The vaulted vestibule is supported by a heavy black wooden frame, and the walls between the wooden frames are decorated with faded frescoes depicting the bloody era of the early Empire. On the left and right sides of Maura, the walls of the long corridors were covered with paintings, but the shadowed curtains obscured the paintings, making it impossible to see who or what was depicted on them. A curving staircase climbs high into the middle level and a wide archway, but beyond that you can't see anything. There was only one object in the empty antechamber that looked like an easel, on which a canvas and canvas might have been set up, but it was tightly covered by a cloth. Maura cautiously approached the obscured panel, wondering if this was the place where he was going to paint.

This was not what she was hoping for. The light here is not suitable for portraits. Where there was moonlight pouring on the fishbone floor, the light was bright enough, but elsewhere it was completely dark, and even the moonlight seemed reluctant to approach those corners.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed through the vestibule. "I received a letter ......"

Maura's voice drifted back and forth, and she looked around for signs of the others, but she found that she was alone in the strange mansion in the middle of the night.

"Hello?" She spoke again. "Anyone?"

"I'm here," a voice said.

Maula jumped up. This voice reveals upbringing, demeanor, and the mellow aroma of aging. The voice seemed to be coming from above, and at the same time it was like a breathless whisper in her ear. She looked left and right, looking for someone to speak.

Only herself.

"Are you Vladimir?" She asked.

"It's me, that's right," he replied. There was a deep sadness in his voice, as if the name itself was a torture. "You're the painter."

"Yes, it's me. I'm a painter," she added, "and my name is Maula Betsenia." I'm a painter. ”

She cursed at her clumsiness, then suddenly realized that his last sentence wasn't a question.

"Good. I've been waiting for you for a long time. ”

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. The letter said that I would wait until the bell rang in the port before I set out. ”

"That's true, and you arrived neither too early nor too late," Vladimir said, and this time Maula felt that she saw a deeper black in the shadows. "Blame myself for having so long delayed finding someone like you. Vanity makes us stupid, doesn't it? ”

"Is it vanity?" Maura asked, knowing that wealthy patrons liked to be flattering. "Or are you just waiting for the right time to capture your true honor?"

There was a burst of laughter from above. Marula couldn't tell if he was genuinely happy or laughing at her.

"It's a different way to say the same thing every time," Mr. Vladimir said. "But to be honest, it's like an irregular festival. By the way, do you like my garden? ”

Maula sensed that there was a trap in this question, and hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Yes," she said. "I didn't expect anything so beautiful to grow out of the land of Noxus."

"It really doesn't grow," there was a twisted pleasure in Vladimir's voice. "Only the most tenacious varieties can grow on such a barren land, and they can spread far and wide, crushing all other vegetation. But none of them can be called beautiful. The red flower you killed, it's a flower of the night. ”

Maula felt her mouth dry, but Vladimir didn't seem to care about her actions.

"The Nightflower was once native to an island to the east, a blessed sanctuary full of rare beauty and inspiration." He said. "I lived there for a while until it was destroyed, just as all mortal things are inevitably destroyed eventually. A nursery is tended by a moody spirit of nature on the island, from which I took some seeds and brought them back to Valoran, where I could bake them to take root with a mixture of blood and tears. ”

"You mean the mixture of blood, sweat and tears?"

"Child, what is the use of sweat when cultivating flowers?"

Maura didn't answer, but the rhythm of his speech was very seductive. She could listen all night. Maula shook off the velvety texture of Vladimir's blurry voice and nodded to the cloth-covered easel.

"Am I going to paint there?" She asked.

"No," Vladimir said. "It was just my first time."

"What's your first time?"

"My first life," she lifted the veil before she could finish speaking.

The painting is so old that it has faded, the light bleached the colors, and time has smoothed out the brushstrokes. But the power in the painting is still strong - a young man in the prime of life, dressed in bronze plate armor in an ancient style, with a fiercely curved sickle painted in a banner fluttering on his shoulder. Most of the details had been lost, but his blue eyes were still bright. The face was exceptionally handsome, well-shaped, and slightly tilted at a angle, keeping her eyes peeled.

Marula got closer and saw an army behind the man, a group of burly and tall warriors, so large that they couldn't have been human, and the beastly form couldn't have even existed. Their silhouettes and features had faded and blurred over time, and Maura was secretly grateful for the little kindness.

"Is this you?" She asked, expecting him to reveal himself and explain the portrait to his face.

"It was a long, long time ago," Vladimir's voice made Maura feel like frost was mixed in. "I was the superfluous heir to a kingdom long since disappeared in the wars of the gods. Their strife raged all over the world, and mortals were nothing more than cheap soldiers, so one day it was my father's turn to submit to a human god, and I was given hostage of the royal family. It stands to reason that my father's loyalty was threatened by the safety of my life. If he is treacherous and goes to another lord, then I will be killed. But my father's promises were never true. He didn't care about me at all, so within a year he broke his vow. ”

The bizarre and dreamlike story told by Vladimir reminds Maula of the horror myth of Shurima told by Conrad when they were telling each other stories on the rooftop of the studio. It's just that his stories are all veiled morals, and this story ...... There is a weight of truth behind this story, and it is not tainted by any emotional overtones.

"But instead of killing me, my new owner prepared some more fun plans for me. Just fun for him, of course. He gave me an opportunity to take my father's country with his army, and I gladly accepted. I destroyed my father's city and presented his head to my master. I am a loyal hound on a leash. ”

"You have destroyed your own people? Why? ”

Vladimir paused, as if to judge whether her question was serious or not.