Chapter 75

The Painter Who Draws Dungeons - Episode 75

He was lost.

“Fuck, where the hell is this...”

It wasn’t for nothing that the word “country” was attached; even for an entry dungeon, “The Country of the Deep Sea” was damn huge.

And it wasn’t as if the monsters were weak, either. He’d managed to get through Stage 1 and Stage 2 somehow and it had been bearable, but from the point you entered Stage 3—where the temple’s shape began to appear—it was hard to even breathe.

“Map, map... where’s the map...”

Unfortunately, this was a new dungeon whose basic structure hadn’t even been figured out yet, and—

“...”

The hunter who was lost right now had already lost all of his teammates.

“...What do I do...”

What do you do—what else is there but die.

Mocking himself inwardly, the hunter sank down onto the ground.

The water-scales on the pupil ceiling, shimmering coldly, felt like a monster’s shadow, and it was so creepy he couldn’t stand it.

“...Shouldn’t have come.”

Now that he was alone, all kinds of thoughts came to him.

In truth, he wasn’t the one who had demanded strongly that they come here—the team leader had—but with everyone dead and him left alone, there was no way he wouldn’t blame himself.

Swallowing his sobs, the man forced his feet to move.

“Fuck, is this a temple or a cave... the paths are complicated too...”

Everything looked similar, and yet he hadn’t found the same path even once.

He was definitely moving, but it felt like he was heading deeper instead of toward an exit.

But if he stopped and tried to hide somewhere, there were dangerous monsters and traps everywhere.

“Fuuuck...”

He ground his teeth and held back tears.

‘I have to at least get out alive to file a recovery request.’

When a guild-affiliated hunter dies in a dungeon, the guild usually goes to recover the remains, but freelancers and civilians can’t.

If a freelancer hunter wants a teammate’s remains recovered, they have to prove their identity themselves and submit an application to the Hunter Association.

‘I... I don’t even have the ability to recover them...’

The only reason the man had survived this long was thanks to one of his skills—stealth.

“First I have to get out alive, yeah. Then I can get money too... anything...”

He was forcing himself to steady his mind by thinking of the benefit after escape, when—

“...”

A single portrait entered the man’s sight.

“...?”

It was a portrait with its face hidden, smeared in black paint.

It was creepy.

“...W-what is this?”

If it were any ordinary object, he would have guessed it was just one of the dungeon’s decorations, but in the temple background that had felt like the same scene repeating over and over, a portrait like this was far too out of place.

A portrait with its eye area covered and completely unseen, and yet for some reason he could feel its gaze.

“...”

He passed by it.

‘It could be a dangerous item, you know.

Like a monster shaped like a portrait...’

From the start, the portrait’s appearance itself had such a heavy atmosphere it made his skin crawl.

Unlike the temple’s pure white stone and the pupil’s white mineral texture, it had a wooden frame.

It looked like it had been gilded, yet for some reason he could feel a warm heat from it, giving off an atmosphere opposite to the dungeon—and that warmth only made him want to approach it even less.

The sense of dissonance was too great.

“...”

But when he came to his senses and looked around, that frame was there again.

“...It wasn’t here, here...”

It wasn’t once or twice.

“It was in the corridor before.”

He could still feel its gaze.

It felt like the portrait was following him.

“...”

Maybe that really was the case.

His hands and feet trembled, his breath caught in his chest, and yet, in the mind of a hunter driven to the edge, a thread of hope appeared.

He knew even he could tell the flow was strange, but there was nothing he could do.

It wasn’t a phenomenon anyone could call positive, and yet he forced himself to think.

He just wanted to believe it like that.

‘Maybe... it’s something... an item that’s an important key to escaping?’

In story-heavy dungeons, a single item like this sometimes exerts its power and helps with the raid.

Even so, it wouldn’t raise the probability of survival by much, but the hunter, whose ability to think had dropped, approached the portrait.

“I wish I had an appraisal skill... this...”

“Hello.”

“...”

He flinched.

The hunter stepped back.

“...H-huh...?”

“I am a portrait.”

“...Huh...?”

“What is your name?”

“...”

“I am curious about your name.”

The lips of the lower face, not covered by black paint, asked again.

