The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 303

Inside the cozy igloo.

“I never thought I’d live long enough to be lighting a campfire in the middle of a snowy field.”

Yoo Seong-Woon, sprawled out on the floor like a patient, smiled awkwardly as Gio, who was carefully stacking dry twigs on the fire, nodded.

“It’s a romantic scene.”

“Most people wouldn’t call anything in a snowy field romantic, Gio.”

“Then where do most people find romance?”

“Ah... that wasn’t a joke, huh. Damn.”

The portrait’s deadpan delivery always made it hard to tell.

“I have no idea what your definition of romance is. Is it really that different from Earthlings’?”

“Earthlings?”

“Koreans. Must be the cold—my words are slipping. Just let it slide.”

“You do look really cold, so I’ll allow it. My idea of romance isn’t complicated. For example, going to space to look at stars.”

“That’s not exactly a small-scale dream. Most people think of romance as something like going camping or a dreamy, romantic scene.”

“You’re more sentimental than I expected, Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon. I’ll make note of that.”

“And what are you planning to do with that note?”

He genuinely couldn’t predict it.

“...Well, anyway, this warmth is nice.”

A mercy you couldn’t possibly expect in a snowfield.

Yoo Seong-Woon turned to his side. His fingers were still stiff like ice, but he moved them to pull the blanket Gio had given him tighter. He felt his body temperature gradually rise, possibly from the heat of the fire in front of him.

His stomach churned.

‘Maybe it’s because this warmth is unfamiliar.’

His dulled brain wandered in thought as he blinked. Raising his eyes slightly, he could see the portrait beyond the fire, even while lying down.

Its pitch-black eyes reflected no firelight. There was a mystery in them that could entrance anyone—curator or not.

“Can you communicate with the snowfield too?”

“To me, it’s just a pure white snowy field.”

“So you’re not ignoring me even if you’re not saying much?”

“Only a gardener chosen by the garden can hear its stories, can they not?”

“Technically, there are exceptions, but that’s not wrong. Either way, just being able to light a fire here is something to be thankful for.”

“You weren’t able to make fire normally?”

“How could a gardener dare to do such a thing?”

That would’ve been outright madness.

“Cold and heat are natural enemies.”

“If you light a fire, does the snowfield get hurt?”

Gio looked at the snow rabbits huddled together in the igloo.

“They’re not melting.”

“I figured that something crafted from my snowfield’s snow wouldn’t die so easily.”

“But it seems you weren’t completely sure. Was there a reason?”

“I don’t know... the fire you made feels different. Like... really different.”

Yoo Seong-Woon smiled as he held the blanket in one hand and stretched the other toward the fire.

“Wow, it’s warm.”

“A blessing from Prometheus.”

“I’m honestly surprised you don’t reject that myth.”

“It’s a well-known story, isn’t it?”

“So you accept it as a kind of apocryphal truth, huh.”

Not bad at all.

“Anyway, I’m just glad your cute snow rabbits aren’t melting. I got a bit attached, even if it was just for a short time.”

“It’s so cold in here, they wouldn’t melt easily.”

“Did you make them like that? Got it... Wait, how did we even get on this topic?”

“You asked if the snowfield would be hurt by fire.”

“Right, sorry. My head’s a mess. Hmm, strictly speaking, it doesn’t get hurt. It just dislikes it.”

‘Heat’ in this snowfield was a complicated concept.

“Fire shouldn’t exist here in the first place. In other words, heat itself can’t exist. That’s why there shouldn’t have been any water beneath the ice earlier....”

“But even if it shouldn’t exist, it did. That’s why Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon ended up in this condition after freezing it.”

“If you put it that way, then ordinary flowers and trees in a garden shouldn’t wilt either, right? Ah, of course, here it’s not just a ‘shouldn’t.’ It’s closer to ‘impossible.’”

“How contradictory.”

“Yeah, pretty much. How am I supposed to explain this...”

He’d never had to explain such things to anyone before, so his mind was in a tangle. Or maybe it was just his half-thawed brain acting up. The gardener slowly searched for the right words to say to his friend in front of him.

“......”

It didn’t feel as bad as he expected.

“...It’s a little complicated, so, uh, let’s put it this way. This snowfield is like a living creature or organ with its own will, right? It’s both the domain itself and the master of it. Most beings can’t defy the will of that master.”

“You’d be one of those beings who can’t disobey, Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon.”

