The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 106
Chapter 106: The fat aristocrat knows who they are
The lightning that struck from above brought Mitrof back to consciousness. He instinctively swung the metal bar and caught the lightning.
The moment he caught the lightning, the goblin soldier started to move. Although it appeared to be large, like a troll, it was smaller when approached. However, its movements looked light.
Mitrof gave up on the door behind him and, keeping distance from the goblin soldier, turned to the right to get away from the goat-skullhead-oldwoman.
He desperately needed a place to avoid them. Approaching the goat-skullhead-oldwoman was also terrifying.
His mind continued to race, trying to figure out what to do.
“Blanc Manje, do you have any good ideas on how to open the door?”
“Either the guardian dies or the challenger dies—that’s the only way.”
“Is there a way to open it from the outside?”
“I have never heard of one.”
“Then, we have to win.”
“…Yes, we have to win.”
Blanc Manje knows that Mitrof is being stubborn. Mitrof gritted his teeth as he heard Blanc Manje’s humorless laughter in his ear.
Being chased by the goblin soldier, Mitrof made up his mind. He stopped and faced his enemy, trying to see through its movements.
The silence of thought came over him. Mitrof was getting used to the enhancement of the mind, thanks to “sublimation.” He found the immersion in his changed thoughts to be terrifying, as if he had become someone else. But he had no choice but to rely on it now. Mitrof accepted the transformation of his thoughts and concentrated only on what was before him.
The goblin soldier raised his sword. The arm had a movable range, a fulcrum, and a point of force. The trajectory of the arm swinging from shoulder to overhead was limited. No matter how big its body became, the skeleton did not change.
As the axe was swung down, Mitrof avoided its trajectory.
Then, he immediately ran off to create some distance.
In the midst of it, there was light. Lightning struck the lightning rod, which extended sideways. The goat-skullhead-oldwoman was aiming at his flank.
They were not breathing in sync. Mitrof could not feel the same level of intelligence in the goblin soldier as he did in the goat-skullhead-oldwoman. During the monster’s rampage of instinct, the demon intended to shoot the lightning.
“Damn, what a nuisance…!”
Mitrof moves faster than the goblin soldier.
With Blanc Manje on his back, Mitrof ran towards the goat-skullhead-oldwoman. If he could take out one of them, he might find a way out.
A lightning bolt was aimed at Mitrof as he ran straight. He caught it with the lightning rod. The chain dragged along the ground, shimmering.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman tilted her head and floated lightly. The hem of her tattered coat spread out, leaving only darkness inside and no physical body visible. She slid through the air and retreated. The tip of Mitrof’s stab sword scraped against the ground.
“Hey! Don’t hit the ground! The tip is very delicate!”
“Mitrof-san, now is not the time for that.”
Blanc Manje’s hand around his neck tapped lightly. When he looked back, the goblin soldier with a horned helmet was charging.
“F*ck you!”
“You have a foul mouth.”
“My apologies for being rude in front of a lady!”
Although it was a situation to be worried about, Mitrof’s thoughts remained calm. The emotions that arose from panic or anger receded like waves before they could explode.
Mitrof made a calm decision to stay in place and draw the goblin soldier’s attention completely before nimbly dodging its attack.
The goblin soldier couldn’t stop in time and smashed its head into the wall. Stones and dirt fell off, and the impact was deafening. Mitrof had hoped for more, but the goblin soldier didn’t seem to care and shook off the dirt from its upper body.
During a brief rest, Mitrof regulated his breathing. Although it was possible to avoid it with a clear mind, there was nothing he could do if his body couldn’t keep up. He needed to use his resources—his stamina—sparingly.
“——I’m getting off.”
“What?”
Mitrof tightly grasped Blanc Manje’s legs as they fidgeted on his back, trying to get off on their own.
“Kyaa! W-Where are you touching?!”
“Because you are trying to get off on your own—I don’t mean anything else.”
“I’m just a burden!”
“You’re not a burden—besides, with your injured leg, you won’t be able to avoid going down.”
“But you can.”
“What about you?”
“…I’ll manage somehow.”
“You’re surprisingly dumb, you know.”
“What?! That’s too rude—— Huh?!”