“Will you speak with me?”

“...Right now...”

What is this?

‘A portrait is talking?

A portrait?’

Even in a world where supernatural powers had become everyday, a talking portrait wasn’t something you saw that often.

At the very least, the hunter trapped in “The Country of the Deep Sea” had never seen such a portrait in his life.

“W-who...”

“I am a portrait.”

The same voice, the same line.

“...”

He got goosebumps.

The voice was so perfect that it sounded even more viciously intense; it was very sweet and soft.

It sounded so much like what you’d imagine if a devil spoke to you, but the hunter barely came to his senses and answered.

“Park Yunshin...”

He wasn’t ignorant of the danger of saying your true name, but he was far too out of it to weigh things like that.

Only the thought that he had to obey the being before him filled his mind.

He felt fear and mercy.

“Yes, I-it’s Park Yunshin.

Park Yunshin...”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Park Yunshin.”

“...You’re... a portrait?”

“That is correct.”

The pale lower face spoke again.

“I am a portrait.”

“...”

Only then did the hunter realize that no monsters at all were approaching nearby.

‘...The situation is going weirdly...’

It felt like he’d been bewitched.

The portrait, nothing more than a painting, was scattering an atmosphere so heavy it seemed bizarre.

It was different in quality even from the temple’s atmosphere.

It felt like being invited to the pope’s funeral.

That strange sensation came to him.

“...”

It was just as he was dazed like that.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, yes?”

The black-painted part began to bulge out as if wrapping something.

When the hunter recoiled in shock and stepped back, a human figure in a pitch-black cloak appeared right in front of the portrait.

The portrait had been hanging midway up the wall, and the figure dropped down as if falling from it, yet there was not a single sound of feet touching the floor.

“Ah...”

Only a rustle, that’s all.

“...”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Park Yunshin.”

Footsteps could be heard.

It was truly like a human.

“...”

No, with footsteps like that, why does the thought “human” even come to me?

‘Am I insane?

Did I get hit by a brainwashing-type skill?’

As he was in turmoil, the hunter remembered something.

“Ah, ah, ah...!”

A black cloak.

“B-black, black clo— cloak.”

“Yes, I am wearing a black cloak.”

“...Black Cloak...”

It was definitely a monster the Association had put a bounty on for information.

‘...This is a monster?’

A doubt suddenly rose.

‘This...?’

The hunter hesitated and looked at Black Cloak again.

It was wearing a pitch-black cloak pulled down deep like a grim reaper.

When the cloak slipped a little around the shoulder, the body inside was also dressed in a pitch-black suit and shirt, strangely dark.

“...”

Clearly it had a form, so when it wore the cloak, that round head shape must have shown.

‘...Hands too... they’re pale, but you can see skin.

That means there’s a human body inside...’

And yet, despite that, it didn’t feel like there would be a face inside.

‘No, just...’

It felt like there was nothing at all.

“...”

“Mr. Park Yunshin.”

“...Uh, yes, I...”

If this thing calls my name three times, will I die?

‘They say if the grim reaper calls your name three times, you die.’

He didn’t particularly think Black Cloak and the grim reaper were the same thing, but it was also true that an atmosphere unbearably close to death clung to it.

In confusion and awe, feeling as if he were standing before something he could not dare look upon, the hunter lowered his head deeply.

“S-sorry for waking you.

I just...”

“You are a good person.”

It was like bestowing something— a kind of declaration.

It sounded faintly sacred, and felt like a prophecy delivered by a god.

“...”

“So I will help you.”

Black Cloak held something out.

“...Th-this is...”

It was a round bead that looked like it had been made of gold.

It was quite heavy, and a strong sweetness wafted out, as if it were bewitching his brain.

“What is this...?”

“It is an apology for having startled you, and a gift given to you who have suffered.”

“A gift...?”

“It is yours.”

“...Th-then...”

“Eat it.”

Eat it?

‘This?’

It didn’t look edible at all.

And yet a desire surged up to put it in his mouth and make it his.

That was how beautiful the bead’s shape was.

I want to eat it.

“...”

Bewitched by the scent, the hunter put the bead into his mouth.

‘Ah.’

