The Artist Who Paints Dungeon

It wasn’t because he was stupid—Gio simply didn’t live with much thought.

“......”

In fact, Gio’s mind moved faster when he desired something.

Sergio didn’t want his homeland to become harsher.

Giovanni wanted people not to commit sins without even realizing it.

Argio didn’t want to engage in actions that were petty and cowardly, unbefitting a warrior.

“......”

How could he satisfy his own desires while still protecting this fragile peace?

Could things get better without becoming worse first?

Gio suddenly recalled memories from his time as a priest. He thought of the information he had encountered when he ventured to Earth, and the faces of the heroes who had come to subdue him.

Because he wasn’t just “Sergio,” he crafted and discarded countless plans in the span of a moment.

“...Right.”

His lips moved slightly.

“That’s good.”

He had come up with a plan he liked.

“I think it’s a good one.”

A clean plan, free of any burnt offerings.

A satisfied smile quietly stretched across Gio’s face like a solar eclipse.

***

Meanwhile, Joo-Hyun...

“......”

Unlike the homeowner, she had many worries.

“...It’s confusing.”

Though her body had healed significantly compared to the beginning, her mind hadn’t caught up. Each passing day, her body felt more at ease, but her thoughts remained in disarray. Some days, the chaos inside her cleared up; other days, it tangled even more.

Joo-Hyun sat on the bed, blankly staring out at the terrace, and murmured softly.

"Did he say he’s skipping lunch?”

Their conversation had stretched on, pushing it into the gap between morning and afternoon. Black Cloak had suggested dinner instead, saying he needed time to digest. Joo-Hyun had accepted it without resistance.

“...Really....”

It wasn’t like a being as mysterious as Black Cloak could have digestive issues. It was purely consideration for her—yet again, a god who didn’t act like one.

When facing such mystery, humans were the ones who had to adjust to the gods' rules. For a mysterious being to bend their own rules for a human... it was unheard of in all of history.

“......”

And so, she fell into thought again.

“...Slowly, one step at a time....”

Don’t see it narrowly—look at the larger shape.

“Let’s take time and organize everything.”

She already knew she could do it.

“I’ll manage.”

She started by organizing her current situation. If she requested it, she might be able to transfer to another research center. But each research center was like its own kingdom—adjusting and blending in would take a long time.

‘Still, staying at the current one would be strange.’

The allies she had struggled to build were all gone now. Those left were only concerned with pushing her out. Transferring to another center might be the lesser evil.

‘Should I aim for an administrative position at HQ instead?’

Joo-Hyun, now familiar with studying the mysterious, wouldn’t find it difficult to work at HQ. Since the guild leader lived there, it was a more open environment.

“At least there, someone like me—an orphan—might be accepted more easily.”

Unintentionally muttered, but it was true—Joo-Hyun had grown up in an orphanage. And those who entered the Association through the orphanage’s special admissions were usually disliked. Among them, Joo-Hyun was particularly disliked.

“......”

Still, this path didn’t really appeal to her.

“...Maybe the Association isn’t the only way.”

She had chosen the Association because she’d grown up in a government-sponsored orphanage, and the Association worked on equal footing with the government. She thought it was the best path to build the world she wanted.

‘But maybe the Association isn’t as good a path as I thought.’

The Association was already too well-established.

"Which means there’s little room for someone like me to make any difference.’

The Association was stable—and had to remain that way. It was woven like a spider’s web, far more intricate than Joo-Hyun had imagined. Every division was deeply interconnected.

“To try and change something in a place like that....”

Of course it didn’t look good.

“......”

After a long silence, Joo-Hyun finally spoke.

“...Maybe a private guild would be better.”

Though they called it a “transfer,” she knew it was basically a recommendation to resign. Realistically, she had been kicked out of the research center. She had to find another path, but no clear option had yet appeared.

“No, even in a private guild, you still have to follow orders. There’s a good chance the same thing would happen again....”

Joo-Hyun suddenly thought of the children from the orphanage.

“......”

She couldn’t—

She couldn’t bear it.

Her stomach ached.

‘...If only I had acted more wisely.’

She may have been too impatient. Her ideals were grand, but she was powerless. She had to move these small feet quickly to even touch the edge of her dreams—but every step felt too slow.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t looked around properly. Or maybe she had been seduced by an evil god. Perhaps it was both.

As a result of her impatience, she had driven her family and friends into death and suffering.

“...That...”

Joo-Hyun wiped her face.

"How do I atone for that sin?”

Especially for those who were already dead.

If she couldn’t make peace with the past, she couldn’t move toward the future. But how could she pay the price for people who died because of her poor choices?

“I hope they at least found peace... But I don’t know if I have the right to hope for that.”

A bitter smile formed. She knew well enough that the past couldn’t be undone. From the moment humans are born, they must move forward. Even after making a grave mistake.

