The Most Arbitrary Wizard

"I will climb out of my grave and kneel before you to express the most sincere admiration and loyalty in my heart!"

Sean: "..."

Eleanor: "..."

Even though she knew Tony was probably just acting to blend in with the crowd, she couldn’t help but think... ’So cheesy! Cheesy enough to fry a whole pan of french fries.’

It wasn’t just cheesy, it was downright weird.

But the weird feeling didn’t just come from Tony. It was mostly from the other Wizards in the room.

If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, it would be impossible to imagine: a group of normally arrogant and self-important nobles fawning over a blank piece of paper as if they were all delusional. The entire Eve Mansion was filled with an inexplicable, grotesque absurdity.

’What a bunch of hypocrites.’

Eleanor decided to ignore them, lest their craziness be contagious.

She looked up and asked Sean, "Can you see what’s on the painting?"

Sean shook his head. "I can’t see it."

Eleanor was a little disappointed to hear that.

She had always thought Sean’s Talent was quite impressive. After all, he was only a Tier Three, yet he’d managed to steal her Magic Power—and she was a Tier Six—using some unknown form of Magic. That meant he had to be well-versed in Mysticism. Since he hadn’t said much since the painting was unveiled, she’d assumed he must have made some discovery.

But in truth, Sean wasn’t looking at the painting.

Well, he wasn’t *not* looking at it. But after a few minutes of staring at nothing but a blank canvas, he started thinking about the painting itself.

The painting’s name already made it clear that this was the same painting that once hung in his bedroom.

Eleanor had guessed correctly. The "he" in the painting’s title really did refer to Blake.

At the same time, the nobles weren’t wrong either—Olivia was in the painting too.

In Sean’s memories, the painting depicted two people.

And that was the problem.

He used to be able to see the contents of the painting, so why not now?

Other people’s inability to see it could be explained by some kind of interference Magic Olivia had placed on it. But he was different. He was the man Olivia loved most, and this painting had been a gift to him. With her power back then, Olivia could have easily made the interference Magic act like a "whitelist," blocking everyone but him.

Olivia used to do that sort of thing all the time.

Her private chambers, for example.

No one could enter besides Olivia and him—not even the Pope.

Sean couldn’t remember much about the painting, but he had the impression that he’d never shown it to anyone else. After all, his status back then was no less than Olivia’s. Her rooms were protected by a Barrier, and so were his. Outsiders never would have had the chance to see it. This made it impossible for Sean to determine if the interference Magic had been there from the very beginning. But one thing was certain—something was definitely wrong with this painting.

Because regardless of whether Olivia herself had set the original spell, the very fact that *he*—Sean, formerly Blake, the Saintess’s own consort—couldn’t see it, meant the painting had either been tampered with or was an outright fake.

And yet, another line of reasoning told him the painting couldn’t be a fake.

The First Saintess was a revered figure, and cultural tradition demanded respect for the dead. The Little Gista Family would have to have a death wish to use Olivia’s name for a scam.

All in all, it was a complete mystery.

Eleanor, thinking Sean was sulking because he couldn’t see the painting, gently tugged his sleeve and whispered, "Sean, the First Saintess was Tier Ten. It’s normal for us not to understand it right away. It’s fine. We can just snatch the painting and study it at our leisure."

Her words were both a comfort and a reminder.

The time allotted for the viewing was more than halfway over. It was time to act.

Sean nodded, his gaze falling back on the painting.

Although he didn’t know why the painting had turned into a blank canvas, a blank canvas had its advantages.

For one, it was extremely easy to fake. It’d be hard for anyone to even spot the forgery.

Sean’s lips moved silently as he recited a Spell. Magic Power swiftly gathered in his palm, coalescing into a brand-new, blank canvas.

Tony and the others, who had been keeping an eye on the clock, were doing the exact same thing.

Conjuring objects from thin air with Magic Power was a required lesson for every Wizard, especially those skilled in Swordsmanship. Most of their swords were created this way. Barring any forbidden artifacts, these Magic Swords were their ideal weapons.

The only drawback was that they couldn’t be maintained for very long. After all, objects created from Magic Power weren’t truly "physical." Without a continuous supply of Magic Power, they would quickly dissipate.

