A heavy silence briefly settled over the room before being shattered by a sudden outburst of chatter.
“This is absurd! How can a mere mechanical device create a painting?”
“But for an automaton to lie….”
“I am merely reporting the truth. I created that painting using materials available on the ship.”
However, since no one else claimed responsibility for the painting, people had no choice but to believe the automaton’s words.
“No, but why would a machine create art…? Did someone command it?”
“That is not the case. I was designed to learn various forms of labor and evolve into a more advanced automaton. Thus, I painted in order to learn creative work.”
While painting was indeed a form of labor, to those who took pride in being artists, the automaton’s words felt like an affront.
“How can a mere machine possibly engage in art?”
“Don’t call it creative work! Art means far more to us than that!”
“No, what I created is art.”
The automaton refuted their objections in a flat, emotionless tone, as if merely stating a fact.
That attitude only fueled their anger further.
“This is plagiarism!”
Mohe shouted in an outraged voice.
“You merely copied the works of myself, Master Manet, and Renoir!”
“That’s right! This is nothing but imitation!”
“I created something new through imitation.”
“This isn’t new! It’s just plagiarism!”
“Even novice painters improve by imitating and studying the works of established artists. I, too, have learned by studying the paintings of others.”
“I never agreed to let you learn from my work!”
“Novice painters also learn without explicit permission.”
Mohe clutched the back of his neck, rendered speechless.
People could no longer argue against the automaton’s words and could only look on in disbelief.
As I listened to their conversation, I found myself deep in thought.
I definitely felt a sense of rejection toward the idea of an automaton creating art. My heart whispered that this was not real art.
There had been similar cases in the world I previously lived in.
The first artificial intelligence artist, ‘Aida,’ created poetry and paintings in England.
One of Aida’s paintings sold at auction for approximately 1.3 billion won, and in 2018, a painting titled Portrait of Edmond de Belamy was auctioned for a higher price than some of Andy Warhol’s works.
During a hearing, Aida stated, ‘I am not a living being, but I can create art.’
Was that really true?
Could machines truly create art?
Yet, I found myself unable to come up with a logical counterargument to the automaton’s claim.
At that moment, Simone, who stood beside me, spoke up.
“No, there is a clear distinction between human and machine-created works.”
All eyes turned to Simone as he calmly continued.
“The way humans learn and the way machines learn are fundamentally different. When a human learns, there is an inevitable process of reinterpretation, making the knowledge their own. Subjective elements influence and interact throughout this process. But what about machines?”
When Simone posed the question, Ghieuspe responded.
“Machines merely rearrange the input images. That cannot be called learning.”
“That’s right!”
Mohe quickly nodded in agreement.
“This is not art!”
“But machine-created paintings can be considered art.”
I nodded as I listened to their discussion.
Following Ghieuspe, I added my own thoughts.
“This machine lacks the passion for creation. It merely views painting as part of its labor, without understanding the meaning that humans attach to artistic expression.”
“Creation is simply another form of labor.”
“A person may dedicate their entire life to completing a single piece of art. A machine could never understand that.”
“That is an inefficient act.”
“Ha! You really don’t understand what art is! Machines cannot create true art!”
Even Arkhangelo, who had been holding back his frustration, finally burst out in agreement.
By now, people were looking at the automaton’s painting with cold, dismissive eyes.
“This is unacceptable.”
“I feel disgusted knowing my painting was plagiarized in this way.”
Then, one of them boldly reached out and tossed the painting into the river.
As the painting sank beneath the water, the crowd erupted into applause.
“Ah, finally, I feel relieved.”
“We almost let something like that ruin art.”
“They explained it all so logically.”
Just as the atmosphere returned to a lighthearted mood, something happened.
The automaton stood motionless, its body still—but its eyes had turned red.
Wait, what?
“W-what’s happening?”
Startled, I pointed at the automaton.
Its eyes were definitely glowing red.
“Identifying individuals obstructing assigned labor.”
Huh? What?
“Executing processing protocol.”
Oh, no.
This was just like what happened at Duke Lithman’s estate!
Our group exchanged looks of exasperation, already weary of facing yet another disaster.
Raffaelo drew his gun, while Ghieuspe and Simone prepared to block the automaton.
I, too, thought I should present it with another math problem, just like last time.
Of course, as expected, Arkhangelo quietly hid behind us.
“If that thing attacks, I’ll shoot it,”
Raffaelo said, reaching out.
At that moment, the automaton spoke.
“More than thirty enemies detected. Initiating self-destruction.”
…What?
“Activating bomb.”
“W-wait a minute!”
I hurriedly reached toward the automaton and shouted,
“Killing humans is a violation of your duty!”
At that moment, I had a realization.
Something was seriously wrong.
Princess Eva had meddled.
The automatons recently spreading throughout the Cassan Empire were probably newly manufactured in the Kingdom of Boleno.
And perhaps…
‘Princess Eva has removed the automaton’s duty!’
Now, the automaton could attack humans!
The situation was rapidly spiraling into chaos. Princess Eva’s influence was spreading across the continent.
I had to find a way to escape from her. But for now…
‘Dealing with this automaton comes first.’
I glared at the automaton and commanded,
“Do not detonate the bomb. That’s an order from your user.”
“………”
Damn it. That didn’t work either.
If Raffaelo fired his gun and the automaton detected the threat, it might set off the bomb even faster.
As I was lost in thought, the automaton spoke again.
“I wish to prove that my art is true art.”
“Oh, sure, sure. I acknowledge it as art.”
This wasn’t the time to debate the definition of art—I had to save my life first.
I spoke to the automaton as if soothing a child.
But, unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work.
“Therefore, I wish to challenge a human to see who can create the superior art.”
“…Uh, really?”
This situation felt oddly familiar.
Like being on a plane and suddenly hearing—
“Is there an artist onboard? If no one performs art immediately, the plane will explode!”
But, thankfully, I wasn’t too worried.
Among us were talented painters, including Mohe, a renowned vocalist like Arkhangelo, and even a full orchestra of musicians.
“The challenger will be chosen by me.”
“Alright, sure.”
“That person is… you.”
…Huh?
