The Artist Who Paints Dungeon

Gio stood in the studio.

What he was looking at were the numerous drawers that covered the entire surrounding walls.

What he was thinking about were the paint materials quietly sleeping inside those drawers.

Soon, Gio moved.

“… Let's just go with what I used last time.”

He brought out the materials he had used to make waterfowl in the past.

But that wasn't all. Not only gems resembling aquamarine and emerald, but also white and transparent pebbles like marble by the stream,

A piece of obsidian branch hidden among the forest pretending to be a burnt tree, light green tree bark that seemed so vibrant as if juice would come out when it was pressed…

Only when he thought it was enough did Gio stopped taking out materials from the drawers.

“It's tiresome to put back leftovers, so if it's not enough, I can take out more later ….”

Clink, clatter.

He placed the materials on the workbench.

“… Today's activity.”

Making his own paint.

“Nice.”

The basic materials needed to make oil paint are pigments to provide colour, oil to mix them, and a glass plate and muller to blend these ingredients together and make fine paint.¹ If one wants to mix them well, a palette knife of the right size is also necessary.

Among them, what Gio was now trying to make was the pigment that would provide colour.

“Let's break it down first.”

It was impossible to make proper paint with just the materials taken out of the drawers. They all had to be made into coloured powder, and it was necessary to crush them first to do so.

Gio prepared a sharp nail and a hammer. As he gazed intently at the transparent gem, he soon placed the nail on a certain spot and, tap! Hit it.

Despite not being a strong force, the gem that was hit cracked precisely into two.

Gio thought.

'As expected, I'm a cool potato.'

This mountain village idol knows exactly where to split just by looking at the mineral.

'I should have become a miner.'

Gio continued with his work.

Clatter.

Tap, ta-tap.

Crack…!

Clink.

“… Alright.”

Perhaps because he only identified the weakest points and struck them, the gem quickly split into pieces smaller than Gio's little fingernail.

“This should be enough.”

Gio smashed the finely fragmented gems with a hammer, swept the smaller fragments into a ceramic mortar, and forcefully ground them.

At some point, the grating noise striking his ears had become smooth like rolling glass beads, and all the gems had turned into powder.

“… What could be the principle behind this ….”

A pigment with a mysterious mixture of blue and light green was completed.

“It's troublesome, all the things that made up me are so special that I shouldn't be caught by a research lab.”

The materials in this studio were all unique.

Normally, grinding a gem would only produce stone powder. Most gems are transparent and have beautiful colours thanks to their molecular structure, but grinding them would make their transparency disappear.

But the gems here were different.

'Even after grinding, their colour and transparency remain intact.'

Despite going through the process of an amateur like Gio, the fact that its original colour remains intact truly shows the benefit of excellent materials. When grouped together, the finely grounded gems shine with unique refreshing transparency.

Gio silently turned all the materials into pigment and slowly mixed them with the prepared oil.

Even though he had ground it into pigment, the raw stone powder mixed with the oil did not float. Normally, you would have to prepare oil that matched the characteristics of the pigment, but the wax in his studio showed excellent viscosity and blending capability.

“… Mix in the scent ….”

Moving beyond simply producing colour, Gio also added a matching scent. Interestingly, the oil scented with flowers or fruits blended well with the pigment.

“Grind it, then put it in …..”

Gently smoothen the pigment and scented oil on top of the glass plate.

So that it felt like silk brushing against his hand.

Very finely.

***

The waterfowls Gio made were more playful than expected.

“Kids.”

Rustle.

“The back of Dad's neck feels cold.”

They were wriggling inside Gio's collar, making a nest.

Inside the collar of the shirt, inside the slightly open sleeves, pants, jackets—wherever there was space, waterfowls were squeezed in.

'Isn't that uncomfortable?'

Yet to compare them to small water balloons—the sight of them distorting their original shape and settling inside the clothes hardly seemed like balloons or birds.

Gio looked at the ceiling for a moment as they maintained a minimal round shape despite distorting.

He'll let it slide because it's funny.