An ecstatic sweetness softly swept through his whole body.

The sensation of each and every cell stabilizing was vivid.

He even felt joy at a sensation that resembled a spring breeze rippling in a fading afternoon.

A freshness like a fruit packed full of juice, concentrated to the limit, matched the gentle golden bead extremely well.

“...H-huh?”

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

“This, this... yes, how.

Why.”

“I see.”

“...”

Black Cloak looked down at the hunter with an inorganic gaze, like a researcher expecting a set value to come out.

He shrank at the dissonance that could never be called human, yet at the same time, for some reason, he felt honored.

He was glad, as if he had shown the value the other party had expected.

A feeling he couldn’t recognize himself, and couldn’t understand.

“Do you wish to leave?”

“...Leave?”

His lowered head lifted on its own.

“C-can I... get out?”

“I can send you out.”

“Ah...”

Only then did he remember the information posted on the Association website.

‘They said the first discoverer also escaped The Country of the Deep Sea with Black Cloak’s help.’

Just as he looked up with hope toward where a face should be, it happened.

“...”

“...”

Their eyes met.

Yes, eyes.

There was a pupil and an iris.

But it wasn’t a sphere.

Is it flat?

No, maybe it’s three-dimensional.

But there were lines.

You could see those flowing lines.

It wasn’t one.

There were many, tangled like the roots of a tree, yet at the same time they looked like one.

What color is it?

Gold?

No, it’s dark.

So dark it looks bright.

Then black?

But it’s closer to silver.

Where did the idea of silver even come from?

It’s that dark.

It’s that bright.

What am I even looking at right now?

‘Was I even allowed to see this in the first place?’

He was so distant he couldn’t even feel fear, utterly bewitched, when—

“Mr. Park Yunshin.”

“...”

“I will ask you a question.”

“...A question...?”

Ah, right, he said he had something to ask.

“Yes, yes.

Yes... of course.”

“May I draw you?”

“...Draw me...?”

After that, he couldn’t remember well.

His mind became far more distant than when he first witnessed Black Cloak.

He lost awareness that he was a living creature.

His whole body melted away, but there was no fear within it; he felt a coziness like lying in the middle of a forest where spring wind rippled.

And when he came to his senses, he was in the middle of the city.

“...”

Only then did he realize this was a miracle.

* * *

“...That’s as far as...”

Before the researcher, Park Yunshin continued.

“That is what I experienced.”

“You turn a person into paint and use it to paint a picture.”

“At the time, I could hardly even think it was strange.”

Park Yunshin spoke in a dazed voice.

“To begin with, being able to talk with a monster at all... is extremely rare, and I knew that, but I was barely surprised about that point.

It just felt like it was so wise and intelligent that it would surely know everything in the world, including me...”

The researcher asked.

“Do you feel the desire to venerate him?”

“...A little, I suppose.

That person showed a miracle.”

“It was a miracle of turning a person into paint.

You said there was no pain involved.”

“After coming to my senses... I was very confused.”

A human with a perfectly intact sense of self became paint and a painting, and then returned to being human.

He had been forcibly made to perceive the perspective of inanimate matter—something he could never imagine—so there was no way the aftermath would be small.

“...But I don’t feel any bad emotions toward Black Cloak...”

It was simply frightening, distant, and wondrous.

“That was just too... too beautiful...”

Even though he hadn’t lived a life you could call close to art, he could tell this was art, and a work.

That vast presence that felt sacred and noble, and that geometric yet brilliant structure, were enough to make his heart race.

“Black Cloak is clearly favorable to humans.

No—rather than favor, it was closer to mercy.

He granted mercy.

He took no price at all.”

“Yes, thank you for agreeing to the interview.”

The researcher nodded.

“Providing information about Black Cloak was a great help.

You can receive your compensation immediately if you go to the Association lobby counter.

If you have anything further to share or need to make an inquiry, please contact the counter at any time.”

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, Hunter Park Yunshin.”

“Is that person really a monster?”

“...”

The researcher asked.

“Hunter Park Yunshin is calling it a ‘person,’ I see.”

That was the end of the conversation.

The Painter Who Draws Dungeons

Fantasy, modern,