The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 341

Unlike the unsettling signs crawling through the world at large, in one small village, it was a sunny, peaceful afternoon.

Cha Eun-Hyeok, enjoying a rare day off, was slowly cleaning his house. The old building needed regular upkeep to avoid major issues. After tidying up the yard, he leaned against the wall and exhaled.

“Haa...”

Autumn had fully arrived in the countryside, and the village was now awash in color. The falling leaves painted everything in seasonal hues—but to be honest, he didn’t feel much affection for them. Cha Eun-Hyeok stared with distaste at the mound of leaves piling up again.

'Maybe I’ll roast some sweet potatoes when Cha Ara comes back, since I gathered this much anyway.'

Still, this kind of peaceful holiday was a first for him.

'Anyway, now that I’ve got some cushion in my account, even holidays don’t feel like a waste...'

Working the street stall with Zeorge sometimes led to these spontaneous breaks.

There was no fixed schedule—that was just the nature of the job. The breeze was cool, but the sun was still warm, so he found himself sweating.

As he quietly looked out at the world, something strange entered Cha Eun-Hyeok’s view.

“...?”

Between the trees painted in brilliant autumn colors, something equally vivid—almost indistinguishable from the forest—something human-shaped...

'...A child of the Origin?'

He tried to focus on it, but it vanished in an instant.

“What the...?”

Cha Eun-Hyeok hesitated, then pushed off the wall.

The mountain beyond wasn’t tall, but it was dense with trees. What allowed him to notice the presence wasn’t his eyesight, but his gardener’s sense—his ability to perceive mysteries. He hadn’t really understood what he saw.

'It looked like a person, standing upright...'

But among the children of the Origin, there weren’t many that resembled humans. He knew that thanks to everything he’d learned from Curator Yoo Seong-Woon. Still, what he’d seen was unmistakably—

“......”

After a moment of thought, Cha Eun-Hyeok made a decision.

'I didn’t see anything.'

It was always the people who tried to act smart that ended up dead.

There was no way he was going to pull some idiotic stunt like climbing up the mountain just to say, “Did I see something wrong?” Nothing good would come from that. Vague unease would simply become a clearly defined disaster. He might even end up with his life on the line.

'I’m a civilian.'

Even if he ran a street stall with a Garden these days.

'Still a civilian.'

One touch and he’s dead. A cracked porcelain vase. A delicate, unawakened man who could die from a flower petal to the face. Repeating that to himself, Cha Eun-Hyeok smoothly turned around and went back into the house.

And there, sitting plainly on the small table, was a letter.

“......”

'Please. Oh, please, no.'

“...Augh...”

'Why is this happening to me.'

Letting out a choked, dying groan, Cha Eun-Hyeok trudged toward the letter. It was placed so squarely on the table that he couldn’t pretend not to see it. And he couldn’t just leave it sitting there either—he had to check.

And then he realized what it was.

“Ah... this...”

A seal pressed from what looked like unrefined, melted-down mystical ore.

“...Is this from Mr. Gio?”

“Meow.”

“Gah!”

A shiver ran down his spine.

Clutching his pounding chest, he looked toward the sound. In the shadows beneath the table, where the sunlight didn’t reach, something had appeared. He thought he was going to die on the spot—but it was a familiar face.

“...Dana?”

“Meooow.”

“You brought this, didn’t you?”

“Meh.”

“This is from your dad, right...?”

“Meh-eh.”

“...Tell him I received it.”

“Purr...”

“Yeah...”

Large gemstone eyes blinked once and sparkled. And just like that, the cat melted into the shadows and disappeared. A fitting entrance—and exit—for the pet of the Black Cloak.

'What even is this.'

Why did things like this keep happening to him?

After a moment of soul-searching, Cha Eun-Hyeok opened the letter. Black paper, white ink. The kind of thing that looked cursed just by existing. It gave him chills—but thankfully, it was still legible.

“......”

Ignore it.

“...Ignore what?”

Whatever it is.

“No, come on.”

That was all. Just two sentences.

'But... makes sense.'

