The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 84
Chapter 84: The fat aristocrat lives for this one drink
Hmm… Mitrof looked up at the ceiling.
The rising steam covered the air with a white haze. When the wind blew through the vent on the wall, the haze disappeared.
The steam rose again, and the wind swept it away once more. Mitrof watched the movement absentmindedly.
In the public bath, which had become a regular habit for Mitrof, there were many bathtubs.
In the center was a large circular bath that deepened like a mortar, making it possible to immerse up to the shoulders in the center. It was still the most popular spot and always crowded with people. However, Mitrof did not approach the center, he always chose the quieter edges.
Although the center was so vast, the bathhouse spread out to the left and right, with each tub(bath) having a unique feature.
Lately, Mitrof has found enjoyment in soaking in a different tub every day.
Today was a medicinal bath. It was a bath made by dissolving one of the medicinal herbs produced in the labyrinth. It was said to be effective for wounds and bruises.
The bathtub was so cramped that it would feel uncomfortable with ten people, but the only ones in it were Mitrof and two old men. As expected of medicinal herbs, the smell was strong, and it felt more like a trial than a rest for the mind and body.
Mitrof lowered his gaze and scooped up some water.
The finely chopped green pieces were probably herbs. The water was dyed dark green, making it feel as if he were soaking in a small, murky pond filled with algae.
This is precisely what Mitrof was seeking.
He applied the herb-infused water he had scooped up to his right arm.
During the day, he skewered three tsuchinoko.
The first time was accidental, but the second time he did it intentionally. Even though he tried to fight a tsuchinoko when he encountered it again, there was no optimal solution that could be found quickly.
Waiting on the wall, Canule baits, Mitrof chases after it, and they try various things, but in the end, the most efficient is to skewer the oncoming tsuchinoko with the sword.
Due to their large bodies, they were easier to aim than the swordhorn rabbit. The task of discerning the incoming attack and placing the sword in that spot is akin to handling a small shield, which he learned before.
If skewered in the head, the tsuchinoko would die instantly. However, there was a problem. Mitrof’s arm strength could not withstand the impact.
It was difficult to catch, and after thrusting, it was impossible to deflect or swing back, resulting in Mitrof’s grip being torn away.
Despite trying twice to knock down a tsuchinoko, if it could not be defeated, then it was fine, but Mitrof had successfully injured his arm.
Even after massaging and soaking his right arm in medicinal water, the pain and discomfort from the elbow to the wrist remained.
“…Either way, the sword is damaged by this.”
He muttered as if rolling the words in his mouth.
The thrusting sword that Mitrof was using was sturdy, made to fight monsters. However, there was no difference from a sword specialized for thrusting, and the blade was thin.
If you receive the tsuchinoko’s charge multiple times, it is possible that it will eventually break. It is also not good to be knocked back and have the sword hit the floor or wall.
So, with his arms crossed, Mitrof wondered what to do and let out a small cry of pain from his right arm.
With a sigh, Mitrof got out of the hot spring.
He changed into clothes in the dressing room and headed to the resting area. Men who had just finished bathing were sitting on the lined up wooden benches.
While there were loud voices chatting in the hot springs, the men sitting on the benches were calm.
Some were gently swaying on their chairs as they cooled their bodies after their bath. Others were lying down on the benches.
Next to them were often wooden mugs. There is no doubt that Mitrof knows what is inside.
Mitrof headed to the wall-side shop and ordered a milk ale. After his bath, he rests here while drinking milk ale. That is Mitrof’s daily routine.
Behind the counter, there was a giant box filled with ice water, and several small barrels were floating in it. The elderly receptionist picked one up and uncorked it, pouring the ale into a mug. One small barrel was enough for one mug.
Mitrof received the mug and chose a bench away from the few other people there to sit on.
There were several working men in the rest area, fanning themselves with large fans. One of them thoughtfully directed the wind towards Mitrof. The cool breeze felt pleasant against his heated body.
The milk ale, with its white foam, was so cold that just looking at it made one feel refreshed. Mitrof put his lips on the mug.
Gulp, gulp, gulp…
He swallowed the cold milk ale, making his throat jingle. Mitrof tightened his eyes at the extreme coldness, but he did not stop. The coldness resonated in his throat, chest, and stomach.
The exhaustion from the labyrinth, the dryness in his throat and body from the bath—everything was satisfied with this one mug.
“——buhiiii!”
Mitrof took a deep breath and drank about half of the drink, finally releasing his mouth with a sigh.
“… Ah, this makes me feel alive.”
The warm body, the cold stomach, and the gentle breeze all together create a sense of bliss.
Mitrof stayed seated on a long bench, absentmindedly gazing into space without looking at anything, or thinking of anything.
It is only because of these perfect moments when the tension of exploring the labyrinth is eased, that one can endure the intense times inside.
Mitrof licked the milk ale little by little.
As it got warmer, the polished scent that was crisp became dull, and the smell of milk became prominent. The tepid milk ale was no longer drinkable, so he finished it while it was still delicious.
“… Let’s go home.”
Mitrof got up, returned the mug to the vendor, and left the rest area. He felt that he had survived the day, thanks to the tiredness of exploring the labyrinth, the sluggishness after taking a bath, and the fatigue remaining in his body.
He had accomplished something. Feeling a sense of fulfillment in his stomach, Mitrof sang a tune while walking back to the cheap inn.