Mitrof revolved to catch the lightning that came flying from the side. Blanc Manje clung to Mitrof’s neck.
“That’s it! It’s coming!”
Mitrof took a breath and braced himself. The goblin soldier rushed towards him, but this time he stopped firmly.
It swung his axe.
Dodging. now swept with his left hand. Jumping backward. Ramming the goblin, running to avoid.
The occurrence of the attack is easy to understand. Because of its huge body, like a troll, he has the same room to dodge. The experience gained from battling with the “Red-Eyed” troll has made Mitrof’s movements precise. ‘It’s okay. I can avoid them.’
“Behind you!”
There was no time to turn around. Trusting Blanc Manje’s words, Mitrof raised his arm and directed the lightning rod behind him. Vibrations and thunder—the lightning bolt was caught.
Before him, a goblin soldier brandished its axe.
——This guy doesn’t know how to hold back. Always swinging wildly… so there is time to dodge.
Before the axe could be swung down, Mitrof rotated on his toes. The lightning rod struck the hand that held the axe before it could hit him. The thorns of electricity tangled around it.
A burst of air exploded. The goblin soldier cried out in surprise, letting go of the axe and recoiling his hand.
In that opening, Mitrof withdrew and caught his breath.
“…You’re light on your feet.”
“You’re saying that you didn’t expect that, despite what you saw?”
He breathed roughly.
“…I’m sorry. I got in the way—please catch your breath.”
Feeling concerned, Mitrof started the conversation this time.
“I’ve noticed something—it seems that lightning bolts can’t be used repeatedly—phew… if you dodge once, you’ll have some leeway until the next lightning bolt.”
Swallowing their fear by speaking, they shared their fear to maintain their determination to fight. They talked about not giving up.
“Before entering this room, I asked “him” to call for help—Canule should be coming.”
“…But the door won’t open.”
“We’ll figure it out somehow.”
“…You are relying on them, then.”
Relying on them—those words sounded surprisingly unexpected to Mitrof.
“Yes, I am relying on them—I should have done it from the beginning.”
Should not have come here alone, should not have stubbornly clung to childish thoughts of wanting to prove oneself. He thought so, even though he knew it was futile.
“My friends are coming—just the thought of that gives me hope.”
“…Yes, you’re right—having someone you can rely on is reassuring.”
Mitrof tightened his grip on the lightning rod. The skin of an “electric catfish” wrapped around its handle was slightly burned. Mitrof chose to ignore it.
“You should have relied on me too—don’t fight alone.”
“I don’t have anyone I can depend on—I have to help everyone myself.”
“If that’s the case, you should have just asked me for help—if we came together from the beginning, we could have made things a little easier.”
Mitrof caught lightning that struck from above. His index finger numbed slightly. Without time to worry, he received a strike from the goblin soldier.
He couldn’t dodge too much. Needless movements would turn into fatigue later. He had to be minimal and efficient. He even needed to save his breath.
With peaceful thoughts, Mitrof kept watch. The goblin soldier swung an ax in his hand. For Mitrof, it was fortunate that the soldier was attached to the weapon.
The ax would cut Mitrof in half.
But whether it was a fist, an arm swing, or a slap, as long as it hit, it was over.
As long as it’s fixated on the axe weapon, Mitrof only has to avoid the blade.
A chill ran up his spine. Avoiding something you know will kill you means barely avoiding it. Death is within reach.
Mitrof reflexively stepped away but stopped himself mid-step. ‘They’ll catch up with us anyway—there’s no point in running away.’
“Blanc Manje, are you scared?”
“——How could I not be scared?”
“Yeah, me too—hold on tight—I won’t let them hit us.”
“You’re quite the reliable gentleman, aren’t you?!”
Blanc Manje’s tone jumped at Mitrof’s sudden movement.
Within reach of the goblin soldier, Mitrof stepped forward. With the girl on his back and a long pole in his hand, he spun in rhythm to the inaudible music.
Mitrof danced the waltz on the verge of death.
To move one’s feet, to shift one’s body weight. Noble parties sometimes last until late at night, and one may dance many times. Under the watchful eye of his private tutor holding a cane, Mitrof’s dance training once lasted for hours.
