The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 343

Bisa Beul was a man who conducted transactions with absolute clarity.

“I had a good dream last night.”

“...A dream?”

“It probably wasn’t a dream, actually, but well, I think it’s fair to call it one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“Pretending not to understand even when you clearly do—that’s a top-class skill. I really like that attitude in our employees.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster.”

“So go ahead and summon them.”

Last night, he made a deal with the bipedal garden. And as everyone knows, dealings with mysteries must be conducted thoroughly.

“Let’s gather our diligent staff.”

Whether its essence leaned more toward “Zeorge” or “Gio’s Portrait,” no one could say.

What mattered was that this deal had moved Bisa Beul’s heart. To make it succeed, Bisa Beul adopted a very active stance. It was rather enjoyable.

The chief secretary gave a shallow bow and asked:

“...Please {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} specify the range, Guildmaster.”

“I don’t do anything half-assed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’ll proceed under Protocol Code 2.”

“I hope it’s not too late.”

Code 2 meant mobilizing all active personnel except for the absolute minimum needed to keep the company running. That included even administrative staff.

After all, in human society, a proper war required not just brute force but also information.

Yes, a war.

The bipedal garden wished for one chance—its first and last—to become truly ugly.

That was certainly not something “Gio’s Portrait” could allow. The portrait was permanently fixed at its most perfect, most brilliant moment.

That’s why it must have come to me, going so far as to show me all those stories itself.

The deal the garden proposed was very much to his liking.

Bisa Beul would prepare the stage that the garden wished for, and once again, the story would end in a happy ending. Bisa Beul’s role was to build the breakwater that would let the garden become as ugly as it wanted.

And in return, I’ll get that hat...

Honestly, was there any better deal to be made in this world?

“......”

“...Guildmaster.”

“Are they all gathered?”

“I’ll escort you.”

“No need to be so stiff about it.”

My beloved works. His guild members were both Bisa Beul’s limbs and his loyal servants—and also his weapons.

As always, Bisa Beul smiled like a gentleman and rose from his seat. Rings on every finger, earrings crowding his ears, necklaces clasped so tightly they almost choked his neck. All of them emitted the peculiar disquiet of cursed artworks.

But none of those curses could ever harm Bisa Beul.

With a faint smirk, he stepped out of his office.

In the end, this world was divided into what was valuable and what wasn’t.

“The time of the Great Flood has come.”

“...Shall I write a will?”

“Do you really think I’d allow that?”

“Of course not.”

“But don’t you think so? The world is slowly improving, but overall it’s still full of dull, boring, and useless things.”

“......”

“It’s about time we cleaned up.”

This was a good opportunity to conveniently filter out the worthless.

“Shall we go stop the world from ending?”

***

“So what Mr. Zeorge really wants is...”

Having heard the portrait’s kind explanation, Joo-Hyun nodded right away.

“A chance, even just once, to not be beautiful... That kind of opportunity.”

“To put it more plainly—it’s just a tantrum from a child who hasn’t grown up.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit large-scale for a tantrum?”

“It’s the same thing as a child who throws a fit in the supermarket, rolling on the floor, because they know the adults will clean up the mess. It’s believing that they won’t end up in the police station anyway.”

“Since we’re on the topic, I’d like to ask...”

Joo-Hyun rubbed his chin and asked:

“I heard there have been actual victims—people going missing because of the ‘Happy Clown.’ If this really is just a tantrum, is it possible for them to return to how they were?”

“That would be up to Mr. Zeorge’s discretion, so I can’t say for sure.”

“If even ‘Gio’s Portrait’ doesn’t know, can we really call it a tantrum? From the start, Mr. Zeorge always had something... unsettling about him.”

“......”

For a moment, Gio thought.

...Saying that with a completely unbothered expression doesn’t really make it convincing.

She was, indeed, a modern human who had survived in a more advanced version of Earth.

If it had been Gio in her shoes, he probably wouldn’t have lasted a day—he would’ve been groveling like a mayfly. She wasn’t even an Awakened, nor had she been lucky enough to become a portrait, yet she stayed that calm. One could only respect that kind of mental fortitude.

“...Were you afraid?”

“I guess it’s more like worrying that something bad might rub off on you.”

“Is that something you’d call fear?”

“If it feels like your friend’s about to head down a dark path and all you can do is watch—then yes, I suppose that emotion can include a bit of fear. Well, and besides that...”

Joo-Hyun hesitated, then continued.

“Mr. Gio—that is, ‘Gio’s Portrait’—has always had a very distinct characteristic, don’t you think?”

“A characteristic.”

“Bestowing gifts to good people, and punishing or ignoring the wicked. That kind of characteristic.”

“I don’t think it’s something that needs to be described in such grand terms.”

“But it’s the truth. That’s why I thought Mr. Zeorge felt a little different from your usual nature. Of course, when I first met him, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all...”

“So the vibe was bad.”

“That too—sorry to say it about a part of you—but yes. It felt dangerous. Like someone who was clearly toying with others.”

It was a demeanor completely unlike any of the previous Gios. Even Argio, who bore the name of a wicked god, had shown affection toward lowly beings. But Zeorge was not like that. He truly treated humans as toys.

“And that’s why... I think he was able to show something like ‘love.’”

Love, in other words, is favoritism. Special treatment.

“If you show love to everyone, isn’t that just garbage?”

