The Artist Who Paints Dungeon
Chapter 241

Scratch, scratch—

Countless quills floated in the air, scribbling across sheets of paper.

“......”

Eventually, their owner—Bishop Bae Seo-Gyeong—let out a long sigh.

“Hoo...”

As if responding to her, the quills slowly descended, settling one by one atop the desk.

The desk, long and vast like a banquet table, easily accommodated the many objects.

There’s no easy answer.

The paper, thickly stacked to a plush softness, was filled with densely written text.

It described the relationship between humanity and divinity.

There were notes about human limitations.

And also, tales of when humans became /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ divine, or when divinity took on human form.

“......”

Bae Seo-Gyeong stood quietly, watching.

The Saint’s condition has stabilized significantly.

Hunter Sergio had said he’d restored the balance between her mind and body.

That meant the Saint’s fate would be decided when the scale tipped—toward humanity or mystery.

...But still, just a little more... There’s still so much the Saint hasn’t learned...

No, that’s not it.

...Those are just excuses.

The Saint was the most learned scholar in the entire Moon Sect.

Bae Seo-Gyeong knew the effort she had put in, the accomplishments she had shown.

To ignore that would be to dismiss the Saint herself.

“...It’s not even a matter I’m worthy of agonizing over.”

In the end, all choices would be made by the Saint.

I must trust her judgment.

Whether she polished herself further and became the Moon in full divinity, or chose to live a peaceful life of learning as she was now—or even walked a different path altogether—that, too, must unfold according to the Saint’s will.

And yet, why do I... hesitate like this?

She didn’t even know what she was hesitating over.

Why? Over what? What do I think I’ll do?

Even now, with the moon about to set, she could not sleep.

“......”

In the end, it was all meaningless.

“A mere creature like me...”

No matter how hard she tried, she could never match the Master’s knowledge.

She could never be wiser than the Moon.

She could never accomplish as much as a Saint.

To know all that and still act so foolishly—it only proved her own shortcomings.

And yet, she kept thinking.

...If I could become just a little more perfect.

Then—

Could I stay by her side?

That question the Saint had once asked while seated in her place.

When she asked if the Moon’s embrace was just as terrifying, Bae Seo-Gyeong had only chastised her.

Called her foolish.

Told her to become more perfect.

Said she had to warm the Moon.

“...Ugh.”

The hand braced against the desk trembled violently.

“Guh—ugh, kegh—kehhk...”

She clutched the desk and collapsed into a crouch.

How many times must I repeat this?

The nausea choked her.

She had already sent off three Saints from Korea alone.

Some had become divine.

Some remained human.

Some were publicly announced.

Some remained hidden.

Through them, Bae Seo-Gyeong had come to know—even providence can be horrifying.

Especially when providence and humankind came into contact.

How many more times must this repeat before the world improves?

It was so awful, she couldn’t even imagine breaking the cycle.

All she could do was hope, desperately, that somewhere, someday, an end awaited.

Bae Seo-Gyeong had been born before the Great Calamity.

What once was the worst she’d known had become today’s best.

If only they could return things to the way they were before.

If only—she’d give everything for that.

If only I had the qualifications to be a Saint.

It wasn’t a thought unique to her.

Many who joined the Moon Sect thought the same.

Let’s mend the world through the vast knowledge of the cosmos. Let’s make it better. Even just a little faster.

If only it were me... me instead of them...

Only then could they avoid passing this horror onto future generations.

The present sacrifice was for the sake of the future.

“......”

She steadied her breath and returned to her usual cold expression.

...It’s all meaningless.

Bae Seo-Gyeong stood up.

She straightened her crumpled clothes.

Cleaned what was soiled.

Corrected her disheveled appearance.

The bishop was the one who soothed and guided the order.

Among humans, she had to be the most perfect.

This research is meaningless.

Without a proper vessel, Bae Seo-Gyeong could not become a Saint.

She could not become divine.

She couldn’t even contain mystery beyond a certain threshold.

No matter how hard she tried, she was still human.

She could never become a star that remained beside the moon that was the Saint.

