The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 101
Chapter 101: The fat aristocrat becomes an adventurer
Mitrof listened to the yelling coming from the next room while lying on his bed.
The shoddy walls offered no noise insulation, and the conversation between the two men was clearly audible. As a result, Mitrof woke up early in the morning. The two men who seem to have returned from the labyrinth were blaming each other for the failure of their exploration.
One of them blamed the lack of preparation, while the other blamed the lack of fighting ability. They pointed out each other’s shortcomings, shouted at each other, and finally, one of them walked down the corridor with heavy footsteps while the other chased after him, calling out for him to wait. Eventually, their voices faded away, and they couldn’t be heard anymore.
Mitrof got up from the bed and put his feet on the ground. The empty sheath was leaning against the wall next to his pillow, which made him feel even more miserable.
It seemed like he was being shown the proof of his own defeat.
He had lost his way and ran away. It was said that this was the essence of being human.
Mitrof took out the notebook that he had sandwiched under his flat pillow and opened it. It served as a ledger, showing his current assets.
The payment for the medical treatment at the clinic remained, but the prospect of paying it off was clear. There wasn’t much, but there were some savings. However, it was not reassuring to buy a new sword with them. But if he spent his days without working while not having a sword, this amount of money would quickly disappear.
“Money is something that disappears.”
It’s a very obvious thing, but when the sound of footsteps cracking the ice approached from behind like that, one’s perception would change.
Mitrof stood up, tying his boots.
He had carried water from the backyard well last night. Previously, the maid had done this job. In winter, when Mitrof rang the bell, warm water with rising steam was brought to him.
If it were a decent inn, paying a fee would get you this kind of consideration, but in a cheap inn, Mitrof learned to draw water for his personal grooming at night.
He washed his mouth and face with this water, and combed out his bed hair.
In order to head to the labyrinth, Mitrof changed into his rough work clothes. He adjusted his belt with well-maintained gauntlets on his left arm and strapped only a short sword to his waist. He snuck a freshly washed handkerchief and napkin for meals into his pocket, and thus, Mitrof was ready as an adventurer.
The pain in his right arm was gone. Now he could swing his sword with ease.
As he exited the door, he saw adventurers walking down the hallway. They may have been partying and brawling during the night, but come morning, they would all grip their swords and head to the labyrinth to test their fortunes.
Descending the stairs, he stepped outside, where the scent of night lingered. The cool breeze brushed against his cheek, caressing the fine hair on his face. Behind the chain of buildings, distant mountaintops glowed round and yellow like fresh egg yolks at sunrise. The city had already begun to pulse with the rhythm of people’s lives earlier than usual in the morning.
Mitrof passed a wagon piled high with firewood and headed towards the guild.
In front of the guild building, there was a round plaza with a rectangular fountain in the center. For adventurers, it was not just a decorative tourist attraction; it was a practical resource for washing up.
Getting soaked by water was better than walking around town covered in mud and monster blood.
It was probably after a night of adventure. Several groups of adventurers were washing their clothes and bodies. Some had bright faces, while others had dark expressions. There were some who had succeeded, some who had failed, and some who had experienced a terrible defeat.
However, they were alive. If they could wash their bodies here and now, there would be another chance.
Mitrof approached and washed his hands in the water of the fountain. He touched the countless scars engraved on the pedestal and prayed.
The adventurers who returned alive had caused these scars. Mitrof wanted to be blessed with their good fortune.
He would also return and come back here. He would survive.
He couldn’t contain the feelings in his heart any longer, suddenly feeling an urge to raise his voice and wave his hands in the air with excitement.
Perhaps adventurers in inns noisily carrying on night after night may also be burdened with the same unbearable impulse.
Mitrof finally felt like he had become an adventurer. Not the noble third son Mitrof, nor the justly expelled Mitrof, but the rookie adventurer Mitrof.
He didn’t even know what kind of person he was.
At first, bookkeeping was enjoyable, but as the days of counting money and expenditures continued, Mitrof’s mind felt dim and bleak. Living in uncertainty, not knowing what tomorrow, next week, or next month will bring, is either freedom or a source of anxiety.
But for now, this is how Mitrof lives.
Counting small amounts of money with his own hands and contemplating how to live for tomorrow, next week, or next month
However, if he works hard enough, he should be able to find something that he believes is worth dedicating his whole life to.
His current situation is good enough. This is good. He doesn’t know what the future will bring, but living each day to its fullest helps keep him sane. He is proud of himself for standing here rather than curling up in a dark room.
He wants to prove to himself that he’s not wrong about who he is right now.
He needs his sword.
He has to take back his sword.
He must fight that “demon” again—the goat-skullhead-oldwoman—to accept his defeat, to recover, and to reaffirm his determination not to escape.
That creature uses magic to imitate lightning. It would paralyze him if he got hit.
He needs to avoid it. ‘But can I dodge the thunder?’
What is thunder, anyway?
Mitrof scratched his chin fat and tilted his head.
“Hmm… I should investigate first.”
If he doesn’t know something, he can just investigate. Fortunately, he knew where to do that.