With a mere human body, spilled water couldn’t be retrieved—so the least she could do was clean up after.

“...Hmm....”

The problem was, death couldn’t be cleaned up as easily as spilled water. Especially not for someone like Joo-Hyun, a non-awakened human with no special power.

‘If only I had been a priest in a temple like the Church of Sunlight.’

She couldn’t grant peace to the dead. She didn’t serve any god, so she couldn’t even beg for mercy.

‘If I had just been a little more diligent... but there’s no use regretting that now.’

She suddenly thought of Black Cloak, who was somewhere in this hut.

“...Hmm. Still, this is....”

She gave an awkward laugh.

“This would be too shameless.”

For a moment, she had considered asking Black Cloak to grant peace to her family and friends. But she quickly erased the thought.

It wasn’t just that he was an evil god—it was more than that. Joo-Hyun wasn’t brazen enough to request such a privilege. How could she ask for mercy and peace from a god she didn’t even worship?

‘That kind of privilege is rare even for priests who’ve served a god for years. I’m a nonbeliever—I have no right to ask.’

Unless she suddenly awakened as a priest at this late stage of life, she probably couldn’t. Still, she resolved to do whatever she could for the souls of those who died because of her.

“If I don’t forget my mistakes, If I keep reflecting on my sins, If I live with constant gratitude and remorse for those people....”

Then maybe, just maybe, she could reach them—even a little.

“...Yes.”

That would be the beginning.

“Let’s start by building a grave.”

Their bodies had been recovered, but that was just “cleanup,” not a funeral. She had been so overwhelmed, she hadn’t even made space for mourning.

‘Maybe I assumed I’d be going to the same place soon anyway.’

It was a massive failure. A massive price. She hadn’t even thought about recovery—it was a sin so great she could only feel sorry. She had no face to ask for redemption or to move forward.

“......”

Joo-Hyun laughed awkwardly.

"But that would be the more cowardly thing to do... It would be like running away just because I didn’t want to take responsibility.”

Nothing was certain.

She thought dying with the people who had perished because of her would be the true atonement. But maybe that was just a form of escape. She couldn’t say which path was “right.”

But one thing had become clear.

“Yes. Let’s make a gravestone.”

The bodies had already been “cleaned up.”

She had tried to recover them later, but all she heard was that they’d already been disposed of.

That’s probably why she hadn’t thought of gravestones until now.

But now, she could.

“A space for mourning is needed.”

That was how humans—unlike gods—prayed for the peace of the dead.

She would draw the faces of those she remembered,

arve their names,

Write down their stories.

At the very least, no ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) one would say such an act was “wrong.”

“After that....”

What then?

“......”

Joo-Hyun pressed her lips together.

‘At the very least, dying with them is not the right answer.’

And she didn’t want that anymore.

Before Black Cloak had helped her, she had been resigned to dying. But not now. Now, she had the space to think about a better path and to choose it.

But she still didn’t know what that “better path” might be.

‘...Should I go to the Temple of Abundance, which values charity? No, the religious world doesn’t accept change easily. They’re just as bad as the Association. Then should I use the money I’ve saved and start a business? I do have some item ideas... Maybe I could shift society’s mood little by little through that....’

She thought for a very long time.

“......”

“Grung.”

“...Ah.”

When she came back to herself, it was already dark outside.

“Must be time for dinner.”

Black Cloak would be waiting.

***

After finishing yet another blissful meal.

“You seem troubled.”

Black Cloak showed interest in Joo-Hyun’s condition.

“......”

“......”

Of course he would notice.

“...I have a lot on my mind...”

Actually, the word “notice” didn’t really apply. What use was scheming in front of a divine mystery? A human mind was just a bug crawling on the Buddha’s palm.

More importantly, it was Black Cloak who had brought her here when she was hesitating over whether or not to summon Sancarlut. Even this situation might have been orchestrated by him. So Joo-Hyun didn’t bother to hide her state.

“I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do next.”

“I heard from my father that you’re considering a new path.”

“A new path...”

Such a neat and proper phrase.

“...Yes, that’s right.”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t wrong. The path she had followed so far had ended in failure. Rather than trying to backtrack, it seemed better to find an entirely different road. If you wanted to dress that idea up nicely, you’d call it “reconsidering your career.”

“I was trying to predict how my life would unfold from here.”

“Do you possess the ability to foresee fate?”

“...N-no, absolutely not. That’s not what I meant.”

Joo-Hyun blushed as she realized what she had just said in front of a living embodiment of fate. How ridiculous must it have sounded? Like preaching to a chrysalis about transformation.

‘Why do I get so honest around Black Cloak? Is that another effect of divinity?’

Regaining her composure, Joo-Hyun glanced at Black Cloak.