He was not good at running. However, dancing had seeped into his body. How he could minimize fatigue, dance with ease, and conserve his stamina. As long as he danced, he would not die. The waltz would not cross the line of death.
For a large body like his, the partner’s embrace was like the eye of a typhoon.
Approaching within touching distance of his legs and then moving away, suddenly it would seem like he was far away, but then he would turn and enter again.
The goblin soldier swung his axe more forcefully in frustration at the quick prey. He didn’t realize that this made his movements repetitive.
Mitrof remained calm, his eyes fixed. In his hand was the hollow iron rod. No matter how much he attacked, it was a pointless, long object. By discarding the means of attack, Mitrof’s consciousness was focused solely on “avoiding” the enemy’s movements.
He looked at his opponent, perceiving their gaze, breath, and movements. Then he moved in sync with those movements. It was undoubtedly a dance with the goblin soldier as his partner, and their breathing was in sync, with Mitrof leading.
With his strengthened mental acuity, Mitrof could read the goblin soldier’s movements, gradually understanding “it”—what he wanted and how he moved. It was as if they were dancing hand in hand, knowing each other’s intentions.
In the corner of his vision, Mitrof saw the goat-skullhead-oldwoman. She raised her sword to cast a lightning bolt, but her aim was not precise. “Demons” had intelligence, and Mitrof understood that if she were to cast lightning, she would involve the goblin soldier.
Lightning has the tendency to strike at its highest point.
It was written in the book.
As long as Mitrof and the goblin soldier stood side by side, thunder would strike the goblin soldier.
Even when casting magic from the side, the goblin soldier was a bigger target, and Mitrof continued to move, changing his position.
“Intelligence” prioritizes rational judgment. Therefore, lightning does not strike -.
Faced with the threat, he did not run away. That’s why he saw the opportunity to come back from the brink of death. Even in the face of death, Mitrof clings to a glimmer of hope by moving forward.
How many times has he repeated this?
It feels like hours have passed, but it could also be just a few minutes.
It feels like Blanc Manje has spoken to him several times. He thinks he replied, but his memory is hazy, perhaps because his mind is in turmoil.
One mistake, and they will die. Both he and Blanc Manje carry the weight of life, literally.
Mitrof has repeatedly wanted to shout and run away from responsibility and fear. He wanted to step back from this place and take a big breath.
But each time, a terribly calm part of him held him back.
He knows that if he runs away from here, he will die. There’s no redoing it. Once his heart breaks, it’s impossible to recover. The courage to return to the fear of death cannot be restored.
So he just keeps moving his feet and dances with the goblin soldier in unison, forever, until he reaches his limit. But when will that be?
Unbeknownst to him, the sound of the wind grows louder and louder. The dry friction sound that sounds like a gust of autumn wind seems like a distant problem that’s coming from his throat.
Sweat is pouring out all over his face. Droplets are falling. Before the sweat running down his forehead can reach his eyes, Blanc Manje pushes it away.
Trying not to get in Mitrof’s way, trying not to lose his balance, Blanc Manje clings to him like a piece of luggage. The two have become one without realizing it.
‘How much longer can I hold on?’ Mitrof doesn’t know. All his fatigue and everything else has melted away, and he can’t even feel his own moving bodies. Even though his breathing should be difficult and painful, Mitrof oddly feels comfortable.
He could stay like this forever.
It was a feeling he couldn’t understand, even though it was his own. It was unknown, but not frightening. It was pleasant. He wanted to bathe in this feeling forever. Everything was perfectly in sync.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman tilted her head. She was waiting for Mitrof to let go. Otherwise, the lightning would strike the goblin soldier. However, Mitrof did not let go. There was nothing she could do.
The long hair, mixed with white and black, swayed. The jawbone made a creaking sound.
The “demon,” a superior species to the monsters, possessed intelligence. Intelligence is the power to think and learn. The goat-skullhead-oldwoman observed the scene in front of her, learned from it, and came up with an answer.
She raised her thrusting sword and produced lightning in the void. And then she dropped the thunderbolt—onto the goblin soldier swinging its axe.
A scream.
And shock.
