The Final Product

"What are you doing?"

Carls, having found his arm, couldn't help but ask.

Ever since the kid finished his "artwork," he had started carrying a bucket around, painting everywhere.

Glancing at his watch, it was already eleven in the evening.

This was the first time he had ever seen a killer who, after slaughtering an entire family, didn't run away but instead stayed behind to doodle.

He really wasn't afraid of anyone coming!

He felt fortunate once again that the boss had chosen such a good location.

There was nothing here.

Just a barren mountain.

And no one ever came by.

Otherwise, they should have run for it long ago.

Who would have time to dawdle here?

He didn't get it.

Carls felt he truly lacked any artistic sense.

He couldn't understand what this "little artist" was doing at all.

"Hmm? I'm completing my artwork."

Coleman looked up, set the bucket aside, and said calmly.

He then asked with some curiosity, "Why are you still here?"

Since you've already found your hand, why aren't you leaving?

"Ah, I'm out of a job now. Aren't you planning to take responsibility for that?"

Carls joked.

In truth, he wanted to leave too, but his damn curiosity kept him rooted to the spot.

He wanted to see what this brat was up to.

He was just so curious!

He also wanted to see this so-called magnificent artwork.

Having had his bottom line broken time and again, the hunter named Carls had completely let himself go.

Without principles, he followed only his own heart.

Now, his heart chose to stay, so he would stay.

What if he really got to see some breathtaking masterpiece?

"Take responsibility? How? By sending you to meet your boss?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you."

Carls gave a sheepish smile. "Just treat me as a spectator visiting your artwork, satisfying a little curiosity, that's all."

Very well, Carls had now single-handedly shattered Coleman's preconceived notions about the profession of hunters.

Oh, so there were hunters who were slackers, acting one way in front of people and another behind their backs.

Stretching his back, Coleman glanced over and said casually, "If you want to see, follow me."

He picked up the bucket and walked slowly toward the exit.

As he walked, he looked at the few photographs in his hand.

One was a "family portrait."

One was of the castle servants.

And another was a full view of the castle.

As he stepped out of the castle, he casually tossed a lit lighter behind him.

Obeying gravity, the lighter traced a beautiful arc and landed on the trail of oil Coleman had prepared in advance.

The flames ignited rapidly, surging high.

Carls was confused.

Good grief, you went through all that trouble just to torch the villa?

Then what was the point of all that work!

In the end, wasn't it all going to be burned to nothing anyway!

Seeing the look in his eyes, Coleman looked at him with disdain.

Tsk, a fool who doesn't know how to appreciate art.

"Do you know what that is?"

Pointing to the damp timber surrounding the house, Coleman spoke up.

"The boss's decorative wood."

Carls knew this; it was the famous wood produced in the Silgert Archipelago.

The boss had gone to quite some trouble to transport it back then.

He seemed to have intended to craft something out of it, didn't he?

But now, it was nothing more than a display.

After all, the man himself had already gone cold.

"Tsk, wood that's damp, and a whole pile of it at that—it's a firebreak."

Coleman explained slowly.

He didn't want these garden-full of flowers to be buried in a sea of flames.

Besides, this contrast between light and shadow only heightened the tension.

Just imagine: a house consumed by a raging fire, set against those bright, blood-red roses.

This destruction and rebirth.

It would be absolutely beautiful!

"Furthermore, I applied fireproof coating to some of the rooms earlier."

Coleman yawned, explaining with a languid air.

"This way, as long as I control it properly, those few rooms and certain 'people' will be preserved amidst the fire."

Watching the dancing flames, he silently calculated the time.

If the plan went smoothly, what remained from this fire would be the 'art pieces' he desired.

Vibrant roses.

Standing guards.

The warm, harmonious scene inside the daughter's boudoir.

And at the center of it all, a patch of ruins.

All beauty built upon desolation.

This kind of evocative tableau was the truly exquisite chapter!

