Chapter 295: Chapter 295

The so-called “Black Cloak Enthusiasts” thought of themselves merely as members of the same club—but in truth, they were cultivating a much firmer organization.

Upon first joining, one underwent a brief interview and completed a written agreement. Over time, depending on participation and results, members could rise through the ranks. And this “participation” mostly referred to volunteer work.

“Do you think I came here to do that kind of thing?”

Most new members reacted at first. Anyone daring to covet the works of a monster—now a divine being—was usually someone with wealth, power, or an unshakable worldview.

But such attitudes were bound to change.

“This week’s activities are complete. You’ve fulfilled your quota.”

“What do you mean I can’t do more? It’s not like it’s anything bad—I want to help!”

“Other members are entitled to their share of activities as well. If you do more than your quota, you’ll reduce what’s available for others. We ask for your understanding.”

“What kind of nonsense... How can there be so little to do?”

“Activities within the city are limited. If you want to do more, you’d have to go outside the city—but that requires official approval and help from the Association.”

“Then I’ll go talk to them myself. I’ve got some contacts there anyway.”

“We’d rather you didn’t... But, well, there is a team being deployed to the provinces this week. The requirements are a bit strict, but if you wait, we’ll check the situation.”

The reason for such a dramatic shift in attitude was clear.

“While I was picking up trash at the crossroads, the City of Void petted my head!”

“Wow, I’m jealous... Which sector were you assigned to this time?”

The rewards were undeniable.

“I want to see one of Black Cloak’s works too.”

Most came for the Black Cloak himself, or for the opportunity to view his art. Art one could interact with. And to think such mystical pieces gave direct rewards. Even by first-class citizen standards, they were unimaginably luxurious gifts.

“The new recruits are really into it.”

“Once they get a taste of the rewards, it doesn’t take long.”

And given a little more time, members began finding meaning in the acts themselves. The Black Cloak Enthusiasts had always formed their salon this way. From time to time, they even received official support from the government or the Association.

“Have you selected the next deployment area for next month?”

“Yes, I plan to send a team to this region.”

“Hmm, that terrain is rough. It’s a zone with frequent monster activity—best to coordinate with us. We’ll send the Hunter roster within a day or two.”

“Thank you, as always.”

Among the salon members were many Hunters, but also plenty of civilians. Operating outside the city—where danger loomed—required a team of capable Hunters. Even civilian members being deployed needed above-average stamina and strength.

Still, many were eager to join.

“Um, I heard you’re putting together the next deployment list...”

“The Association is supporting us with many Hunters, so even non-awakened members can join.”

“Then could I be added? I’ve completed training. Here’s my certification.”

“Hmm... with grades , you should qualify. Add your name to the list—we’ll review and contact you with the results.”

Opportunities weren’t common. Usually, non-awakened individuals weren’t allowed in unreconstructed zones. But through collaboration between the salon and the Association, such exceptions occurred now and then.

It was a result of many factors aligning. Chief among them: the salon’s wealthy, well-connected, and highly enthusiastic patrons.

And the outcomes of these efforts weren’t bad at all.

“I can’t believe someone was hiding out here all this time.”

“Moments remind you it hasn’t even been a hundred years since the Catastrophe.”

“Still... it’s so dangerous to live out here.”

There were still people, scattered across the wilderness, who had fled during the Catastrophe and never returned. Members assisting with monster extermination or structural repairs sometimes encountered them.

In such cases, the Association would formally thank and reward them. It was a way to acknowledge those doing what the government or Association ought to have done. Members couldn’t help but feel proud.

“It feels like we’re doing something meaningful.”

“Even more neighbors greet me these days...”

That was the kind of group they were.

To them, the Black Cloak wasn’t just the most beautiful artwork in the world—he was a god to be revered. He’d even recently been officially recognized as part of a formal religion. That only deepened their sense of belonging.

And curiously, they began to mirror his temperament.

“Ah, these are side dishes for the families we’ll be visiting.”

“Wait, we can give things like that? No one told me. Aren’t gifts regulated?”

“Lavish gifts are restricted. But food isn’t considered a luxury, so there’s no problem. No matter how much you give, it’s fine as long as it’s edible.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense...”

Technically, giving too much food could become problematic. But that thought didn’t even exist in their minds. What harm could come from letting someone eat well?

Some even tried to look at the group—and themselves—objectively.

‘Maybe we’re just trying to turn everyone into pigs.’

‘Whatever. If it tastes good, it’s a good thing.’

‘When you’re full, the world looks better.’

Objectivity didn’t lead to critique or resistance.

After all, followers mimicking their gods wasn’t unusual. Believers in the Sun Goddess were bright and bold. Followers of the Moon were silent and calculating. It wasn’t hard to see the pattern.

Then one day, they became aware of “Colors.”

Members on provincial dispatch looked up into the night sky.

“The sky’s showing us a path.”

It started with “sky blue.”