The lightning that struck the goblin soldier jumped to Mitrof, who was right beside the goblin soldier, running down from the axe.
Mitrof could not respond to the phenomenon known as a “side impact.” The goblin soldier absorbed the majority of the lightning, and only a small portion struck Mitrof. Nevertheless, it was enough to knock him over, and it was an excellent blow to break his concentration.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman had learned.
It would be good to involve the goblin soldier as well. Even if Mitrof died, the goblin soldier would not. After all, “humans” are fragile creatures.
As the goblin soldier directed his anger and roar towards her, the goat-skullhead-oldwoman returned with a laughing voice like a song.
While listening to the singing voice, Mitrof propped himself up on his elbow.
Numbness spread throughout his body. However, his body was still able to move, but the lack of oxygen was suffocating him. In the midst of the agony that felt like his head was being squeezed, Mitrof was desperately breathing.
His heart was beating so violently that it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. His legs were unable to bear any weight, whether it was due to fatigue or the thunderbolt attack.
F*ck, f*ck, f*ck——
The same word was spinning in his head.
Things were going well until he was interrupted. He had been done in again by that goat-skullhead-oldwoman.
Mitrof tried to stand up, but his body felt heavy, as if a boulder were on his back. He lifted his head, and the goblin soldier barked at the goat-skullhead-oldwoman, then remembered Mitrof and turned his gaze towards him, approaching him.
‘I guess it’s impossible.’
Mitrof reached for the alluring invitation to give up.
He was completely exhausted. If he were to fall asleep right now, how comfortable would it be? ‘I’ve done enough…’
Then, a hand was placed on his shoulder, and a trembling whisper came out.
“I’ll buy some time—you go near the door—help might arrive.”
Blanc Manje stood to protect Mitrof.
Her back was small, and her burned legs were just barely able to support her weight. Nevertheless, she drew her sword and faced the goblin soldier.
“Blanc Manje! You should be the one to run!”
“Ara, can you say that again once you stand on two legs?”
“Don’t you have too much of a mouth on you!”
Mitrof pounded his fist against his thigh. He couldn’t just give up while being protected by a lady. As a nobleman, that was not allowed, as it involved his pride as a man.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you, I was able to rest a bit—only if it’s just one hit.”
The goblin soldier swung his axe horizontally.
Mitrof yelled, reaching out his hand, but it couldn’t reach. ———He watched as a red line cut through the goblin soldier’s body.
The hatchet twirled through the air and rolled on the ground. Mitrof starred in a daze as the upper half of the goblin soldier’s body fell slantingly downward. The cut edge had charred, and not a single drop of blood had scattered.
In the stance of swinging her sword, Blanc Manje collapsed on the spot.
“Blanc Manje!”
Mitrof crawled over and hugged Blanc Manje, revealing a face usually hidden under the hood. Mitrof held his breath.
“…I’m fine. I just used up too much magical power, Mitrof-san—you should… escape.”
Blanc Manje barely moved her arm, which had no more strength than that of a child, and pointed to the door.
The goblin soldier, the “guardian,” was dead. Therefore, the seal on the door must have been lifted. If they could make it there, they could make it back alive.
“I see, so you were quietly clinging to my back for that one attack—well done! Alright, alright, Blanc Manje, we’re going to make it back alive!”
“…”
Mitrof looked back, but there was no response from Blanc Manje. Her eyelids were closed. Mitrof quickly put his hand over Blanc Manje’s mouth.
‘She’s breathing, but weak.’
Magic power is said to be like blood. If too much is lost, a person will die.
Blanc Manje had released that one blow, diminishing her own life force. She had resolved to rot here.
Mitrof looked up.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman had emerged from the shadows of the pillar. She moved her head from side to side, and her singing voice echoed from her mouth.
If he looked away (abandoning Blanc Manje), there was a door. He could return from there.
a cheap inn bed.
salty food from a food stall.
Submerging up to his shoulders in a bath and drinking milk ale to quench his dry throat.
He had little physical strength remaining. An unconscious person would be as heavy as a bag filled with water.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman couldn’t overlook the sloppy movements that led to Blanc Manje being carried on Mitrof’s back.
Mitrof swallowed hard.