Cha Eun-Hyeok carefully folded the letter and tucked it neatly into a shelf.

He didn’t know why the Black Cloak had sent a letter like this. And he figured it was best not to know. He didn’t want to know. Today, Cha Eun-Hyeok had seen nothing and read nothing.

He erased it all cleanly from memory.

'...What should I eat for dinner?'

He was a civilian, slowly and dutifully adapting to the mysteries.

***

“Alright. That should take care of it.”

“Meow~”

“Good job, sweetheart.”

Gio praised Dana as she returned from delivering the letter. Dana, about the size of a small adult cat, fit perfectly in his large palm. Stroking her cheek, Gio murmured softly.

“With Mr. Cha Eun-Hyeok’s personality, telling him more would’ve just stressed him out.”

There were two things he told him to ignore. The first was the “Happy Clown.” The second was “Zeorge’s personality.” Either way, it was better not to burden Cha Eun-Hyeok—who still had to keep operating the street stall—with the seriousness of the situation.

“Well then, I suppose I should get to cleaning up after Mr. Zeorge...”

“Mrew?”

“Oh, right. Maybe I shouldn’t say cleaning up.”

Gio tilted his head while patting Dana gently.

“...Let’s call it preparing the future.”

It was for the future, after all.

Bisa Beul was an overwhelming figure, but he’d always treated Gio with kindness. And while Gio, being naturally introverted, tended to avoid him... the truth was, he’d already received plenty of help.

It was only right to offer at least a minimal sign of sincerity in return.

***

Fifth Floor Master, Garasani.

As always, he was making rounds through the gallery, inspecting the condition of the works. His meticulous yet respectful approach to the pieces always made him stand out from the other curators. There was a reason people called him the “Housemaster.”

While patrolling the gallery in the early hours, something caught his eye.

“...? Ah, dear.”

A long, red dragon.

“Mr. Argio?”

“Kiik.”

“Hmm... Judging from the way you’re looking at me, I suppose you’re not actually Mr. Argio.”

“Kiiruuk.”

“Now then, who might you be?”

It was a small dragon—about the size of a large Earth-born dog. Though long from head to tail, the body was slender. As its golden eyes blinked, Garasani offered his usual loose, relaxed smile.

“You resemble our guild master.”

“Kiik...”

“Still, I don’t think this is our first meeting, is it?”

Garasani had seen dragons of this shape before. Last summer, during the chaos caused by the Evil God Argio’s dungeon, countless dragons of similar form had emerged.

Unlike those corrupted baby dragons, this one had a healthy red glow and clean golden eyes—but still. No matter how he looked at it, it seemed to be one of the same type. Garasani scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“In that case... are you perhaps one of Mr. Argio’s kin?”

“Kiing...”

“Oh dear.”

The dragon, sprawled on the floor, suddenly climbed up onto Garasani’s body.

Lost the ability to fly, perhaps?

Probably not. It just had a stubborn streak—adorably so.

The dragon, though not exactly “small,” used its claws to grip his clothes like a rock wall and scaled up to his shoulder. Its claws were quite sharp, but remarkably, it didn’t damage anything except the fabric. That was impressive.

But the dragon was long, and Garasani’s shoulders weren’t particularly broad. As a result, the dragon wrapped around him like a coil, clinging tightly to his upper body.

It wasn’t really constraining him, though, so Garasani lifted a free hand and patted the creature’s body.

“Seems you’ve taken a liking to my shoulder.”

“Kiik.”

“I’m honored. Did you come out on your own today? What about your guardian?”

“Kiiruuk.”

“......”

“......”

“...Ah.”

Finally, Garasani nodded in understanding.

“You came with your friends, I see.”

Now that he looked around, the gallery was crawling with red dragons.

In paintings, atop sculptures, inside fish tanks—they were everywhere, watching him. Blinking bright eyes like lightbulbs, they simply stared. Apparently, the only one assigned to speak to him was the one clinging to his body.

Any less experienced curator would’ve screamed. Garasani just smiled.

“Looks like your guardian has something to say to me.”

“......”

“Heheh. What a charming prank...”

