The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 40
Chapter 40: The fat aristocrat wishes to help the elf hunter
On his way back from the treatment center, Mitrof headed to a plaza on a hill in the city where you could overlook the entire city. The location was a relaxing spot where families and couples were enjoying the nice weather.
At the edge of the plaza, there was a bench, and as expected, Grace was sitting there.
Mitrof sat next to her. It was their third time sitting side by side, watching the city and the elven forest far away.
Grace noticed that Mitrof was sitting next to her, but she did not turn her face.
Swimming her silver hair in the wind blowing through, and she had a somewhat relaxed expression on her face.
“I went to the guild, and Mikel seemed to be doing well,” said Mitrof.
“I see—that’s good to hear,” replied Grace.
“Thanks to the ‘March,’ low-ranked adventurers still cannot enter the labyrinth—they said it would be lifted within a week,” added Mitrof.
“I see.”
The “March” of trolls caused the temporary closure of the labyrinth. However, it only affected the shallow areas where trolls appeared, and it did not affect the adventurers who were exploring deeper into the labyrinth.
The “march” of the trolls had been completely eradicated by the hands of high-ranking adventurers, but the guild still conducted thorough investigations. Apparently, the “march” of monsters was an abnormal situation.
Confirming the safety within the labyrinth was reliable, but at this moment it was frustrating for Grace, who felt immobilized in the face of her goals.
“…Last night, a messenger came from the elf village.”
“It doesn’t sound like good news.”
“Indeed, the leaves of the Divine Tree are withering one after another; time is running out, and it may not even last for a week.”
Although it was a serious problem, Grace’s voice strangely remained flat. It seemed to reflect the weight of her troubles.
“Is there no other way?—aren’t other elves looking for a solution besides Grace?”
“Of course, they are, but none of them seem to be successful.”
Mitrof let out a big, snorting breath through his nose.
In the elf forest, there is a divine tree that houses ancient spirits. It is because the management of the tree has been carried out without interruption, that Grace’s tribe has been able to live peacefully in the forest. If the Divine Tree were to wither away, there would be no reason for them to be there. It is said that the current king places an especially strong faith in such wishes and spiritual powers.
“…The king will be very angry if he hears that the Divine Tree has withered in his reign.
“…It would be a bad omen.”
‘No, it wouldn’t just be a bad omen.’ Mitrof muttered inwardly.
The withering of the Divine Tree could be interpreted in any number of ways—an ill omen, a rejection of the king by the spirits, a precursor to a great disaster—but none of them seemed good.
The royal family and nobility place great importance on omens and divination. They believe that there is a great invisible will at work in the world. If the sacred tree were to wither away, it could become an even bigger event than Mitrof imagines.
“But there’s nothing I can do.”
Grace turned her face towards Mitrof and smiled—a powerless and strangely transparent smile. The word “resignation” was written all over it.
“We cannot enter the labyrinth—and even if we do, the blue deer will not be found—then I am at my wit’s end. It’s pathetic, but that’s about all we can do.”
She sighed heavily, like an old woman who had carried a heavy load all her life.
“Mitrof, I really appreciate all that you have done for me—your battle with the troll was magnificent—you taught me what a true warrior is.”
“Don’t say it’s all over for us.”
“It’s over—even if we lose the forest, we’ll manage to survive somehow—of course, we won’t have our tribe roots with us.”
Grace spoke as if it were a joke, but Mitrof couldn’t bring himself to laugh.