The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 342

“You’re aware that our Guildmaster despises ‘heroes,’ right?”

More precisely, it was hatred directed toward the “living” kind of hero.

“If I’m going to talk about the Dragon’s Eye, I’ll need to start with that explanation.”

Garasani had already long since received permission from Bisa Beul to speak on the matter. He had said that since Argio’s true nature was that of a dragon, and “Gio’s Portrait” was the Eye of Origin, the time would inevitably come when the truth must be told.

So Garasani didn’t shy away and began the old story.

“He had three friends.”

First of all, the first.

***

Originally, Bisa Beul liked good people.

He had grown up in an extremely wealthy environment and matured into a fairly well-off man. In this capitalist world, money had a way of becoming a convincing tool of connection, even without a sincere heart.

Bisa Beul used it to make up for what he lacked, and to gather people who could fight for him and protect him.

Good people, considerate people, altruistic people. They followed patterns and were easy to interact with. They understood people like Bisa Beul, who struggled with normal human interaction, and even protected them. Convenient beings, truly. So when Bisa Beul said he liked good people, it wasn’t a lie.

He had a friend like that. A friend from even before the Great Catastrophe.

“Let’s survive together.”

A guy who said lofty things like that.

Even when the Catastrophe hit, it didn’t mean money instantly became useless. Bisa Beul used his wealth to hoard artifacts and items, and countless people swarmed around him, pestering him.

But his friend was nothing like that, so he was quite comfortable to keep nearby. Even so, sometimes he would say things that were difficult even to pretend to empathize with. Whenever that happened, Bisa Beul, in a twisted mood, would grin and shoot back like this:

“Remember what you just said, okay?”

“Of course. Honestly, who else but me is gonna save your ass? Your personality sucks.”

“You were the one who made the promise~ If you break it, I won’t let it go.”

Humans are fundamentally evil. Goodness is nothing but a shell that wraps that malice. In the end, when people lose their footing, it's only natural for them to become hideous—because they’re human.

But Bisa Beul only realized after the Catastrophe that his friend didn’t fall into that all-too-common human mold.

“...I’m saying this out of genuine goodwill, which is rare for me—stop now. It’s better for you.”

“But how can I just stand by and watch people die...!”

“What, you think you’re a psychic? You think you’ve been blessed or cursed or something? You haven’t.”

“Still, as a human being, there are things you just have to do.”

“If you’re gonna say that, at least do something about the tears and snot. You look scared out of your mind—what the hell are you even trying to prove?”

“Geez... You took his help too, and now you're talking like that... I’m already scared enough....”

“Oh? That’s strange. Isn’t it completely normal for a friend to give advice out of concern?”

It was irritating.

“You said we’d survive together.”

“And I am trying to...”

“At this rate, you're going to die first. Do my words sound like nonsense? Does a promise mean nothing to you?”

“...Ugh, I’m sorry, okay?”

“You mean it, right? I’m trusting you. If you make me explode again, I swear...”

Despite being a completely powerless unawakened civilian, he always stepped up. Bisa Beul couldn’t count how many times he’d tried to give him advice, only for the guy to not even pretend to listen.

And like that, after saving not just him but countless others, after living for others until the end...

“......”

...he died crying in fear.

“...You were the kind of person I’d never seen before in my life.”

It happened on the day of a dungeon break. It was still early in the Catastrophe, so they lacked information, and they got caught up in it. Anyway, that’s how it happened. He ended up like that while trying to save people from the incoming monsters.

It was pathetic. It was frustrating.

“Idiot.”

His corpse was a mess of tears and snot. If becoming like that was so terrifying, he should’ve saved himself, not others. Bisa Beul lost his first friend that way—but he kept living.

His second friend was the same.

“I’m fine, this is nothing.”

“People usually die saying things like that~”

“Persistent little shit. What, are you trying to jinx me? Your personality’s garbage too.”

“So you’re not gonna die?”

“I’ve said I’m fine, haven’t I? Shit, why don’t you believe me?”

