Pixel Art Style

Unlike living beings, these objects couldn't really speak. They could only relay promotional content they have been fed.

"If we're going to reshape these into promotional material, the text can be transformed into abstract patterns. But if you want to design more detailed content, you'll need illustrations to go with it... That will demand extra advertising costs, right, Mr. Litt? Are you willing to cover the expense yourself?" Professor Harley asked, looking at the man.

Mr. Litt, the manager, shrugged. "Of course. A new god chose our company to handle their promotional campaign. It's a form of publicity for us too, a win-win situation. It's just unfortunate that the promotion coincides with the Sacrifice Church's schedule. I did suggest they change the date, but they insisted on keeping it, so here we are."

"This time, covering a bit of the cost myself is no big deal. Better that than letting this 'Gaze' phenomenon cause panic. If that happens, our company could face serious trouble."

"A wise choice. I'm not envious of your business success," Harley said with a chuckle, then added, "By the way, did you reserve a spot for Saturday's online promotion?"

"If you're asking, I assume you've already booked your spot," Mr. Litt responded with an air of certainty. "I might've booked mine even earlier than you did."

With that, Harley turned the conversation to the arcade machines he had encountered at the tavern, clearly enthusiastic. He praised those machines as mechanical marvels, treasures among inventions.

"If you're willing to invest more in promoting them, I can even gather more archmages free of charge," Harley offered.

Mr. Litt smiled knowingly. "I know why you're so interested. I've heard those machines are very popular—I've even got one of the game tokens myself."

"To be honest, I have no disrespect for the God of Fiction, but setting up a church inside Miss Maya's tavern? It's hard to muster any reverence for something like that."

"It looks more like a fly-by-night, makeshift church," Mr. Litt said, clearly puzzled by this god's unorthodox approach.

Professor Harley laughed heartily. "This god's powers are tied to games. Naturally, games will first catch on with the lower and middle classes. The upper class, like you, are too busy making money to have time for games."

Mr. Litt chuckled. "You've got a point. But if there's a game that doesn't waste too much time, I'd play it. I'll admit, back when I didn't have much money, I used to be quite the gamer."

"Of course, my games were more about matching jewels or jumping through puzzles. Later on, I got into small gear-based mechanical games. But compared to the games Miss Maya has invented, mine are definitely outdated."

"Yes, my games are certainly outdated," he sighed, "but now I understand why this god chose a tavern as a church."

"I originally thought... that this god wasn't familiar with our world's promotional channels or mainstream methods. And 'online promotion'? I've never even heard of it. To be honest, I didn't really believe in the concept. As a master of transmutation magic, you'd know best—if there's a form of advertising that surpasses transmutation, it must be a new kind of transmutation magic."

Professor Harley accepted the flattery with a smile. As they chatted, a master illustrator joined them.

"Good day, Professor Harley." The artist, a tall and elegant middle-aged man with a neatly groomed mustache, was dressed in exquisite clothing. At first glance, you might think he was a real master artist.

However, his artistic skills were notoriously abstract. In some worlds, though, this was considered impressive—much like the ancient European frescoes and illustrations of demons, elephants, and knights, which were abstract but still printed on walls or other surfaces. The takeaway was simple: if you didn't understand the art, it meant your aesthetic taste was lacking.

Professor Harley didn't intend to debate art styles with this man. Instead, he cut to the chase and asked the artist to show him the illustrations.

"Would you like me to create some promotional art for your academy as well while we are at it?" the artist asked earnestly, hoping to secure a commission.

"I don't think so, the academy doesn't reimburse for that sort of thing," Harley politely declined, appearing not too rude or not too polite.

If each piece of artwork was said to contain the artist's soul, then the illustrations in front of him must have been imbued with a dark, twisted, expired essence.

Harley's brow furrowed as he examined the illustrations. He had never found them too objectionable before, maybe just a bit on the abstract side. But today, they struck a particularly jarring note.

Suddenly, a something struck the old mage, and in that moment, everything became clear.

'No wonder... No wonder these drawings are so off-putting today!' Professor Harley realized that his earlier exposure to something far more engaging—the art style from the arcade machines—had raised his standards.

It was like offering someone a feast after they'd only ever known scraps—of course, they'd leave the scraps behind for the feast.

While the illustrator waited for feedback, Professor Harley turned to Mr. Litt and asked, "Do you have any drawing paper?"

Mr. Litt, momentarily taken aback, quickly had someone fetch some paper, while the illustrator, his pride clearly wounded, asked politely, "Professor, is there something about my work that doesn't satisfy you?"

Harley thought to himself, 'They are a bunch of garbages, satisfy me? Scoff'. But he wisely refrained from saying this aloud. The illustrator was highly regarded within the Church of Art, holding an honorary title and technical status. They worshiped the God of Arts, who supposedly granted artistic talent to his followers. However, this borrowed talent eventually backfired, leading them to create grotesque, indescribable works until they lost their skill and met a tragic end.

Harley thought, 'That god's art skills are probably just as awful—he's not a neutral God, after all, but one on the verge of madness. No wonder his followers produce such abstract garbage.'

Before long, Harley was handed the paper and pens. Without offering any explanation, he immediately began drawing. Although the old mage wasn't an artist, Transmutation magic offered a solution—the spell [Memory's Quill] allowed one to perfectly recreate anything they had previously seen.

The soft scratching of pen on paper had a strangely calming effect. Soon, Harley presented the finished artwork in front of the illustrator and Mr. Litt.

It was a pixel-style piece, something akin to pointillism.

The drawing depicted scenes Harley had witnessed inside the arcade game.

"What kind of art style is this?" The illustrator's eyes widened in disbelief. "You have such a unique style."

Harley was surprised for a second before asking, "What do you see as the strengths of this drawing?"

The illustrator fell into deep thought. For some reason, upon seeing this pixelated art, a light-hearted mood arose within him. He could sense the charm in this style, and with sincere admiration, he offered his assessment.

"The granular appearance, the simple, bright, and clear visual effects... It emphasizes the outline of the image, and its basic elements are easily recognizable at first glance. It's clean, lively, and fun."

"And somewhat whimsical."

The illustrator grabbed Professor Harley's hand, clearly excited, "This could form the foundation of a new artistic school. I want to be the first to learn this technique. Can you tell me where you saw this scene? I've never seen such flying machines before."

Professor Harley paused for a moment, then replied, "In the Church of Fiction, southeast of the third district, on Second Street in the Sixth Borough. There are a few metal boxes there. Sit down, insert a coin, and you'll see for yourself."