The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 210
Yoo Seong-Woon’s reaction when he visited the gallery at dawn was not much different from Joo-Hyun’s.
“I handled them myself.”
As a capable hunter, he took a more direct approach.
“Some lunatic cultist attacked Hunter Sergio while he was out enjoying a stroll with a friend, during his physical and mental recovery. You think the Collector would just let that slide?”
“I didn’t expect someone as busy as you to step in personally.”
“I don’t actually think you were that surprised. But as you know, my job is to manage the portrait that is you. I got scolded for dereliction of duty and even had to write a report.”
Which meant the aftermath of this incident naturally fell under Yoo Seong-Woon’s responsibility.
“It’s true that lately people have been slacking a bit when it comes to you, so I took the punishment. If I don’t follow the rules during times like these, then exceptions start popping up everywhere.”
“Group life really is exhausting.”
“Anyway, nothing major happened, so don’t worry too much.”
Yoo Seong-Woon smiled calmly and continued.
“Did you enjoy shopping?”
“Of course.”
Gio beamed at the question.
“There were so many nice clothes these days. The quality of the fabric was so good I felt I could walk straight into battle and still move freely. And there were all kinds of unique weapons and accessories imbued with special powers.”
“You’re Argio, aren’t you.”
“You guessed even without the red hue this time.”
“I was wondering why you and Hunter Sanarae clicked so well. Turns out you had this unexpected trait in common... At least it wasn’t something as terrifying as all the noise coming from the Haryeong Guild made it seem.”
Sanarae was among the Haryeong Guild’s members who made good use of their appearance. A nasty bastard with a wild streak—Seong-Woon had wondered why he got along with Gio.
Looking at it this way, Argio seems to enjoy dressing himself up too.
You could tell just from the extravagant forms that sometimes cast over the picture frame. That was the biggest difference between Gio and Argio. The other two were rather plain by comparison.
Even if the face looked flashy.
“It was fortunate Hunter Sanarae stepped up this time.”
“Yes, I’m grateful for how cleanly he handled it.”
“Didn’t seem all that clean, from what I heard?”
Apparently, Gio even healed the maniac himself—who was supposed to end up permanently disabled.
“Do you know why Hunter Sanarae stepped in?”
“I assume he wanted to protect the world from a ticking time bomb like me.”
“That lines up surprisingly well with what I thought. Seems he’s figured out more or less who you are, too.”
“Seeing how quiet he’s been, I doubt he has any intention of saying anything.”
“Probably a move to protect his comrades, then? Funny, I never imagined he was someone who cared so much about his guild until I heard your side of things...”
“He’s a commendable young man.”
“If you say so, then it must be true.”
Yoo Seong-Woon asked again.
“Speaking of shopping, want to go with me next time? We could invite Joo-Hyun and get some suits tailored together. There’s a master tailor I often visit.”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Time’s something you make.”
Now that the monster war had died down and things were starting to settle, Yoo Seong-Woon’s workload was gradually decreasing. More importantly, accompanying Gio on his schedule could be considered part of his duties.
“......”
“Yoo Seong-Woon?”
“Mm, just had a passing thought.”
“May I ask what it was?”
“I wondered... if you’re really human.”
“Oh.”
Fortunately, Gio didn’t tease him for that tasteless thought.
“What made you think that way?”
“It felt like an angle worth exploring. I’m just trying to test the view. But I’m not sure this really is the right path. I don’t know if it’s just some foolish idea. It’ll probably take quite a while before I come to a firm conclusion.”
“Whatever your conclusion may be, I’ll respect your judgment.”
“That’s heavy.”
This mystery didn’t divide paths into right or wrong. So even if Yoo Seong-Woon chose an unsatisfying or treacherous path, Gio wouldn’t tell him it was a mistake.
No, this guy doesn’t even judge the world in terms of right and wrong in the first place.
Gio doesn’t distinguish between good and evil when it comes to events. If you tried to claim, “Gio’s portrait favors good people,” it would contradict this, because Gio didn’t infuse such decisions with personal bias.
For proof, even when Gio dealt with evil people, he didn’t punish them. He simply classified them. He acknowledged the existence of all concepts, choosing only what suited his ideals and preferences.
To someone like me—just a mediocre human—it’s unsettling.
So Yoo Seong-Woon couldn’t rely on Gio. Not this time, at least.
The choice and the responsibility belong solely to me.