“Exactly. And that ‘will’ is usually about maintaining the form of the snowfield. Don’t let heat exist. Let nothing flow, only stay still. Be quiet, be still. That’s the kind of command it gives. It’s basically the law here.”

Yoo Seong-Woon looked at the portrait while warming his hands by the fire.

“Most people live like that too, don’t they? Even if they don’t know every law of the land, they live by them because the world is structured to make them do so. Whether they know it or not, they follow the law.”

Most gardens flowed in a similar way.

“To put it simply, ‘heat’ is illegal here.”

“Are you saying I’m committing a crime right now?”

“Well, hmm... Honestly, I’m not so sure.”

If his snowfield had shown a clear reaction to Gio’s portrait, he might have known. But no matter how much time passed or how freely Gio moved, the snowfield didn’t show even the slightest sign of responding.

“Hm, I think it falls into one of three categories.”

“There are that many?”

“One, your actions aren’t recognized by the garden. Two, it is illegal, but the garden can’t bring itself to stop you. Three, everything you do here is legal.”

“As someone who just came to visit your secret place, I have no idea. But I’m enjoying myself, so that’s good enough.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it too.”

He chuckled helplessly. Personally, Yoo Seong-Woon thought it was probably the third.

‘Judging by how Gio’s children react to him, well...’

Just look at Honey, currently staring at the fire. All of Gio’s children liked him. Technically, the garden wasn’t exactly Gio’s child, but it felt close enough.

‘Or maybe it sees him more like a boss. That’d be the second case.’

He’d brought up the first possibility because it was possible Gio had cloaked himself to be unrecognizable by the garden. Sometimes, the portrait of Gio performed miracles unconsciously, without even realizing it.

‘Whichever it is, it doesn’t seem dangerous right now. Not for me, and not for Gio. It’s a rare peaceful moment in the snowfield.’

Simply...

“......”

The fire was too warm.

“Are you sleepy?”

“Ah, if I sleep now, won’t I die? Falling asleep in the garden usually isn’t a great idea. If your mind goes blank, you could end up consumed by it....”

“It’s different from freezing to death. It seems like your body, exhausted and finally feeling comfort, is asking for rest. Luckily, the blanket you’re wrapped in looks warm and fluffy. Could use it as a proper comforter.”

“Your blankets are always amazing. The scarf you gave me is great too. See? I’m still wearing it.”

“You look very tired. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll sit here so the fire doesn’t go out until you wake. I’ll keep adding dry branches.”

“That’s... really reassuring.”

“Will you sleep?”

“...It feels kind of awkward.”

This probably wasn’t the right thing to do.

‘...Am I doing something wrong? Even though I know I’m not... it still feels...’

The unfamiliarity made him anxious.

“......”

Still.

“...Yeah, I’ll sleep a little.”

The murmur of nature gently brushed against his ears as sleep crept in.

His heavy eyelids finally fell. Yoo Seong-Woon drifted into sleep.

***

Naturally, this little igloo and the fire were Gio’s handiwork.

“I didn’t think you’d be painting even out here.”

“I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

“I never imagined you’d actually build the igloo yourself, though.”

Having woken up after a long sleep, Yoo Seong-Woon was amazed all over again. It was truly built by Gio’s own hands.

He’d cut through thick snow and ice with clean, precise strokes, stacking them with care. Even while half-frozen, Yoo Seong-Woon couldn’t believe his eyes. That feeling hadn’t changed even after waking.

“Why’d you build the igloo yourself, anyway?”

“An igloo is made of snow and ice, and I thought using materials from a foreign origin would be disrespectful to the snowfield. So I did it this way.”

“From romanticism to manners, huh? Also, one more thing—why is this igloo so well made? You looked way too experienced. Am I the only one who noticed?”

“Oh, pardon me, but I don’t know why you’d think that. Doesn’t everyone build at least one igloo in their lifetime?”

“...I still don’t understand what kind of life you’ve lived.”

“No need to find out. I’m showing you everything right now, living honestly and fully. If you’re curious about my past, just look at me.”

“Uh-huh, I do look at you all the time.”

Maybe a little too much.

‘Though to be fair... he shows way too much of himself too.’

Looking into those pitch-black eyes or his dungeon-esque presence, Yoo Seong-Woon often felt stunned into silence. And yet, this guy insisted he was doing a good job pretending to be human, which sometimes made his lips twitch involuntarily.

