The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 215
After the meal, Joo-Hyun was granted a meeting with Sankallut.
“...It smells delicious...”
“...Do evil gods feel hunger?”
Sankallut had been summoned by possessing the body of a waterbird. The living water, originally colorless and soundless, had shifted into a rapturous crimson glow—but thankfully, Joo-Hyun, under Gio’s protection, suffered no harm.
Trapped in a tiny body, Sankallut looked deeply depressed.
“I want to go home.”
“Uh...”
Joo-Hyun glanced at Gio, surprised by the unexpected reaction.
“Help, please.”
“Ah, may I intervene?”
“I feel like this conversation isn’t going well.”
“In such cases, I should step in.”
For reference, Yoo Seong-Woon was asleep in the guest room on the second floor, hugging the fleece blanket made of Golden Woolstep fur and sipping Basram flower tea that Gio had handed him. Having achieved the satisfaction of pleasing his friend, Gio sat confidently between Joo-Hyun and Sankallut.
The situation resembled a tiny courtroom, and Sankallut looked on the verge of tears. Though the waterbird’s face couldn’t express emotion, a divine being communicated through its soul, not its appearance.
“You definitely summoned me to scold me.”
“Sorry, but I’m here to ensure smooth communication.”
“You scolded me last time too.”
“Well, you deserved it.”
“I even went out of my way to choose a body that wouldn’t steal from adults...”
“I believe I told you last time that that wasn’t the issue.”
“You always use difficult words...”
Hearing the childlike way of speaking, Joo-Hyun turned to Gio again.
“He’s... much younger than I expected.”
“He’s aligned with the soul of the waterbird he borrowed.”
“Ah, the waterbird’s soul?”
“More precisely, we could call it resonance.”
That was how Sankallut’s possession worked.
“When he takes over another’s body, he imitates it accordingly. That’s why he could handle Iru Da’s young body so naturally last time.”
“That’s a kind of forbidden technique, huh...”
Looking back, it was hard to believe that a malevolent god would fit so seamlessly into a fragile child’s form—unless, of course, Sankallut had adjusted to it. Not out of consideration, surely, but for his own convenience. Still, it was fortunate in the end.
“Mister Sankallut.”
“Yes?”
“We summoned you today because Joo-Hyun here wanted to speak with you.”
“Hello.”
It was an unexpectedly innocent greeting for an evil god, but Joo-Hyun stayed calm and responded naturally.
“Hello, I’m Joo-Hyun.”
“Yes, Ahn Joo-Hyun.”
“Uh...”
“Are you not using your discarded name anymore?”
“...Didn’t expect you to stab me right at the start.”
“It’s more comfortable, isn’t it?”
“......”
Joo-Hyun had discarded the surname Ahn. It was the only way he could be accepted into Gita Orphanage. For a time, he’d been plagued by guilt over “abandoning memories of his family just to survive.”
...He really is an evil god.
To strike so directly at the weak spot...
And all for the sake of convenience.
“...I’m really glad it was you, Argio, who spoke to me that day.”
“I’m honored by your appreciation of my fine judgment.”
Sankallut’s eyes sparkled as Gio’s hair flushed red for a moment.
“Such a lovely color! I love it! I love that color!”
Sankallut had once been a mere radiant gem, but after being worshipped with blood sacrifices by humans captivated by that bloodlike color, he became an evil god. Of course he would love Gio’s hair.
“What color is your blood? Show me. I bet it’s amazing.”
“This... really feels like it’s not going anywhere.”
Joo-Hyun looked helpless, and Gio smiled gently.
“He’s just a child.”
“...A divine being? A child?”
“This one doesn’t know how to hold a conversation, my friend. He knows human language, knows how to form thoughts, but has no idea how to exchange them.”
“But wasn’t Sankallut once the evil god worshipped by an entire dimension’s worth of humans?”
“Would you understand what a bunch of puppies meant if they rushed you wagging their tails and barking?”
“I mean... kind of? Tail wagging usually means they’re happy, right?”
“Exactly. One-directional. But can you understand what the barking means?”
“Ah...”
So it really was impossible to communicate properly.
“He doesn’t understand humans.”
“If anything, he knows how to use them.”
“Like how a tamer trains a monster?”
“Close enough.”
“Then that makes sense.”
Joo-Hyun looked deeply unsettled.
“......”
Just... a bit crushed.
...My family and friends were killed by an ignorant child.
That’s all this was. A child who didn’t know anything.
“Mister Sankallut, could you speak with me?”
“Show me your blood. Let’s make a deal.”
“Of course the evil god proposes a deal right away.”
Joo-Hyun sighed in exasperation.
“...Gio, sorry, do you have something sharp?”
“Indulging this brat’s request may not be a wise decision.”
“I know. The more I give, the more terrifying the price will get.”
“As long as you know that.”
Argio handed him a hairpin that had been tucked into his own hair. It was a lavishly adorned golden jeweled pin—much sturdier and sharper than expected.
“You walked around with this in your hair?”
“Well, technically in my hair...”
“...So it was a weapon.”
“Could’ve been used as a dagger.”
“Ah.”
Prick.
Joo-Hyun gently pricked his fingertip.
