The Artist Who Paints Dungeon-Chapter 370

This was how the incident unfolded.

"It’s peaceful."

"Isn’t peace a part of happiness?"

Jeong Hae-Woon asked, incredulous at the dissatisfied expression.

"I thought you liked happiness?"

"No, my kind of happiness is far removed from peace."

Zeorge said this with a seriousness that somehow still felt resolute.

"People usually call it dopamine, right? My pursuit definitely leans that way. I’m not into ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) that kind of happiness that’s light, fresh, and soft like peace..."

"Not into it?"

"I prefer happiness that’s more vivid and sticky. The kind that makes it hard to breathe, sends tingles across the body, and leaves your head spinning. Less like fresh fruit, more like rich, dense chocolate."

"......"

Hearing that, Jeong Hae-Woon was momentarily speechless and just smiled. For someone who looked like they embodied that light, soft peace perfectly, the cognitive dissonance hit hard.

But Zeorge continued.

"Ah, my dear Jeong Hae-Woon, please don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I think peace is bad. But we have something called TPO, don’t we?"

"I never imagined a garden would know about TPO."

"There’s a kind of happiness appropriate for each Time, Place, and Occasion. This is the ‘Garden of Pleasure,’ isn’t it? The word ‘pleasure’ is right there in the name. Trying to mix that with peace is bound to feel off."

"Good grief, did you just say it feels off?"

"It was stimulating at first, at least..."

Zeorge adjusted the outfits of the clowns lying scattered like broken dolls. He retied ribbons neatly, adjusted knots to look presentable, and embroidered elaborate patterns on their clothes.

"Most of the remaining intruders seem to have already adapted to me."

"Even if the system meant to help humans broke down the way you intended, who wouldn’t adapt with you pressing on them like that?"

"Of course, I’m well aware of the human survival instinct. But in the end, survival and instinct are just matters of the brain."

"Here we go again—what kind of quote are you trying to leave behind this time?"

At Jeong Hae-Woon’s dry reaction, Zeorge smiled in his usual way.

"Have you ever seen addicts show a strong survival instinct?"

"Did you just compare yourself to a drug?"

"Yes. Confidently so, don’t you think?"

"I don’t know about 'good,' but it’s definitely confident."

"Well, it’s in the same vein."

Zeorge could say it with certainty. He had, without a doubt, made the intruders happy. Even if that state was far removed from clear-headedness, it was still happiness.

"And... a little pain and misery are addictive."

That was the core of the happiness Zeorge offered.

"Humans definitely have a tendency to enjoy their own suffering. Sometimes people go out of their way to seek out unrelated sorrow, shedding tears over others’ misfortunes or watching them with curiosity. Or they get lost in self-pity and sink into bottomless sadness."

For intellectual creatures like humans, it was always about carrots and sticks. Shadows made light seem brighter; bitterness and sourness brought out sweetness.

"Why do people who can’t fly go so wild for those thrill rides that drop from the sky? Why do they try them at least once, and even after riding, get back in line?"

"...I dunno, because it’s thrilling?"

"Because they feel awe at the tiny world seen from up high, fear from an exotic experience they could never have naturally, and clearly sense the attention directed at them."

"That’s... oddly fascinating."

"Human happiness—real thrill—needs a bit of pain and misfortune. The more there is, the more intense and vivid the happiness becomes. That’s the kind of happiness I showed them."

Zeorge, smiling as he spoke, then let his expression go dull with a tinge of boredom.

"But the downside of that kind of happiness is that it can get boring if it lasts too long. If I’d kept providing novel stimuli, it might’ve been a different story, but under current circumstances... even those fiery intruders couldn’t help but adapt. I get it."

Even as he said that, his expression wasn’t all that pleased.

"The problem is that those intruders turned out to be too seasoned. If they hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have adapted and would’ve kept experiencing new thrills and new kinds of happiness..."

"I think the ones who didn’t adapt all died already."

"Even so, I still feel like too many are left, my friend. I suppose the key factor was that people had already grown somewhat accustomed to the garden and its mysteries before the gate to this place even opened."

"Are you blaming me now?"

"Oh dear... would I ever do something so terrible to my dear friend? I’m merely saying I hope this situation doesn’t drag on for too long."

