Surprise! The Supposed Talent Show Was Actually-?!

Chapter 119.2- Noble Lady

Wei Yan took his teammate out first, with Wu Jin following closely behind. Vera looked curiously at the door to the instance as it closed slowly and asked, “Did Napoleon really end up ruling Spain?”

Wu Jin opened up the notebook and shook his head, “No. <Giant> was Goya’s fantasy. When Napoleon went to Spain for the first time, he was warmly welcomed by almost all the civilians.”

“But he broke his promise.”

“The people found out that they’d been deceived and rebelled against the French, only to be oppressed by violence––this was the most painful and chaotic period of history in Spain. It wasn’t until the 6th Anti-French Alliance succeeded in fighting against the French army that Napoleon was expelled.”

Behind the giant was nothing but a stretch of darkness more solemn than the curtain of rain.

“Let’s go.” Wu Jin gestured. Outside the instance was still the long and quiet gallery.

<Giant> hung there quietly.

There were several oil paintings nearby that seemed to have the same style of strokes. They should also be works from Goya.

From 1808, 1802, to 1814, and even 1828, the painting styles suddenly converged together. From painting brilliant hopes for the French invaders, praising the Napoleon brothers, to beautiful still lifes, graceful maidens, to miserable and gloomy battlefields where insurgents were tortured and killed by the French army––

Wu Jin gestured to Vera to look at a painting hanging from a high place.

The giant was devouring pale flesh.

Painted in 1819.

The giant’s intentions were totally different there.

Vera gazed at it for a long time, then finally said emotionally, “Goya was also changing.”

From the end of the corridor came the sound of mechanisms again. Wei Yan seemed to have pushed away another wall. Both of them had been forced to leave their blunderbusses in the instance, and Vera was still bitter about this.

“Napoleon’s era is over.” Wu Jin hefted the machete on his shoulder, a smile on his small round face as he comforted, “Welcome back to the Bourbon Dynasty.”

Vera shifted her fingers and suppressed the urge to stroke the small curls.

The two of them moved down the corridor again, and Wu Jin analyzed, “Lemoyne died in 1737, and after finishing his last painting, he killed himself. The oil painting we’re looking for is 170x140cm, and the timestamp should be 1737...”

Vera wondered, “What did Wei Yan’s notebook say about the password?”

Wu Jin shook his head and spoke slowly, “There was no password. The clue in his hands was related to the cause of Lemoyne’s death.”

Veras mouth opened wide in surprise.

The black notebook was opened up again.

“––Lemoyne, the court painter, was at the peak of his life, attracting the attention of everyone. Louis XV favored him, but he was powerless against his depression and paranoia. He began to grow schizophrenic a year ago, imagining himself to be the victim of a court plot, and imagining that his colleagues were scheming against him out of jealousy towards his talents––and after finishing the last masterpiece, Lemoyne died from nine stab wounds.”

There was a long silence.

Vera silently drew a cross for the painter, then hesitated before saying, “... Is the password ‘paranoia’?”