“… Maybe it's because I'm their parent, but they seem to like being squeezed nearby. Or maybe they like hiding.”

Waterfowls had the habit of flocking together. Otherwise, they preferred to gather in one place.

Sometimes when he went outside the cabin, he was surprised by the puddles he saw even though it wasn't raining.

'It's definitely different from an ordinary puddle, so you can recognize it right away.'

The puddle where they gathered emitted a faint blue glow, was unusually transparent, and had various miscellaneous items rolling around inside.

Considering their usual round bird shape, it was ironic that they didn't feel viscous at all when gathered together.

“On the outside, it looks like just water.”

Splash.

“If you keep making a fuss, I might just stick a straw in and suck you up.”

Rustle, rustle.

“It was a joke, I won't drink. Even I think that was a scary thing to say.”

Living water, how can one possibly drink something like that?

“Eating something alive, drinking paint, or consuming a child I created from paint are all physiologically difficult.”

Rustle?

“Before I'm moved by your filial piety, willing to sacrifice yourselves if your dad is thirsty, I feel fear. It would be better to restrain yourselves.”

Gio, who was having a meaningless conversation with his nearly hundred children, was now sitting in his studio.

“I need to build you a home.”

At first, he didn't think much of it, but it was quite nerve-wracking to see living water wandering near the house.

It wouldn't be a problem if they just quietly stayed together, but they often came into the house, caused accidents or even stole things. At that point, Gio might have let it slide thinking they were cute, but since they also sometimes hid in the stream water ….

“I've been saying this, but I really don't intend to drink. I misspoke, kids.”

Splish.

“No, I don't like that. Don't slander this dad with strange tastes. I just wanted to drink water.”

… He almost drank the waterfowls.

“Do you know how surprised I was when you popped out of my mouth? Yes, you, the one with nothing in your stomach right now.”

The only way to distinguish the waterfowls was by the faint light and miscellaneous items within them, but without their own things and completely blending in with the stream water, they became indistinguishable.

When Gio felt the squirming water in his mouth, his heart dropped. The parties involved didn't seem to care, and surprisingly seemed to enjoy it, but Gio didn't have such a ruthless taste.

“You all should have a home too.”

Rustle, rustling?

“You need your own habitat.”

Do they lack money, time, or land? In this abundant and vast world, it's absurd to live in someone else's shadow.

“And…”

There was also personal interest.

“I'm trying to decorate here little by little.”

Tap tap, ttap!

“Because it's too monotonous now.”

A single cabin, a vast forest, and a beautiful spring. That alone was not enough.

“I should create a fishing spot.”

The popularity of open-world RPGs isn't without reason. After all, a map in any content is not just enough for it to be vast, it also needs to be rich in enjoyable elements.

“This isn't really a game, but it is true that it needs to be developed further. It's the same context, after all.”

Gio's outdoor activities currently are at best gathering and farming. He had to increase the activity he could do one by one so that he wouldn't get bored even without going outside the painting.

“It's strangely unfriendly outside right now.”

Rustling.

“Maybe it's because it's not the world I remembered …..”

Rustle.

“I don't want to live there.”

Gio liked the world inside the painting.

“It's good to be unemployed.”

Actually, this was the best.

“…Come out now.”

Rattle! Rattle!

“I don't mind you watching me draw, but it bothers me if you keep staying inside my clothes. Even now, my shirt is about to burst, poor thing.”

Rustle…

“Do you think this dad is doing this for personal interest, kids? Remember, this is all to build your home.”

Fortunately, the waterfowls obediently came out from Gio's clothes.

Thanks to the children who knew how to listen when he spoke, Gio could finally hold the brush.

He opened his mouth.

“If I were to fish…”

A large lake would be nice.

“Let's make it a lake.”

Let's make it a lake where the trees and water are completely in contact.

There would be fish living underneath. There would be small minnows that flowed in from the stream, and also flat fish camouflaging themselves at the bottom, hidden in the sand.

“Nice.”

Let's also build a bridge for fishing.

