The Painter

V

"What's your name?" I asked.

"J-jeff," stuttered the thug in a quivering voice.

I remained seated on the bench, my posture calm and collected, while the thug—Jeff, as he had introduced himself—knelt trembling at my feet. His size, which had likely earned him his position as the leader of his group, now seemed insignificant as he avoided eye contact, staring at the ground like a scolded child.

"What's your name?" I asked. "I didn't hear you clearly."

"J-Jeff… l-lord… My name is Jeff…"

Lord? That caught me off guard. I hadn't expected him to address me so reverently. Still, I wasn't about to correct the misunderstanding. While I wouldn't advertise myself as some noble or higher authority, I wouldn't dismiss the advantage of having him think I was.

I studied him for a moment longer, taking in his trembling form and youthful face. He wasn't much older than me—or at least the me from my past life. His hands shook, his breath was uneven, and he seemed too terrified to even think of running.

"Jeff," I said finally, "from now on, you work for me."

His head snapped up, eyes wide. "W-work for you?"

"Yes. I could use someone like you. Consider yourself lucky."

Amsten wasn't a massive city, but it was still a city—a maze of streets and alleys with secrets buried in its shadows. I needed an errand boy, someone who could move unnoticed and gather information. Jeff seemed like a useful start.

"This is your first mission, Jeff," I said, my tone firm. "Gather information on the underworld filth of Amsten."

Jeff blinked, clearly confused. "Why?"

I leaned forward slightly, fixing him with a cold, unwavering stare. "Why?" I repeated, letting the weight of my gaze settle on him.

He flinched, his face pale as he stammered, "P-please forgive me, lord… I-I didn't mean to question you…"

Good. I still had the acting chops.

"You'll find me at the Silvermire Inn," I said, standing and brushing off my suit.

Jeff nodded frantically. "U-understood, lord…"

Telling him where I was staying was a calculated risk. I planned to switch inns by tonight, but I would still check in at the Silvermire during lunch to monitor his progress. Information on Amsten's criminal underground would be invaluable in the long run, especially given how much this world diverged from the game.

This wasn't just Questworks anymore. It was an alternate reality—one packed with layers of detail the game could never hope to match.

I activated Time Stop.

The world froze, and I stood, walking away from the bench. Once I was far enough, out of Jeff's sight and earshot, I released the skill.

To him, it must have looked like I vanished into thin air.

I strolled through the streets of Amsten, hands casually tucked into my pockets, observing the ebb and flow of the city. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted through alleys, and guards patrolled with half-hearted vigilance. The perfect setting for someone like me to indulge in a little... redistribution of wealth.

With Time Stop at my disposal, pickpocketing was child's play. I'd spot a target—usually someone flaunting their coin purse too openly or throwing their weight around—and freeze time. The world would fall silent and still, and I'd walk right up to them, pluck their valuables, and stroll away without a care.

One particularly pompous merchant left me with a nice leather snakeskin wallet, its weight satisfying in my hand. He'd been arguing with a vendor over the price of some exotic spices, and his self-important tone made him an easy mark. I tucked the wallet into my coat pocket with a smirk.

I had no idea that doing crime could feel this good. It wasn't like I was hurting anyone—well, not physically. If anything, it felt cathartic. A guilty pleasure, sure, but one I wasn't about to give up anytime soon.

Still, I couldn't keep this up forever. I needed a job, a cover—something to make me look like a normal citizen. After mulling over my options, I settled on the idea of becoming a painter.

It wasn't entirely random. In my past life, I'd worked for an animation studio, occasionally assisting with panels for other artists. I wasn't exactly a prodigy, but I had training, and more importantly, I had an imagination that could outmatch most people here. Combine that with my in-depth knowledge of Questworks's lore, and I figured I could paint scenes that would leave people in awe.

I stopped by an art supply store and stocked up on everything I'd need: a canvas, a palette, paint in a variety of colors, brushes in different sizes, and even a nice pencil for sketching. The shopkeeper gave me an odd look as I piled everything onto the counter, but I ignored it.

With my new materials in hand, I checked into the Shinemere Inn, opting for one of their VIP suites. It cost a decent chunk of the worths I'd "liberated," but it was worth it. A comfortable workspace was essential if I wanted to pass myself off as a painter.

Dragging my supplies into the suite, I took a moment to admire the room. It was spacious, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, perfect for painting. I set up the canvas and laid out my tools, already envisioning what I might create.

This was it—the start of my new cover.

If anyone asked, I was Nicholas Lorekleim, a traveling artist inspired by the sights and stories of Amsten.

I felt an odd giddiness as I unpacked my art supplies. It was as if I was returning to my roots. Painting wasn't something I did often in my old life, but it had always been an escape, a quiet retreat from the grind of deadlines and client demands.

As I arranged the brushes and paints on the table, a realization hit me.

"Ah, I forgot something…" I muttered to myself.

A podium or stand for the canvas. It was a glaring oversight, but I decided to make do for now. Clearing the top of the room's cabinet, I leaned the canvas against the wall. It wasn't ideal, but it would work.

With the setup complete, I activated Time Stop. The world fell silent and still as I picked up the pencil and began sketching. The feeling was surreal, knowing I had all the time in the world—literally—to focus on each detail. My strokes were steady, my mind entirely in the zone as I lost myself in the process.

Time stretched, though I couldn't tell how long. What felt like hours—or perhaps mere minutes—later, I stepped back to admire my work. A woman clad in battle armor stared back at me from the canvas. She was exactly as I'd envisioned, drawn from scraps of lore, faint memories of game assets, and my own imagination.

Her name was Stella Amsten, founder of the city I now stood in and a ruthless vampire hunter. I'd pieced together her story from statues, old paintings, and fragments of text during my time playing Questworks. Now, here she was, brought to life in vivid color.

Stella had brown hair with a hint of red, her face smeared with blood as if fresh from battle. In her left hand, she held a dagger, while a rapier glinted in her right. Behind her, withered trees stretched like skeletal fingers toward a gray sky, and the shriveled corpses of vampires turned to cinders at her feet.

The story of Stella Amsten was one of resilience and vengeance. Born in a small village that had been ravaged by wars and vampire attacks, she had risen to prominence as a bloodmancer and warrior of the Empire. After years of waging war, she retired and claimed her birthplace as her reward, transforming the village into the thriving city of Amsten.

I considered selling the painting but decided against it. Not yet. I'd bought the art supplies just today, and flaunting this level of skill so quickly would raise eyebrows. The last thing I needed was attention, especially the troublesome kind.

I deactivated Time Stop, and the mental fatigue hit me like a wave, dragging my body along with it. Apparently, the strain was delayed, but knowing that was useful. It gave me another insight into the limits of my ability.

Satisfied with the day's work, I set the painting aside and collapsed onto the bed.

Sleep claimed me almost instantly, and for the first time in a long while, I slept like a baby.