The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 110
Chapter 110: The fat aristocrat knows how to live like an adult
The next day, Mitrof, who had slept deeply until the morning, was quickly kicked out of bed. Sick people were constantly coming to the clinic, and there was no room for healthy individuals.
After receiving his discharge from the hospital, Mitrof and Canule went straight to a food stand to satisfy his cravings.
The most difficult thing for Mitrof was the frugal and tasteless meals at the recovery facility.
The portions were small, the flavor was weak, and the food was neither delicious nor bad. Mitrof didn’t consider the nourishing substances he was given as meals.
There were still aches and discomforts in his body even though the magic of recovery had healed him. Nevertheless, Mitrof ignored the need to rest at the inn and instead toured various food stalls. For Mitrof, eating was the best medicine.
His stomach growled relentlessly. The smell of meat and spices wafted his way, and drool streamed down his chin while his nose twitched. Mitrof swayed over and ordered as soon as he received his food, devouring it in no time.
Mixing the diced meat and vegetables that were cooked in a sweet and spicy sauce, Mitrof savored the two bites he had taken after wrapping them in dough kneaded with mashed grains.
Biting into the hot skewered meat coated with yogurt sauce, the overflowing juices burned his lips.
As he cooled his tongue with fresh fruit, he made his way towards the noodle dish served on a wooden tray.
Canule smiled as she followed Mitrof around like this. To her, a healthy appetite was a sign of vitality.
As someone who enjoyed cooking, Canule liked Mitrof’s good eating habits. If only she could prepare their meals herself, with good quality ingredients and hygienic conditions, instead of relying on the questionable street stalls. It was regrettable that they lacked the space and facilities.
When Mitrof returned to the cheap inn after eating his fill at the market, he noticed an unusual silence. Usually, someone would be shouting or there would be chaotic sounds upon entering the inn, but today it was as quiet as a cemetery during the new moon.
As he ascended the stairs and followed the hallway leading to his room, Mitrof noticed that everyone was peering out from their rooms as if watching something interesting.
Even the old toothless man who always sang cheerfully while holding onto his cheap liquor bottle was sitting with his eyes wide open, as if he had just discovered his own feet for the first time.
With a furrowed brow, Mitrof found the cause of the disturbance. A newly recruited adventurer who came in last week was lying on his back in front of Mitrof’s room. Despite his intimidating size and rough temperament, he had been shunned from a distance.
‘What happened in front of my room?’ Mitrof approached the giant, discovering a figure behind the man’s massive body.
Leaning her back against the door, the woman had her arms crossed and was slightly bowing her head. Her body was covered with a coat, but even if her appearance were exposed, she would undoubtedly attract more attention than any work of art.
Upon hearing Mitrof’s footsteps, Grace opened her eyes and elegantly brushed her hair away from her cheeks, revealing her long ears. Then, she smiled faintly.
“It seems you have completely recovered.”
“I’m sorry for making you wait.”
“Just a little bit. I went to the hospital earlier, but they said you had already been discharged—you seem too busy dreaming about what to eat at the market on your way back, so I got here before you.”
Mitrof cleared his throat and straightened his posture at Grace’s teasing tone and smiling eyes. The slight redness of his cheeks indicates that even Mitrof has a certain vanity that he wants to show in front of the girls.
“I just took a little walk to check on my condition—well, I had some food, too.”
Grace chuckled softly, and Canule giggled behind Mitrof.
Feeling that the conversation was not to his advantage, Mitrof decided to move on. It was the noble’s way to run away when things got inconvenient.
“Did something happen at the church? I heard you were called out by the children yesterday.”
Grace even went to the trouble of coming to his lodgings. He was a bit nervous, wondering if there was some kind of troublesome trouble, but Grace shook her head in denial. It seemed more like a resigned acceptance than anything else.
“It would be faster if I showed you—I’m not sure what to do.”
“That’s fine, but… Alright, let’s go now.”
As he turned around with Canule, he met the gazes of adventurers peeking through the door. They were of all ages, but mostly men and a few women. There were many new adventurers, but also familiar ones who stayed at the inn due to the low lodging fee. Mitrof was familiar with them.
They all smiled widely, squinting, covering their mouths.
“It looks like they want to say something.”
Mitrof glared at them intently, trying to intimidate them, but they were just adults smiling at the 15-year-old boy. Someone whistled.
“Mitrof, do you know these people? I apologize for that, some vulgar guy tried to touch me, but I got rid of him…”
“Don’t worry about it—let’s go.”
Mitrof sighed and walked down the hallway. As he passes by people making fun of him, Mitrof ignores them completely. Even so, his cheeks weren’t red with anger but with embarrassment that was typical of his age.
When she turned back, Grace tilted her head back to look at Mitrof without seeming to care. Her silvery hair, which reflected the sunlight from the window, even seemed like strands of silk spun by the moon goddess.
Elves are also known as “fairy folk,” and poems and songs praising their beauty overflow. It is said that any great person will fall in love with an elf at least once.
Mitrof also thought that such words that symbolize the beauty of this world were an exaggeration unique to artists.
However, facing Grace like this, he realized that there was a moment of perfect beauty that even the greatest artists could not capture.
“What’s wrong?”
“——Oh, it’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Mitrof straightened up and walked confidently. He couldn’t help but listen slightly to the conversation between Grace and Canule, who seemed to have become quite close.
As the two of them continued to converse, Mitrof couldn’t find an opportunity to participate and made his way to the church.
The children who had gathered at the entrance to the chapel noticed Mitrof and ran towards him.
“It’s Mitrof! Mitrof! You have to do something! They’re taking Sensei’s paintings!”
Kou patted Mitrof’s stomach and pointed towards the chapel.
