The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 65
Chapter 65: The fat aristocrat drinks austere wine
“It was fortunate for my sister to have met someone like you—she has always been earnest, and it must be hard for her to live in this diverse city.”
Mitrof thought to himself, ‘Why am I with a knight?’
If they had been sitting at the dinner table of some mansion, it might have been more understandable. However, the two of them were sitting on a curb off the beaten path of the market street.
The sight of a knight in armor sitting with a wine-filled wooden cup, holding his knees, was quite conspicuous. People passed by in a hurry, staring wide-eyed, as if saying they didn’t want to get involved.
The knight was talking to Mitrof, either intentionally ignoring or not noticing the strange looks.
“There is a role that one is born with—kings become kings, knights become knights, aristocrats become aristocrats, and carpenters become carpenters—just as I cannot make wine even if I wish, there are those who cannot become knights even if they long for it.”
Saying nothing, the knight drank wine from a wooden cup, and of course, he did not take off his helmet. He inserted a long, thin metal pipe from his pocket into the gap in his helmet, and drank it that way, making a relieving sound.
Next to him, Mitrof also drank the wine. He did not expect much from the wine sold at the stall, but it tasted exceptionally bad.
Although he had become accustomed to the life of an adventurer, he could not seem to get used to the poor quality of the wine. With low-quality wine, it was difficult to escape reality.
“However, the food from the food stalls is delicious—the spices are well used.”
The knight skillfully inserted the sliced meat from his small knife into his helmet.
As they walked along, the knight became interested in certain dishes and tried to buy them with silver coins. Each time, the shopkeeper had a troubled expression, and the other customers moved away. Mitrof reluctantly paid, and before they knew it, both of their hands were full, so they sat on the side of the road to eat.
Although he regretted his reckless behavior, Mitrof nodded in agreement that the food from the food stalls was indeed delicious.
The seasoning is simple, but the ingredients are fresh, and the taste is rich, favored by physically active people such as knights and adventurers and those who love drinking.
“To tell the truth, I have also dreamed of living in a city like this.”
Suddenly, the knight spoke up.
“Youth makes people foolish. I once left home and tried to live in the city. I had a feeling that my true life was there.”
“It’s not good to speak of foolishness as if it were a bad thing.”
“There are things that you cannot achieve if you’re not foolish; however, you should not remain foolish forever. It was a good experience for me back then—that girl will learn from this experience too.”
The skewers enter the helmet, and when they come out, the meat at the tip has disappeared. As if it were magic, the knight ate the meat.
“… Then, what about Canule’s will?”
Mitrof asked. The knight paused, then nodded as if he had just remembered.
“I am still not used to that name—yes, Canule—that’s a fake name appropriate for the kid.”
The knight chuckled.
“Will. Is it really that important? You can do what you want, and if you don’t want to do it, you can stop. That’s allowed only up to the age of a toddler—you cannot lead a successful life just by running away.”
“…But isn’t it up to the individual to choose?—Even if their life becomes unbearable after making their choice, it could be what they wanted.”
Mitrof said. He knew that it was a painful argument to make for himself.
The knight’s words pierced Mitrof’s chest. He knew he shouldn’t blame himself, but he felt like he had been punched.
“If you’re a commoner, that may be fine, but I am a knight—Canule is also a knight—if you were born into a knight’s house, you must live as a knight.”
“Why? Do we have to live our entire lives bound by our family from birth?—Do we have no freedom of choice?”
“No.”
The knight asserted
“We must protect our family’s honor; we have a responsibility to uphold what our ancestors have been protecting; we can’t simply reject it because of our selfish desires—our way of life has been firmly established since birth—like this sword.”
The knight placed his hand on the sword he carried on his shoulder. For the knight, the sword was an important symbol. When he was appointed a knight, swearing loyalty to his master was done by holding up a single sword.
“But…being locked up until death is not the duty of a knight.”
Mitrof hesitated but spoke his mind anyway. He knew it was presumptuous of him to speak out.
“Every family has its own problems—It’s none of your business.”
“Of course, I know that—but I can’t help but say something.”
“I suppose because you are her employer.”
The knight remembered the previous argument. He replied with a sarcastic tone, and Mitrof nodded in agreement.
“Besides, she is my “companion.” And… I don’t know if it’s okay to say this, but I consider her my “friend.”—I can’t stand to just accept a future where Canule is unhappy.”
“I don’t understand.”
The knight spoke honestly.
Mitrof’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say to someone who didn’t understand.
“No, I’m sorry—I understand what you’re trying to say—It’s a splendid spirit.”
The knight said this as he inserted the metal tube into his armor and drank the wine with a swoosh.
“But with just that splendid spirit, do you think things will always go your way?”
Mitrof closed his lips. The knight wasn’t looking at Mitrof. The helmet was facing the passing people on the street.
“Everyone has their own ideals—even though we say we should do it that way, there are many things that cannot be achieved. Why is there still conflict? It’s because ideals clash with each other.”
The helmet faced Mitrof. No expression was visible on the hidden face, and yet Mitrof understood that those eyes were firmly fixed on him.
“A knightess who has received a curse and fled in an inhuman form cannot be left unattended forever. “If she is not coming back home, then she must be killed,” my father said—that’s how to maintain the honor of a knight’s household.”
Mitrof’s eyes widened. He felt the cruelty of living as a knight.
“If you don’t have the determination and strength, you can’t even stick to your selfishness—do you understand?”
The knight stood up and put down his cup. He readjusted his sword to his waist and secured it with a red cord with tassels. He continued to speak.
“That child is not of a fierce temperament and fears opposing others—but… you know what I’m talking about—please think about it carefully.”
With a suggestive tone, Mitrof furrowed his brows.
However, the knight did not say anything more and left behind the words, “Gratitude for the meal will always be given.”
Even after the clanging sound of the knight’s armored footsteps fade away, Mitrof sat there, licking the wine.
There is such a thing as a predetermined way of life when you are born. There is honor and responsibility in it. Certainly, that is so.
Then he thought, ‘should I have done something too?’
Should he not have simply followed his expulsion, bowed to his father, and fulfilled his duties as a noble?
As a noble, could he have done something?
As an adventurer, what was he doing?
As Mitrof, what did he want to do?
He didn’t know anything. The answer wasn’t something that could be bought at the market or at the bottom of a cup.
Mitrof drank the rest of the wine in one gulp. Only bitterness and astringency remained.