The Saint is doing excellently. She has confidence in her path, pride in herself. Showing lingering human attachment now would only be unpleasant. What good would it do to have some half-formed star forced to remain by that noble moon’s side?

If she couldn’t truly help, the least she could do was stay out of the way.

This was the Moon Sect.

They affirmed all knowledge and emotion.

They had a duty to acquire more diverse wisdom.

More than anything, this is just my own satisfaction. It’s not an act of respect toward the Saint. I can’t let my selfishness ruin everything.

Bae Seo-Gyeong looked at the research scattered across the desk.

“......”

Surrounding her were filth and scraps torn from her own flesh and blood.

“...I have to clean this up.”

This wasn’t helping anyone.

Once she made up her mind, the fatigue hit her all at once.

She doubted she’d be able to see the Saint tomorrow due to the need for rest.

The bishop waved her hand, lightly cleaning the laboratory.

She’d sort out which documents to burn tomorrow.

After offering a prayer, I’ll rest right away.

She’d foolishly overexerted herself from impatience.

The Saint’s path will be decided by fate... how foolish of me to be so attached.

The Moon Sect respected the freedom of the order’s four ranks.

Even stepping down from the priesthood was allowed, as long as one’s memories were erased.

Among their few rules was this: to report one’s day to the Moon before going to sleep.

The bishop stepped into the prayer room.

“......”

A space shaped like a giant pupil, it felt like staring into the night sky.

The dark ceiling had no visible end, and the floor—nearly imperceptible—was a clear lake.

A pitch-black night with no moon, no stars, no clouds.

It was a mystical space designed for communion with the Moon.

If one was lucky, they could sometimes meet the Master on the lake’s surface.

He’s not here again today.

The Saint’s recent poor condition must’ve played a role.

Without the Saint to act as a medium, even glimpsing the Master was difficult.

The bishop knelt in a terrace-like space.

May the meager knowledge I gained today also be contained within the Moon...

She stayed there for a long time.

“......”

“......”

“...?”

The bishop opened her eyes at the light seeping in through her eyelids.

“...Ah.”

A pure white, round moon.

And then, she saw something.

***

It was half a head.

No brain, no eyes, no ears.

It looked like the base of a shattered porcelain jar.

Inside, a golden liquid shimmered, pouring out like a gentle stream.

It flowed past lips curled into a smile.

It had six arms.

The topmost pair held the skull of a ram with geometric horns atop the half-head.

The middle arms cradled the sacred moon like a child.

The lowest arms were spread wide, golden eyes embedded in their palms, gazing down at the world.

Its legs were wrapped in a tail.

Delicate fur, billowing like silk curtains.

The red tail looked like an animal’s, or a crafted ornament, or the aurora in the sky.

It seemed tangible, yet possibly illusion.

It wrapped around the left leg, which was folded as if in a meditation pose.

“......”

Its radiance formed crimson wings.

Soaked in blood, dripping heavily, falling—or seeping—into the lake below.

Like countless feathers mercilessly ripped from a bird, each cut coarse and frayed.

So many, they trembled in agony—or perhaps convulsed in laughter.

“......” _{fre\e(w)ebn ov.e l\. co.m}

Its voice—its numbers and its time—were unknowable.

“Little beast.”

Who was speaking?

How many?

From the past?

The present?

The future?

“I, who sleep in the final coffin, speak.”

“Pitiful thing.”

“Whose belief is yours?”

“To not even know your own feelings.”

“Are you angry?”

“What a shame.”

“You’ve been tamed.”

“Never learned, did you?”

“Beg me!”

“Was what you thought conviction truly so?”

“You are afraid.”

“Were you not born human?”

“What are you doing?”

“Joy should be enough!”

“Seems you’ve never learned.”

“If you cannot feel anger, how are you human?”

“Not obsession, not conviction.”

“Not even malice.”

“Look at the world.”

“Rejoice!”

“Rage.”

“If not that, then you, little beast...”

“What can you do?”

“So very small.”

“...That was a long dream.”

“I shall speak more with your master.”

“Now awaken.”

“The moon has set.”

***

“—Bishop.”

“......”

“Bishop?”

The voice of a fellow ranked priest roused her.

“......”

“Why are you sweating so much?”