This was the final work of art!

It was exactly what Coleman wanted it to look like.

And...

"Why don't you think about it? So many families hired to attack the Zoldycks this time, why did I choose this place specifically?"

His malice and ill intent were written all over his face.

Coleman was like a child playing a prank.

His eyes held a mix of innocence and cunning.

Yet, the things he did were enough to make one's blood run cold.

Who could imagine that a young child could meticulously plot such a swan song?

Carls' eyes were filled with complex emotions, but he quickly reverted to his detached, indifferent demeanor.

"Heaven's timing, geographical advantage, and human harmony. Right?"

Looking around, the place was silent and desolate.

Only the firelight soared into the sky.

The boss had truly gone to great lengths to choose such a high-quality graveyard for himself!

Without denying it, Coleman took one last look at this delicate garden.

It was very beautiful and pretty.

He should plant a patch for his mother when he got back.

Only such exquisite roses could match his mother's beauty.

He pondered silently, then spoke.

"Didn't you want to see the art? It's not over yet. I'll take you to see the final chapter written by this family."

It would surely be something you'd never forget for the rest of your life.

As he spoke, he tugged on Carls' sleeve, walking away while making a phone call.

"Hello."

"Hello, is this the fire department?"

"Yes, how can we help you?"

"Oh, I see. A manor at the foot of Yali'er Mountain, the castle under the name of Lord Collei, has caught fire. Could I trouble you for some assistance?"

"Oh! Such a thing has happened? Rest assured, we are dispatching units immediately!"

As he spoke, the operator hurriedly called the staff on duty.

"I am truly grateful to you."

Coleman expressed his thanks with great sincerity.

After all, only in this way could he witness that painting.

Therefore, his gratitude was exceptionally genuine.

"Not at all, we should be the ones thanking you. If not for your report, I fear Yali'er Mountain itself might have met with misfortune."

After a polite exchange of pleasantries, Coleman left the castle and headed toward the mountain.

Looking up at Carls, who felt nothing, Coleman spoke with a touch of fanaticism: "Soon, within two hours, you will be able to see it."

The picture of his ideals.

"Are you not leaving?"

Carls asked, feeling strange.

Who doesn't leave the scene after committing a crime?

So bold, even daring to call the police himself.

"Oh, sir, I need to take photos for a souvenir."

As he spoke, Coleman raised his camera.

His small face was full of seriousness.

It was quite adorable.

To this, Carls felt somewhat listless.

Fine, he decided he shouldn't try to integrate into the world of a madman.

It was simply impossible to integrate.

God knows what their strange thought processes would come up with in the next second.

Coleman, however, went about setting up his camera, finding a good angle, and attempting to capture the painting.

He had calculated the time; the police response would take about an hour and a half, and given the intensity of the fire at that point, it would take at least half an hour to extinguish.

The degree of burning at that moment would be exactly what Coleman desired.

Therefore, it was perfect, and he naturally had to keep his eyes on this place.

"...Little sir, do you have any ambition to become a puppeteer?"

Unable to find a topic, Carls intended to understand the madman from another angle.

After all, just standing there without speaking was truly awkward.

"Hm? Not at all, why would you think that?"

Adjusting the lighting, Coleman found the question extremely strange.

He didn't have the techniques of a professional puppeteer; even if he made one, it would only be a defective product.

Shrugging, Carls said: "Because your thread work is perfect, like that family of three."

Stopping the movement of his hands, Coleman looked at Carls seriously.

"No, sir, that is not perfect. If it were an experienced puppeteer, they would hollow out those three and then inject other things to ensure the integrity and shelf life of the puppets."

Chemicals, preservatives, and the like.

Not knowing how this world referred to those chemical terms, Coleman chose to avoid them.

"Moreover, what a puppeteer makes is much better than mine; at the very least, they can be pulled with strings."

Like real puppets.

Instead of the sculptures I make.