But just to split the Little Gista Family’s pursuit, that was more than enough time. They wouldn’t even need a "top-up."

With everyone’s attention fixed on the painting on stage, no one noticed that Sean and his group were now holding several identical canvases.

Not until Kave, standing in a corner, pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired a shot at the ceiling.

"BANG!"

"AH!!"

"Help! Someone’s shooting!"

The sudden gunshot triggered a wave of screams.

There were quite a few ordinary people at the ball, and they had all been engrossed in the painting. Caught completely off guard, Kave’s gunshot sent them into a panic. They screamed instinctively, some even ducking down, covering their heads, and scrambling under tables.

The once quiet, orderly ball instantly descended into chaos.

"Dammit, you’re courting death!"

Agivis cursed, his face as black as coal.

Tonight’s ball was hosted by the Little Gista Family. To fire a gun here was a direct slap in their face.

"Get that bastard!"

"So long, assholes!"

Kave spun around and bolted.

A gunshot wouldn’t scare a Wizard, but it would grab their attention. That was enough.

Just as everyone’s head turned toward Kave, wondering who could be so audacious, Sean, Eleanor, Tony, Johnson, and Ryan moved as one. With perfect coordination, their figures shot out like a pack of large, black rats, leaving a trail of afterimages as they streaked toward the stage.

Time was short. Tony, being the fastest, had no time to be precious with the artifact. He snatched the painting from its display stand and bolted for the door.

A heist by High-tier Wizards was often just this simple and unpretentious.

Agivis’s face paled in horror. "Quick, stop him!"

His men: "Yes, sir!"

"Wait... which one?"

Agivis: "?"

"Are you fucking stupid? Stop all of them, obviously!"

Five people had rushed the stage from different directions and were now fleeing in different directions, each holding a painting. The guards were momentarily stunned. In that brief moment of hesitation, Sean and his team had already reached their designated escape routes.

He and Eleanor made for the window.

"CRASH!"

Sean cast a "Quickly Harden" and simply used his body to clear a path. He smashed headfirst through the glass, taking Eleanor with him as they vanished into the night.

Tony went for the main entrance. Two guards tried to stop him, but they were just security. How high could their Tier possibly be?

"Kazimavadov!"

The Ascension Spell.

"WHAM!"

The two guards shot straight up, punching through the ceiling like a pair of nails and were left dangling there.

Tony made his getaway.

Johnson took the back door.

Ryan had no door, so he just blasted a hole in the wall with Magic Power and made his own.

Four different escape routes, leaving the guards completely disoriented.

Agivis was furious. "Why is no one doing anything?!"

So many Wizards here, and not a single one lifted a finger to help!

The assembled nobles exchanged glances, suppressing smirks.

’They weren’t close with the Little Gista Family. The painting wasn’t theirs. And besides, none of them could even understand the damn thing. Why should they help?’

Someone spoke up, offering an explanation. "Mr. Agivis, please don’t be upset. This is the Little Gista Family’s territory, after all. It would be quite rude of us to interfere."

Agivis: "?"

’Polite, my ass!’

’Was it so polite when you were all nagging me to bring the painting out sooner?’

"Get after them!" Agivis knew the nature of these nobles perfectly well, so he wasted no more words on them. Instead, he kicked one of his men in the ass and roared, "If you don’t get that painting back, don’t even think about returning!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" His men scrambled to organize a pursuit.

Agivis, meanwhile, stalked out of the hall, muttering curses under his breath.

"Wait, the ball isn’t over yet. Where could Mr. Agivis be off to?"

someone asked with deliberate provocation.

The person beside him snickered. "Where else? Off to beg the Clan Leader for forgiveness, of course."

Having the First Saintess’s painting stolen was no small matter. Whether they caught the thieves and recovered the painting or not, someone had to be held responsible. Following the typical playbook for minor managers, Agivis would probably go crying to the Clan Leader, complain bitterly, and then throw his subordinates under the bus. Everyone knew the drill.

But the reality was...

They were only half right.

Agivis did, in fact, go to find the Clan Leader with a miserable expression.

But the moment he stepped inside the room, his expression suddenly relaxed. Far from feigning distress, he looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Clan Leader, someone really did come for the painting."

"As you instructed, I let them get away."

...

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