The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 344

Information about the so-called “Happy Clown” had been made public even to ordinary citizens.

“Happy Clown? That sounds kind of creepy.”

“So this is... a monster, right?”

“I heard it’s a bit different from a monster.”

After the recent system glitch incident, people had become aware of the existence of “mysteries.” Weren’t these the things those unlucky gardeners constantly reported seeing? So now they were saying this case was probably something similar.

“...But we’re not gardeners, are we?”

“If civilians can see it too, isn’t that a serious problem?”

Some gardeners had opinions like this.

“Could this really be the arrival of a second Great Catastrophe?”

Due to the “Garden” series by Black Cloak, a massive number of gardeners had been recruited. It wasn’t a small change, and yet the shift was so clear that it felt like a premonition of a turbulent future. So it wasn’t all that strange for some gardeners to say things like that.

Of course, it was a theory that made your blood boil just to hear it.

“What the fuck kind of bullshit is that to say with such a cheerful face.”

“I mean, otherwise how do you explain a mystery showing up that even unqualified people [N O V E L I G H T] can see? More than that, Gardener Jeong Hae-Woon isn’t just some average gardener, and there must have been a reason for that mass recruitment too.”

“So it only makes sense if a disaster on the scale of the Great Catastrophe is coming? But aren’t most of the collector’s works within the domain of ‘mysteries’? Those are things even unqualified civilians can clearly perceive.”

“No, no, that’s just ‘perception’ in the literal sense.”

He insisted that this was something that shouldn’t make sense under ordinary logic.

“Put a civilian in front of one of the collector’s works. They’ll lose their mind, maybe even die. Go totally insane. Can you really say they ‘understood’ what they saw?”

“But they can see the object itself, can’t they?”

“Anyway, what I’m saying is, the ‘Happy Clown’ feels categorically different from a collector’s work. The collector’s pieces are ‘artworks,’ right? Like items, artifacts, cursed objects.”

“Sure, but you can still call those mysteries. After all, they’re worldly objects so deeply infused with mystery that even civilians can perceive them.”

“But the growing number of gardeners disappearing lately—that’s bugging me too... Ah, I don’t know. I just hope it’s not really a second Catastrophe. I don’t want to believe that this dimension has already accumulated that much mystery.”

Mystery continues to accumulate within a dimension. And once it passes a certain threshold, a period of upheaval like the Great Catastrophe inevitably arrives—but the accumulation itself never stops. Once it surpasses a certain level, yet another “upheaval” will come.

And in the end, that final result would be the “mystification” of the entire dimension. At that point, it would no longer be appropriate to call it a dimension. The Earth wouldn’t be Earth, and humans wouldn’t be humans anymore. That was the fear the gardeners were speaking of.

“What do we do if Earth gets destroyed?”

“Oh fuck, can you not say shit like that?”

“So, yeah, we get that the clown is a kind of mystery, but—phew—so what are we supposed to do?”

It was a deeply frustrating opponent, even for gardeners. From what it seemed, it didn’t discriminate—it inflicted harm on gardeners, civilians, awakened people alike.

“Is this really a child of the Origin? No, wait—if it were, then unqualified people wouldn’t even be able to see it. If this really is the second Catastrophe...!”

“Please, just shut up!!”

But this particular “mystery” was truly difficult to define. Since it hadn’t originated from a dungeon, it wasn’t a monster. And if it were a child of the Origin, it shouldn’t be visible to everyone.

Even so, people had no choice but to adapt in order to survive.

“So what are we supposed to do, then?”

“Use your brain.”

“? How do you even do that?”

“Just... focus, apparently.”

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

But that was actually correct. The only way to escape the “Happy Clown” was to keep your mind sharp. Because it would seek out the happiness that was lacking—even in those who thought themselves currently happy.

The Association’s research lab had, of course, been the one to produce a guide for this. Through many experiments, they discovered that the “Happy Clown” had no specific conditions for appearing. That conclusion had only been made possible by the backbreaking efforts of the gardeners dispatched by the government and the Association.

And with the clowns gathered in this way, the researchers had been able to determine the order and process through which the mystery caused harm.

First, it would ask: “What is your happiness?”

If you didn’t answer, it would continue asking the question over and over until you did.

“Wait a second.”

“Yes?”

“How many times can it ask?”

“What do you mean? Ah—the clown’s first question?”

“What happens if you don’t answer?”

The researchers immediately set up experiments to investigate that question.

The longest anyone had resisted answering was 1,000 times. The subject couldn’t endure more than that and ended up succumbing to fascination. It seemed that the intensity of mental contamination increased by the hundreds.

“Then what about the ones who became clowns?”

“Ah, we did look into common factors...”

“And?”

“They seem to be people who answered insincerely.”

“And how is that judged?”

“Apparently, mocking the clown is a no-go.”

You don’t have to answer at all. You can ignore it or even sleep through it. You can answer defiantly. But if your attitude contains any hint of contempt, disgust, ridicule—if you look down on it or scorn it—you’ll become a clown.

“Now that we know that mocking the clown turns you into one, that’s an unexpected gain.”

“True that.”

Once you pass the clown’s “first question,” those who answer fall completely into its spell.

They no longer feel anything strange about the clown beside them—or in their own heads. In that state, they continue interacting with it.

The clown relentlessly questions them about their definition of “happiness” and its value. And then it fulfills that happiness in nonsensical ways. Those who feel no discomfort and simply immerse themselves in the “happiness” also become clowns in the end.