He had no choice but to deliberate carefully. His soul and body would remain trapped in a snowfield where snow fell endlessly until death.
As a human being. As a gardener and curator. And as someone named Yoo Seong-Woon...
How should he judge the being before him? What decision would leave the least regret?
“......”
He needed time.
“......”
“People live their lives so painfully. Do they enjoy suffering?”
“Can you stop? I’m trying to be all serious here.”
“My deepest apologies, but I simply wonder if this is something that needs such serious contemplation, my dear Yoo Seong-Woon.”
“Not everyone’s as clear-cut as you.”
Sure, there were probably people out there who could make decisions as decisively and clearly as Gio. But Yoo Seong-Woon couldn’t be one of them. His burdens—both underfoot and on his shoulders—were simply too heavy for that.
In any case, that was just his personal story. He cracked his neck, then smiled faintly and asked,
“...So what will you do now?”
“I’m thinking of resting.”
“That’s honestly a relief to hear.”
“I’ve been far too active lately.”
All the things he had to do were now finished.
“I’ll see you later.”
Introverted Sergio needed some rest.
***
And so, Gio shut himself inside his home again.
“The world outside the blanket is dangerous.”
“Muaaang...”
“So you agree.”
The massive cat, overflowing with coolness even to the touch, was the perfect snuggle partner.
Gio hugged Dana and rolled around on the bed. His form melted into the cloudlike fluff.
“Hoo...”
Gio’s normally expressionless face softened just a little as he lay still.
“......”
He ran his hand along Dana’s long, smooth body. He gently stroked the cold, gemlike cat’s belly.
“How many are inside you?”
“Meow.”
“I see... Even more than I expected.”
“Meow.”
“They’re all sleeping inside you, aren’t they.”
But it ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) didn’t sit right with Gio to just leave them all trapped inside Dana.
I still need to finish the gravestone for Joo-Hyun.
He’d put it aside for a while since she was clearly trying to move on from her past, but now that the jealous mermaids had gone quiet about the new painting, it felt right to finish the piece.
As Gio rose from the bed, Dana, who had been staring up at him, slowly climbed down as well. Now grown quite large, she was nearly the size of a wolf-dog. Gio patted his daughter.
“Shall we go to the studio?”
“Meow.”
Just then, Honey gently landed on Gio’s head.
“What were you doing?”
“Kururuk!”
“I see. Glad to hear your siblings are doing well.”
“Kuru.”
“I should visit soon too. I wonder what I should bring for them to enjoy...”
With light chatter, Gio entered his studio.
He sat before a blank white canvas. The small, round wooden stool he’d crafted during his student days was well-finished, smooth, and warm from the sun.
Gio picked up a palette carved from wood. He let out a low chuckle.
“Not yet.”
His voice was stern, like a teacher.
“It’s not your turn.”
“■■...”
“You have to wait.”
Holding a brush in his other hand, Gio stared at the clean canvas.
“......”
He wasn’t afraid of death. He had no fear, nor despair.
There might be sorrow, but the path beyond that had to be released. Regret belonged only to the living—those who had passed should continue on to another fate in an unknown concept and place.
Gio’s views differed slightly from those of the religions he knew. This place wasn’t heaven or hell. It was a narrow, biased world that only accepted those he liked. And it wasn’t reincarnation, either, since it didn’t circle back around.
It’s just a state of being.
Like catching a cold one day. Like tears from sadness or smiles from joy. That was all death meant to Gio.
What’s the difference from falling asleep?
They call it an eternal sleep—and Gio agreed with that.
Everyone faces it eventually.
Whether their own or someone else’s. People go through large and small deaths throughout their lives.
Even the tiny insect crushed on the path beneath their feet—buried without thought in indifferent soil.
“It’s alright.”
Gio brushed the side of Dana’s face with the back of the hand that held the brush. Like soothing a child who didn’t want to fall asleep, he said softly,
“Where you belong is up to you.”
Maybe it was their will, or maybe someone else’s. Maybe they liked where they ended up—or maybe not.
They might have happy memories. Or painful ones. Or no memory at all, just lingering presence.
They lingered. This was their home, their trace, their everyday.
We all lived taking up different shapes and volumes of the world.
What should I call you?
“......”
After painting just a single empty frame on the canvas, Gio gave it a name.
“...Let’s call it a diary.”
Dana cried.
“Meow.”
A bell-like cry of a cat.
