The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 75
Chapter 75: The fat aristocrat stands his ground
“Hou.”
The knight nodded without any sign of surprise.
“What are you betting on by holding the sword?”
“If I win, I get Canule. ”
“It would be so—then, what if I win?”
“A small bag of ‘amber.'”
“What…?”
At that moment, the knight’s voice was mixed with surprise and suspicion.
It was a small conviction. Mitrof didn’t know the true identity of ‘amber,’ but he knew its value.
Considering that Canule did not know about ‘amber’ and from Poisson’s words, it could be inferred that ‘amber’ had recently become popular among the powerful and only among aristocrats.
Mitrof knew that nobles and those in power had a keen eye for rare things and never missed the latest trends. They were always looking for something new and valuable, and they spared no effort to get it. By showing it off to other aristocrats, they demonstrated their status and power.
‘Amber’ was undoubtedly valued as a tool for that purpose.
And considering that Canule had most likely been the servant of a powerful person and the beauty of the knight’s armor before him, he thought that this knight must be connected to a powerful person.
Therefore, he must recognize the value of “amber.”
“Can I ask where you got it from?”
“I had a ‘business discussion’ with Blanc Manje.”
“Do you have proof?”
Mitrof took out the “amber” from the small bag on his waist. It was the one given to him as a gift from Apélie Tiff. He threw it, and the knight caught it without any trouble and examined it carefully.
“I see—it doesn’t seem to be fake.”
But as he tried to catch the “amber” thrown back to him, Mitrof missed, and it hit his protruding belly before falling to the floor.
“…”
“…”
Mitrof bent down, picked up the “amber,” and put it back in the small bag.
“If I win, I get Canule—If you win, I’ll give you a bag of this.”
Mitrof repeated the conditions as if nothing had happened.
“It’s an intriguing proposition, but do you think you can win against me?—A duel is different from facing a monster.”
“I understand that—how about conceding to come closer to agreeable conditions?”
“Conceding, you say?”
“If my sword touches your body, you’ll admit defeat.”
Mitrof boldly declared—shame and honor were cast aside. He proudly stood there with his chin up, arms folded, and exuded an aristocratic aura.
“Ha ha ha ha.” Laughter echoed inside the knight’s armor. It hardly stopped, causing his shoulders to shake.
“Do you not have any honor?—I’ve never heard of a challenger setting such conditions for a duel.”
“Honor? Such a thing does not exist—I’ll do whatever it takes to win.”
The knight laughed again. He kneeled and picked up a black leather glove, tossing it at Mitrof’s feet.
“That condition will do—if your sword reaches me, I’ll accept my defeat.”
The knight stopped laughing.
Suddenly, he realizes that the atmosphere has changed. It’s become cold. There is no sense of ambition, passion, or hostility. The knight is simply icy cold, still, and quiet, like the surface of a lake at night.
“——Now, let’s have a ‘duel.'”
?
The location changes. It is now the courtyard of the guild. The place where Mitrof took the small shield course is a suitable location for dueling because it’s secluded from public view and the ground is well prepared.
Mitrof tells the receptionist a small lie about wanting to take another course before being escorted to this location.
The instructor, Sonn, is brought in again, but when Mitrof briefly tells him the situation, Sonn snorts and says, “Do whatever you want,” and lounges against the wall, claiming he will be working until the end of the allotted time.
The knight is already waiting, without preparation or stance. Mitrof recalls the phrase ‘the battlefield is always at hand.’
Mitrof is preparing to face him, but Canule won’t let him go.
“It’s impossible. Mitrof-sama, my brother is a monster.”
“Is he stronger than a red-eyed troll?”
“It’s foolish to compare.”
Mitrof was trying to tease, but Canule answered seriously, causing Mitrof to change his attitude.
“…I understand that he’s strong—no, I mean, I understand that he must be strong.”
“With all due respect, Mitrof-sama, you couldn’t even get close with a sword.”
“That’s what you think.”
Mitrof said it with a calm expression. While he looked reliable, to Canule, it seemed like the smile of someone who overestimated their own power.
“Indeed, Mitrof-sama may have achieved “sublimation” in the labyrinth!—However, my brother cannot be dealt with at that level!”
“I understand that you are afraid—your concern is appreciated, but please sit down.”
“Mitrof-sama!”
“Hey, Canule—what do you want to do?”
“Huh?”
Mitrof tapped Canule’s shoulder as he brushed past her.
“I’ll be back.”
“W-Wait, please!”
Without looking back, Mitrof headed towards the knight.
My brother is a monster.
Canule’s voice echoed in his ears—Canule was strong. If she even called his brother a monster, then the knight was even stronger.
There was no way he could win.
Mitrof knew this himself. He could hear his own voice telling him it was impossible.
He was scared—just plain scared.
His hands were shaking.
His legs were shaking.
He was about to wet himself.
It was foolish of him to challenge an opponent he believed he couldn’t beat. He asked himself multiple times why he was doing something so foolish.
Mitrof stepped unsteadily on the sandy ground. He stood in front of the knight and tightened the strap of his small shield.
“You can still withdraw.”
The knight spoke with a gentle voice.
Perhaps it was an act of mercy.
Mitrof sensed that his fear had been noticed.
His bluff, his smallness, and his weakness had been exposed.
Of course it had.
Compared to a knight, how was he?
His body was slack and untrained, with nothing accumulated, a thin backbone supporting him, and little experience.
It was evident before the fight even began. This was a useless endeavor.
That was precisely why Mitrof grasped his sword.
He drew it, performed a low sweep, and made a sharp sound cutting through the air.
Drawing an arc, he took a stance before him, holding the slender sword vertically. The sword raised was proof of nobility.
It was a fighting spirit, a stance taken to bet on one’s life and face the opponent.
“Very well.”
The knight nodded and drew his own sword, which was an ordinary straight sword. The knight also took a stance for the duel ceremony, and then he relaxed. His natural stance was either due to him being underestimated or it was his real stance.
Mitrof didn’t know which one it was. So, he had no choice but to move forward.