The exposure of each other’s vulnerabilities had become ample stimulation, entertaining the intruders. Their shared dreamscapes and the clowns among them had been perfect supplements.

But not anymore. There were no longer any amusing situations unfolding. The intruders had adapted to the garden’s mystery, no longer grew tipsy like from alcohol, and stopped fighting among themselves.

"At this rate, our clowns won’t have any stage to perform on."

"Oh no, that would be tragic. I put so much effort into making them pretty..."

"On that note, Jeong Hae-Woon."

The garden looked up at the human.

"You’re my gardener, aren’t you?"

"I’d appreciate it if you used the accurate term: slave contract?"

"If not for Jeong Hae-Woon, there’d be no one to manage me..."

"Then maybe try not throwing tantrums so often."

Jeong Hae-Woon chuckled.

"This garden’s so beautiful that most people would’ve wanted to settle in. But you threw such fits that even those love-struck suckers couldn’t endure and died off."

He was a special kind of gardener. He drank his teacher’s blood and inherited his power. In other words, he was a gardener blessed by the Origin. He had the power to govern gardens without being bewitched by them.

If he weren’t weak to a garden bearing the exact face of the man who gave him that power, it would’ve been odd. Even if fundamentally they were nothing alike, Jeong Hae-Woon was still a gardener—and Gio’s student.

"Jeong Hae-Woon."

"......"

Dammit.

"...I’m only tolerating you because we understand each other, Gio."

The poor ‘system’ was finally free. Now it was time to get rid of that damned Symbol of Eternity.

***

"So I came."

"......"

After a beat, Dan Haera, sounding like the chairwoman she was, asked a respectful question in response to Jeong Hae-Woon’s bold statement.

"Are you insane?"

"How many years have we known each other? Why act all serious now?"

"You really have lost your mind."

"Your vocabulary seems to have expanded—guess the Promise really is broken."

"There’s still the dignity I’ve built over the years, Hae-Woon."

"My dignity got shredded when I took this gig as a mid-boss."

"At least you’re aware."

"What, does that make your head spin?"

"In a way..."

Dan Haera pressed her fingers to her temples. In the thirty years since she sold off her memories and emotions to the Promise, not once had she felt this dizzy. She reached out to her secretary.

"Painkillers, please."

"Yes, Madam Chairwoman."

"Please understand. That friend of mine aged without maturing."

"I understand."

At their exchange, Jeong Hae-Woon tilted his head with mock offense.

"So what am I then, huh? You people know me and still treat me like this?"

"Look at him throwing a fit now, after ruining his own dignity."

"You wanna bring that attitude out?"

"You’re not the only one with a temper, Jeong Hae-Woon."

Despite their immature back-and-forth, the Association staff didn’t flinch.

It wasn’t that they weren’t confused. Many internally wondered things like, “Is this actually happening?” or “Am I seeing things?” But they were thoroughly trained enforcers of public authority. This level of chaos didn’t shake their discipline.

Seeing how hard the staff tried to hide their dismay, Jeong Hae-Woon clicked his tongue.

"You must’ve had these kids under your thumb to the point they can’t even squeak in this mess. This is why authoritarianism is bad. I knew from way back that your personality wasn’t just for show."

"Oh, someone listening might think I was the one messing around in back alleys. Weren’t you the one smoking and drinking as a minor, getting dragged to counseling by our teacher?"

"Hoooh?"

"Huuh?"

The faces of these two titans twisted as much as their moods.

"...Even so, I didn’t hit random kids. Unlike you—an honor student full of pent-up rage—I was a bumbling thug, but at least I only messed with my own kind. Right?"

"‘Bumbling thug’ my foot—you were downright vicious. I remember you throwing our teacher’s homemade lunchbox on the ground and flipping him the finger. Maybe you hit your rebellious phase late?"

"That was one time, you ass. Are you seriously bringing up the teacher again? Like you were so great to him? You wanna go, huh? See whose conscience holds up better at our age?"

As the bickering showed no sign of ending, Dan Haera’s secretary cleared her throat softly. When Dan Haera turned, the secretary whispered quietly.

"Shall we begin?"

"My people are always ready, aren’t they?"

