Naruto: Cthulhu: Ch. 238

The next day, in the desolate alleys of a dilapidated town in the Land of Rivers, a young man, neatly dressed, appeared.

This was North Corner Town, the place Ike had mentioned to Sai the previous day.

Situated at the intersection of the Lands of Fire, Rain, and Rivers, this area, located at the northernmost corner of the Land of Rivers, had earned the name "North Corner Town."

During the Second Great Ninja War launched by Ame, North Corner Town, being close to the Land of Rain, was drawn into the conflict. The battles between ninjas devastated this historically significant town, leaving it a ruined outpost on the frontier.

Sai took a deep breath of the damp air in North Corner Town, catching a faint scent of alcohol.

The smell came from the drunks sprawled along the dimly lit streets. They clung to their large bottles of liquor, passed out in shadowy corners without lifting their heads, occasionally letting out the odd hiccup.

Indeed, by the time Sai arrived in this town, it was nearly dark.

Ever since hearing the story of the "extraordinarily talented" yet eccentric painter Pickman from Ike the day before, Sai had been rushing to North Corner Town almost without pause.

Pickman was described as a remarkable local artist, yet Ike also regarded him as a freak constantly attempting to cross moral boundaries and explore forbidden themes.

This reminded Sai of himself. In the course of carrying out missions with his teammates, he had often been labeled an emotionless oddball.

Perhaps it was the shared label of "freak" that sparked Sai's curiosity. Maybe it was a sense of kinship, a strange connection between "kindred spirits." Whatever the case, Sai felt compelled to visit Pickman.

If possible, Sai even thought he might befriend this genius painter.

Although Ike had recently cut ties with Pickman due to the horrifying nature of his art, Sai found himself indifferent to Ike's account.

Despite Ike's dramatic and vivid descriptions, Sai, who had once been a ninja under the command of Danzō, had long since discarded emotions like fear. For a ninja, such feelings were nothing but a hindrance.

Surrounding Sai were old houses, each with at least two centuries of history. At the edges of their simple stone steps, dark, gloomy moss had taken root.

This moss bore the imprints of elbows, where people had leaned against it for long periods. The compressed moss had twisted and clung together in sickly patterns, creating a somewhat revolting sight.

Compared to the modern and sheltered environment of Konoha, this place was indeed an ideal breeding ground for eccentrics.

Since Ike's travel permit for Konoha did not include Pickman's detailed address, Sai needed to find the artist's exact location within the town.

Given the sparse population of North Corner Town and Pickman's reputation as a "prominent" local painter, Sai assumed it wouldn't be too hard to track him down. Most of the townspeople here were laborers, engaged in heavy lifting or unemployed drifters.

"Excuse me, do you know where a man named Pickman lives?" Sai asked with his practiced, professional smile, approaching an elderly woman bundled up tightly in layers of clothing.

The old woman, startled by Sai's sudden appearance, instinctively clutched the wooden basin covered with a cloth in her hands. However, upon hearing that Sai was only asking for directions, she quickly shook her head and hurried away.

Sai glanced around the street again and spotted a homeless man by the roadside. He figured the man might be worth asking.

"Do you know where a man named Pickman lives?" Sai asked.

The homeless man, wrapped in a tattered coat, lazily opened his eyes and looked up at Sai, whose clean and tidy appearance clashed starkly with the surrounding environment. Upon catching sight of the pristine forehead protector on Sai's head, the man suddenly became hysterical.

"Get lost! I have nothing to say to you ninja!"

"You people are the ones who ruined this place!"

The homeless man's outburst caught Sai off guard.

Was it my smile that unsettled him again? Sai wondered. Is my smile really that unapproachable? Or was it my identity as a ninja that made the locals uncomfortable?

Sai walked up to another drunkard on the opposite side of the street and asked the same question. This time, he toned down his smile a bit and even removed the ninja forehead protector from his head. However, the response he received was just as disappointing. 

After repeating the question a few more times, the drunkard finally opened his eyes slowly. 

His sunken, baggy eyes glanced up at Sai before he disdainfully spat on the ground near Sai's feet. 

"Pfft." 

The drunkard, having spat, shut his eyes again and went back to sleep without a care. 

"Well, it seems not smiling doesn't work after all," Sai concluded, attributing his failure this time to not using his usual smile. 

When he had smiled earlier, at least the vagrants had responded with a few curses. Without the smile, all he got was a mouthful of spit. 

