Chapter 6

The Painter Who Draws Dungeons — Chapter 6

A snow-white gallery.

Snow-white lights.

“...”

Amid works glittering as they caught the light, a man alone, pitch-black.

‘...It came out.’

Lying in wait in the gallery at the request of an HR employee, Yoo Seongun watched the ‘ghost’ while hiding his presence.

Whether his luck was good or bad.

On the very day he received the request, Yoo Seongun was able to confirm the rumored figure.

Indeed, as he had been told in advance, it was a tall man wrapped head to toe in a pitch-black cloak.

‘Not even footsteps... I can’t hear them.’

The rumored ‘ghost’ was barefoot.

‘No matter how barefoot you are, it’s strange to be this quiet.’

But it wasn’t that there was absolutely no sound.

‘Looks like the curators up to now couldn’t hear it because they didn’t have an enhanced hearing skill...’

Yoo Seongun closed his eyes.

“...”

Rustle, rustle.

Fssshk...

“...”

Very.

Very faint noise.

‘...This is...’

He opened his eyes again.

‘...It sounds like plants bumping into each other.’

It was a strange comparison, but that was his judgment.

A sound like rolling something puffed up and round—some lightweight vine or dried petals that wouldn’t even weigh 1g.

That weak yet overly hollow sound did not suit a man as tall as 188cm.

“...”

Yoo Seongun hid between works and pillars and continued observing.

‘...He’s appreciating them.’

The ‘ghost’ wandered around the empty gallery, and from time to time would stop in front of works protected by glass walls.

He spent an especially long time in front of sculptures or paintings.

The surprising thing was that he truly was only ‘looking.’

‘With so many dangerous objects, even touching one would cause an uproar, but fortunately he isn’t doing that.

Looks like a high-intelligence type of monster, but it’s still an unusual case.’

That didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate other forms of works.

‘Whether he’s interested in art, or killing time like that... or looking for items he can use.’

The ‘ghost,’ strolling through the gallery with his hands clasped behind his back like a lofty noble or a trained soldier, moved with a certain weight and restraint.

It was to the point where you could be mistaken into thinking he was the owner of this place, and Yoo Seongun, for some reason, recalled a story about a vampire in an old castle.

‘A vampire count... is that a bit childish.’

Considering his corpse-pale skin and inhuman lack of presence, it seemed to suit him quite well.

After circling the gallery like that for a long time, the black cloak...

“...Ah.”

Stared straight at the hidden Yoo Seongun.

“...”

Their gazes.

Met.

“...”

“...”

Black eyes.

In that moment, Yoo Seongun felt his mind grow faint.

‘...That...’

What is that.

‘Black.’

Too black.

But bright.

Warm, yet cold; empty, yet heavy.

Even from a clear distance, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, to the point where he could see the blood vessels in those eyes.

No—maybe those weren’t blood vessels.

Thin, elegant branches made of gold and silver were vast, as if he were looking at a forest.

The black center, where you couldn’t distinguish a pupil, was so dark it made him inwardly afraid.

It was too enormous.

So enormous, so deep, that human cognition couldn’t accept it.

It felt as if his breath were choking.

He felt anger and awe for no reason at all.

Even though it wasn’t strangling his throat, there was a force inside it that made his breathing stop on its own.

Not hiding, not showing off, simply there...

Existing.

“...”

“...”

Two blinks.

“...”

Fssshk...

With a faint noise, the cloak moved.

“...”

A little farther away.

Farther than that.

A presence that stopped even farther away soon disappeared.

“...”

Yoo Seongun moved his feet.

The place where the presence had cut off was none other than before ‘Gio’s portrait.’

“...”

...Is it putting on airs, at least.

As if nothing had happened, it had its distant eyes closed.

“I’m going crazy.”

Day 1, complete.

* * *

Even in a world with supernatural powers, not everything about ‘ghosts’ could be explained.

You could tell that from the fact that the job of shaman still existed.

So it was hard to explain a moving portrait, too.

“...”

“...”

4:29 a.m.

The portrait opened its eyes.

“...Ah.”

Yoo Seongun let out an exclamation without meaning to.

The gloomy-looking man who had been watching him—‘Gio’—opened his mouth.

“Hello.”

“...”

“Good morning.”

“Morning, huh...”

At those words, Yoo Seongun looked at the portrait’s background.

“...”

Ah, indeed.

It was a forest under blazing sunlight.

“...It’s dawn on this side, though.”

“I see.”

Saying that, ‘Gio’s’ eyes took in Bisabeol’s gallery.

“It’s always lit by white lights, so I didn’t realize it was dawn.”