“Are you talking about the ceiling painting?”
“Yeah—It’s a big one painted right up there.”
The girl with one eye covered replied, pulling on Mitrof’s sleeve and walking ahead. Mitrof followed silently and peered into the entrance from the doorway.
The benches that were lined up had been cleared to the side, and scaffolding that reached the ceiling stood in the center. It was a splendid structure made of wood. Several men were walking around on it without any wobble or trembling.
At the sight of the men, Mitrof had his suspicions about their identities.
The appraiser, who was standing at the top, had his face so close to the ceiling painting that he was almost touching it. Next to him was probably an art dealer. Both of them looked refined and resembled the men Mitrof had seen before at his parents’ house. They were people who arranged valuable art pieces for the wealthy, such as aristocrats and high-ranking merchants.
In the back of the scaffolding, Saffron was standing in front of the holy image. He had his hands behind his back and was looking up at the ceiling painting.
Mitrof told the girls to wait here and entered the chapel.
“It’s restricted to entering at the moment.”
The man who approached Mitrof was likely a scaffolder. He had removed his work clothes, carried a bundle of timber on his shoulder.
“What about it?”
Mitrof replied in a deliberately haughty tone. He couldn’t believe that others would have the audacity to intervene in his actions. and the way he looks at people with a downcast gaze, Mitrof today is a sarcastic aristocrat whom commoners despise.
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, he must be one of those people who works on the scaffolding and tries to do a high-class job.’ He gave up trying to communicate and went back to work, thinking that it was only a waste of time to be involved with them.
Pushing his belly into the gaps between the scaffolding, Mitrof managed to reach Saffron. He stood next to him, looking up at the ceiling painting in the same way.
Previously, this was a pleasurable experience on a calm night. The joyful voices of children could be heard from the back, and the figures of the saints on the ceiling, flickering in the light of a single lamp, embodied solemn tranquility.
Even though it was daytime, lanterns were hung all over the room, shining offensively on the painting. Men, who might have once had faith, were now scrutinizing it with a calculating gaze.
“——The church has many windows because it is designed to let in the daytime sun. Churches used to be poor places, so they were sparing with even a single candle. Ceiling paintings, stained glass windows—everything was made to look its most beautiful in the daytime—It’s a waste to light up such things with oil lamps.”
Saffron spoke without looking away from the painting.
Mitrof took a sideways glance at him, wanting to confirm what emotion was on his face. However, there was no way Mitrof could see into the inner thoughts of a man three times older than him.
“So, is this your answer?”
Saffron lowered his gaze and looked at Mitrof’s face.
“Yes—I had a hunch from the beginning—”they” made an excuse about the land, but they had their eyes on this ceiling painting all along.”
“——This is probably Graymel’s painting. He’s a late-blooming master who became famous in his old age. His early works are scattered…Occasionally, they are found in the storerooms of aristocrats, and they are worth a lot.”
“Mitrof-san, do you have knowledge of appraisal?”
“No, but there is a signature on it.”
“…”
“The lines may seem squiggly, but it reads ‘Graymel.’ I’ve seen the same signature before.”
Once, there was a gathering of noble children at the Marquis’ tea party. There, he remembered being shown a Graymel painting displayed in the grand hall and listening to a long explanation.
“Were you unaware of the value of this painting?”
“I knew it was a great painting—it doesn’t matter how much it’s worth to others. To me, it’s more wonderful than any other painting—It was worth putting my life on the line for.”
“Will you sell it or offer it to someone?”
“Sold to a certain nobleman.”
“The Mafia will come for retaliation.”
“People do not point at their own shadow and say that it is a separate existence.”
With just those words, Mitrof understood the situation well enough.
Not all noble families have a long history, and there are times when titles can be purchased with money. Not all nobles are always in the spotlight; they may play the role of nobility on stage and fulfill different roles behind the scenes.
Mitrof cannot criticize that.
If you want something, you can get it. It is both the arrogance of those in power and their right to do so. Mitrof is no different; he will do everything in his power. Those in power have the ability to make the scale of their actions as large as they want.
“You think just by handing over the painting, the problem will be solved?”
Mitrof expressed his concern, wondering if the other side was really that understanding.
“A kid helped me out—I can trust him.”
“You’re talking to the Mafia?”
Mitrof frowned and suddenly realized something.
“Um, he used to call me older brother…”
Saffron smiled bitterly.
“That child was the first one I took in.”
“The one from the ‘purifying fire’ story?”
“Yes, that one. He ran away from here a long time ago and disappeared. It’s been a while, but I finally saw his face again. He promised they would not lay their hands on this church in exchange for me giving them this painting, and it all worked out smoothly.”
Saffron’s bright smile was not forced. It was the expression of a parent reunited with their grown-up child.
“Are you really okay with this?”
Mitrof had not forgotten the feelings that Saffron had shared with him that night. His life had changed as a result of the attachment he had grown after falling in love with one painting. Losing it would not be easy.
“It’s fine. This painting has become too difficult for me to handle, and it’s time for it to go somewhere else—it’s a shame that I can’t keep it to myself, but… there are other things I want to watch over more now.”
Saffron’s smile was carefree, and he looked beyond Mitrof’s shoulder towards the entrance, where a group of children had gathered in the distance, watching him.
“Those children are the future—they hold endless possibilities. It’s much more enjoyable than endlessly looking up at a painting.”
Mitrof nodded. It might indeed be true.
Furthermore, Saffron whispered in Mitrof’s ear.
“This is why we are sandwiched between experts and merchants—I’m going to get my money’s worth; you can never have enough money, you know.”
With such an un-priestly remark, Mitrof could not resist bursting into laughter.