The dragon, long as a snake, placed its head atop Garasani’s own. Yet there was no sense of weight. Despite its physical presence, his body didn’t feel any heavier.

Enjoying the strange sensation, Garasani arrived before the portrait.

“As expected.”

The portrait, now glowing red unlike its usual form, greeted him.

“Mr. Argio?”

“My dearest Housemaster, you’ve arrived.”

“Yes, your kin called to me—I couldn’t ignore them. I hope this wasn’t an intrusion?”

“On the contrary, I should thank you for not refusing the invitation.”

“You’re too modest. It was an invitation no one could possibly refuse...”

“Would you speak with me?”

“......”

“Would you speak with me?”

Garasani knew the pattern of behavior the ‘Portrait of Gio’ displayed.

“...Yes, I would be glad to. Let’s talk.”

This portrait enjoyed interacting with humans. The moment it initiated conversation, the exchange began—and if completed successfully, the portrait would grant a “gift.” Within the Collector’s Guild, it was widely known as a kind of event-piece.

And this exchange keeps evolving.

At first, the portrait merely fixated on exchanging names. But over time, it developed more complex interactions, even tailoring its approach to each individual.

But this—actively drawing in staff for a conversation—was unprecedented. Not in the manual. An obvious anomaly. Garasani smiled, savoring the honor of being the first to experience it.

It could’ve chosen another form—like the Black Cloak—but instead, it appeared in the color of the Evil God. These types of interactive works often favor childlike play. If the mystery changed its colors, it must be treated accordingly...

Fortunately, the subject had already provided a suitable conversation starter.

“Is this dragon your family?”

“They are my family, my younger siblings, and my elder brothers and sisters.”

“I believe I saw them in your dungeon once.”

“You have a keen eye, Housemaster. Their forms must be quite different now...”

“Indeed. They look much healthier than back then—it puts my heart at ease.”

The young dragons he’d seen before were all damaged, corrupted. Seeing these shining red scales and healthy fur now made Garasani feel like a proud uncle.

“So... is there a reason you’ve shown them to me?”

“Well, my friends have been terribly bored...”

“They say they’re bored?”

“No one ever calls for them, apparently.”

“...Ah.”

That’s right—there had been summon tokens for the little dragons given out during the Dream Dungeon event. But the Association had discouraged their use to prevent unexpected disasters. Most Hunters had likely forgotten the dragons even existed.

They may have been “little,” but summoning one recklessly could’ve led to another catastrophe.

So these little ones got bored from being neglected...

The fact that so many dragons showed up just to invite him—perhaps they simply couldn’t resist anymore. With ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) that thought, Garasani smiled.

“My apologies. These days, Hunters tend to be cautious. Even the idea of summoning dragons, no matter how young, makes them hesitate... we’ve made your noble kin dreadfully bored.”

“As long as they’re not forgotten, it’s fine.”

“Your words carry a deep truth. Might we one day call upon them for aid?”

“Is it not a bit greedy, asking a wicked dragon for prophecy so easily?”

“Quite right. My apologies.”

“No need to be so formal about my little prank...”

A hand covered in glittering jewelry reached beyond the frame. The dragon’s hand stopped just before Garasani’s face. The young dragon on his body blinked.

Argio smiled and wiggled his fingers.

“You shouldn’t trouble adults, you know.”

“...Kiing...”

The young dragon stretched like a cat, then moved with serpentine grace onto Argio’s outstretched hand, settling onto his shoulder.

Garasani, watching the dragon become part of the painting again, spoke wistfully.

“My shoulder feels empty now.”

“You might not want to say that.”

“Oh?”

“I’m grateful you cared for my lost young kin.”

“Ah.”

Garasani smiled gently.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I.”

“Is there anything you desire?”

“I’m curious whether I might see these noble ones again.”

“Call for them anytime. They will come gladly.”

“I thank you for the generous answer.”

“Now it’s my turn to ask something.”

“What would you like to know?”

“The eye.”

“......”

“The dragon’s eye.”

Argio asked about Bisa Beul’s eye.

“Where did he acquire it?”