After earning his place in Veylan Village by painting a mural infused with protective magic, Renji finally had a place to rest. His days were peaceful—helping around the inn, painting small charms for the villagers, and recovering from his time in the ruins.
But peace never lasts.
Renji couldn't shake the feeling. A strange unease settled over the village. Conversations grew hushed, the villagers tense.
He frowned, whispering to himself, "Why does it feel like something's about to go wrong?"
The village hunters and guards whispered among themselves.
"Bandits have been hitting nearby settlements."
"It's only a matter of time before they come here."
"We don't have the numbers to fight them off."
As Renji passed through the village square, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with the village chief, an elderly man named Edgar. The old man's gaze was heavy with concern.
"You've got good hands, boy, but this isn't a place for artists. When the bandits come, stay inside."
Renji blinked. "Wait—when? Not if?"
Edgar exhaled. "It's only a matter of time. When they do, don't get involved. This isn't your fight."
Renji watched the old man walk away, his stomach twisting.
"Not my fight, huh…?"
He clenched his fists. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a soldier. But could he really just stand by and do nothing?
That evening, at sunset, the sound of thundering hooves echoed across the fields.
The villagers rushed to the gates. Ten armed riders approached, their weapons gleaming under the dimming sky.
At their head was a cruel-looking man clad in ragged armor—Valkas the Iron Fang.
Valkas pulled his horse to a stop, his eyes scanning the trembling villagers before locking onto Renji.
A cruel sneer spread across his face. "A fancy little artist? Maybe you can paint me a picture of your village burning!"
The bandits laughed, jeering at Renji.
The villagers shrank back in fear, clutching whatever makeshift weapons they had—old bows, rusted swords, farming tools. They were outnumbered, outmatched, and terrified.
Renji grit his teeth, watching the fear in their eyes.
He wasn't a fighter… but he wasn't useless.
As Valkas' men prepared to charge, Renji took a deep breath and grabbed his brush.
His grimoire snapped open on its own, its pages blank and waiting.
His hands trembled—not with fear, but with determination.
"I don't have swords. I don't have fire magic. I don't have brute strength." He lifted his brush, magic flowing into the bristles. "But I can create."
With a sharp stroke, he painted mid-air, his ink flaring to life—
A phantom barrier of swirling black ink rose between the village and the bandits.
The first arrows bounced off the magical wall, leaving the bandits stunned.
Valkas' eyes widened in fury. "What in the hell—?!"
Renji's mind raced. The villagers needed better weapons.
He turned to the hunters, dipping his brush into the air. "Hold out your hands!"
They hesitated—but did as he asked.
With rapid, confident strokes, Renji painted ink swords and spears, handing them out. The weapons shimmered, lightweight but sharp enough to fight.
The hunters' eyes widened. "These… feel real!"
Hope flickered in the villagers' expressions. They were no longer defenseless.
The bandits charged through the barrier, weapons raised.
Renji called out. "Fenris!"
The massive wolf sprang forward, its glowing form slamming two bandits into the dirt.
The villagers watched in awe as the artist's creation fought for them.
"That wolf…!"
"His paintings can fight?!"
"Maybe we have a chance!"
But the bandits still had the advantage.
Renji knew they needed something stronger.
His mind raced. His magic was fueled by emotion—he needed to focus everything into one powerful creation.
He dropped to his knees and painted onto the earth itself.
A towering knight in silver armor. A massive shield, a formidable presence.
As he finished the final stroke, the ink glowed—
The painting rose from the ground.
A real, magical guardian stepped forward, blocking Valkas' sword mid-swing.
The bandit leader stumbled back, eyes wide. "What… what the hell are you?!"
Renji, breathless, smirked. "An artist."
The bandits broke.
They turned and fled in terror, their screams ringing through the night.
"Monsters! He summons monsters!"
"We can't fight magic like that!"
"Get out of here! RUN!"
The villagers erupted into cheers, raising their new weapons in triumph.
Marla, the innkeeper, walked up to Renji and patted his shoulder.
"You're more than an artist, boy. You're something this world has never seen before."