“...Just now, I...”

“Did you... see the Master?”

“I...”

Her breath quivered.

“......”

The world returned to her eyes.

The pitch-black prayer room, still empty.

The fellow priest who came looking, worried she hadn’t returned.

The clock on the terrace wall.

She must have dreamed while praying.

But—was it really a dream?

“...What did I see?”

And what did I hear?

***

“I understand.”

“What is it you understand?”

“I understand everything the Moon Sect has done.”

“That is...”

Looking at the portrait, Joo-Hyun tilted her head.

“Isn’t it a horrifying human sacrifice?”

“I acknowledge your words.”

“I didn’t think you’d approve, Gio.”

“I do not approve of it.”

“Ah.”

“I set aside personal likes and dislikes to comprehend the reason behind its existence.”

There was no such thing as absolute right and wrong in the fate of the world.

Did every branching path grow by checking against human ethics and morality?

“People are diverse. Their limits vary wildly. Beings capable of thought endlessly generate variables. Everyone calls that fate, but I think it’s simply a natural flow.”

Fate wasn’t some grand concept.

“If a child who loves cake grows up in an environment where they can never eat it, they’re more likely to obsess over cake. What do you think of that, Joo-Hyun?”

“You’re right, Gio.”

“All flows in the world are like that.”

“I understand that too.”

“The Moon Sect is no different.”

Gio defined it as unfortunate.

“They don’t even realize it’s a sin.”

It was only natural.

The Great Calamity had stolen all prior ethics and morality.

Now, people only mimicked such things.

They continued to discard much for the survival of themselves and their loved ones.

Neither personal preference, nor the morality of belief, nor any other concepts in the world—people understood none of them properly.

They were like newborns.

And not just the Moon Sect.

“During the Great Calamity, the Moon Sect discovered a way to end tragedy even a little faster. A Saint of the Moon Sect became divine and warmed the Moon. What do you think of that?”

“...I, too, want today’s tragedies to end as soon as possible. But I don’t want to offer up healthy people as sacrifices like the Moon Sect did. That’s just disgusting.”

Joo-Hyun let out a dry laugh.

“Peace gained that way means nothing.”

“No one ever told the Moon Sect that.”

“Shouldn’t they have realized on their own by now?”

“They should have. But many never did, and that’s how the world ended up this way.”

“...You’re right. The Research Facility’s the same.”

“Far more people live without realizing what sin even is.”

Even if it was the road to destruction, people were too busy to see past their own feet.

And those who looked too far ahead couldn’t even see what was near.

“The sinner is clear, but the origin of the sin is murky.”

Who was the first to go wrong?

“The Great Calamity, merely a natural disaster?”

Or the Moon Sect’s first Saint, who sacrificed themself for the future?

“Later Saints, who recognized the sin but mistook it for noble sacrifice?”

“The priests who, hidden behind lofty ideals, began to justify both their own and others’ sacrifices?”

“...I don’t know.”

“That’s right. Everyone in the Moon Sect is both victim and sinner. They committed sin in every part of fate. People commit large and small sins throughout life.”

“But isn’t the Moon Sect’s sin too great?”

“Sin can only be eradicated by pulling it out at the root. What do you think of that, Joo-Hyun?”

“But... we can’t even find the root.”

Each year, the new initiates of the Moon Sect vary.

Some join for food and shelter.

Some because they don’t want to be alone.

Some for honor.

Some seek more wisdom.

Some want to become perfect.

Most of them are children.

All of the Moon Sect’s priests grew up there from a young age.

Children who craved knowledge and honor became the Moon Sect’s adults.

Beginning and end—whose fault was it?

“Now, the Moon Sect faces two fates.”

“What are they?”

“Learning... or punishment.”

“And you’re the one who can deliver either, aren’t you, Gio?”

“I can deliver neither.”

But Argio had opened the floodgate.

“For now... we’ll start with the head.”

The upper water must tremble for the lower water to ripple.

“A cult priest tempted by the whispers of an evil god... I think that’s a pretty entertaining cliché.”

“I don’t know the full story, but... let us say farewell to the Moon Sect’s bishop’s fate...”