“You’re really harsh in your assessment of Mr. Zeorge. But if you’re going to put it that way—didn’t ‘Giovanni’ also love everyone equally?”

“That could be one interpretation.”

Joo-Hyun instinctively sensed that this question was both a test and a challenge. This portrait had a habit of sometimes asking her to prove the value of her own perspective.

As a friend, Joo-Hyun had an obligation to rise to that challenge, so she willingly entered the trial of the mystery.

In truth, Gio had only asked the question in passing, not thinking too deeply about it. But Joo-Hyun had no way of knowing that.

If I pass this test and prove the worth of my viewpoint... Mr. Gio always incorporates it into his plans and vision for the future. This is my chance to influence the current incident, and it’s also his form of kindness.

Unlike other mysteries or artworks, “Gio’s Portrait” didn’t harm his “friends” even if they failed his trials. As long as they weren’t outright villains, that is.

Having gathered her thoughts, Joo-Hyun continued.

“But mercy and love are different.”

“I, too, love everyone, Ms. Joo-Hyun.”

“I know, Giovanni.”

Joo-Hyun explained her thoughts to the portrait, which had suddenly let down its platinum hair.

“But the ‘love’ you speak of and the ‘love’ Mr. Zeorge speaks of are different.”

“Oh? And how so? I’m curious.”

“There are two meanings to love. One is a warm-hearted love based on compassion and care. The other is a yearning love rooted in possession and bias. The two ‘Gio’s’ express these different kinds of love.”

Joo-Hyun chose every word with care. Defining a mystery was extremely dangerous, but also incredibly important. That definition—and the perception it created—could change the mystery’s level of threat and influence.

That was why she wanted to “explain” this well. “Gio’s Portrait” favored “kind beings,” but he himself wasn’t necessarily kind.

For this entity, good and evil were just preferences. It was only because that preference happened to be so consistent that humans had benefited from his goodwill.

At their core, they’re indifferent to others, guided mainly by curiosity.

So if this moment allowed for a proper definition of the Gios, it would be worthwhile. Especially in a chaotic world like this, a mystery that leaned toward goodness could be of great help.

“Therefore, I see the love Mr. Giovanni shows as a form of mercy. And that mercy, I think, can rightly be called love.”

“Then what about Mr. Zeorge?”

“His love revolves around pleasure. While it may take the form of mercy at times, in the end it’s closer to a kind of amusement. That’s why people say he treats others like toys. Without that mindset, you couldn’t show such indiscriminate ‘love.’”

“Then do the other ‘Gios’ not have love?”

“...I think they do.”

“I’m curious—how do you see it?”

“......”

Fortunately, “Gio’s Portrait” seemed intrigued by Joo-Hyun’s “definition.” There was a willingness to accept it. Joo-Hyun thought even more carefully.

“...Mr. Argio’s love takes the form of pity. A familial affection for endlessly weak and foolish beings. Though more than that, it seems like he was just too frustrated to keep watching over those stupid little things. Still, there is definitely love in that.”

“And Mr. Sergio?”

“...Well, I... you...”

Joo-Hyun had heard many stories about “Sergio” from this portrait. Possibly even more than Yoo Seong-Woon, who treated him as a work of art. The many little stories of one single human being.

“...Sacrifice can also be love, I suppose.”

In the end, that was how Joo-Hyun defined it.

“I saw it in every Mr. Gio. Yes, sacrifice.”

“Such words are wasted on me. They’re embarrassing.”

“‘Gio’s Portrait’ has consistently shown a form of love that looks like sacrifice. Maybe it’s because your vessel is so large that taking a few pieces from it doesn’t even show—but still...”

“If someone must give, then someone must take.”

“That’s exactly it.”

They say those who have more can give more. But most humans didn’t act that way. Just because you had more didn’t make giving something small any easier. But “Gio” did it as if it were nothing. Casually gave what was his.

And that “small” thing—depending on who saw it—was sometimes enough to make people recoil. From small gestures of care to, at the extreme, his own life, “Gio” gave them all away. As if it weren’t difficult for him.

“...Just because it’s easy doesn’t change the nature of the act.”

“You really do see me in a good light. I’m not such a great person, though.”

“But all the Mr. Gios acted that way.”

That’s why Giovanni died, trapped in a tank. That’s why Argio became a fallen god. That’s why Sergio said he became a portrait for his disciples. That’s why Joo-Hyun felt sorrow for “Gio’s Portrait.”

She just had one lingering curiosity.

“...Still, no matter how I think about it, Mr. Zeorge really is... different.”

“Not as different as you think.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I believe.”

Gio gently petted Honey on his shoulder and said:

“We are, after all, a collection of the beings once called ‘Gio.’”

***

“Ah, Seo Seo-Hee.”

“...Feels like it’s been a while.”

“I’ve just been busy lately.”

“Yeah? Why so busy?”

“You’re asking a gardener why they’re busy?”

Jeong Hae-Woon smiled and shrugged.

“What is it?”

“...You...”

“Hmm?”

“......”

Seo Seo-Hee gave a weak smile.

“...How long are you planning to disappear this time?”

“Who knows? Might be my chance to retire.”

“Then I guess what kind of retirement it’ll be is what really matters.”

Seo Seo-Hee let out a quiet sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled again.

“We’re friends, right?”

“Aha.”

Jeong Hae-Woon smiled with him.

“Of course we are.”