He had a foul mouth. But even if he was rough on the outside, Bisa Beul quickly recognized that he too was one of those “good people.” Compared to the first friend, he was far more capable, stronger, and mentally tougher.

So Bisa Beul thought maybe this time it would be less frustrating. But that was just wishful thinking.

“Wow, he’s finally dead...”

“Why was that cursed bastard so damn hard to kill? Was that his skill or something? Cockroach?”

“Such a waste of time ‘cause he wouldn’t die. Damn, what a pain.”

“Quick, loot him before someone shows up. He used to hang around that rich guy—if we get just one good artifact...”

“Shit, there’s nothing on him. This one’s just a fucking bum.”

“Not even a chicken instead of a pheasant. Christ, bastard had such a tight mouth too...”

That second friend died hiding Bisa Beul. And got mocked by a bunch of punk-ass kids for it.

“......”

Bisa Beul, who survived thanks to his friend’s diversion and silence, laughed at the ragged corpse.

“You said you’d be fine, you bastard.”

He never should’ve trusted those words. He wasn’t someone Bisa Beul should’ve believed would be less frustrating than the first.

And he didn’t even die fighting monsters in a dungeon as an awakened—he died trying to save a “friend” in reality.

How pathetic.

“See, if you’d just told them where I was hiding...”

The mangled corpse was crying. Maybe he hadn’t died instantly. His face was so disfigured it was unrecognizable, but his expression was clear. He must’ve been in terrible pain.

It was just so... stupid.

“Maybe I’m better off alone.”

So-called “good people” were convenient. Sure, having them nearby helped. Easy to use, and if they were competent, even better. But at this rate, Bisa Beul was going to die from internal stress before anything else.

So for a while, Bisa Beul moved alone. With the break over, he acted entirely on his own terms. He stole from others, set traps, and watched people die groaning in pain. They were days of total freedom.

And then he got a third friend.

“Hey, I told you not to do that.”

“This is insane... If you keep being annoying, you know what I’m gonna do, right?”

“You said you’d show me how to kill someone using nightmares.”

“You’re doing this even though you know? Are you nuts? Do you like nightmares?”

“You’re the one who’s crazy, you root of all evil. Look who’s talking...”

“You’ve got a sharp tongue. Wanna see me go full villain? I can get real nasty.”

Before the Great Catastrophe, he was supposedly a cop or something. Had a sense of duty, even took care of unrelated people—a so-called “good person.” Bisa Beul, long since fed up with that pushover mindset, genuinely couldn’t stand the guy.

And yet, he somehow became someone Bisa Beul could call a friend. There was a bit of an age gap, but hey, people talk about grudging affection. Bisa Beul had a harsh and brutal temperament, but as long as you didn’t poke first, he’d let things slide with a smile.

And that was the problem.

“...I should’ve just slit his throat from the start.”

“Ugh... grgh... grrrgh...”

“I knew this would happen. Why the hell did I let him live...”

“Ki... ll... me...”

“You’re still spouting sentimental bullshit in that state? Huh? Weren’t you just asking me to kill you now? Christ, this is disgusting. Makes me sick, seriously.”

“......”

“Say something, anything.”

“......”

“...Say it. Please.”

There are countless types and numbers of contagious monsters. To put it simply, zombies—or something like that. He went charging into a dungeon to save people, without protecting himself, and sure enough, ended up infected.

Bisa Beul was dumbfounded. If they hadn’t achieved anything, he could’ve just clicked his tongue and moved on, but these insane pushover bastards... they actually managed to succeed. Everyone else escaped. The guy who helped them was left behind in the dungeon, crawling and moaning like this.

And what that third friend said in a dungeon filled with the living dead was—

“...I’m... fine...”

Fine?

“What the hell is fine?”

“...Everything...”

“......”

He, and the sight of him, and everything beyond that—would all be fine. That third friend, rotting away, said that.

Honestly, he was the number one culprit in blowing Bisa Beul’s fuse.

Why the hell do they do this?

They said they’d survive together, and then died without even thinking about the friend they left behind. They said they were fine, and then died, substituting themselves like it was nothing. They’d forcefully worm their way in as “friends” when he didn’t want any, and then—fuck—they’d die again.