Renji chuckled, rubbing his aching hands. "Yeah… I'm starting to realize that."
The village chief, Edgar, stepped forward, and to Renji's shock, knelt before him in gratitude.
Renji blinked. "O-Okay, that's new."
For the first time, Renji felt like he belonged.
Not just as a painter—but as a creator.
A Protector.
With Veylan Village now under his protection, his legend began to spread.
The night after the bandit battle, Renji finally had a moment to himself.
For the first time since arriving in this world, there was no immediate danger, no desperate struggle. Just him, his brush, and the quiet hum of magic in his hands.
He exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair. "Man… what a crazy couple of days."
His room at the inn was cluttered with sketches and half-finished ideas—small experiments with his Painter Magic. With his brush in hand, he idly flipped open his grimoire, the blank pages waiting for his creativity.
"Let's see what else I can do…"
Sketching the Unknown
He dipped his brush into the air, the ink swirling at his command, and began sketching. His strokes were loose and experimental—nothing special. Just testing.
A detailed feather. A simple cube. A swirling pattern of ink that faded moments after he finished.
Nothing unusual happened.
Then, without thinking, he casually drew a tiny bird.
His brush worked instinctively, the lines fluid and effortless. Small, round body, short tail, tiny wings folded neatly at its sides. He added a pair of big, mischievous eyes, as if the little creature was up to something.
With a final stroke, he leaned back, admiring his work. "Not bad. Kinda cute."
He set the grimoire down, rubbing his temples. "Alright, time to get some sleep—"
Then—
The ink twitched.
Renji's eyes widened. "Wait… did that just—"
The drawing shuddered, then fluttered.
The ink peeled off the page, lifting into the air like smoke, before taking solid form.
With a tiny 'Pik!', the small bird flapped its inky wings, hovering in front of Renji's face.
Renji froze.
The little creature tilted its head, then—
Chaos Ensues
Without warning, the tiny bird snatched Renji's brush from his hand.
"Oi! Give that back!" Renji growled, lunging for it.
The bird zipped around the room, leaving behind tiny ink splotches as it darted through the air.
"No—don't—!" Renji dodged as an ink droplet splattered onto his face. "You little—!"
The mischievous creature flitted around like a dart, dodging Renji's frantic swipes. It swooped past his half-finished sketches, knocking over his inkwell and nearly sending his grimoire tumbling off the table.
Renji stumbled over a pile of scrolls, barely managing to stay upright. "How is something this small this fast?!"
After several failed attempts, he finally lunged at the right moment—
With a quick swipe, he snatched his brush back.
The little bird fluttered in place, then landed lightly on his shoulder, chirping innocently—
—as if it hadn't just wrecked the entire room.
Renji stared at the tiny troublemaker, still panting. "Seriously…?"
The bird let out a small, high-pitched 'Pik! Pik!' while tilting its head.
Renji blinked.
Then, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smirk. "You really are a little troublemaker, huh?"
He tapped the bird's head lightly with his finger. "Alright then… Piku it is."
The bird chirped happily, accepting the name instantly.
Piku, the Mischief Maker
Despite being small and seemingly harmless, Piku became Renji's first true artistic companion.
The tiny bird often perched on his shoulder, peeking curiously at whatever he was working on. It had a playful, mischievous streak, constantly messing with his work—sometimes adding accidental ink splatters, other times stealing his brush mid-painting. Whenever Renji got too serious, Piku would flutter onto his head, chirping until he acknowledged it.
Renji rolled his eyes, flicking Piku's tiny beak gently. "You better not be this much trouble every day."
Piku tilted its head, chirping innocently.
Renji sighed, but there was a small smile on his face.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something familiar. Like having a little piece of home.
After defending Veylan Village, Renji finally had time to rest. His name was whispered with awe, and the villagers began to see him as more than just an artist—he was a magician unlike any other.
But not everyone was convinced.
The next morning, Renji sat at the inn, devouring his breakfast like a starved beast.
He sighed in satisfaction. "This… this is the greatest thing I've ever eaten…! Or maybe I just nearly died too many times yesterday."
