RNP Chapter 28, 8 paintings
Chapter 28, 8 paintings
Inside the Golden Curtain: The Future World - 3E Exam Site
After Professor Manstein finished reading the exam rules, a solemn silence fell over the classroom. Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled patterns on the floor. Dust particles in the air floated slowly in the beams of light, like miniature nebulae frozen in time.
Lu Mingfei sat by the window, holding the pencil and drawing paper that had been handed out to him. The pencil was brand new, with a finely sharpened tip that gleamed with the unique matte luster of graphite in the sunlight. The drawing paper was specially made parchment, thick and with a fine texture on the surface, giving it a sense of history to the touch.
He raised his head and looked at the podium.
Nono was no longer there. She moved a chair to the corner of the classroom, crossed her legs, and held a thick book in her hand, seemingly reading intently. But Lu Mingfei noticed that her gaze would occasionally sweep across the classroom, and then across his direction.
Professor Manstein stood at the podium, holding an old-fashioned tape recorder. It was one of the antiques of Kassel College, its brass casing oxidized to a deep, dark gold, the dials and hands bearing the marks of time.
"The exam is about to begin." Professor Manstein pressed the play button.
When the first syllable flowed out, Lu Mingfei was stunned.
That wasn't human language, nor the script of any existing civilization—it was dragon script, ancient, obscure, with a metallic texture and the heat of fire. The syllables seemed to rise from the abyss of antiquity, piercing through the barriers of time, and resounding anew in this modern classroom.
Lu Mingfei closed his eyes.
The first word he heard was "Yggdrasil"—the World Tree.
Then, the scene unfolded in my mind.
Not fragmented pieces, not vague impressions, but a complete, clear, epic panorama:
A colossal white ash tree, stretching across the nine realms, its branches reaching the heavens and its roots extending into the abyss of hell. Eagles perch in its canopy, dragons coil beneath its roots. Beside it lies the Fountain of Wisdom, where three goddesses of fate weave the threads of time. A golden rooster gazes from its treetop, while a red rooster crows below.
Then, the dragon came.
Black and enormous, its scales like the deepest night, its eyes like burning lava, it rose from the abyss, spreading its wings that blotted out the sky, revealing its gleaming white teeth. It pounced on the World Tree and began to gnaw at its roots.
one more time.
The tree roots broke, the trunk swayed, and the branches and leaves withered.
The gods burst forth from the palace, armed and riding warhorses. They fought the dragon, but its scales were indestructible, and its breath consumed everything. The battlefield unfolded beneath the trees, blood staining the soil, and corpses piled high.
Odin, riding his eight-legged steed and wielding the spear of eternity, charged towards the black dragon. Thor brandished Mjolnir, lightning crackling around him. Frey drove his golden boar chariot, radiating brilliant light.
But the black dragon merely raised its head, its golden eyes sweeping across the battlefield, and then opened its mouth—
flame.
Black, all-consuming flames.
The gods turned to ashes in the flames, the palaces collapsed in the flames, and the World Tree burned in the flames.
The final scene shows the black dragon standing atop the burning ruins, roaring to the heavens. Behind it, nine worlds are ablaze, stars are falling from the sky, the oceans are boiling, and the earth is cracking open.
Ragnarok.
Nidhogg the Dragon Slayer.
Lu Mingfei opened his eyes and found that he had already drawn his first picture on the drawing paper.
It's not fragmented lines, not abstract symbols, but a complete, detailed scene, like an illustration from a medieval manuscript: Nidhogg gnaws at the roots of the World Tree, gods battle around it, and flames devour everything.
He looked down at his hands, then at the painting, and froze.
Did he draw this?
Such exquisite lines, such accurate perspective, such magnificent composition—this is something he, someone who never passed art class, could draw.
"Brother." Lu Mingze's voice echoed in his mind, tinged with laughter. "This is one of your abilities. When the dragon runes awaken the memories in your bloodline, your hands automatically record those images. No skill is needed, no training required; it's an instinct etched into your genes."
Lu Mingfei didn't have time to think about it, because the second segment of the Dragon Text had already started playing.
This time, he heard "Fafnir"—Fafnir, a dragon in Norse mythology, a wicked dragon that guards treasure.
The scene unfolds again:
Mountains of gold, glittering gems, ancient crowns and scepters. A colossal dragon coiled above the treasure, its scales a dark gold, its eyes a greedy green. The hero Siegfried, sword in hand, crept in. The dragon raised its head, spewing poisonous mist. The hero leaped, his sword piercing the dragon's heart. The dragon died with a mournful howl, its blood soaking the treasure.
Lu Mingfei's hand moved again.
The pencil moved swiftly across the parchment, the lines flowing as if practiced a thousand times. The second drawing was quickly completed: the death of Fafnir, the hero slaying the dragon, the treasure stained with blood.
Then comes the third paragraph, the fourth paragraph, the fifth paragraph...
Each time, Lu Mingfei could see the complete scene. It wasn't the blurry spiritual vision of other hybrids, nor was it fragmented memory pieces; instead, it was a clear, coherent, epic narrative.
He painted the Ring of the Nibelungs, Beowulf and Glendale, St. George slaying the dragon, Yinglong from Chinese mythology, and Yamata no Orochi from Japanese mythology...
Eight dragon patterns, eight paintings.
As the last syllable disappeared into the air, Lu Mingfei put down his pencil, stared blankly at the eight sheets of parchment spread out in front of him.
Each piece is a complete work, so exquisite that it could be displayed in a museum. The lines, the light and shadow, the composition, the details—everything is impeccable.
Did he really draw this?
He looked up at the other people in the classroom.