The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 76
Chapter 76: The fat aristocrat never gives up
Mitrof stomped his trembling foot and aimed his sword thrust at the knight.
The knight evaded it.
Mitrof swung his sword recklessly with slashes, stabs, and strikes, but all of them missed.
The knight simply dodged the attacks with footwork alone. If Mitrof’s sword touched him, he would lose. Even knowing that condition, the knight stood close to the tip of the sword. He was perfectly reading the swordsmanship.
As time passed, Mitrof became short of breath, and sweat dripped down his face.
When he dodged a thrust with Mitrof’s weight on it, the knight’s arm moved. Mitrof instinctively set up his small shield.
Impact.
“Gah!”
He couldn’t withstand it. The sword from the lower side bounced Mitrof up with the shield. His feet floated. Then his body was pulled towards the ground, and he rolled over.
He immediately stood up, wielding his sword. The knight remained motionless, waiting.
“Are you still going to fight?”
“——Of course.”
Mitrof charged forward.
He thrust and swept his sword, as it was the only thing he could do—but his sword did not reach the knight.
The knight swung his sword as if recalling something. Mitrof, on the other hand, obstinately tried to block it with his shield. Every time, his body was thrown back and rolled miserably on the ground.
Covered in sand and dirt, Mitrof rubbed his limbs, yet he immediately stood up again.
Four times, five times, six times… before he lost count of how many times he had rolled.
His breath was unsteady.
His throat was hoarse, his shoulders were rising and falling, and sweat was pouring down his face and dripping off his chin.
He rolled again, then lay face down, pressing his shield against the ground to lift his body. The knight stood and looked down at Mitrof.
He whimpered, “Buhiii” and made wheezing noises.
He had dirt in his mouth and couldn’t even spit out saliva.
His breath was rough and fast, with his nose and mouth wide open. Foam appeared at the corner of his mouth, and even the snot flowing from his nose was left as it was.
Mitrof stood up with his heavy body, but he still readied his sword.
“You…”
The knight opened his mouth.
“Your way of fighting is not noble enough—who did you learn it from?”
“…Haa, a-adventurer. Buhi…”
“An adventurer, huh? No wonder you use a dirty sword.”
When Mitrof was young, he was obsessed with swords. Previously, dueling etiquette was considered a necessary education for the nobility, but in the present world, no one values it anymore. The nobility no longer dueled.
Therefore, Mitrof’s private tutor was probably a man that the steward had found somewhere.
The man, who was said to be an adventurer, trained Mitrof well.
Countless times, without reserve, the man knocked Mitrof down.
“Buhi, buhi… snort, snort…”
Mitrof couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Ah, how nostalgic,’ Mitrof thought. His tired body, lack of oxygen, and pain throughout his body made his consciousness loosen. Memories of the past that he usually couldn’t find were unexpectedly vividly resurrected.
Back then, he also rolled on the ground like this but still stood up and fought. He didn’t stop even though his father frowned at him, his nanny worried about him, and the steward subtly advised him to quit.
“That must have been… because I liked it…”
‘The sword? No, that’s not it…’
Words were dancing inside Mitrof’s head, floating aimlessly.
Dragging his heavy feet, Mitrof challenged his opponent. He thrust his sword towards the knight, who evaded and struck back.
Unconsciously, he put his shield in front of him, something that Sonn had taught him in great detail during their training sessions.
Come to think of it, Sonn was also strong, just like this, as Mitrof was once again sent rolling across the ground.
He thought of something insignificant as he tumbled over. The pain and the impact were indistinguishable by now.
He rolled and rolled until he finally laid flat on his back.
Looking up at the sky, he thought to himself, ‘Ah, it’s evening.’ The color of the sunset in the labyrinth was different. But there was something familiar about this particular evening. It was the same sky from long ago.
He was incredibly sleepy. He felt as if his entire body was melting into the ground like mud.
‘I think I’ve done enough,’ he told himself.
——Suddenly, someone’s face loomed over him as he lay on his back.
It was a man. A man with a bearded face and a menacing stare stood against the setting sun, looking at Mitrof in disbelief.
“What’s wrong, young master?—Are you done already?”
“… My body is heavy, and I’m sleepy.”
“Well, then, you can’t use this sword.”
The man was holding a thrusting sword. ‘No, wait, that should be my sword…’
“…It’s impossible—I’m just a child—there’s no way I can beat an adult like you.”
“I didn’t say you had to win—just graze the tip, and you’re the winner.”
“…That’s still impossible.”
“This is why young nobles are troublesome—let me teach you a useful phrase: ‘One thrust for retaliation.’ No matter how difficult it is, one thrust will always reach its target—the most important thing is…”
“…What’s the most important thing?”
“Willpower.”