There would be a wooden bridge spanning the middle of the large lake. Would the colour be a little light? A light and soft colour like freshly baked bread would be nice, and when one sees the lake water peeking through the gaps of the wooden planks, it will sparkle in the sunlight during the day.

What would the evening scene be like?

Every time the water's surface ripples due to the breeze, it will shine with a soft lantern light.

When it gets dark at night, he wishes he could see the insides clearly. He wish he could see all the way inside the deep lake.

Thus it will be a bright yet subtle light, like the glow bracelet he cherished when he was young, watched alone under a thick blanket inside a dark room.

“… It would be nice if the colour changes depending on your mood.”

Swish.

“On a good day, it would be golden, on a bad day, it would be red, on a sad or gloomy day, it would be blue … on an ordinary peaceful day, it would be green.”

Swish, swiiiish.

“Since you don't have vocal cords, you can't cry.”

Since one can't hear, let's make them visible.

“That way, I can also communicate with you guys.”

Although Gio was the creator of the waterfowls, he couldn't control them at will.

Since he didn't know what the waterfowls were thinking, with how their appearance was blurry and how it was quiet without vocal cords, he wouldn't know where they were if he didn't listen carefully.

'It wasn't for no reason that I almost ate it. Such a disaster must not happen again.'

If it weren't for their playful and talkative nature, Gio would definitely not have been able to find them.

That would be a bit sad.

“I'll come out to play when it's night. We can talk then.”

Flick.

“If it shines like that in the dark evening, I'll be able to see it even if I'm in the cabin. Yes, that'll do. I'll be watching you from the veranda, so you can tell me what you want to say then.”

Flick, flick.

“Okay.”

Gio moved the brush again.

“Let's do that.”

The lake he painted was embracing the night.

“…I like it.”

The lake had more than just one colour.

Waterfowls like to flock together, but the treasures they put inside their bodies are all different. Their personalities are different. What they say, think, and do are all bound to be different.

'So, the whining and bragging they whisper every night will all be different.'

Thus he placed each of their group of light one by one with a brush.

“It looks just like pointillism.”²

Up close, he would be able to tell who among them is struggling and in pain, and who is joyful and happy.

From afar, he could tell what they all wanted to tell him, and when he should come to comfort and talk to them.

“Nice.”

It looked like a flower garden blooming on the water's surface. Perhaps because it was painted with homemade paint, there was an inexplicable freshness even though it was obviously water.

“I like it.”

Or maybe due to fireflies or forest butterflies that roam around resembling sunlight and moonlight.

It could have perhaps resembled the twinkle of transparent lights reflected in a glass window.

When Gio finished painting all their emotions, the lake was tinged with gold.

“… Seems good.”

The pleasure of bringing something from imagination to reality was indescribable.

This lake will be located a bit far from the cabin, clearly away from the spring, with the trees right on the edge of the lake will still maintaining their greenness.

“During the day, it will be blue.”

When scooping up the water, it will appear as clear as if it contained the sky, while inside is a chilly blue like the sea, with the shimmering surface looking almost white when touched by sunlight.

There, many waterfowls hiding and moving around might occasionally pop their heads out and play when they're bored.

“At night, you'll scatter sparkles …”

Sparkle like water made of mist.

“… As you please.”

Like a newborn baby laughing at the slightest breeze, you will all shine brightly.

Imagining that made him feel really good.

Tuk.

As soon as he tapped the canvas, the painting disappeared.

Whether it was just his imagination, a watery scent drifted from afar. It was a subtle fragrance that made him want to lie down on the moss and fall asleep right away.

'A scent from water that has nothing, it feels similar to the white tree spring water.'

The birds on his shoulder flutter as they smell the scent, and the birds sitting on the canvas flap their wings.

Flap-flap-flap!

Flutter, flutter!

Swooooooosh―

Rustle, rustle!

Splash…!

Numerous birds that had been hanging on the lamp flew out through the open window.

Like migratory birds returning to their homeland, their lively flap of wings is refreshing, as if a breeze from the seaside has passed by…

As expected, he liked it.

And so did the waterfowls.

¹: glass plate and muller:

²: pointillism (painting with dots)