Damn, I Have to Marry the Strongest Antagonist at the Start?-Chapter 570 - 20-A Casual Drawing Contains the Power of Order of Nature?

As Grand Scholar Roland confidently unrolled his enchanted canvas, Elena stuck out her tongue in secret.

The famously erudite chief court scholar, with his silver beard flowing and a look of total composure, seemed absolutely sure of his impending victory.

"Your Highness," Roland said, his voice thick with scholarly pride, "if I lose, I shall ride a broomstick upside down across the royal square. However, rest assured, I highly doubt that wager will ever need to be fulfilled."

Elena blinked and recalled something her father Owen often said: "Always leave yourself a little wiggle room."

Out of kindness, she reminded him, "Teacher, riding a broomstick upside down is bad for your back. How about we change the bet?"

Though she spoke with concern, she had no doubt in her heart—there was no way anyone could surpass the techniques her father had taught her. Even if this man was a scholar famous throughout the empire, he'd still lose.

Roland, however, misunderstood Elena's suggestion as a child's attempt to back out of the challenge. With a slight chuckle, he dipped his brush into the magical ink, and his strokes flowed across the canvas like a dragon dancing in the clouds.

"Watch closely, Your Highness," he said, brimming with confidence.

Moments later...

"This is my Illusions of the Four Seasons, a piece I spent three years completing. Every stroke contains the essence of natural elements," he explained, sliding the canvas before Elena with visible pride. "Have you ever seen such a seamless fusion of magic and artistry?"

Elena stood on her tiptoes, tilting her head as she studied the painting. After a long pause, she pointed at the second panel, where blotchy colors formed a somewhat ambiguous image.

"Master, this roast turkey's wing looks super fluffy!"

"Ahem!" Roland's hand jerked, causing his brush to scratch a crooked line across the edge of the canvas. His goatee curled into an awkward question mark from frustration.

"Your Highness, that is the Hymn of Autumn—a tribute to the blessings of the Harvest God!"

"Oh…" Elena nodded with feigned understanding. Then, remembering her father's mantra—"Honesty is the most precious virtue"—she added truthfully,

"But I still think Father's roasted turkey looks more realistic. His even steams!"

Roland's mouth twitched, but he forced himself to remain composed.

"Your father's paintings must have a certain... unique charm. However—"

With a flick of his sleeve, he revealed four completed paintings, each with glowing magical patterns along the edges, proving their enchanted nature.

"If Your Highness can produce a work that surpasses these in magical tier, I shall not only ride a broomstick upside down, but fly three laps around the royal palace while doing so!"

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Just as Elena was about to reply, a warm current seemed to flow through her mind. Her father's gentle voice echoed faintly in her ears:

"Sweetheart, just draw what you've learned. Let it all come out."

Her hand holding the brush felt lighter, as though her mind had been filled with an outpouring of artistic knowledge.

She began to sketch without hesitation—a morning forest scene came to life: sunlight pierced through crimson maple leaves, dew sparkled on blades of grass, and a creek mirrored the blue sky and drifting clouds. On a branch, a bird was spreading its wings, about to take flight.

She worked with remarkable speed, and with every stroke, a soft glow radiated from the canvas.

Just as Roland prepared to offer critique, he paused—his expression frozen.

The creek in the painting was flowing.

The bird chirped melodiously, its call crisp and lifelike.

But what truly stunned him was the surge of boundless natural energy that erupted from the canvas. It hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the air from his lungs. Blood surged up his throat, spilling onto the cuff of his robe.

"T-This… this is Order! The Power of Order!"

Roland staggered backward, his pupils constricting violently.

As a high rankmage, he had once come into contact with fragments of Order during a family ritual. But to see someone infuse a painting with the power of Order?

And to think the one responsible was an eight-year-old girl!

Elena set down her brush and tilted her head, looking at the pale-faced Roland with concern.

"Teacher, you look terrible! Are you sick?"

Trembling, Roland inched closer to the canvas. The moment his gaze locked onto it, a spectral figure emerged within his sea of consciousness—a white-robed elder, paintbrush in hand. Wherever the brush moved, the elemental threads of Order flowed like a river of stars.

With just a single glimpse, Roland felt the bottleneck he had been stuck at for thirty years as a high rankmage suddenly loosen. His magical power surged like a volcanic eruption.

"Your Highness…" Roland's voice was hoarse with awe. "May I have a closer look at your painting?"

Elena blinked in confusion but handed him the canvas.

"Th-this is… [Order]!"

Roland staggered again—then dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.

"I was blind and arrogant, flaunting my meager skills before a true master!"

Startled, Elena rushed forward to help him up.

"Teacher, please don't kneel! Father says letting people kneel casually will stunt their growth!"

But Roland refused to rise.

"The Order contained in Your Highness's work is purer than even the Codex of Nature passed down in my family for generations!"

"Do you know, Your Highness? That spectral figure who appeared in your painting—he's none other than the legendary God of Nature, wielder of the Order of Nature itself! I've spent my whole life chasing that glimpse of divinity… and now, I've seen it!"

"A saint?" Elena blinked, then reached into her trusty pouch and pulled out a worn, doodle-filled sketchbook. The cover bore clumsy handwriting that read: Doodle Collection.

"You mean this old man? Father said this was his notebook when he was young. It's full of secrets for drawing ugly monsters!"

What?!

Roland trembled as he took the book. On the first page was a round, chubby rabbit with the note:

"Owen's First Drawing – A Gift for My Precious Daughter."

The second page showed a chaotic painting of stars, the colors messy and overlapping, yet a flowing galaxy seemed to spill out of the canvas.

The final page contained a self-portrait of a laughing man, with a scribbled caption:

"Can't draw magic arrays? Just draw a smiley face!"

These paintings looked random and crude—but Elena's nature scene had clearly held the purest Order of Nature.

If her work held such power, just how strong was her father's skill—if he could hide true [Order] within mere sketches?

Elena scratched her head. "Teacher, can you understand them? Father said this style is called 'realism'."

Roland blinked, then his eyes widened. "Realism… of course! So that's what it means!"

A sudden epiphany struck him. Grabbing his brush again, he furiously sketched.

This time, he used no magical flourishes, no fancy techniques—just honesty. He painted what he'd seen that morning: a homeless child stealing bread in front of a bakery, terror in his eyes as the vendor chased after him.

The moment the piece was finished, a soft golden glow enveloped the canvas. The light shimmering in the child's eyes brought a wave of sorrow and compassion to the entire room.

Roland gasped.

His magical tier was rising—fast.

Within seconds, his soul felt cleansed, and the bottleneck that had bound him for decades shattered like glass. A surge of power erupted from within.

Grand archmage-tier.

He had broken through.

He had finally ascended—from high rankmage to grand archmage.

"So this is the true essence of art—not in fancy technique, but in honest expression!" Roland sobbed, recalling Elena's earlier words.

"Those seemingly random strokes… were actually the purest reflection of nature itself!"

He looked upward into empty space and bowed deeply.

"Thank you… for this enlightenment."

He turned to Elena, his voice reverent.

"Your Highness, allow me to make a humble guess… Your father's paintings have transcended technique. They touch the very origin of Order itself."