“…The willpower theory? That’s irrational.”
“——Sama! Mitrof-sama!”
The images overlapped. The contour of the bearded man turned into a black hood.
The girl was looking down at him. Her long platinum hair hung down, and the tips tickled Mitrof’s nose. Tears streaked down the girl’s smooth white cheeks. Her transparent yellow eyes, like water, were just like…
“Your eyes are like ‘sweet nectar’.”
“——Mitrof, sama?”
Suddenly, the image became clear. There was a skull inside the hood.
“…Canule, you are quite beautiful.”
“What are you saying?! Keep your wits about you!—Please stop, I beg of you…!”
“Right.”
Mitrof answered and stood up. His knees were shaking. Even so, his hands could still grip the thrusting sword.
“Mitrof-sama! It’s impossible!—You cannot defeat my brother!”
“Yeah, I can’t win.”
“Then, why…!”
Canule’s voice was trembling. Mitrof seemed to see tears streaming down her cheeks like an illusion.
Canule clung to Mitrof’s arm.
“I know.”
Mitrof said. Blood was flowing from his chafed cheeks. His left eye was swollen from the impact of hitting the shield, and his field of vision was closing up.
“Even if I can’t win, I can at least get in one blow.”
Mitrof showed his sword, a crude thrusting sword.
A unique sword made to strike monsters, although it was a noble’s sword. It was an unadorned lump without any beautiful ornamentation. It was the same sword that the man who was once Mitrof’s teacher had wielded.
“This is my proof—I had completely forgotten. This sword was the only thing I had ever grasped with my own hands… It will reach—no matter how impossible it seems, no matter how unsightly it may be, if you try, someday it will reach—one blow, that’s enough.”
Mitrof looked at Canule’s hand. Her single gloved hand still rested in Mitrof’s pocket, while Canule’s bony hand was bare. Mitrof gently rested his own hand on Canule’s.
“I… had given up. I didn’t even try to do anything. I only lived in the given world. But I have always wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to do what I couldn’t do. I learned at that time that if I challenged myself, even if I couldn’t win, even if it seemed impossible, there are things that I can obtain.”
Mitrof looked at Canule. He could no longer see that hallucination, but he knew Canule’s eyes were still there.
“Canule, you don’t have a ‘sword’. That’s why you give up… I will show you. A thrust can hit. We can challenge it. We don’t have to give up on anything, no matter who tells us… So watch me.”
Mitrof’s head was fuzzy. He didn’t even understand what he was saying. He was spilling out what overflowed from his heart.
Mitrof pushed Canule aside and approached the knight. The knight remained unchanged, unshaken, and standing still.
“Sorry for the wait.”
“No problem.”
Mitrof brushed his sword. He swung it in an arc and raised it in front of him. His hand shook from the sword’s weight, and the sword clattered.
“Why do you fight for others like that?—Your behavior is like that of an old knight rather than a nobleman.”
“I don’t know.”
Mitrof replied curtly.
“I don’t care if you are a nobleman or a knight—I am just doing what I want to do.”
Mitrof stepped forward. He had no strength left, but there was something still residing within him.
“——What matters is willpower.”
“Just relying on willpower won’t solve everything.”
The foil pierces through the air. The knight swings his sword. Mitrof sees it all. The calmness of his thoughts gained through “sublimation” instructs him to raise his shield.
However, his arm is too heavy. He can’t make it in time…
“——Huh.”
A shadow suddenly intervenes. It was Canule.
She deflects the knight’s sword with her round shield and pushes him back. The knight quickly steps backwards.
“What kind of knight interferes in a duel?”
“——I’m no longer a knight.”
With her round shield in hand, Canule stands between Mitrof and the knight. Mitrof’s small back trembles as he watches.
“I… still want to be here—not as a knight, but as Canule—to protect this person!”
Canule removes her remaining glove, revealing both of her bony hands. She throws the glove at the knight’s feet.
“I challenge you to a duel—I am Mitrof-sama’s shield—let’s fight together.”
“So you want to fight me, your older brother?”
“Yes.”
“What do you wager?”
“My life.”
It was a firm voice.
The knight fell silent for a moment, then picked up the glove. He stared at his hand, and after barely clenching it once, he tossed it away.
“Very well—come at me together.”
That was when the knight first held up his sword.
“Please forgive me for this, Mitrof-sama.”
Canule called out while holding her shield.
“But this is your fault, Mitrof-sama.”
“…My fault?”
“Because you gave it to me.”
“I don’t remember giving you anything.”
“No, no—I received many things from you—I saw hope in you—I want to see it with my own eyes, Mitrof-sama, your sword reaching my brother.”
“I see.”
“Therefore, please allow me to serve as your shield.”
“Understood. I leave it to you.”