“......”

“It’s a tea brewed from grains.”

“Ah, thank you.”

Before she could assess anything more, something edible was placed into her hands again. Really—he was like an old grandmother sometimes.

“...Is this corn tea?”

“You mentioned last time that you like nutty flavors.”

“Oh, so you remembered.”

“The corn I’ve been growing had been begging to be eaten.”

“I see... the corn was... begging....”

Wait a second.

“...Begging?”

Joo-Hyun looked down at the tea with a suspicious gaze.

“...Ahem.”

But the aroma was too good to resist.

‘The food isn’t to blame.’

One sip, and her mind and body seemed to instantly calm.

‘So this one has a relaxation effect...’

Dozens of mystical meals that provided immediate physical benefits—by now, Joo-Hyun wasn’t even surprised.

With a clearer mind, she looked at Black Cloak again.

“......”

The world teaches not to look into a god’s eyes.

“What is it?”

“...Just...”

It also teaches not to rely on them. And Joo-Hyun knew this.

“...Could you give me some advice?”

And yet, as humans always have, she craved the help of the great unknown.

She had been planning to talk to Sancarlut, of all beings.

Compared to that classic devourer of the weak, Black Cloak was absolutely someone worth consulting.

“What do you see in my future, Gio?”

“I cannot see the future.”

Just as she thought he was declining to answer, he continued.

“But I have met many people like you.”

“...People like me?”

“In simple terms, born heroes.”

“......”

Joo-Hyun’s face twisted in embarrassment.

“...You said that last time too, but why do you keep calling me a hero?”

“A hero is someone who chooses the greater good over personal desire.”

Black Cloak smiled warmly.

“They are people who value the world beyond themselves, who prioritize intangible ideals over tangible things, and who care more about a lasting foundation than a fleeting moment. You are such a person.”

“......”

“I know what you’ve told me—and what you haven’t.

Right now, you’re grieving over the sacrifices caused by your mistakes, but even more important is your conviction.”

The god’s smile was laced with curiosity, even a hint of mischief.

“It’s not that you don’t mourn your family and friends. You grieve as deeply as anyone else. But the fact that you still think about moving forward—that is the point.”

“...Are you saying I’m the kind of person who sacrifices the few for the many?”

“No, not at all. You’re someone who grieves even over small tragedies that don’t concern you. Even if you saved 99 out of 100, you’d mourn the one who died. You only ever put yourself on the line.”

“That’s not exactly...”

“Joo-Hyun, you are a hero. You have a kind heart. You treat everyone you meet with courtesy. I think you’re an excellent person.”

Suddenly, a flicker of red flared through Black Cloak’s hair, like fire.

“So I thought I’d try to coax you a bit.”

“Uh—me? Why?”

“If I pressed the right buttons, maybe you’d make a fine warrior.”

“Please leave me out of that, I’m begging you.”

Joo-Hyun recoiled.

She never once thought he’d actually drop that Demon King project of his. But the idea of joining a parade of false heroes under that title? Never.

Black Cloak gave her a sly grin, like a satisfied fox.

“I don’t do cowardly things like that.”

“Th-that’s... good to hear....”

“But I do want you as a friend.”

“Why are you so obsessed with having friends?”

“One can never have too many.”

“Well... that’s not wrong, I guess.”

She just didn’t expect that saying to apply to gods too.

‘A divine mystery wanting a mere human as a friend... it still doesn’t make sense to me.’

But thanks to her experience with Black Cloak so far, she didn’t panic easily. Joo-Hyun let out a slightly awkward sigh, but didn’t flinch at anything he said.

“So then... I’m... what, again?”

“A hero.”

“Ugh.”

“Why do you hate it so much?”

“It gives me chills.”

Anyway—

“So, what happened to the people like me?”

“They became gods, became legends, or vanished without a trace.”

“...That’s much more grim than I expected. Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“Isn’t it a bit shameless to walk such a path and then expect a mild result?”

“Well, I mean... it’s not about shamelessness, exactly...”

“Anyway.”

Argio chuckled lightly.

“So, what are you planning to do next? Got a job in mind?”

“I’m still thinking through the cleanup... but I haven’t found any work.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving the research center, then. In that case, don’t do anything for a while.”

“Hearing it like that really makes me sound unemployed... but yeah, that’s where I’m at.”

“In that case, how about spending some time with me?”

“...Wait, spend time? Like... hang out?”

“You could say you’re supervising and monitoring a natural disaster named me.”

“What even....”

“Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“......”

Joo-Hyun closed her mouth.

“......”

“......”

After a long silence, she finally spoke.

“...Maybe it does?”

And so, Joo-Hyun was taken by the hand of Yoo Seong-Woon—at Gio’s request—and brought before Bisa Beul.

A future she herself had never imagined.