From the frame inside the canvas, that meow echoed.
***
A lover had died.
“......”
In the war waged by the mermaids, the lover she had promised to marry was killed. The woman cried and cried until she collapsed again and again, exhausting every last ounce of strength before finally falling silent. He had been her childhood friend, someone she had spent a clumsy but joyful time with. They had just escaped that godforsaken alleyway and finally stepped into the sunlight...
“...Fuck.”
The curse slipped out.
Why am I the only one still here, you bastard. Hadn’t he said they should find a house together, one where the sun poured in gently?
They hadn’t married, but the bereavement compensation still went to her. In this age of rampant death, would she have fallen into such a state from the beginning just because she was a woman? She signed a lease for one of the houses they had viewed together, sorted through the clutter, and tried to rebuild her life, telling herself the living had to go on.
Even so, this was the result.
“If this is how it is, you shouldn’t have shown up in my dreams...”
She kept dreaming of him being dragged away into the sea beyond the barrier.
Would it have been different if I’d been there? At the very least, he wouldn’t have been so scared if I was with him. He was such a coward... he always needed me beside him... What’s the point of all this, for someone who’s already dead?
Dozens of times a day, she would fall into a daze, tormented by sudden memories, and then barely drag herself free. And when she did fall asleep, nightmares returned—grief and guilt spreading like ink until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Then, one day, she heard this from an old contact in the back alleys.
“Hey, have you heard of Black Cloak? There’s a new series coming out...”
“That’s why you called me out here?”
“No, listen to the end. This is seriously rare info, and I’m only telling you because you looked so fucking pitiful.”
“Pitiful, my ass.”
“Let’s call this even for that debt I owed you.”
“Says who, you piece of shit...”
“They say he painted heaven.”
“......”
She asked again.
“...What?”
“They say what Black Cloak painted this time is heaven. That all the good, kind-hearted people are there.”
“That’s ridiculous. Even if Black Cloak were divine or something, that’s just... that’s just not...”
“Still, what do you have to lose?”
He said it wouldn’t be easy to find. Very few had seen it, and those who had kept their mouths shut, so word hadn’t spread.
“......”
He painted heaven?
“......”
A heaven where only gentle and kind souls are gathered?
Bullshit.
That’s what she thought—and yet, the woman began searching for the so-called new series of Black Cloak’s work, the white frame. She knew it was probably nonsense, but just in case... she carefully scoured the city, watching her every step.
The rumor hadn't spread far yet, so there weren’t many others like her out there. But even then, she couldn’t find it. So she came up with another method: call the frame to her.
“...Black Cloak likes good people, right?”
So she tried doing good deeds.
“Um, excuse me.”
“Hm?”
“...Would you like help carrying your bags?”
“Oh, all of a sudden? That’s alright, dear.”
“If it’s too much trouble, I’ll just help you up these stairs.”
“I mean, I’d feel so bad making you...”
She carried the elderly woman’s luggage up the stairs. It was obvious at a glance the woman didn’t have much strength. She was in a hurry, but didn’t act overly eager—no one trusts kindness easily in a world like this.
Surprisingly, the old woman smiled and thanked her.
“I wasn’t even worried. Are you... one of those people doing good deeds?”
“Pardon? Good deeds...?”
“Oh, maybe not. These days, there are so many upstanding young folks—I thought maybe you were part of that club.”
“What kind of people are you talking about? I mean, it’s not my place to say, but in times like this, you shouldn’t trust strange people too easily...”
“They’re fans of Black Cloak, saying he’s the real deal. Nothing dangerous about them.”
“...Ah.”
She had heard that too. There are Black Cloak fan clubs now... Thanks to them—though it felt weird to be thankful—people had started to loosen up. Folks who used to avoid help began to open up little by little, thanks to those enthusiasts.
“You look like you’re lost... Where are you trying to go?”
“Oh, my. Well, um...”
“I-I’m one of them. A Black Cloak enthusiast. I’m doing good deeds so I can see him.”
“Oh! That explains it. Could you show me to the local grocery store? I just moved here...”
“There’s one on the main road. I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you so much.”
After guiding her, the old woman handed her a zucchini.
“Um, this is...”
“Do you have eggs at home? Just beat them and fry this—so tasty.”
“I feel bad... Please take it back.”
“I’m just really grateful.”
It had been so long since she saw fresh, clean vegetables. It felt like such a precious gift—too precious to throw away.