You are not alone. That’s why there are things you can do.
Mitrof felt a surge of energy boiling up from within his exhausted body.
He had thought it impossible.
But now he felt he could still do it.
He felt his heart becoming lighter with the realization that he didn’t have to carry everything on his own, and a burning passion ignited within him.
“…We are a party.”
“Yes!”
The knights came, his sword gleaming sharper than before. However, Canule accurately and calmly deflected his attack. The metallic sound and sparks flew. Despite the knight’s fierce strikes, Canule did not retreat.
“——Hmm.”
doubts or discomfort. The knight changed the trajectory of his sword. With a step forward, he put all his strength into a single blow. But even that, Canule took head-on. Her feet were firmly on the ground.
The two had fought countless battles before, but Canule had never won even once.
But now, Canule was a cursed being. In exchange for losing her human form, she gained the power of a monster. Her strength supported her shield, turning Canule’s will into an iron wall.
“——Aahh!”
The clash of shield and sword. Canule pushed forward and gained the upper hand. The knight took a step back, his boots thudding against the ground.
Mitrof, who had been gathering strength behind Canule, jumped out.
He positioned himself on the opposite side of the arm holding the sword, aimed for the shortest distance, and thrust with sharpness, but it was avoided.
Canule swung her shield in time with Mitrof’s rhythm, but she was pushed back with a sword.
‘Not yet,’ thought Mitrof. Ever since the battle began, he knew there was only one chance of winning.
Mitrof lowered his posture and stepped forward, clashing with his narrow, needle-like sword.
The knight dodged and aimed his sword at Mitrof.
‘Not yet——’
Canule interfered, deflecting the sword. Mitrof stepped in from the other side and struck with his sword.
The knight dodged again, pushing Canule’s shield away with his fist to create an opening between her and Mitrof.
Canule wielded her shield as the knight attacked with his sword. Mitrof aimed for the knight’s leg, but the knight lifted his leg. Canule tried to strike the knight’s face with her shield, but the knight lowered his posture. The knight’s sword deflected Mitrof’s attack as he was aiming for the stomach. The battle was an intense exchange of offense and defense, with the knight successfully preventing and dodging all attacks.
Canule blocked all of the knight’s sword strikes aimed at Mitrof.
‘Not yet——’
In the midst of the fight, where they couldn’t even let their guard down for a moment, Mitrof and Canule’s thoughts were connected. Canule sensed Mitrof’s intentions, and Mitrof responded to Canule’s movements.
They knew each other so well. They shared the same rhythm, matching their steps and movements, supporting each other, and synchronizing their breaths, as if they were dancing a waltz together.
Mitrof’s mind sharpened as the battle continued, but his physical stamina was drained. However, his mental and emotional strength kept him going.
The movements of the two became refined. Attack and defense became one. Canule with the shield and Mitrof with the sword. Their breathing finally became one, and then…
In a moment when Canule deflected the knight’s sword, Mitrof’s strike threatened the knight.
“——”
The knight reacted. It was not his rational mind, but instinct. The instinct of a trained fighter senses danger and acts reflexively. He countered Mitrof’s attack while deflecting his sword.
The movement that he had practiced unimaginably for so long had become ingrained to the point that it was no longer related to his intent. ——The sword swung faster than he could think; it was a sure strike to take down Mitrof.
The knight’s counter-attack was infused with a sense of impending death.
——Here it comes, finally.
This was precisely what Mitrof had been waiting for.
He knew that the knight would hold back. Against someone like himself, there was no need or intention to go all out.
Holding back is a sign of composure. There are no weaknesses in a composed person.
It only takes a moment. Can he take away the opponent’s composure? Can he force the knight to unleash an “unrestricted attack”? There was no other way for Mitrof to find a chance to win.
The knight’s attack is fearsome. However, Mitrof confronts him.
With a cold and ruthless mental strength strengthened by “sublimation,” the fear was overwhelmed, and he stepped forward.
Gritting his teeth, he tightly gripped the handle with all his remaining strength, ready to endure the pain.
He looked at the knight’s sword. Calmly and quietly, his accelerated mind gave him a moment to accurately determine the trajectory of the sword.
He placed the small shield where he thought the attack would come. That was how to use it.
Mitrof raised his small shield and stepped forward, thrusting his arm and his entire weight into the thrust with the stab sword. It was an attack that had nothing to do with elegance.
A shock ran through his left arm. The unreserved blow exceeded Mitrof’s imagination. The small shield broke with a blunt sound.
It didn’t matter to Mitrof. He knew it from the beginning. Whether his arm or shield would break, the opportunity only existed in the gap where they both got hit.
‘Deliver,’ Mitrof shouted.
Just one thrust.
——And then Mitrof’s consciousness ended.