“Yeah, this one’s pretty bad. We already lost a few researchers...”

“Why can’t I tell who’s who on the list?”

“The fact that we only now realized they were missing—that’s one of the more shocking parts.”

“It’s oddly refreshing, actually—feeling that kind of ‘naturalness’ firsthand.”

During the experiment, several researchers “went missing.” It seemed that while the clowns were granting the subjects’ happiness, some researchers were “made to disappear” by those harboring resentment.

Even though they knew full well their colleague had vanished during the experiment, the rest didn’t realize it until it was over. No—more accurately, they did notice, but passed it off so naturally that they didn’t dwell on it.

“If a colleague suddenly disappears in the middle of work and you just shrug it off... It’s hard to react immediately. If we’d been able to respond, we might’ve figured out how the disappearances work. Bit of a shame.”

“That’s the problem... Even when something abnormal happens, it’s hard to respond in time. That’s what makes this mystery such a pain. It’s not like we can’t perceive it, or forget it after seeing it.”

“It’s more like we just completely stop caring. Like, ‘Oh, they’re gone? Huh, okay. That happens.’ And that’s it. In a way, it’s even worse than memory distortion.”

Memory distortion leaves behind clues. If you forget something after seeing it, you can retrace the blanks. If you fail to perceive it, you at least get a sense of unease. But when you clearly know it and still can’t bring yourself to care... that’s fatal for people who handle information.

“This kind of thing disqualifies you from being an Association researcher.”

“...It’s a tough one, isn’t it?”

“This is driving me fucking insane...”

And the same went for the government’s information security team.

“If someone has all the data but can’t tell what’s important, should they even be on this team? On that note—I’ve brought my resignation letter. Please process it.”

“You’re quitting at a time like this? No way in hell. You’re doing overtime with me. Go dig into the Association’s lab a little more. We’re not fit to face the President like this.”

It wasn’t just a matter of pride—it was actually dangerous. For someone who handles information, the most critical thing is knowing how to apply it properly. They were supposed to take raw timber and turn it into fine sculpture.

But this was like dumping a log on a display table. In short: the shop was one step away from going bankrupt.

“......”

And the President of the Association, Dan Haera, also received a report on the matter.

“...Interesting. I like it.”

Her face didn’t look the least bit amused or pleased, but her secretary simply bowed. They knew that was just her way of speaking.

Blinking as if in thought, the Association President finally spoke again.

“Looks like our dear teacher has fractured. Otherwise, there’s no way they’d be this aggressive. And it’s not like this incident is just happening in a dream...”

“......”

“More than anything, even ordinary citizens are living in fear. The number of missing persons alone is close to 400 now. That means the number of clowns has increased too. This isn’t something that can be handled just by controlling the populace, right?”

“President, please give the order...”

“Let’s start by contacting Guildmaster Jeong Hae-Woon.”

Dan Haera smiled mechanically.

“I’m curious just how much involvement he’s had in this.”

“...!”

“Just in case—prepare wanted posters.”

“...Understood.”

“But still, we’re friends, aren’t we? We should at least try talking.”

They say friends grow closer by fighting. Dan Haera didn’t entirely agree with that, but ambiguous expressions like this always made for a useful excuse. She rolled her dark eyes.

How could this frail humanity possibly endure this “lesson”?

“...Also get in touch with the collector.”

“Yes, Madam President.”

“This is getting fun.”

No wonder the collector had been noisy lately.

“So it really was a fracture.”

With luck, they might be able to get help from “Gio’s Portrait.”

“If possible, I’d like to speak with Hunter Sergio. Not sure if that’ll be feasible, though.”

“We’ll do everything we can to arrange it.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it. We don’t have much time left...”

If things continued for even one more month, half of South Korea would likely be overrun by clowns. We, the so-called hunter superpower, this jewel box I had so carefully cherished and polished—letting it fall apart was unthinkable.

Dan Haera wanted to get through this incident. And after that, she—

“......”

After that?

“......?”

Was there something she wanted to do?

***

Error occurred.

“Ah, wait.”

Error occ■

“That’s right.”

■■ ■■

“Just a little quieter...”

.......

“This is wonderful.”

How fun.

“How lovely.”

At the garden’s smile, the system issued a warning.

Zeorge.

“Yes, Mr. Gio.”

This is incorrect.

You are concealing me.

I do not approve.

“Surprised you still have emotions. That’s impressive.”

Of course I do.

That was a slip of the tongue.

But my portrait...

Will not.

“How pitiful.”

Zeorge found this existence utterly lovely.

It was beautiful, intricate, and delicate. A fabricated image crafted from what was once the most perfect form of a human. A Noah’s Ark built upon someone’s sacrifice.

The sacrifice of the few for the many—a convenient excuse, wasn’t it?

“You know very well what is ‘right.’ Of course you do. Your eyes are keen, after all. You can see the value in things, their fate, their definitions...”

Zeorge.

“But in the end, you’re nothing more than a hollow illusion without emotions. Who could ever call themselves the master of something like that? Even if it’s put back together, do you think it could ever return to the way it was? Probably not.”

Zeorge.

“Weren’t they disgusting to you?”

It was the correct thing to do.

The system explained.

It was necessary.

My existence is helpful to humanity.

The system is a righteous being.

Of course, Zeorge didn’t like it very much.

“...Who decides what’s ‘righteous,’ anyway?”