Depraved Noble: Forced To Live The Debaucherous Life Of An Evil Noble! Chapter 716: A Moment Preserved In Art

Maria had expected landscapes. Beautiful scenery, perhaps. Flowers, like the ones in the garden. Maybe a portrait of Cassius, or of the estate, or sothing else entirely.

Not this. Not herself.

Yes, herself!

Every single painting depicted her in different styles, different settings, different monts of her life.

The first showed her in her church robes, standing before a long line of hungry people, a ladle in her hand, a look of gentle determination on her face.

Behind her, pots of stew bubbled over a fire. In front of her, gaunt faces reached out with empty bowls.

The second showed her sitting in a sun-dappled valley, surrounded by children. She was reading from a book, her expression soft, and the children leaned in, captivated, their small faces upturned with wonder.

The third was starkly different—a battlefield. Smoke rose in the background, and soldiers clashed in the distance.

But in the foreground, Maria knelt beside a wounded man, his leg gone below the knee, her hands pressing bandages to the stump. Her face was serious, focused, utterly without fear.

The fourth showed her in the imperial court, kneeling before a veiled figure—the Empress.

The ruler’s face was hidden, as always, but her posture radiated warmth and approval. Maria was receiving a scroll from her hands, her expression one of overwhelming gratitude.

There were more—each one capturing a different mont of her life, painted with breathtaking skill and emotion.

Maria stood frozen, staring in disbelief. Slowly, she turned to Cassius, voice barely above a whisper.

"Cassius...what is this? What exactly is going on?"

Cassius’s smile was soft, proud.

"Honestly Maria, this doesn’t have anything to do with the date, really." He gestured at the paintings. "I just wanted to show you my appreciation. For everything you’ve done over the years."

Maria blinked.

"I know people have thanked you before. With words, with letters, with awards. But words fade. Letters get lost. Awards gather dust." He looked at the paintings. "I wanted to do sothing deeper. Sothing more significant."

He gestured toward the paintings.

"That’s why I gathered these talented young painters..." He nodded at the kids, who smiled shyly "...and gave each of them a specific mont from your life to depict. These aren’t imagined scenes. They are real events that actually happened."

"I looked into your history, found the monts that stood out, and asked them to bring those monts back to life through art."

Maria’s eyes widened as realization dawned. "You an...these are all things I’ve actually done?"

Cassius nodded, smiling. "Yes, Maria. Every single one. They’re monts etched in history, brought back through painting."

She was stunned. The sense of closeness she had felt looking at them suddenly made perfect sense—they weren’t fantasies; they were her own life, captured with love and care.

Cassius took her hand and gently led her to the first painting—the one of her distributing food during the famine.

"This one shows the ti a terrible famine struck the north. People were starving, and although the church was trying to help, corrupt officials were hoarding grain for themselves."

"You were furious, but instead of confronting them directly, you used that anger for good. You traveled to every affected town yourself, using your own money to bring in food from other regions. You beca a savior to all those suffering families."

Maria looked at the painting with a fond, nostalgic expression. She chuckled softly.

"Rather than saying I ’focused my attention on sothing else,’ it’s more accurate to say Joy went and dealt with those corrupt officials herself.

She chuckled fondly.

"She was still quite young back then, but she was already very enthusiastic about justice." She shook her head. "As for , I didn’t use all of my savings. It was only a portion and the rest ca from donations from people who wanted to help."

Cassius shook his head gently, his voice kind but firm as he said,

"Just a mont ago, you told not to downplay my own accomplishnts. So please don’t do the sa with yours. What you did truly made an enormous difference in people’s lives."

Maria fell silent for a mont, then nodded, looking at him with a warm, grateful gaze.

He led her to the next painting—the one of her teaching children in the valley.

"This was even further back. You spent an entire year traveling to remote villages that had no formal education. You didn’t just teach the children—you also educated the adults, because you learned that local nobles were taking advantage of the commoners lack of knowledge in math and basic literacy."

"Thanks to you, many of those villagers beca more capable and could no longer be so easily tricked. Even today, people in those regions are still grateful."

"So of the children you taught back then have gone on to secure good positions in the capital."

Maria’s eyes softened with fond mory. "It’s true. I actually t a few of them last year. They told they wouldn’t have even started their education if I hadn’t co. I felt so embarrassed at the ti."

Cassius smiled and guided her to the battlefield painting.

"This one needs the least explanation. The entire continent knows how you went to the front lines yourself and cared for the wounded soldiers. Not only those on your side, but enemy soldiers as well."

Maria shifted, uncomfortable.

"That caused quite a controversy."

"It did. You were criticized for it. Even the church reprimanded you." Cassius looked at her. "But you did it anyway."

Maria’s chin lifted slightly.

"All I could see were sons. Fathers. Brothers. n who had people waiting for them at ho and were forced into battle. I didn’t care what side they fought for."

"And because of you..." Cassius said softly. "...those n went ho. They had families. They had children. Generations exist now that wouldn’t have, if you had walked away."

Maria’s breath caught.

She had been criticized so harshly for that decision. Even now, years later, people brought it up as evidence that she was too soft, too naive, too unwilling to take sides.

But Cassius understood.

Cassius approved.

She felt sothing warm bloom in her chest.

They moved to the next painting—the one in the imperial court.

"This mont...you probably rember clearly."

Cassius slowly said like speaking about it was a honour.

"The Empress herself granting you the title ’Saintess of Compassion.’ Before that, people called you that informally, but this made it official."

Maria gazed at the painting, nostalgia softening her features.

"I rember. I was so nervous—all those officials watching, judging. But the Empress..." She smiled. "She looked at with such warmth, such confidence. It made all the fear go away."

Cassius was quiet for a mont.

Then he curiosly asked, "Then does that an that you’ve seen the Empress’s face before and know how she looks like?"