“Here.”
“Blood! Big blood!”
“Are you satisfied?”
“I’m satisfied.”
The waterbird—Sankallut—tilted its head.
“Can I taste it?”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“That’s disappointing.”
Still, perhaps because Gio was watching, Sankallut didn’t press further. He pouted a bit and then continued.
“You, Ahn Joo-Hyun, can talk with me. What do you want?”
“I didn’t come to make a wish.”
“Do you want paradise?”
“I can create my own paradise.”
“Humans can’t make paradise. Poor things.”
“It doesn’t have to be paradise.”
“I liked you, though.”
Sankallut lightly fluttered his wings. It didn’t seem like a gesture with meaning—more like the way a waterbird might adjust its watery body.
“Couldn’t you have been my son?”
“If you’d approached me with kindness, maybe I could have.”
“Kindness doesn’t move humans. They become strongest and fastest when driven by rage, hate, and fear. Don’t you want world peace?”
“My version of peace doesn’t include rage, hate, or fear.”
“I still liked you.”
“Is that so.”
“I liked you, Ahn Joo-Hyun. I want to go home.”
The little bird tilted its head again.
“Do you hate me?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Do you want to kill me? If you do, will you become my son?”
“Ah... absolutely not.”
“...Everyone hates me...”
Joo-Hyun looked once more to Gio, who answered with a laugh.
“He’s copying one of my children’s mannerisms.”
“...Don’t your waterbirds lack vocal cords?”
“A dad can hear it all.”
“Parents really are amazing.”
Let’s go with that.
“Phew...”
Joo-Hyun looked up at the ceiling, then back at Sankallut.
“...Recently, there was a major war. It was started by two mermaids, and the front seas of Korea were thrown into chaos. I heard it even spread overseas and almost became a global issue.”
“I know them. The strong mermaids. I might’ve been friends with them.”
“They started that war ‘to take responsibility.’ I don’t think that was the right way to do it. But their regrets weren’t for those they harmed, but for themselves and for Giovanni. So maybe that was the best they could do.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t. But I still learned something. That no matter what sin you’ve committed, dragging the story on won’t leave you with anything. I realized my situation wasn’t all that different.”
“So you looked at me?”
“That’s why I see you, Sankallut.”
Joo-Hyun didn’t believe that a mere human like him could do anything about Sankallut. He was weak, powerless, and had already failed many times.
But that meant he could still become better.
“I know you were born this way.”
Divinity was fate—it was nature. No one could criticize the cruelty of fate or nature. Like a planet born of cosmic chaos, not even human resentment could reach it.
“And that’s why I want to drag you down from fate and nature.”
“Can’t I go home?”
“No.”
“You’re mean...! I want to go home! I want to be loved!”
“Then let me show you a different kind of home. A different kind of love.”
After all, divine beings didn’t die—not even when dimensions collapsed.
“How about thinking of this as trying a new kind of game?”
“Are you going to die with me?”
“If I can.”
“Impossible.”
“Yet the universe is full of impossible things happening anyway.”
“I don’t like it.”
“If you cooperate, I’ll send you home.”
Joo-Hyun looked to Gio.
“Will you help me?”
“Ah, of course, my friend.”
Argio smiled in satisfaction.
“I respect your judgment.”
“......”
Joo-Hyun felt immense trust and affection.
All this came from nothing more than a few letters he couldn’t even read. This was kindness born from a bond destined to grow distant the moment the portrait withdrew. And yet, because he believed in Gio’s humanity, Joo-Hyun felt no fear.
This red and malevolent divinity would deliver an unfair judgment at any time. Because he was a god fated for rebellion, the unfair support and praise that Joo-Hyun received was already predetermined.
It was through this overwhelming favoritism that Joo-Hyun always remembered: Gio was human.
“...If I can use it, then I should use it.”
“Of course you should.”
Argio shrugged.
“If you're too rigid, you'll break.”
That applied to all beings.
“Especially those who call themselves heroes.”
“...Can you please stop with the ‘hero’ stuff?”
“I think it’s fun.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Oh, how tragic. Then I guess I’ll just shut up.”
“You get sarcastic in the weirdest moments...”
Joo-Hyun glanced sideways at Gio, then turned back to Sankallut.
As if sensing something, Sankallut no longer squirmed or chattered. He simply stared quietly at Joo-Hyun with crimson eyes filled with dazzling, blinding light.
“Are you going to make me human?”
“...Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s not a reason to give up.”
“That seems inefficient, Joo-Hyun.”
“You’re sounding more desperate and polite now.”
He knew—this was authority born from standing behind the divinity called Gio. Like a fox basking in the tiger’s aura. But in the end, Joo-Hyun was just an ordinary human.
If he couldn’t use what he had, he’d be the one to lose.
“I’ve already seen the example of Gio. Even this overwhelming mystery retains humanity. So why not you, Sankallut? I’ll believe it’s possible.”
“I don’t want to... That path has no blood, no shine. I’ll grow dull.”
“I see. That sounds wonderful.”
This was the greatest responsibility—and revenge—that Joo-Hyun could carry out.
“Mister Gio.”
“Whatever you need.”
