“Thank you for your permission. Then I will begin my viewing—”

“Wait!”

Artua sprang up.

The glass fell and shattered across the floor, but he had no leisure to care.

Again he spoke, voice shaking,

“L–let’s go together. I shall come with you.”

“It would be an honor to have the host accompany me.”

“……”

Artua’s hands continued to tremble.

The two walked side by side to view the exhibition, followed closely by countless spectators.

Fren examined each painting with careful attention.

For a host, having a viewer observe closely was something to be grateful for—but not this time.

The more Fren studied the pieces, the more Artua felt his throat drying.

While Artua’s hand continued to shake—

“Each painting has incredibly detailed depiction. I can almost feel the textures just from looking.”

“I paid some… attention. Thank you for noticing.”

“You still enjoy depicting transcendent beings—gods or fairies. But this time… you attempted something different.”

Fren stopped before a painting.

It depicted a frail elf ascetic, ribs showing, receiving enlightenment from a goddess.

The goddess wore a long veil hiding her face.

The same was true of the other paintings.

Every god had their face hidden or positioned where it could not be seen.

Studying them closely one by one, Fren tilted his head innocently and asked,

“May I ask why you chose to cover the faces of the gods?”

It’s fine. You can do this. No one will know anyway.

Artua repeated inwardly and recited the explanation he had given dozens of times to the audience.

“When we check who someone is, the first thing we look at is the face. But before a god, would we do the same? Perhaps not. There’s a reason a god is a god. Even without seeing the face, we instinctively know what presence stands before us.”

Fren listened quietly, gaze fixed on the painting.

“And the image of a god is different for everyone. I wanted the viewers to imagine freely…”

His voice grew smaller.

Though spectators behind them voiced admiration, Artua was conscious only of Fren.

He always compared his work to Fren’s at every exhibition, but never had it been this severe.

He had spent more time thinking about Fren’s art than his own—an absurd reality.

Realizing this, Artua felt he was losing himself.

Terrified he might say something reckless, he hurried to end the explanation.

“That is all. I believe that should be enough to understand.”

“……”

“Is there a painting that pleases you? If there is, I would gladly gift it to you.”

Artua forced cheerfulness, but a delicate silence fell over the hall.

Anyone with eyes or ears could tell he was shaken and failing to speak confidently about his own work.

While his mouth dried out painfully—

“Thank you for the generosity.”

Fren smiled brightly.

“But I cannot accept such a gift. Your Highness completed these pieces with deep thought and great effort. I cannot simply take one.”

His heartbeat pounded loud enough to hear.

Artua spoke sharply without realizing,

“…So there is no painting you like?”

“Pardon?”

“No surprise, I suppose. My work must be unworthy of your noble taste.”

Silence fell again.

Artua regretted the outburst instantly, but it was too late.

He could already imagine gossip spreading wildly.

Just then,

“‘He and I are destined rivals,’ ‘One day I’ll surpass him and become perfect,’ you declared that often, but deep down you knew. Compared to the Elder Fren, you are nothing.”

“His Highness Artua has artistic talent, but honestly? He’s nothing compared to Elder Fren.”

Artua whipped his head toward the voices.

Everyone was silent as if planned, but someone among them had certainly spoken.

They said Artua was pathetic compared to Fren.

“His Highness will never defeat Fren.”

“I agree.”

See, they were already talking.

How could they speak so clearly without moving their lips?

He wanted to drag them to the torture chamber and find out.

Burning with rage, Artua stared blankly into the crowd when—

“Actually, there is a painting I like. But asking for it as a gift feels too shameless.”

The voices tormenting him vanished instantly as Fren spoke.

Artua felt himself soaring out of the mud.

“Re… really? Which one?”

“That one.”

Fren pointed to the grandest painting at the center of the exhibition hall.

The goddess held a sheaf of wheat symbolizing abundance, and like the others, her face was hidden by a black veil.

Drawn to it, Fren slowly approached like bewitched.

“It’s truly beautiful.”

The spectators joined eagerly in praise.

Artua stood straighter, excitement rising.

“It caught your eye too? It is one of my favorites. I poured everything into it. I kept revising it until last night.”

“Yes, it’s truly beautiful.”

Artua straightened proudly.

Yes, he had grown.

Step by step, he would reach the top.

One day, he would surpass Fren.

While Artua fueled himself with determination—

“However, strangely… it feels familiar.”

Artua froze instantly.

Fren tilted his head innocently.

“I keep feeling like I know the person. Isn’t that strange? It’s my first time seeing this painting, yet it feels so familiar. And the face isn’t even visible.”

His heart pounded again.

Fren asked brightly,

“Did you have a model for this piece?”

Even with the pounding in his ears, Artua recalled Fren’s past exhibition.

Unique, fresh, unmatched… breathtakingly beautiful.

Fren’s masterpiece had stood on the pedestal, shining divinely.

It had not resembled a human at all.

It was exactly the kind of god Artua had always wanted to depict.

After that exhibition, Artua could no longer paint properly.

Fren’s work influenced him too deeply.

No matter what face he completed onto gods, Vanessa appeared.

So he hid the face completely—but apparently not well enough.

I should never have held an exhibition. If Fren notices this much, it must be obvious.

Sweating coldly, Artua turned quickly.

Among the assembled slaves behind them, Vanessa was absent.

A relief, but Artua already knew the truth.

It was only a matter of time before Fren realized the resemblance and the spectators pointed fingers.

“You look pale. Shall I call a physician?”

“No need. Some fresh air will do.”

“Your Highness!”

Panicked beyond reason, Artua fled outside.

Shoving slaves and dodging spectators, he escaped into a quiet garden—but failed to regain rationality.

Because he encountered a fairy with bare white feet resting in the waters of a pond.