His voice, which carried a certain sense of discomfort, was even blunter than Yoo Seongun had imagined.

He was clearly speaking, and Yoo Seongun was clearly hearing it, yet for some reason he couldn’t shake the thought that it was ‘quiet.’

What should he call this sense of incongruity.

He couldn’t describe it as machine-like.

Rather, it was something a little more...

“I will apologize.”

“...You don’t need to apologize for something like that.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

A steady tone, as if he already knew what he was going to say next.

A clear voice, as if there were predetermined input phrases, strangely entered the ear very well.

“But I was surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not common for someone to see a talking portrait and not be afraid.”

“...”

His calm voice and blunt face showed no emotion at all.

For someone saying he was surprised, he didn’t look that way at all.

‘He’s clumsy at lying.’

Or he might not feel the need to lie skillfully.

In any case, that hard, gloomy face didn’t look like it could act flexibly.

While Yoo Seongun was thinking that, the portrait asked again.

“What is your name?”

“I...”

Even if Yoo Seongun was an insignificant human, a true name’s power was dangerous anywhere.

‘They say the most important thing in every contract that binds the soul is each other’s names.’

So if this portrait, this ‘Gio’s portrait,’ heard Yoo Seongun’s name, it could make some bizarre contract.

For strange beings of every culture, a name was that important a concept.

But he answered without resistance.

“I’m Yoo Seongun.”

The seventeen employees had never suffered any disadvantage for telling this portrait their names.

If it were to do something bad to Yoo Seongun alone now, it wouldn’t fit the regularity it had shown so far, so he could tell it this much.

Even after hearing his name, the portrait’s face remained blunt.

Even though he was the one leading this conversation, the portrait didn’t seem to feel much.

Would it be strange to think that was arrogant.

“I see, Mr. Yoo Seongun.”

“...”

“You have the face of someone with questions.”

“That’s true.”

“Would you like to speak with me?”

He was invited to converse.

‘The same path as the previous seventeen.’

Yoo Seongun felt a peculiar weight.

‘The weight of rules, I suppose.’

It was dense enough that it was hard to flail, yet not so heavy that your feet would sink deep into mud.

This air and this sensation felt like a massive whale, floating in the sea, adjusting the waves out of consideration for a mere human drifting there.

“...”

Right.

This is ‘consideration.’

“...Then I want to ask a question.”

Having come this far, it would be strange to retreat, so Yoo Seongun decided to try conversing as the portrait said.

“Is it possible for you to come out of that portrait?”

“Yes, I can come out.”

“...”

Monsters hate humans.

Since he was asking about its own information, Yoo Seongun expected it to hesitate at least a little, but the answer came far faster than he’d expected.

Had it shown on his face that he was flustered by that.

Without blinking even once as it watched Yoo Seongun, ‘Gio’ pointed it out.

“That is a flustered expression.”

“I didn’t think you’d tell me so readily.”

“There was no reason I could not tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked.”

“What if I asked with impure intent?”

“That is a lie.”

In a low, gentle, yet clear and firm voice, the portrait said,

“Mr. Yoo Seongun is a kind and polite person.”

“...Me?”

“Yes.

That is why I spoke to you as well.”

“...”

“Is that a sufficient answer?”

Yoo Seongun decided to be cautious.

‘This portrait is sensitive to good and evil.’

And though he didn’t know by what standard, it also possessed an ability to distinguish another’s good and evil.

It could categorize someone it hadn’t even exchanged a single conversation with.

‘In that case, if someone judged to be evil speaks to this portrait... will it simply ignore them?’

Or would it attack.

“...”

“Do you have a question?”

“Ah... right.”

Recalling the recent ‘ghost commotion,’ Yoo Seongun asked.

“The black cloak I saw yesterday—was that you, Gio?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Then the ‘ghost’ everyone said has been wandering this gallery lately, wrapped in a pitch-black cloak and handing out delicious gifts—that must be you as well... am I right?”

“...”

What was it thinking. ‘Gio’ blinked twice and murmured.

“A ghost.”

“...If that offended you, I’m sorry.”

“No. A talking portrait is certainly something you might describe as being possessed by a ghost.”

In its characteristically blunt voice, the portrait continued.

“However, I have never died.”

“...”

“Still, the ‘ghost’ you speak of does seem to be me.”

“...Was there a reason you wandered the gallery?”

“I was curious where I am right now.”

His voice was very calm and low.

It was a voice in which it was hard to imagine any interest.

“Rare works were displayed, and that drew my curiosity.”

“...”

“I was curious what kind of place this gallery is, and what kind of people work here, and what kind of lives they live, and what names and what tastes they have.”

Still in a flat tone, yet the answer itself—having great interest in human ways of living—was indeed monster-like.

