A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

She was slender and her skin was so white it was almost sickly.

She lowered her eyes, her eyelashes obscuring her red pupils.

"112," the girl shouted out a string of numbers.

"112?" There was no response, so the girl called out again.

“I’m here, young lady,” a cat-person dressed in simple light armor said, wagging its tail as it stood on the balcony railing.

112 is not a password, but the name of this cat-person, that is, the Kate tribe.

And his cat-like eyes were the same blood red as the girl's.

He was wearing light armor, and an axe almost as tall as him was strapped to his back.

This old house has a long history, and these two people live in it.

There are only these two people.

Although she is called "Young Lady" by the cat people, she actually only has one cat, 112, as a servant and guard.

Therefore, it is understandable that the thorns and roses around the old house were left unattended.

After all, if there's only 112, they can't handle it all.

"112, next time come in through the door behind me." The girl raised her cup and said to the cat-man.

"I was just tending to the weeds in front of the gate down there, so I jumped up here," 112 replied respectfully, bowing his head.

"Is that so? In that case, I'll forgive your rudeness."

"Thank you for your forgiveness, Miss."

"Hmph~" After hearing 112's words, the girl gave a cute hum, seemingly very satisfied with the other party's reaction.

"So, what are your orders, young lady?"

"I'd like you to make me a new pot of coffee." Only after being reminded did the girl remember what she needed to ask 112 to do.

"Wait a moment." 112 jumped down from the fence, silently picked up the coffee, and made coffee for his young mistress.

However, when the 112 coffee was halfway through brewing, his cat ears suddenly started twitching.

112 put down the coffee pot and glanced in the direction of the old house's gate.

"Young Miss, that artist named Diman is here again," 112 reported to the girl in a helpless tone.

"Is it him again?" Judging from the girl's tone, she seemed to dislike this artist named Diman very much.

“Beautiful Miss Angelia!!! I’m here again!!!” the painter outside the door shouted.

His clothes were torn all over by thorns.

He didn't care at all; instead, he stood in front of the old house gate with a look of ecstatic joy.

"Should I chase him away?" 112 asked the girl.

"Get rid of them," Angelia waved her hand casually.

To put it simply, this Diman claimed to have fallen in love with her at first sight, but Angelia felt absolutely nothing for him.

But the other party still shamelessly came three times a week, and even if they couldn't see Angelia, they would be happy just to hear her voice.

That's right, this Diman is a genuine simp, and he doesn't do anything underhanded, he just comes here every time.

I don't know what he's after.

"Okay." After receiving the order, 112 jumped off the balcony and landed silently.

Despite carrying a large axe, 112 moved as nimbly as a bird.

“It’s you, Mr. 112,” Diman said happily upon seeing 112.

"Sorry, I'm here to get rid of you," 112 said expressionlessly. Even if the other party was so happy, he would still follow Miss Angelia's instructions and get rid of this guy.

"Really? Or are you trying to get rid of me?"

“To be honest, this is a complete disturbance to the neighbors,” 112 said to Diman.

“I know that, but I don’t know what else I can do.” Diman scratched the back of his head.

Diman himself probably knows best how annoying this approach is, but for someone so clumsy in matters of love, there's nothing else he can do.

Diman also wanted to have a go at those dating experts to understand what makes girls happiest.

Unfortunately, he wasn't; he was just a clumsy fool in love who couldn't see anything clearly.

“You’re not suitable for Miss.” 112 shook his head. He wasn’t stupid; of course he could see that the other person liked Angelia.

"You can leave now. I don't want to be violent towards you."

“Wait a minute, Mr. 112.” Diman raised his hand, seemingly wanting to struggle a bit more.

If it were someone else, 112 might have just kicked them out.

But if it were Diman, he would still choose to stop for a moment.

The Kate tribe does not have a high status. Not only in human and elven territories, but even in orcish territories, the Kate tribe is very weak.

Few people use honorifics when referring to the Kates, but Diman is an exception.

Perhaps it was to win the young lady's favor? Or perhaps he wanted to get closer to her?

In any case, Diman's status as "Mr. 112" made 112 treat him a little better.

"Miss Angelia!!! May I draw a picture for you?" Diman cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at Angelia on the balcony.

"..." 112 was speechless.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve asked this question; it’s no use,” the cat-man sighed.

How many times had this painter made this request? 112 had lost count. This wasn't the first time Diman had wanted to paint Angelia's portrait.