He died. Again.

“Fucking bastards.”

Bisa Beul spent a while next to the third friend’s still-living corpse.

He already knew it was pointless. It was a dungeon he couldn’t even conquer. Bisa Beul wasn’t some powerful awakened being—he was just good at using artifacts and items. He’d only gotten caught up in this dungeon due to sheer bad luck.

They say if you don’t awaken, you’ll never have to enter a dungeon. That was all complete bullshit.

So he could’ve just run out through the path his third friend opened up. There was a clear exit from the dungeon. He knew it. But if he left now, he’d probably do something reckless without thinking, so he held his anger down in silence for a while.

“Grrr...”

“Did dying also kill your sense of timing? I’m already pissed off, so just stay still for a bit.”

“Gwak!! Kakk, kakagak...!!”

Only the grotesque growls of a ghoul, announcing that it had become a monster, echoed through the Safe Zone of the ghoul dungeon.

“......”

Since the clueless bastard kept trying to chew on him, Bisa Beul sealed it up with an artifact.

No matter how he observed it, he couldn’t feel any of the intelligence it once had. It really was a zombie, like the ones you only see in movies. A monster that was no longer the person he once knew. A monster that needed to be killed.

But leaving the shell like that felt like a waste.

“...Haaah...”

Bisa Beul decided to accept it.

To him, people who were “good” to the point of being broken were... special. In good ways and bad. He had realized that from the moment he saw his first friend die, sobbing, while trying to save others.

That must be why he dragged that corpse and went to the trouble of making a grave. Why he personally stitched up his second friend’s body. Why he didn’t flee now, why he stayed in the dungeon, clinging to a final sliver of hope.

Maybe—maybe there was still a way to turn things back.

“Fucking pieces of shit.”

The faces of the ones who killed his second friend came to mind. No—actually, they didn’t. That’s how thoroughly he’d torn them apart. What did come back to him vividly was that bright afternoon, the one where he tore them to bits. Cut them halfway and revived them. Split them in two and revived them. Dismembered them and revived them...

He must’ve been the one savoring their screams while tearing those vermin apart, but that day, Bisa Beul broke into a cold sweat. He normally laughed while doing things like that, but he hadn’t been able to laugh.

“...Why the hell...”

Fine. He’d admit it.

“Who the hell are you to make me scared?”

Those freakishly good bastards had become a trauma for Bisa Beul.

In the end, Bisa Beul burned the third friend’s corpse, which had rotted down to just bones. Then he poured out every artifact and item he had left. He memorized the dungeon’s terrain and structure, the types and positions of the monsters—everything.

And over the next four years and three months, he eventually defeated ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) the dungeon’s boss monster and cleared it. Maybe because it was such a crazy feat for an unawakened person, even the boss monster spoke to him.

“Oh, it talks?”

[...Friend.]

“Friend? Yeah, sure, fuck you. Then bring my friend back. Huh? You’re a dragon, aren’t you? A dragon. You’ve got the title, so don’t tell me you can’t revive one damn human. You’ve got no problem reviving your minions in a blink.”

[Friend... good... thing.]

“Or give me the corpse back. Fine, I burned it, yeah, I know I did, but still. Give it back anyway. I couldn’t just leave it like that. I did good. I did what was right. But I still had to bury him properly. This isn’t even Earth. Give him back. Now. Come on. I’m not leaving that guy behind...!!”

[Good... friendship...?]

“Give him back, you fucking bone scrap!!!”

Back then, Bisa Beul was completely out of his mind. Of course he was. He had stayed alone in the dungeon for over four years, tearing into rotting flesh just to kill that last bony dragon.

One eye had gone cloudy, probably from corruption, and the other had been torn out by a monster. His whole body was decaying, falling apart—he was slowly dying.

It would’ve been weirder if he had stayed sane and composed.

[...Friend...]

And perhaps because it looked... admirable, that skeleton of a dragon gave him a gift—an eye.

A bright yellow eye that showed him everything clearly, even through his blurry vision.