"But the people here sure are... honest," Sai muttered, glancing around. His eyes landed on a tavern at the end of the alley. Judging by the few colorful bulbs glowing at the entrance, it appeared to still be open. 

Sai pushed open the door and walked in. Contrary to what he expected, the tavern wasn't too crowded—there were fewer than ten people inside, sitting around drinking. 

As soon as Sai entered, all the patrons stopped talking and turned to stare at him with interest. 

In this desolate little town, someone as peculiar-looking as Sai was a far more fascinating subject than their idle chatter. 

Ignoring their curious gazes, Sai walked straight to the bar counter. Before he could say anything, the barkeep jeered at him. 

"This is a tavern, kid. We don't serve milk here." 

"Apologies, I'm not here for milk," Sai replied with his trademark fake smile reappearing on his face. "I'm looking for someone." 

"Who?" 

"Pickman." 

At the mention of Pickman, the barkeep's expression froze for a moment but quickly shifted to a mischievous smirk. 

"That weirdo? Yeah, I know where he is." 

"But I'm not giving out that kind of information for free, am I? Especially since you haven't bought anything from me." 

"I can pay," Sai offered. 

"Pay?" The barkeep shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, no, you've got something even better than money." 

"With that soft, fair skin of yours and that lean body, I'm sure plenty of folks here would enjoy you. All you have to do is…" 

As the barkeep spoke, his hand reached toward Sai's exposed midriff, where the toned muscles of his abdomen were visible under his cropped outfit. His face was filled with lustful greed. 

However, before his hand could make contact, Sai's right hand shot forward. In an instant, Sai grabbed the barkeep's wrist in a vice-like grip and yanked the man's hefty body across the counter, slamming him onto the bar. With a single hand, Sai pressed down on a pressure point, leaving the man unable to move. 

The other patrons in the bar immediately stood up, but Sai's calm yet sharp words stopped them in their tracks. 

"If I so much as twitch my pinky, his arm will be permanently useless." 

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with only one arm?" 

Sai turned his smiling face toward the barkeep. But hidden beneath that cheerful expression was an unmistakable aura of pure killing intent. 

This wasn't the killing intent of someone who had only taken one or two lives. No, this was the kind of aura that came from long, bloody experience. 

In that moment, the barkeep realized he had picked a fight with someone he should never have crossed. The lecherous grin he wore earlier was now replaced with sheer terror, and he began to beg for his life. 

"Ah! Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!" 

"I know where Pickman is! I'll tell you!" 

"Follow this alley to the very end. The house with the nameplate that says 'Peters'—that's where Pickman lives!" 

---

Following the directions given by the tavern owner, Sai ventured into the depths of the alleyway and, as expected, found a house bearing the nameplate "Peters."

The house was as old and rundown as the surrounding buildings, a single-story structure that stood out awkwardly among the two-story houses around it, like a chicken among cranes.

If this house indeed hid an exceptional painter, it was highly plausible. Nestled deep in the alley, the location offered solitude, a haven for creativity rarely disturbed by visitors.

Sai put on his practiced fake smile again and approached the shabby wooden door, which was so warped that it didn't even fit snugly within its frame. He knocked politely using the door knocker.

Clang, clang, clang.

He knocked three times, yet no response came from inside—not even the sound of footsteps one might expect from someone coming to answer the door.

"Could they not be home?" Sai wondered.

He knocked again, but the silence inside remained unbroken.

When Sai had left the tavern earlier, the owner, perhaps worried that Sai might fail to find Pickman and return to vent his frustration, had specifically offered additional information:

"Pickman hasn't shown up for several days. He's a poor man, down on his luck. I suspect he couldn't pay his rent and got evicted by the landlord."

Still, as a ninja, Sai was not about to let a locked door prevent him from entering an ordinary civilian house.

Drawing a kunai from his tool pouch, he easily slipped the blade into the gap of the ill-fitted wooden door. With a gentle upward lift, the latch clicked open.

As the door swung inward, a faint, musty smell wafted out, causing Sai to frown slightly.

Using the dim moonlight filtering in from outside, Sai located the light switch near the entryway. Flipping it on, he took in the layout of the room.

It was a plain, modest living space. The old furniture was sparse, bearing only simple everyday items, while the rest of the room was dominated by things related to painting.

The overall aesthetic reminded Sai a little of his own home. By his window, there was also an easel, often holding an unfinished sketch of the landscape outside. Missions often interrupted his work, and by the time he returned, the scenery he had tried to capture on canvas was long gone. As a result, Sai had hardly left behind any completed works at home.

