The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 337

As always, Jeong Hae-Woon woke from his dream in tears.

“......”

It was miserable. It was wretched.

‘...Just when I thought I was getting used to it.’

This damned guilt and regret refused to fade.

As he trembled from the familiar heat rising in him, something cool touched his forehead. It took longer than expected for him to recognize the damp sensation as a wet towel.

Still lying down, Jeong Hae-Woon turned his head toward the Portrait of Gio. The one named Zeorge looked back at him, his jewel-like eyes aglow. Jeong Hae-Woon felt a sense of dissonance.

“...Do you know something?”

That lingering dissonance had become oddly familiar, despite the relatively short time they had spent together.

“You always look at me with that dry gaze... even while smiling like that.”

“Impossible. Are you saying it’s not an intense gaze? And from the most beautiful eyes in the world? Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

“You love amusing things, and you’re still sitting there observing me like it’s your hobby.”

And yet, even while doing that, he pretends with those detached, emotionless eyes. This garden must have once held both love and hatred for humanity... so where did that divide come from? Jeong Hae-Woon often wondered.

‘If only I could be like that too. To exist so... inhumanly. With emotion, expression, and origin all split into separate systems...’

No, it was a dreadful delusion. Living that way couldn’t be good for a human. He quickly crushed the thought and said what he should have.

“...Thanks for the towel.”

“A most pleasing expression of gratitude, Student Jeong Hae-Woon.”

“My head hurts, probably from crying too much. The coolness on my forehead helps. Every time I wake up from one of those dreams, it’s like my whole skull is pounding...”

“Crying too much dulls the brain, doesn’t it?”

“That’s exactly where I’m at. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but no. It’s always new.”

“And your whining has leveled up by the day.”

“...I’m grateful, really.”

The one before him wasn’t his teacher—it was Zeorge. A garden who should never have been capable of kindness or care like this. If Teacher Sergio behaved like this, that too might’ve been hard to bear.

‘Because I’ve sinned.’

He let out a breath in frustration, but it came out overheated. And along with it, a deep throbbing pulsed through his skull. Maybe from crying too much—all the heat had pooled there. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

“I know you have no reason to go this far. Maybe it’s just a whim. Or maybe it’s part of your twisted version of love or hatred...”

“Is that how it looks?”

“Even if it is, I know {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} I’m being cared for in a way I don’t deserve. That’s what I was thanking you for. Ugh, it’s so fucking pathetic. My head’s killing me... I feel awful.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, or else frowned, as if trying to escape this dull pain. Even the softness of the bed felt unpleasant. That meant his senses were on edge.

‘I’m past the age where it’s okay to throw tantrums just because I’m sick.’

Damn it, Jeong Hae-Woon. How are you always the same?

‘In the end, I’m still burdening Teacher all over again.’

A memory surfaced. Back when the world had just changed and he’d clung to his teacher like a little chick. For some reason, he always felt physically and emotionally more exhausted around Sergio.

He was already that tired to begin with, but maybe it was just that he could finally let it show in front of his teacher. That was what he figured.

‘Even now, when the one beside me is Zeorge...’

Yes, how could he possibly resist that face? The teacher he respected, layered atop the garden he loved. For someone as fiercely opinionated as Jeong Hae-Woon, it was already too late to push it away.

And yet, even in such a situation, he somehow managed to extract a surprising amount of stability from Zeorge. To find emotional comfort in a being so uncooperative in everything else—it was a feat worthy of a true bastard.

“......”

Staring blankly, Jeong Hae-Woon opened his mouth.

“...Do you know what happened after that? After the dream I just had?”

“Who knows. I’m not yet in a position to be called ‘the Portrait of Gio.’”

“People lost their fucking minds at Teacher.”

Those tooth-breaking bastards.

“Teacher was right all along. He wasn’t someone who dominated or commanded others—he focused entirely on cherishing and protecting. Looking back, I think he was quite reserved... He never actively pushed anything.”

Sergio always said he wasn’t an ideal leader or a perfect person. And that was true. But desperate people needed something—someone—to rely on.

So they forcibly made Teacher Sergio into that axis. Believed, without permission, that he was ideal and perfect. And before long, that belief deepened and deepened.

“Teacher’s ability was... honestly beyond imagination. Thanks to him, the perception of awakened abilities shifted, even if just a little—from curses to something like miracles. Only among a very few and for a very short time, but still.”

“That it happened at all—isn’t that a relief?”

“It just shows how hard Teacher worked. But then, people started taking it all for granted. And naturally, things got complicated.”

As the village grew, so did the voices of the survivors. Conflicts increased. Even the residents they thought would always cooperate started causing trouble—big and small.

And in times of turmoil, they turned to Teacher Sergio. Steady, silent, dependable. Fools that they were, they forced him to become a living god. It was horrifying.

“They’d clearly lost their minds.”

One person grabbed him by the collar, shouting at him to fix everything. Another dropped to their knees, begging for a miracle. And others, and still more...

“I saw it in a movie once—when people hit their limit, they cling to whatever looks trustworthy. That’s how those absurd cults start. Then come the fanatics.”

“They start offering human sacrifices and holding bizarre rituals?”

“Well, it’s the end of the world. I can see why someone might try it. I don’t mean I don’t understand their desperation. But they crossed a line. There were a lot of crazy fuckers out there...”

