It was a pleasant afternoon, and at that moment, in the shade on the deck of the Iceberg Queen, Fisher held a pen, continuously writing something in a book.
Beside his shoulder, a floating book was ceaselessly chattering something into the gentleman's ear,
"No, no, how could it possibly look like this! Your drawing can only be described as hideously ugly; it truly makes me itch to instantly sprout hands to help you draw… You manage to draw the Dragon-man demi-humans quite well, so how come you can't produce a drawing of the Chaos Species?"
Fisher glanced at the floating Emhardt speechlessly, resisting the urge to tear out a few pages from his book.
If there truly were a painter in this world who could completely replicate a portrait in accordance with Emhardt's description, he would bow in sincere respect, not for the painter's superb skill, but to praise their human understanding, which surpassed humans by hundreds of times.