The worse you are, the stronger you become: My summoned beast is a photographer.

The host stood on the stage, cleared his throat, and picked up the microphone again: "Although Mr. Ming Luochen and Ms. Aura have firmly secured first place, the battle for second place continues. Your Highness Amos, please present your work."

Amos stood on the contestant's bench, his fingers gripping the microphone slightly.

He felt trapped, caught between a rock and a hard place. Ming Luochen's work was truly superb—its warmth, simplicity, and powerful impact resonated deep within everyone's being, carrying the word "homeland" into the very bones of each person. As a prince, he had been taught from a young age that "the royal family has no right to be weak," and the thought of publicly reciting his essay, filled with slogans and declarations of battle, was something he found difficult to do.

He stood there, facing the gaze of the entire audience, and remained silent for a moment.

Then he gritted his teeth, straightened his back, tore the completed manuscript to shreds in his mind, reorganized his thoughts, and said loudly, "There is warmth there, there are the people I admire most, it is the source of my longing—home."

He didn't give a long speech; he only used the simplest words.

The entire audience burst into applause.

The professors on the judging panel nodded in satisfaction—although it couldn't compare to Ming Luochen's work, it was more sincere and conveyed a beautiful emotional core.

"95 points."

"97 points."

"95 points."

"96 points."

"99 points."

Amos breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the score. Fortunately, he had temporarily borrowed Ming Luochen's ideas and rewrote a piece, no longer piling up empty slogans like "not afraid to sacrifice, bravely fighting the enemy," but returning to the most genuine emotions. It seemed to have worked well.

"Congratulations, Your Highness Amos, on scoring 482 points! Your total score is now 1263!"

"Next up, Morton."

When Morton was called upon, he jerked his head up, his teeth clenching involuntarily, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He felt like a clown forced onto a stage, with everyone waiting to see him make a fool of himself.

The host smiled to ease the tension: "It seems our contestants are all quite nervous, but they're working hard to come up with an even better performance. Mr. Morton, please—"

Morton took a deep breath, stood up, his hand gripping the microphone, veins bulging. After holding back for a long time, he finally roared in a gruff voice, "With unity as our backbone and protection as our soul, let the entire race work together to build our beautiful home!"

The sound was so loud that the glass in the auditorium vibrated.

The five professors on the judging panel exchanged glances and nodded slightly. Morton's performance, while not spectacular, was steady; at least he stayed on topic and expressed the values ​​of the Cracktooth race.

「87分、91分、88分、92分、89分。」

"Congratulations to Mr. Morton for scoring 447 points in this round, bringing his total to 1149 points."

After announcing the scores, the host glanced down at the program schedule, then looked up: "The first question of the third round of the humanities competition is complete. We will now begin the evaluation of the second major question—artistic creation. All contestants, please prepare."

Ming Luochen sat back down, picked up his pen, and twirled it between his fingers. He could have completely given up—his total score was 2472, while the second-place finisher only had 1263 points; the gap was ridiculously large. But he still picked up his pen; since it was a competition, he might as well see it through to the end.

If you win three consecutive crucial bets, but then lose, your two hundred gold coins will be gone.

He glanced casually in Austin's direction—the young man with a human head and a snake's body was still huddled in a corner below the stage, head bowed. He had been disqualified from the competition and expelled from school for violating skill regulations. Seeing his gaze, Ming Luochen knew that Austin probably wouldn't let him off easily.

Given the current situation, there was no point in thinking about it any further. Ming Luochen withdrew his gaze and looked at the host on the stage.

"Based on your first assignment, create a painting that reflects the theme of your own work," the host announced the rules. "You have one hour. Let's begin."

Staff distributed drawing boards, paints, and brushes to each contestant's table.

Amos picked up his paintbrush, hesitated for a moment, and began to sketch a scene of "national warmth." He had received good painting training, his brushstrokes were neat, and the composition was rigorous, but it looked like a textbook illustration—standard, but soulless.

Morton went even further, using bold strokes to depict a pack of hyenas hunting, with intense colors, wild lines, and a raw, primal power. However, the composition is chaotic, like a swarm of headless flies bumping around on the paper.

Ming Luochen glanced at their paintings, then at his own canvas, and understood the situation.

He used to work as a photographer on Blue Star, and later learned to draw storyboards with film crews. His drawing skills weren't particularly superb, but he had a wealth of classic paintings' compositions and colors stored in his mind—Van Gogh's "Wheat Field," Monet's "Water Lilies," and even the pastoral scenery in Miyazaki Hayao's animations.

He chose a variation of "Wheat Field and Cypress Tree," using rich golden yellow and deep blue to paint a wheat field swaying in the wind, with a cypress tree in the distance soaring into the sky like a black flame. The painting is full of vitality and fluidity, perfectly matching his "fragrance of rice" artistic conception.

An hour passed quickly.

"Time's up," the host announced. "Please present your work, contestants."

Amos's painting was hung first—royal knights guarding the frontier at sunset, with neat brushstrokes and subdued colors. The judges nodded and gave it a good review.

Morton's painting followed closely behind—a pack of hyenas hunting on the savanna, vibrant in color, but with a slightly chaotic composition. The judges gave a polite round of applause.

Then, Ming Luochen's painting was hung up.

The entire room fell silent.