In cities lined with gray walls, you could see waves shimmering like mermaids. In forested areas, deer bloomed in vibrant browns. In places of tragic death, a violet jewel emerged from a white frame to guide the deceased.

It didn’t take them long to realize they were witnessing Black Cloak’s apostles.

“He really is a portrait artist.”

“So his essence is still painting, after all?”

“But also divine. He carries the Sun’s sanctity.”

“And because he’s art, he can be anything.”

“Either way, it’s just... so romantic.”

They took pride in the uniqueness and artistry of their god.

“Who else in the world gets to serve a god this beautiful?”

“And he’s merciful too—imagine how much he must love humanity...”

“You can feel how much effort he puts into meeting our standards.”

Some even saw the truth buried within.

“To witness such scenes even outside of his work... Look here, see that mermaid trapped behind the gray wall? I think that’s the one who used to haunt Korea’s seas.”

“Look at the sky—it ripples softly like the ocean’s surface. Those clouds above look like schools of fish. Even the living birds that fly across Earth’s sky... it feels the same as viewing his paintings...”

Others pointed to different domains.

“My sponsored Hunter recently came back from the Dream Amusement Park. One of the final survivors. He told me all sorts of stories—and that deer, it resembles one of the creatures he described.”

“I’ve heard those stories too. I’ve got contacts in the Association. As for the violet, I’m not sure who it represents, but it's always a huge male figure... It has to be an ancient wraith.”

And still others brought up entirely new topics.

“Then does that mean Hunter Sergio, the Black Cloak’s apostle, also represents a color?”

“I wonder what happened to the divine spirit of Wrath who vanished... This is seriously fascinating.”

Some couldn’t follow at all.

“...Wow, this is strange.”

“They’ve always been like that.”

“Is this what counts as cultured?”

“Oh, right—they’re first-class citizens.”

Among the enthusiasts, every single first-class citizen had joined to view and commune with Black Cloak’s artwork. So when they glimpsed his Palette—it was no wonder they were enchanted.

Most second-class citizens didn’t get that far. They simply found the works eerie—or comforting. They could see where Black Cloak’s power was being used and what it was doing.

“In the past, miracles only happened within his paintings.”

“Maybe his influence is spreading. He’s guarding Earth now.”

“Or maybe... he’s trying to tell us something. When I look at this grand flow...”

“To be embraced so gently... This really is the most peaceful place.”

Some envied it deeply.

“Is that the closest form of hell to Black Cloak?”

“It could be either. Depends on your perspective.”

“I wish I could be part of his Palette...”

“It’s a dangerous thought—but I understand the longing.”

It was a new kind of afterlife.

It had long been known—since the Catastrophe, when Earth’s religions collapsed—that each divine being carried a different afterlife. The chaos it caused was why the government and Association intervened so quickly.

It was already understood that Black Cloak had created an afterlife for humans...

“...But maybe only non-humans can stand on his Palette?”

“Or maybe he only accepts those with a defined color. Seeing a mermaid there, it might not be just an afterlife—but also a punishment.”

“True... Being used as his paint for all eternity isn’t exactly restful. It’s definitely a different kind of afterlife.”

One member, shaking off the lingering melancholy, suddenly said:

“Maybe our President could make it in.”

“She really goes all out—always working on something. I’ve got some hope.”

“She acts like she’ll die if it’s not today.”

She tackled every activity like it was her last chance at life.

“And maybe she’s not wrong.”

“She’s the one who built this salon to change the world...”

“Her ambition is massive.”

They laughed as if joking.

“She might be the one who actually ends up face-to-face with Black Cloak.”

“She might end up a bishop or something.”

They didn’t realize she had already achieved both.

President of the “Black Cloak Enthusiasts,” once one of the original Carnation Kids. Her unique name came from the “coal mine canaries.”

She was often dragged into dungeons associated with disease or poison, used as a living warning system—a meat shield to test danger. Even as she scraped her way into adulthood, she never changed her name.

She didn’t want to forget how cruel the world could be. She wanted to change it, even just a little.

Today, she came face to face with the god she served.

The pitch-black portrait handed her a small bird.

“Thank you for helping.”

“I affirm your will.”

And so, Canary gained ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a tiny friend.

“Oh, what... How cute.”

A waterbird flapping its wings, bursting with yellow flowers.

And then, Yoo Seong-Woon visited the gallery.

“They say you’re giving out waterbirds to people you pick as cult leaders.”

“Where are these rumors coming from?”

“Then why’d you give one to Miss Canary?”

The portrait replied confidently.

“I gave it to her so she could play hard in my place.”

“This is insane. Who made our portrait so introverted?”

“I’m quite shy, actually.”

“So you did make her a cult leader.”

“She’s a president, not a cult leader. I didn’t make her that way—she already was.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“She was an ideal leader. And now, I’m free.”

Gio was extremely satisfied.

Let that loud and glamorous party carry on—without ever inviting me.