But here, in the residence of this full-time painter, Sai saw no sign of any active or ongoing artwork.

Approaching a tall cabinet to the side, Sai found a stack of receipts for rent payments. These receipts, written by the landlord Peters, detailed Pickman's tenancy.

The exact duration of Pickman's stay wasn't particularly relevant, but the latest receipt showed that his rent had been paid up until a week ago.

In other words, the tavern owner hadn't lied—Pickman's rent had indeed expired, and judging by the receipts, it didn't seem like he had renewed his lease.

"Has he already moved out?" Sai murmured to himself, looking around the small space that had been converted into a makeshift studio. Yet, upon noticing the empty easel, Sai decided to investigate further.

After all, for a destitute artist struggling to make rent, even an empty easel would hold enough value to take along. Why leave it behind?

Scanning the room carefully, Sai's gaze fell on a round table under which several canvases were stacked against the wall. These canvases were covered by a black cloth, though the cloth was slightly too small to fully conceal what lay beneath.

Sai moved the table aside and slowly extended his hand toward the partially exposed black cloth.

At that moment, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, Sai felt his heartbeat quicken slightly—a rare sensation for someone like him, who rarely experienced fear. Perhaps it was a flicker of anticipation, born from Ike's descriptions of Pickman's "exquisite artistry."

Sai's eyes locked onto his right hand as it inched toward the cloth, his attention wholly focused.

Whoosh.

The cloth was swiftly lifted, revealing what lay underneath.

These are several canvases, and they are not blank. Instead, they hold unfinished paintings, works that have yet to be completed.

The first canvas contains a simple sketch created with pencil and paper. Even though it's just a rough draft, it is undeniably a half-finished piece.

Sai found it hard to believe his eyes, but there it was—a grotesque, nameless creature that was utterly nauseating to behold.

It was almost inconceivable that Pickman, using only the simplest of strokes, could depict such a horrifying and disgusting monstrosity.

The moment Sai laid eyes on the sketch, his supposedly emotionless heart betrayed him, trembling involuntarily.

This tremor even extended to his hands, causing his arm—still holding the canvas—to shake ever so slightly.

At this moment, Sai finally understood why Pickman was considered an outlier in the art world. Even with just a half-finished sketch of a monstrous creature, Pickman's work could evoke a chilling sensation, as though one had plunged into an icy abyss.

This was a far cry from the traditional purpose of art—to capture beauty. Pickman's works seemed created solely to instill fear in humanity.

The subsequent paintings on the other canvases were no longer as ambiguous as the initial rough sketch.

These completed works were equally horrifying and rendered in an intensely realistic style that bordered on the extreme.

Pickman's art was a reflection of reality at its most grotesque and unfiltered, capturing detail so vividly and precisely that it rivaled photography.

The settings in his paintings were invariably haunting: ancient, desolate graveyards; shadowy, dense forests; sheer cliffs facing the raging sea; deep, dark caves; dilapidated old houses with inexplicable gaps in the floor; and underground wells constructed from jagged stone bricks.

These were Pickman's favorite backdrops, and just a glance at them could make one's skin crawl. The very canvases seemed to exude a kind of spiritual stench that was deeply unsettling.

As unbelievable as it seemed, Sai could undeniably feel the eerie power radiating from Pickman's paintings at this very moment.

For these canvases did not merely present distressing, despair-inducing backgrounds. They also featured "foreground figures" standing before these grim settings.

The characters in Pickman's works were consumed by madness and deformity, a grotesque style of portraiture that went beyond the realm of "demonic depictions."

Not a single figure in his paintings retained a fully human appearance!

However, upon closer inspection, Sai noticed faint traces of humanity in each of the figures.

For instance, they appeared to walk upright on two legs, but their bodies leaned forward, their posture resembling that of dogs standing on their hind legs and moving in a hunched gait.

After flipping through several paintings, Sai finally came across the piece that had terrified Ike so thoroughly that he fled the room, abandoning all semblance of decorum in his panic.

This was a massive close-up of a monstrous figure, and the moment Sai laid eyes on it, his brain instinctively concluded that this must be the infamous Ghoul Feeding.

Perhaps it was the dog-headed monster grasping a human skull and gnawing on it.

Or perhaps it was the hyper-realistic details that made Sai certain this was no mere fantasy work about humanity.

As terrifying as it was, it felt disturbingly plausible—like something rooted in reality itself!