‘No... I’m not sure, but maybe it might not be a monster.’

If that were the case, things would become more complicated.

“...”

“When you are alone, you end up looking for someone to talk to.”

As if to tell him, ‘I am watching you,’ ‘Gio’s’ pitch-black eyes moved to Yoo Seongun in an artificial shift of gaze.

“If it is someone polite like you, then all the more so.”

“Do you like polite people?”

“At the very least, I judged the employees managing this gallery to be more suitable conversation partners than the bright-red leader here.”

“By leader... you mean Guildmaster Bisabeol?”

“A talkative person.”

The portrait’s eyes narrowed slightly.

It was a change so faint it was hard to notice, but what it meant was clear.

“To the point that it is difficult to respond, he speaks too much.”

“...”

Ah, Guildmaster.

‘He got on its bad side.’

So that man couldn’t speak with this portrait.

All the curators on basement floor 5 knew that Bisabeol was very interested in ‘Gio’s portrait.’

And that he frequently spoke to ‘Gio’s portrait,’ calling it a truly special portrait.

‘But I was wondering why that man never said anything about this portrait...’

Even if Bisabeol knew that ‘Gio’s portrait’ could speak and move, he had never actually had a conversation with ‘Gio.’

Because ‘Gio,’ who judged Bisabeol to be rude, deliberately did not respond to his conversation.

‘Serves him right.’

I knew he’d lose out someday living like that.

Honestly, I think that man deserves to lose out a bit, but anyway.

Having organized his thoughts, Yoo Seongun bowed his head politely.

“I’m sorry.”

“...”

“I apologize on behalf of our guildmaster.”

His role was to manage the works here.

Among those works, there were many with selves of their own, like ‘Gio’s portrait.’

Especially since ‘Gio’ was presumed to be a humanoid monster, there would be nothing good in violating its rules and displeasing it.

‘Above all, it seems sensitive to manners.’

Fortunately, the portrait’s expression remained blunt.

An expression neither pleased nor angry.

Still gloomy and pale, but only stiff, showing no displeasure.

As always, the portrait spoke in a tidy voice.

“It is fine.”

“Our guildmaster is a bit of an unusual person.”

“He did not seem like a bad person.

So it is fine.”

“...”

Yoo Seongun additionally noted,

‘If someone is not evil, then even if they lack manners, it won’t be hostile.’

Even as he thought that, his breath felt tight.

Because he couldn’t casually measure the opponent’s abilities.

‘Does it have an emotion skill to the extent that it can judge even Guildmaster Bisabeol’s good and evil...

In many ways, it’s a monster that’s hard to handle.

An emotion skill of that level would be hard to find even across the entire world.’

No—before that, it was a question of whether a being with those ‘eyes’ could even be defined as a monster at all...

“...”

“...”

When a brief silence fell, the portrait opened its mouth again.

“Do you have a question?”

“...Your bluntness surprises me, Gio.”

“I merely kept manners.”

“Manners?”

“As a human, should one not keep manners?”

That, if anything, is what makes you not human.

‘Ordinary humans don’t keep manners that meticulously.’

Rather, it felt like monsters with a clumsy understanding of human life were awkwardly imitating it—there was an over-thoroughness to it.

While Yoo Seongun was a little fed up, the portrait shifted to another topic.

“I have seen Mr. Yoo Seongun for the first time.

Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.

Guildmaster Bisabeol said he no longer has time to manage your portrait, and the previous curators were assigned to other works.

So I took over the duty.”

“I express my gratitude for managing the portrait neatly.

I wished to greet the previous people as well, but I was not ready during that time.

Adding their share, I thank you once again.”

“Managing the work is simply the duty that they and I naturally must do, so there’s no need to thank us.

But I will tell them that you were grateful.”

However, one thing made him curious.

“...Even when your eyes are closed, can you know what people outside are doing?

Were you continuously observing this side from inside the portrait?”

To that question, ‘Gio’ answered with a blunt face whose intent he could not read.

“Since you are in a frame, I cannot help but watch.”

“...”

“A moving painting is interesting.”

“...Is that so.”

For some reason.

It was a little eerie.

‘The painting is not itself, but the humans outside it... is what it means.’

Yoo Seongun himself couldn’t tell exactly which part was eerie.

But if what that portrait said was true, then ‘Gio’ was seeing everything outside the painting as a painting.

Even though, to us, the painting is ‘Gio’s portrait.’

To that painting, we...

“...”

Are a painting.

“Was that a sufficient answer?”

“...Yes.”

As expected, this is a dangerous being.

“Probably.”

Day 2, complete.

Fantasy, modern,