"Yes, Ma’am."

"Right. Anything more from this conversation would just be wasteful..."

With the elegance only someone truly petty could manage, Dan Haera smiled. Unlike the mechanical grin known to the public, this one had life—and a distinct chill.

"So what did you come here for?"

"Did you ignore my entire explanation?"

"If that was a declaration of war, I apologize. It didn’t come off that way. Guess it wasn’t very threatening."

"Hmm, yeah. I did come here to fight."

Jeong Hae-Woon’s lips curled with irritation.

"Pretty nice, right? For our graves?"

Dan Haera chuckled lightly.

"Couldn’t ask for a grander send-off."

It was a childish war perfectly suited to a campaign of mutual revelations.

***

If there was a problem that wasn’t quite a problem, it was that this dungeon was ridiculously large.

"If Yoo Seong-Woon weren’t here, we wouldn’t even know a fight had started."

"I feel like I’m dying."

"Whoa, don’t die. If you do, I’ll just reanimate you as a cursed doll. You know I’m not joking, right?"

"Why are you doing this to me..."

In line with the Collector's labor contract, Bisa Beul gave a fair warning. Yoo Seong-Woon whimpered.

"God, it’s freezing."

"Would you like some tea?"

"Where do you even keep pulling this food from?"

"With respect, tea doesn’t fall under the category of food."

"...Thanks, I guess."

Yoo Seong-Woon took the teacup with trembling hands. He couldn’t feel his fingers.

In this dungeon—or garden—the ones best suited for communication and defense were gardeners. Some veteran participants, if lucky, could even interact through the garden itself.

"It’s a blessing the Association has a gardener. Otherwise, we’d have no idea why the garden’s gone to hell."

"Didn’t he say he was a researcher?"

"Yeah, he joined this too. Used to be my boss... A creepy but competent gardener. Expresses love for gardens in this chilling, dry way."

"Didn’t he work at the Association’s lab?"

"Right, be careful around him. His idea of love is learning everything about you. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up dissected... Anyway."

Yoo Seong-Woon, exhausted, looked out at the ever-shifting interior of the garden. Ever since the moment the disturbance spread—a sensation only a gardener could sense—the garden had been like this. And there were few who could shake it this much.

"...He really does live up to the title of Earth’s first gardener."

The only ones who could affect the garden were the garden itself and its gardener. Usually, if the garden stirred this violently, it was the garden’s own will. But Zeorge, who took pride in his own beauty, wouldn’t get this messy just from impatience.

‘Up to now, he’s always transformed gracefully. He wouldn’t throw a tantrum like this just because he lost his patience. Gardeners don’t usually impact a garden this deeply either...’

But Jeong Hae-Woon, the gardener who supposedly slaughtered most of Earth’s gardens, just might.

"But at this rate, we can’t even see one step ahead."

"Feeling overwhelmed?"

"It’s dizzying. Up to now, I could still use the garden to pull tricks, but now even that’s hard. The garden’s owner is way too erratic and temperamental."

"Yoo Seong-Woon."

"Yeah?"

"You’re not looking well."

"I can’t deny it."

Yoo Seong-Woon’s eyes had turned to frozen glaciers, and frost clung to his skin. He often felt unwell when influenced by the garden, but this was unusually severe.

The garden’s temperature should’ve been mild, yet his organs felt like frozen stone, and even breathing was hard. Each exhale from his stiff lungs came with pain, like shards of ice breaking.

Yoo Seong-Woon gave a bitter laugh.

"Wow, this really ought to be recorded in history..."

"......"

"...Gio?"

In the chilling silence, Yoo Seong-Woon turned to look—Gio was clutching something on his shoulder.

"Gio?"

"My apologies."

"That’s... is that Honey?"

"Sadly, it’s very, very angry."

Expressionless, Gio then smiled. It was the familiar smile of ‘Giovanni,’ but Yoo Seong-Woon felt a strange dissonance. A pressure he hadn’t sensed from the usual ‘Portrait of Gio.’

Suspicious, Yoo Seong-Woon asked,

"Are you angry?"

"...Hah..."

His golden eyes gleamed brightly.

"...I told you not to make a mess."

Maybe the teacher’s words had sounded a little too much like a joke.