It was a golden wheat field, its waves rippling like gentle ripples against the deep blue sky. In the distance, a cypress tree twisted and grew upwards, like a solidified black flame. A narrow path meandered through the middle of the wheat field, stretching into the distance as if leading to some unseen village.

It's not realistic, but it's more moving than realism.

Bold colors and ingenious composition; every stroke carries an almost frenzied passion, yet is firmly controlled within a harmonious framework.

The feeling was like watching a storm—but at the eye of the storm, there was calm.

On the judging panel, the goat-orc professor stood up, leaned closer to look, then stepped back to look, repeating this several times. Finally, he took off his glasses, his voice trembling: "This... what kind of drawing is this? I've never seen anything like it before."

"The colors are too bold, but just right." The owl judge's feathers were fluffy, and his eyes were wide open.

"This isn't a matter of technique," another judge shook his head. "It's... a matter of the soul."

Amos looked at the painting, and the paintbrush in his hand fell to the ground without him noticing.

He had just been pleased with his own painting—neat, precise, and flawless. But now, placed next to Ming Luochen's painting, his looked like a beautifully printed recruitment poster, while Ming Luochen's painting was a poem.

Morton fell silent. His jaws loosened, no longer clenched, but opened weakly, as if all his strength had been drained away.

In the audience, the nobles whispered among themselves, but this time not with doubt, but with amazement.

"That painting...can you sell it to me?"

"A completely new style, dreamy and romantic."

"I'm willing to pay three gold coins to buy it!"

Another duke shouted, "I'll offer ten gold coins for it!"

The Emperor, Leonhart Griffith, sat on the main throne, leaning slightly forward, his golden eyes reflecting the wheat field. A slow smile curved his lips, and his mane trembled slightly in the lamplight.

"Interesting," he said in a low voice.

Benuna was faster than him.

She stood up, her red hair cascading down her back, and walked to the front of the stage to examine the painting closely. Her finger hovered above the canvas, hesitant to touch it, as if afraid to disturb the slumbering soul within.

"Mr. Ming Luochen." She turned to look at Ming Luochen, her tone unusually gentle, "How about selling this painting to me? I'll offer fifty gold coins."

Fifty gold coins.

A low gasp rippled through the audience. A painting costing fifty gold coins could elevate an ordinary family to a comfortable life.

Ming Luochen was stunned for a moment, then quickly did the mental calculations—fifty gold coins were equivalent to 500,000 Blue Stars. 500,000 for a painting was an astronomical price for a trashy painter like him.

But are his paintings really that good?

Ming Luochen glanced at Amos and Morton's works again—how to put it, their paintings looked like children's drawings torn from a kindergarten wall. Amos was somewhat better; at least the composition was neat, like a poster torn from the street. Morton's paintings were simply graffiti, the colors a blurry mess, and even the perspective was wrong.

He struggled to suppress his laughter.

[That's it? This is the level? My paintings are just average, yet they can fetch such high prices here?]

The world's artistic level isn't very high...

However, he didn't show it, but simply nodded slightly and politely said to Benuna, "It is my honor that the Alliance Leader likes it."

He didn't say whether he would sell or not, but his attitude was very clear—we could talk.

Benuna smiled and was about to raise the price when she suddenly felt a gaze coming from the direction of the main seat.

His Majesty Leonhardt was looking at her, his golden eyes holding a meaningful glint.

He didn't speak, but the meaning in his eyes was clear—you go first, I won't fight you for it.

Benuna raised an eyebrow slightly and sat back down. She knew that His Majesty didn't dislike it, but rather didn't want to clash with the leader of the All-School Alliance in public. After all, 90% of the nation's talent came from formal education; they were the foundation of the empire, and this much face had to be given.

His Majesty withdrew his gaze and whispered something to the attendant beside him. The attendant nodded repeatedly and quickly left the hall.

Fifty gold coins for a painting? Isn't that better than opening a shop?

He glanced at Aura, who was standing beside him, her eyes filled with adoration, as if she were looking at a radiant god.

"Honey, I've discovered a way to make a fortune."

What road?

[To be an artist.]

Aura didn't understand, but seeing his animated expression, she smiled too.

In the audience, seeing Benuna and His Majesty's reactions, the other nobles wisely refrained from bidding further. However, they all harbored the same thought—to privately approach Ming Luochen after the competition and purchase a painting.

Such a unique piece, hung in the living room, is a symbol of status and showcases one's taste.

The host wiped the sweat from his brow and picked up the microphone again: "The second question is about artistic creation; the judging panel is currently scoring..."

The five judges exchanged a few words in hushed tones, and then revealed their scores one by one.

"Perfect score! Perfect score! Perfect score! Perfect score! Perfect score!"

The audience erupted in applause.

This time, no one questioned it, and no one expressed dissatisfaction.

Everyone knows that this perfect score of five is well-deserved.

Ming Luochen stood on the stage, looking at the five "100" numbers, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

He wasn't smug; he simply did some mental calculations.

A painting costs fifty gold coins, so one hundred paintings would cost five thousand gold coins. If you can get a portrait order from a nobleman, the price can double.

The goal of 3,125 S-grade crystals might not be as far away as he thought; he should be able to have a baby with his wife soon.

However, you can preview it tonight.

He turned his head to look at Aura, who was blushing and staring at him with charming eyes.