[Le... t... go...]

“......”

And with that, he awakened.

Greed Emotion (SS)

: Sees things of value.

He didn’t even get the corpse back.

“...No.”

Was that eye the boss monster’s last life force? When it gave him the eye, the dungeon shut down, and he was forcibly ejected from the collapsing dungeon.

When he came to, he was somewhere in Gyeonggi Province. Apparently, only a month had passed on Earth.

He looked over his miserable body. His hair had turned red, and his eyes blazed bright. And when he looked at the world through those eyes, every precious thing on Earth flooded into view, and his insides roiled.

“...Ha.”

Greed. A tremendous, burning greed.

“Haha... Hahahahaha...!”

That goddamn overwhelming greed twisted his old trauma.

He couldn’t remember where the grave was. Couldn’t recall the friend’s name. Even the memory of the corpse he’d left behind was fading. That rotted, mangled human flesh wasn’t anything special. There were plenty of corpses like that.

After laughing emptily for a while, Bisa Beul declared cheerfully,

“I’m never making a friend again.”

Those stupid, frustrating bastards—people called them heroes.

***

“This world’s really a funny place, isn’t it?”

“......”

“Well, whatever. That’s just my belated reflection...”

Late at night.

“It took me a very long time to remember where my friend’s grave was, to recall the name I’d forgotten, and to go through all the trouble of restoring the body. It was really hard.”

Bisa Beul said with a laugh.

“Thankfully, these eyes don’t only see what’s valuable. Back then, I just couldn’t handle the dragon’s vision. As you can see now, I’ve learned to manage it quite well.”

“And your trauma around good people?”

“Some of it came back. That’s probably why I hate those goody-two-shoes types so much now. If they’re just pushovers, whatever. But the ones they call ‘heroes’—they’re completely insane. Just seeing them gives me chills. It’s revolting.”

“But in the end, you got your friends back, didn’t you?”

“Exactly. Which is why I can call them ‘friends.’ I fulfilled all the formal obligations of friendship. I made their graves in sunny spots. Restored their bodies nicely. Even got revenge, didn’t I?”

“Aha, I see.”

Gio smiled and gently brushed the corner of Bisa Beul’s eye.

“So that’s why you hate ‘living heroes,’ huh?”

“A dead hero’s story becomes a valuable narrative, Zeorge. That’s art—once they’re no longer just human.”

“You hated them because, when everyone else called them heroes, you only saw pathetic people.”

“Turns out I don’t really like dumb people. They’ve got perfectly good brains and talent, but they throw it all away. That kind of madness rubs me the wrong way.”

“Just look at the staff in this building—your taste is very clear, Father...”

“Oh? You think so?”

Bisa Beul agreed.

The kind of people who pretend not to notice danger even when it’s right in front of them. They’re smart, but they use their wisdom only to protect themselves and their comfort. No sacrifice for others. Just busy shielding themselves and their little circle. Capable, diligent, polite—and nothing beyond that.

A truly beautiful sight to behold.

“...Are you going to take this eye?”

“Hmm... maybe if you die, I will.”

“How considerate. Thanks to that, I might be able to milk this position for a few more years.”

“That’s an eye my friend gave you.”

“And you respect that?”

“I don’t have any other friends but this guy...”

Sitting across from Bisa Beul at the office table, the man smiled like a portrait. A sweet and gentle smile that had charmed and blinded countless others.

“Bisa Beul, don’t you want to become a perfect dragon?”

“Maybe not a dragon, but I’m definitely eyeing that hat.”

“Then we’re good. As long as there’s something I have that appeals to you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Does this world hold any value for you?”

It was a strange question—but the answer came quickly.

“Of course.”

“Then please, love it.”

“Love who? You?”

“All the stupid humans in this world.”

“...Ah, right...”

Bisa Beul shrugged.

“You forgot you’re ‘Gio’ after all.”

In the end, he was always on the side of the “good people.”

“So are you giving me that hat?”

“When the time comes. I won’t need it anymore.”

“That sounds like a good deal.”

It seemed like it would be a good show.