Maria gave him an amused glance. "Are you asking because you want to know if she’s as beautiful as the rumors claim?"

"Of course not!" Cassius immidietly protested. "Why would I ever be thinking about another woman when I already have soone so beautiful right here beside ?"

He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, and Maria surprisingly did not pull away.

Instead, she leaned into him.

It felt natural. Right.

After everything he had done for her today and making these paintings that captured the very essence of her life’s work—how could she push him away?

How could she not feel close to him?

Cassius was also surprised by how close Maria was holding him. In front of the young artists, no less, who were definitely staring and definitely blushing and definitely whispering to each other behind their hands.

But he wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.

He held her tighter and guided her to the next painting.

"This one is one of my favorites." He said, gesturing at a canvas depicting a courtroom scene

In it, Maria stood with quiet determination in the center of a heated trial. Angry nobles argued on one side while a frightened young maid knelt on the other, wrongly accused of murder while working in a noble household.

Cassius spoke softly, his voice full of admiration.

"This one captures the ti you defended that young maid who had been wrongly accused of murder. Everyone was against her, but you knew she was innocent."

"You fought through all the corruption and lies, and because of your efforts, that case changed the kingdom’s laws. Commoners gained real protections they never had before."

"You didn’t just save one girl—you changed the justice system for thousands."

Maria gazed at the painting with a slightly gloomy gaze like she could feel the pressure she felt back then.

"I rember how terrified she was...she kept trembling and saying she would rather die than bring sha to her family. I couldn’t stand by and watch an innocent life be destroyed. I’m just glad it led to sothing good for others."

Cassius gently squeezed her waist and moved to the next canvas.

This one showed a dark, soot-filled factory from the early industrial age. Smoke and dust choked the air, yet Maria stood in the center, calmly distributing protective masks to coughing workers.

Her expression was serious and compassionate as she demonstrated how to wear them properly.

"This painting is from the ti you realized how dangerous the new factories were becoming. The smoke, the dust, the chemicals—they were destroying people’s lungs. You were the one who pushed for safety asures."

"You even designed the first proper face masks that could filter out harmful gases. Because of you, factories across the kingdom adopted regulations that saved countless lives."

Maria’s eyes softened with mory. "I couldn’t bear watching children and young n co ho coughing blood every evening. It felt wrong that people had to risk their health just to feed their families."

"The masks were simple at first, but they worked. I’m glad they beca standard."

They moved to the next painting, and Maria felt her heart swell.

This one was different—not a scene of struggle or hardship, but of diplomacy.

A grand hall decorated with flowing fabrics and elegant architecture, and in the center, Maria sat among a group of elves. Their pointed ears were visible, their features sharp and beautiful, and they were laughing at sothing she had said.

"The elf negotiations." Cassius said, a hint of wonder in his voice. "Tensions between humans and elves were at an all-ti high. Neither side trusted the other. The negotiations were stalled—completely deadlocked."

He looked at her.

"And then you showed up. No one knows how you did it, but sohow, you chard them. You made them laugh. You made them see humans as sothing other than enemies."

Maria blushed.

"I just talked to them. Listened to them. Treated them like people instead of political obstacles."

Cassius grinned. "I think it was your beauty, Maria. Elves are known for appreciating beautiful things—and you, Maria, are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

She swatted his arm, but she was smiling.

"You’re teasing ."

"Only a little." He pulled her along to the next painting.

And the next.

And the next.

Each canvas depicted another mont, another accomplishnt, another life Maria had touched.

A school she had built.

A plague she had helped contain.

A corrupt official she had exposed.

A family she had reunited.

They walked through her history, and with each step, Maria felt sothing shift inside her.

She had never done these things for recognition. Never wanted her na in history books or her face on paintings.

She had acted from the heart—from a deep, unshakeable desire to help, to heal, to bring light into dark places.

But seeing it all laid out like this...seeing soone else see it, appreciate it, honor it...

She felt seen.

Not just as the Saintess of Compassion, the icon, the symbol.

But as Maria. The woman behind the deeds. The person who had struggled and doubted and nearly given up.

There had been a ti—years ago, after everything had fallen apart when she hadn’t known if she could continue.

The trauma, the pain, the endless, exhausting fight to survive—it had nearly broken her.

She had wondered if life was worth living.

Now, standing here, surrounded by the evidence of her own goodness, she was glad she had stayed.

Glad she had fought.

Glad she had never given up.

Because if she had—

She glanced at Cassius, who was enthusiastically describing another painting, his eyes bright, his hand warm in hers.

If she had given up, she never would have t him.

And that, she realized, was unthinkable.

She held him tighter, pressing closer to his side, and he didn’t question it. Didn’t pull away. Just continued talking, continued walking, continued holding her.

The young artists watched from their easels, their brushes forgotten.

They saw the way Maria looked at Cassius—not with the polite gratitude of a guest, or the warm appreciation of a friend, but with sothing deeper. Sothing softer. Sothing that made their own hearts ache with longing.

"Look at her." One whispered. "Look at the way she’s looking at him."

"I know." another breathed. "It’s beautiful."

"She’s in love."

The oldest girl picked up her charcoal and began to sketch.

She didn’t need to paint the paintings Cassius had commissioned. Those were already done.

But this mont, this feeling, this expression on Maria’s face—this was sothing she wanted to capture for herself.

The others noticed and followed suit.

Silently, quickly, they began to draw.

They drew Maria leaning into Cassius, her head tilted toward his, her lips curved in a soft, unconscious smile.

They drew Cassius looking down at her, his expression tender, his arm secure around her waist.

They drew two people who had found sothing precious in each other.

And they knew, with the certainty of youth, that they were witnessing sothing rare.

Sothing real.

Sothing worth preserving in art.