“Can you create a body for Mister Sankallut?”
“Hm, a body...”
Argio smiled slyly.
“I’ll make him into a darling little one.”
***
When Yoo Seong-Woon woke up, he blinked at the sight of a bright red snake.
“...So this is Sankallut?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“In all my life, I’ve never seen a god become a snake.”
The snake rose upright in a straight line.
“Hello.”
“Oh, it talks.”
“I have no legs and no arms. A body without wings is extremely inefficient.”
“You kind of sound like Gio when you speak.”
“I follow the memory of the body.”
“Yeah, you really do. That flat tone had me fooled—you were complaining, weren’t you?”
“Would you like to observe?”
“If I’m allowed, of course.”
As a gardener, Yoo Seong-Woon was naturally resilient to bizarre phenomena. Sankallut wriggled as he was scooped into Seong-Woon’s hands. Leaving the two of them alone, Gio returned upstairs to the guest room.
The one Joo-Hyun had once stayed in.
“Mister Joo-Hyun.”
“.......”
He was sitting on the bed, head bowed.
“Mister Joo-Hyun, are you tired?”
“...I’m very tired.”
“Are you blaming yourself?”
“Did I do the wrong thing?”
As if confessing to a priest, Joo-Hyun began to speak.
“I didn’t know what the right choice was. But Gio, you were always kind to me, and I didn’t want to let that chance slip away. I’m such a selfish person.”
“That’s called being smart. You didn’t cling to opportunity—you took responsibility. And you chose the most effective and reasonable path you could find.”
“I’m not sure if what I did was right. But I pushed forward anyway. Because maybe miracles like this will never come again. I kept thinking it was madness...”
The hand that had been covering his [N O V E L I G H T] face trembled slightly and dropped.
“Will my family hate me?”
He was crying.
“Will my friends resent me?”
“You’ve already seen that they don’t.”
“I couldn’t even bring myself to lash out at Sankallut, my clear enemy. I didn’t even vow to make him suffer. All I could do was drag him down into the world of humans... And that’s all...”
“All?”
Gio admired Joo-Hyun.
“I thought you were amazing.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I really did. Anyone can lash out in anger and blame. But standing back up after breaking down and choosing to move forward again? That’s not something just anyone can do.”
“This is just me flailing. Using your power because I didn’t want to bear the burden myself. It’s an incredibly selfish and arrogant thing.”
“If you have something, use it.”
“I don’t have you. I don’t want to mistake what you give for something that’s mine. That would be too shameful. And I can’t even repay you fully for what you’ve already given me.”
“Does a friend need to repay?”
“......”
Joo-Hyun already knew the answer.
“...No.”
The kind of friend he knew—Gio knew—wasn’t transactional. Joo-Hyun knew well that Gio’s gifts were no different from his casually tossed jokes.
Something welled up inside, and his real feelings slipped out.
“I’m afraid I’ll start revering you someday.”
“Even then, we’ll still be friends.”
“......”
“Look.”
Gio spoke with certainty.
“I respect you for always being cautious and sharp, seizing your chances. I’m grateful that even while fearing me, you still respect my humanity. And I’ve gained so much from your kind gestures—pretending they’re nothing while holding onto the burdens of my gifts.”
That’s why they could be friends.
“I don’t expect it of you, but if it’s too much... you may revere me. That wouldn’t be a wound or a slight.”
“Then what does hurt you, Mister Gio?”
“When I can’t do what I want.”
“...That just sounds like whining...”
“Close enough.”
Gio spoke with certainty.
“I’m far simpler than you think, Mister Joo-Hyun.”
I just want you to spend time with me. These thoughtful people really do make things complicated.
“I’m grateful that someone as calculating and altruistic as you is my friend.”
“...I’m glad I don’t creep you out or annoy you.”
Joo-Hyun’s voice grew more composed.
“Am I really not walking the wrong path?”
“Only you can decide that.”
“You’re right. Even if it’s the same path, right and wrong depend on the person.”
“Keep struggling and choose the path you want.”
That alone made Joo-Hyun someone worthy.
“And eat the food I give you.”
“...Why does food come up every time we talk...”
Not that he disliked it.
“......”
He was special. Truly special.
His vessel was vast, and he gave kindness easily. He didn’t hesitate to love, didn’t collapse in regret—and that made him stronger than anything.
Naturally, anyone would want to lean on someone like that.
Just like I’m doing now.
So Joo-Hyun dared to pity this person.
...The time I spend in your life will be but a fleeting moment.
He feared he might one day fail to treat this dear friend as human, even in that short instant.
That, while leaning on his uniqueness, he might forget that Gio was someone who enjoyed stupid jokes and exchanging silly letters. That he’d forget this friend existed and begin to worship that omnipotence instead.
I’m just a plain, insignificant human...
“...Don’t be too kind.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m afraid you’ll end up lonely.”
“Everyone goes through times like that.”
His voice was calm.
“In the end, I’ll make more friends again.”
“......”
It ached.
...If that sounded like resignation to me, then maybe I really am just an ordinary person.
And still—what a lonely soul he was.
This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by (f)reew𝒆b(n)ov𝒆l.com