So that day, the woman went to the market and bought some eggs.
Then she remembered she didn’t even have salt—or oil to stop it from sticking. Thinking of her empty house, she picked up a few more ingredients. She couldn’t afford much, so even the eggs were monster eggs, but they still tasted good.
“......”
Been a while since I cooked jeon.
“...Hey, I burned it a little. Just eat it anyway.”
“......”
“You always did the cooking... I tried my best this time.”
She mumbled to the empty chair beside her. Next time, she’d do better. The thought of her lover, who had been so much better at cooking than her, brought tears to her eyes again. She cried with a piece of jeon still in her mouth. It was foolish.
Still longing for him, the woman kept going outside. Thanks to the Black Cloak enthusiasts, poking around places had become easier. Bit by bit, she grew used to this new rhythm of life.
“Oh, there you are.”
“...Who—”
“I heard you helped my mother.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Please don’t be alarmed—I just wanted to thank you.”
“Oh... okay.”
“She made some side dishes. She always makes too much...”
The middle-aged man bowed politely and left.
“You don’t have to return the container!”
“Wait—hold on...!”
This sort of thing happened sometimes.
“......”
Then, one day, she realized something. People were starting to recognize her face.
Unlike in the alleys she grew up in, their expressions were warm—full of curiosity, gratitude, and kindness.
Feeling overwhelmed, she stood in the middle of the street and cried.
“Oh? Unni, why are you crying? Did someone bother you?”
“What happened? Don’t stand here like this—come inside and have some tea.”
“Oh no... Looks like something bad happened.”
“It’ll be alright, hmm? Why are you crying so sadly?”
Ah.
It was instinct.
...I’m going to end up forgetting you, aren’t I? And that’s probably what you would have wanted.
I don’t even know how many more good deeds I’d need to do to see you again...
But this life wasn’t so bad.
Before long, the woman started working again—as a hunter.
***
ACCESS RESTRICTED: Identification required to view classified information
Authentication complete.
“......”
Identification Number – 0S-000-B
Response Rating – F(-)
Entity Type – Object-Type
Entity Name – White Frame (-)
Authority – Diary (-)
A painting within a white wooden frame, depicting another frame. Believed to be the third work of Black Cloak (0S-328-D), following The Breathing Sea and The City of Void, but recorded as a separate anomaly due to its conceptual significance.
Rumored to allow viewers to see the departed who lived kind lives. However, no credible eyewitness has yet been found. Its appearance rate is significantly lower than Black Cloak’s previous works. Some civilians, influenced by this, have begun engaging in social good to try to summon Black Cloak—this artwork is frequently found in close proximity to such individuals.
“A report came in, so I’m recording this as an audio file. Uh... this one’s about an 82-year-old man. Name: Lee Jeong-ha. Lived in Yesan, South Chungcheong.
Is Black Cloak already reaching out to rural areas? He’s expanding his range faster than we expected—shouldn’t we take measures?
Anyway, that’s not the point.
This man lost his granddaughter during the ‘Ocean Garden’ incident. Her name was Seo Yoon-Ha, 19 years old. A C-rank hunter, frost attribute. Despite her short career, she joined the battle.
It seems the so-called ‘White Frame’ seeks both the deceased who lived kindly, and a living witness.
Lee Jeong-ha died on the 15th. When his body was found, a pure white diary was clutched in his arms.
People close to him said he’d been claiming to see a mysterious frame before his death. No one else could see it, so they dismissed it as hallucination.
It’s a rural area—people weren’t quick to suspect anomalous phenomena.
The research team acquired the diary with the family’s consent, but we couldn’t read it.
The text defied interpretation, and each viewer saw different shapes.
But Lee Jeong-ha’s fingerprints were on it.
It seems only certain people searching for the White Frame can perceive it—and read the diary.
What’s the difference between Lee Jeong-ha and the others?
I think it has to do with their attitude toward life.
The depth of their grief, their willingness to rejoin society... or maybe just how much time they had left.
Lee Jeong-ha was nearing the natural end of his life. Despite losing his granddaughter, he remained calm.
We still don’t know what the White Frame wants.
Even among those doing good deeds to see it, some can—and others still can’t.
Why does it only appear in places where seekers can’t see it?
What’s actually written in that diary the frame created?”
“That’s all. God, will someone finally come forward with a proper account...?”
“......”
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