He found himself covering his mouth. He’d been smiling—this whole situation was absurd. He quickly lowered his hand again, but...

“...Aren’t we getting a bit too close?”

“It’s too late to take that back now.”

“Hmm, yeah, guess so. Still, I think I’d prefer to be born human in the next life.”

“...? I remember that. You said you wanted to be born human again in your next life.”

“I’m glad you remembered.”

He hoped Gio would keep that in mind.

“Man... what do I even say...”

Yoo Seong-Woon laughed awkwardly, rubbing his throat. He knew he was being fidgety, but he couldn’t help it.

“This is all way too unfamiliar for me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so anxious.”

“Is it that obvious? The anxiety includes everything. I just feel like... I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Ah, I understand. I can explain that feeling quite clearly.”

Gio looked at him with sympathy.

“You, Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon, are addicted to work.”

“...Oh wow. Am I that kind of freak? Have I reached the point where, if I can’t avoid it, I enjoy it?”

“That’s how all workaholics are. They chant ‘just a little more’ with dead-tired faces and keep working until dawn.”

“I don’t think I’m that far gone, Gio.”

“People like that start to feel weird when they’re not suffering. Like, ‘huh? Why am I not tired?’”

Yoo Seong-Woon faltered.

“...Uh...”

“And then they feel empty. The job that used to be part of their life disappears, so they get anxious. And to fix that feeling, they go back to work, get some comfort from it, exhaust themselves again. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“I really don’t think I’m that bad.”

“All addicts say that.”

“But still...”

“Now I understand why you’re so unsettled.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re not in pain, and that feels strange.”

“......”

He didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

“Ah, well...”

“You’re so used to suffering, pain, cold, and exhaustion all day long that you find comfort foreign. That’s what I think.”

“...Maybe that’s true.”

It was a little embarrassing.

“But doesn’t that make me a masochist?”

“You walked the path of a slave willingly, so I assumed your temperament matched.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“It is.”

The portrait shrugged.

“You’ve always been that way, Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon.”

“Hmm? What did I do?”

“You acted like you’d die the moment you got honest.”

“I like to think I’ve lived a pretty honest life.”

“I think you’re mistaken. Crying when sad, laughing when happy, resting when tired—that’s honesty. What you described is closer to ‘desire.’”

“...Maybe so.”

“Like you said earlier, I think we’ve become quite close.”

Gio asked.

“Would you tell me your story, Mr. Yoo Seong-Woon?”

“...You’re still kind.”

Truly unchanging.

No wonder people always gathered around him—and no wonder he kept ending up the protagonist of tragic fates.

“......”

Maybe it was the fatigue, but the words slipped out.

“...Have you never thought that living like that is a loss?”

Was it because he hoped to be honest? Or was it the influence of mystery? Even a thought so un-gardener-like, like this.

The portrait answered.

“I don’t know what would count as a loss.”

“Being kind to everyone. Not blaming others. Accepting yourself while affirming others’ lives... that kind of life.”

“I still don’t understand what part of that is a loss.”

“...Isn’t it exhausting?”

“Why bring this up?”

“If I tell you my story.”

If he, the gardener, told his story.

“You’d show kindness.”

You’d listen gently. This portrait was a good listener. And a good speaker. Maybe he’d even give advice or a gift. That would mean taking responsibility for someone’s time.

Ah—suddenly, Yoo Seong-Woon understood Joo-Hyun.

“I don’t want you to be affected by me, Gio...”

“Is there any person who lives without being affected?”

“You could, though.”

“Telling me to remain trapped in a portrait forever is rather cruel.”

“You really haven’t changed at all. That’s what’s scary.”

He seemed like he changed, but he was the same as the beginning.

“I hope you don’t suffer.”

Because that would be a disaster.

“I don’t...”

He didn’t want to see that.

“......”

“We’re friends, right?”

“...Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Then please tell me your story.”

“How like you.”

Yoo Seong-Woon gave a bitter smile.

“I said something dumb, didn’t I?”

“I was happy you were worried. But I think a little more trust is in order.”

“All right. Then, where should I begin...”

This was unfamiliar.

The warmth, the buzz of conversation—none of it belonged to this cold and silent snowfield. He never imagined he’d have such a good conversation partner here, surrounded by snow rabbits as his audience.

So, he began from the oldest memory.

“I was buried alive.”

It was a story chosen by the snowfield.