Marla, the innkeeper, snorted. "Eat slower before you choke, boy."
As Renji continued his dramatic meal, the inn's door creaked open.
A tall figure stepped inside.
The villagers nearby gasped.
"That's Elara Veylstra, the Wandering Sword Saint!"
Murmurs spread across the room.
"A rogue knight…"
"They say she's fought and defeated some of the strongest warriors alive!"
"Why is she here?"
Elara's silver hair cascaded over her cloak, and a single sword rested on her back. Her sharp emerald eyes scanned the room before she walked toward Renji.
The villagers tensed.
Yesterday—During the Bandit Attack
Elara had arrived at the village's outskirts just as the bandits attacked.
She had stood on a distant rooftop, arms crossed, watching as Renji wielded his strange magic—the ink weapons, the summoned knight, and the massive wolf that tore through enemies.
She smirked. "Interesting… but is it real power? Or just an illusion?"
Present Time
Elara pulled out a chair and sat across from Renji, eyeing him critically.
Renji blinked, mid-bite, before swallowing. "Uh… can I help you?"
Elara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I saw what you did yesterday. Clever tricks, but tricks won't save you forever."
Renji raised an eyebrow. "You think it was just a trick?"
Elara smirked. "I think you rely too much on illusions. In a real fight, that magic won't save you against someone like me."
Renji narrowed his eyes. "Is that a challenge?"
Elara's smirk widened. "If you want it to be."
Renji stood up, brushing off his coat. "Fine. A duel—right here, right now."
The villagers gasped.
"A magician challenging a Sword Saint?!"
"He just fought off bandits yesterday! Is he crazy?!"
Elara chuckled, standing as well. "Alright. But don't complain when your magic crumbles."
They stepped outside, moving to an open field near the village.
Renji exhaled slowly, grimoire floating open beside him.
"Time to see what I can really do."
The Duel Begins
Renji dipped his brush into the air, and a shimmering ink sword formed mid-air.
His fingers gripped it tightly as the blade solidified into reality.
"Alright, let's see if this holds up."
Renji charged, swinging the sword at Elara—
But the moment her real sword met his, the ink blade shattered.
His eyes widened in shock as black droplets rained down.
"What—?!"
Elara stepped forward and knocked him back with a single kick.
Renji stumbled, gripping his arm. "Damn it…! My weapons still aren't durable enough!"
Elara tilted her head. "That all you got?"
Renji gritted his teeth. "Not even close."
The Counterattack
With a sharp flick of his brush, Renji painted again—
This time, a whip-like lash of ink unraveled from his hand.
The fluid weapon snapped forward, aiming for Elara's legs.
She dodged effortlessly.
Renji swung again, forcing her to move on the defensive. "Try dodging forever!"
His attacks became faster, sharper. The whip cracked through the air, curving unexpectedly.
Elara narrowed her eyes. "So, you can change tactics. Good."
Then, without warning—
She dashed forward.
Before Renji could react, her sword knocked his brush from his grip.
A split second later—her blade hovered at his throat.
Silence.
Renji froze.
"...That fast?"
Elara smirked. "You're fast with that brush, but you're still thinking like a magician. Try thinking like a fighter."
Renji let out a breath. "Damn it… I lost."
But to his surprise, Elara sheathed her sword and smiled.
"You lost, but you didn't panic. You changed your approach, kept me guessing. That's the mark of a true fighter."
Renji blinked. "Wait… so you're not going to mock me?"
Elara shrugged. "You're raw, but you're not bad. And I've never seen magic like yours before."
She sat next to him, stretching lazily. "You interest me, artist. I think I'll stick around and see how far you can take this magic of yours."
Renji stared. "Wait—so you're just inviting yourself into my journey?"
Elara grinned. "Of course. Someone needs to make sure you don't die before you become great."
Renji sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. Now I have a self-appointed bodyguard."
She patted his back. "Cheer up. With me around, you might actually learn how to fight."
And so, the Painter Magician and the Wandering Sword Saint began their journey together.
The first bond of many yet to come.
To be continued…