Bit by bit, they all crossed the line with Teacher Sergio. And he never got truly angry. Never really scolded them. Jeong Hae-Woon once got so frustrated he lashed out.

“I lost my temper and demanded to know why he was being so damn passive.”

“Oh my. You actually shouted at your teacher? Terrifying.”

“I still remember what he told me back then.”

“What did Teacher Sergio say?”

“He said... he couldn’t be sure people wouldn’t worship him even more if he scolded them.”

“My, what extraordinary confidence. Amazing.”

“I was dumbfounded when I first heard it too. But... well. Yeah.”

In the end, Teacher was right. The moment he gave in to the students’ pressure and said just a few words, people backed off from their behavior—but they began to expect and desire even more.

It all stemmed from Sergio’s unwavering heart. He had no ill will. Or rather, he did—but lacked the kind of resentment or pressure a normal person would feel. It was as if even the dirtiest parts of humanity could not taint his soul.

Reproach without sincerity. Care masquerading as discipline. An incorruptible soul that never eroded no matter how much ugliness it witnessed. People sensed it keenly.

And they convinced themselves their faith wasn’t misplaced. That Sergio, their spiritual pillar, should take full responsibility and work miracles for them.

“Of course, it wasn’t a good trend.”

And that wasn’t the only issue. Outside the school, there were many others who coveted Teacher Sergio. Their survivor group wasn’t the only one. After all, the world had ended.

In such uncertainty, someone noble stood out. Sergio, researching the mysterious, had skillfully manifested not curses but miracles. More than anything, he had a natural ability to assume the role of a spiritual anchor.

That made him a sweet prize. Especially for anyone seeking confidence in the future—a competent, reliable figure like him.

“So in the end, we ran away.”

“Oh, how cute.”

“I’m not sure it was cute... It was survival. We knew staying would be suicide. So we packed our bags and left in the dead of night.”

“Didn’t people try to stop you?”

“We were more capable than they were.”

Thankfully, Teacher didn’t blame himself for it. He said he had done what he wanted and tried his best. And when those he’d helped turned ungrateful, he had no qualms about leaving them behind.

That didn’t mean he resented them either.

“......”

Even now, I still don’t know how that was possible.

“...Honestly, I don’t get it. I still don’t understand.”

“What exactly don’t you understand, Student Jeong Hae-Woon?”

“How could he not resent them? I mean... it almost felt cold-hearted.”

“Cold-hearted, huh.”

“That all those begging worms meant absolutely nothing to him.”

“I doubt they meant nothing.”

Zeorge chuckled softly.

“If they truly meant nothing to him, he wouldn’t have stayed in that role, even while being treated like a living god. I think he stayed because... well, he could. Because it wasn’t unbearable.”

“That’s frightening in its own way. I don’t know how that’s even possible.”

Jeong Hae-Woon asked:

“Were you like that too?”

“Hm. Who knows...”

The garden chuckled lightly.

“I bore it because I could. That’s all.”

Whether that was truly about Sergio or Zeorge himself was impossible to tell. But he went on.

“There was no reason to change, so he didn’t flee. But eventually, he reached the limit of what he could accept. And so, he had reason to move on.”

“...I don’t know how you understand my teacher so well.”

“I’m just quite talented, aren’t I? All thanks to you, of course. You get that, right?”

“...Of course. Naturally...”

With a small smile, Jeong Hae-Woon pointed at the towel on his forehead.

“This one’s all damp now.”

“Wet towels are supposed to be damp, you know. What should we do about it?”

“Shouldn’t you change it out by now?”

“Hm, how about this instead...?”

A cold hand pressed down over the towel.

“...Ah. That’s cold.”

“My body temperature tends to run low.”

“No, this is like a freezer. Aren’t you usually just lukewarm?”

“Ha ha, is that so?”

“Right now you’re ice-cold...”

As he lightly touched the now-icy towel, Jeong Hae-Woon chuckled again. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for the garden to feel like ice. He let his hand fall to the bed.

“...Truth is, we were the ones who begged to run.”

“Ah, so that’s how.”

“Teacher said it was a natural development. I’m sure he had thought of leaving anyway, but still... we brought it up first.”

“How brave.”

“We were just fed up with people.”

Even while they had forgotten Sergio, the effects lingered. It took a long time for Jeong Hae-Woon and his friends to learn to trust and love humans again. A very long time.

“And so we hid away like that... Yeah. Thinking back, we were really bad students.”

“......”

“...I know you probably hate us for it. Especially you, Zeorge.”

The garden smirked slyly.

“Do I really look like that?”

“If I judged by what I see, I’d be your puppet forever. But believe it or not, I was Earth’s first gardener. I’m not so naïve or stupid as to trust appearances alone.”

“That’s not very cute of you...”

“But I’m useful to you, aren’t I?”

Jeong Hae-Woon blinked slowly, the heat gone from his eyes now. He smiled.

“I’ll be someone you need. So please don’t throw me away.”

“Well...”

“...I should’ve bowed my head and begged sooner.” 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

“Such violence.”

“...Back then, we...”

“Sleep. Now.”

“......”

Jeong Hae-Woon looked as if he wanted to say more—but closed his mouth. Closed his eyes. And exhaled as if he had fallen asleep. Zeorge removed the towel and touched his forehead with cold fingers.

As though he might tear the wings from a butterfly, with a gaze as soft as a child’s.

***

At some point, a strange rumor began to spread.

A ghost story... about happiness.