But each time, I was flatly rejected.

He thought that this time would be the same, and he would refuse decisively.

After failing many times, I got used to it.

But this time the answer he heard was a little different.

"112, let him in." Angelia stood up from her chair, leaned out onto the balcony, and gave Diman a deep look.

"..." The cat-man guards were a little surprised, but they still made way for Diman and opened the door.

"Huh!" Diman was stunned; he never expected the other party to let him in.

Angelia agreed, which left Diman somewhat bewildered.

“Mr. 112, what should I do?” Diman asked nervously.

"Come in." 112 closed his eyes and gestured for Diman to come in.

Diman always came here carrying his tool bag and easel.

But he never imagined that he would have the opportunity to use it one day.

After entering the house, Diman subconsciously started looking around.

Although he knew it was very impolite, he simply couldn't suppress his curiosity.

"It looks like a nobleman's mansion." Diman, carrying his bag and easel, walked nervously through the old house.

Although there are no oil paintings hanging inside, there are many other artworks.

Although many of the items inside look slightly old, they are very well maintained and do not give a broken or dilapidated feeling; on the contrary, they have a lot of charm.

“It’s the house of a fallen nobleman, isn’t it?” Angelia said, holding onto the handrail as she walked down the stairs.

When Diman saw Angelia, he was stunned.

He had seen Angelia's face once and was immediately captivated by her.

If you ask him why he fell in love with Angelia... that's a very superficial answer—because of her beauty.

Yes, Diman would scold himself for being shallow if he thought of this reason.

But perhaps this is also why many people fall in love with someone.

---

"Please turn your face slightly to the left." Diman's entire demeanor changed after he picked up the paintbrush.

He was no longer nervous and uneasy, nor was he stunned by Angelia's beauty.

Angelia didn't say anything after hearing this, but simply turned her head to the side in a cooperative manner.

Diman measured the size with his pen and then continued to focus on his drawing.

He wanted to depict Angela's image on the canvas.

Time passed slowly, and the only sound in the quiet room was the sound of paintbrushes.

The cat-man stood quietly to the side, eyes closed, arms crossed, as if asleep.

But at the slightest sound or movement around him, he would immediately open his eyes and take out an axe from behind him.

“You are so beautiful, Miss Angelia,” Diman said, making the situation awkward.

"Thank you for the compliment," Angelia replied politely.

She was completely unmoved by Diman's praise.

She found it more interesting that the artist remained silent and focused on his painting.

“I think it would be better if you didn’t say anything,” Angelia said quietly.

"Okay, okay." Diman blushed and nodded quickly, as if he had realized just how embarrassing his words had been.

To ease his embarrassment, Diman once again immersed himself in painting.

Then he went back to his previous state.

"It's definitely more comfortable to be together like this," Angelia murmured softly, sitting upright.

Angela preferred the other person to be quiet rather than engage in awkward small talk.

The reason she asked Diman to paint her portrait was not for any other reason than that she felt that since Diman had persisted for so long, she should give him the opportunity to paint a picture.

Angela is beautiful, and some people know she is beautiful.

Many people pursued her as passionately as Diman, at least many in the past.

She's experienced being the center of attention for far too long.

Some things are true: beautiful women are never short of admirers, and a beautiful woman can become numb to being fawned over too much.

"It's finished." Before he knew it, Diman had finished the painting.

But now, the sun has set.

Diman stared blankly at the portrait he had drawn, sitting there motionless.

It's a bit perverse, really; he drew Angelia many times based on his memory.

He had never been satisfied with a painting before, but this one he felt was a great success.

He touched the canvas, lost in thought for a moment.

"Well done." 112 opened his eyes, glanced at Diman's painting, and gave his evaluation.

"Thank you!"

"Let me take a look too," Angelia said to Diman, shifting her posture after sitting for a while.

"Please take a look!" Diman quickly turned the painting over, hoping that Angela herself would evaluate it.

“…” Angelia looked at the painting with some surprise.

"So this is me." The woman in the painting looks just like me.

But how should I put it, it's a little different from what I see when I look in the mirror.

It has a more distinctive flavor? Or perhaps it possesses a more wondrous artistic conception.

"Of course it's you!!!" Diman happily picked up the painting and started running around aimlessly.

Seeing Diman like this, Angelia and 112 were both dumbfounded.