The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 85

Chapter 85: The fat aristocrat yearns for sublimation

If it’s just minor cuts and scratches, applying a hemostatic agent and wrapping it in bandages would not affect movement.

Even while struggling against smallsword rabbits, Mitrof entered the labyrinth with numerous wounds.

The ointment made from herbs found in the labyrinth is effective, but the pain from the twisted muscles in his arm did not subside easily.

Mitrof sighed, wondering if invisible wounds were worse than external ones.

Even after taking a day off, his right arm was not yet fully healed. But it didn’t cause excruciating pain every time he moved it.

Feeling that resting would be a waste of time, Mitrof decided to explore the labyrinth to some extent.

He joined Canule and once again set foot in the labyrinth, as was his duty as an adventurer.

The labyrinth is underground, so it is not affected by weather conditions such as rain, snow, or hail, but physical condition is another matter.

While massaging his right arm with his left hand, Mitrof descended deeper and deeper into the underground.

As Mitrof massaged his right arm with his left hand, he descended deeper and deeper into the underground.

“Please don’t overdo it, Mitrof-sama.”

Canule expressed her concern, but he couldn’t just keep running away from monsters. Whenever he had to fight, Mitrof drew his sword.

After countless trips back and forth between the surface and the underground, he had become accustomed to the monsters on the upper floors. Even the tough smallsword-rabbits that gave him a hard time before, Mitrof could now dodge with ease and easily slash them down in midair.

However, using his sword for either thrusting or slashing caused pain in his arm.

Fighting against small opponents was manageable, but larger opponents were a struggle. After passing the seventh floor, Mitrof’s arm had reached its limit. Suddenly, his strength gave out, and he couldn’t hold onto his stabbing sword, dropping it.

“…This is not good.”

“Let’s retreat.”

Canule quickly protected Mitrof, and the two of them slowly headed back to the labyrinth.

Fortunately, they had just descended the stairs, so they quickly arrived at the resting room. The two put down their luggage, and Canule palpated Mitrof’s arm.

“Do you have any knowledge of medicine?”

“Just basic first aid—I’ve had many injuries during my training.”

Canule applied pain relief ointment to Mitrof’s arm and took out a bandage from her large bag. She wrapped it around the joint in the shape of the number eight. It was a familiar technique.

“This should ease the pain a bit.”

“… It’s true. I can fight as much as I want with this.”

“Don’t get carried away—we’ll go to the medical facility when we get back to the surface.”

Her tone was gentle, but her strong determination did not allow any arguments. Her voice was both terrifying and comforting.

Mitrof bent and extended his arm a few times, feeling his movements reinforced by the tightly wrapped bandage.

“I feel much better now—thank you.”

Mitrof and Canule picked up their luggage and stood up. Since Mitrof could no longer swing his sword, their exploration for the day had come to an end.

While entrusting the battle to Canule, Mitrof returned to the surface. Although he had said that he would be able to heal just by sleeping thanks to the bandages and medicinal herbs, Mitrof’s uncharacteristic assertiveness caused him to end up in a medical facility.

Although the payments piled up, it was certainly better to quickly receive treatment than to spend several days unable to enter the labyrinth.

At the medical facility, there was a rule prioritizing treatment for severely injured patients in case of emergency transport from the labyrinth.

Therefore, even those with minor injuries like Mitrof, who only had strained muscles in his arms, would have to wait for a long time sitting in a chair, watching the clock’s hands.

Even Canule, who insisted on accompanying him, sat next to him. Although they could talk naturally inside the labyrinth, they strangely couldn’t carry on a conversation when placed side by side in a different environment.

Mitrof was so nervous that he kept repeatedly searching for topics in his mind and rejecting them himself.

Although Mitrof had memorized standard phrases for polite conversation with ladies at social gatherings and compliments that could tickle one’s heart at meal times, he had never been taught what to talk about when sitting next to someone in a medical waiting room.

Although he had the knowledge, Mitrof was utterly lacking in experience.

Finally, it was his turn, and Mitrof’s back was drenched in sweat.

“Okay, let’s take a look.”

The doctor in charge this time was an elderly woman with gray and white mixed hair. As soon as she heard the cause of Mitrof’s arm injury and his symptoms, the doctor took his arm.

She unwrapped the bandage and massaged Mitrof’s plump arms, pressing her fingers hard into his biceps and the joint connecting his upper arm.

It was not merely a massage, for it was too strong for that. It was not considered torture, yet it was not gentle enough to be called treatment.

Even though Mitrof let out small screams of pain from the corner of his mouth, the doctor continued to pluck and pry on his tendons and muscles, like scratching with a thumb at a bone.

Each time, pain like lightning bolted through his shoulder, neck, and then the back of his head.

As sweat droplets formed on Mitrof’s forehead and his runny nose started to drip down to his chin, the female doctor finally released her grip.

In a complete change of pace, she touched his arm gently to relieve the tension, then patted his upper arm.

“That should do it—I’ve popped the tendon back into place—you shouldn’t hold a sword for a week—if you don’t strain it, the discomfort should disappear soon.”

“T-This is it? This will heal it…? Wait, what?”

Suddenly, Mitrof realized that the pain in his right arm had calmed down.

With widened eyes, he moved his arm and lifted his shoulder.

It didn’t hurt. He could move it well.

“I-It’s healed!”

As he made a strong swinging motion, a sharp pain shot through the inside of his elbow.

“Ow!”

“The human body cannot be made that convenient—If you overdo it, it will only prolong the discomfort.”

The female doctor spoke calmly without changing her expression or tone. Her nonchalant attitude even tightened Mitrof’s heart.

“…I see.”

Mitrof lowered his shoulders and nodded meekly before leaving the examination room.

In the waiting room, Canule sits up straight and waits.

“How was it?”

“I feel much better—however, I need to avoid using the sword for a week.”

“I think that’s a good idea—let’s take a break.”

“But I just took a break recently…”

“I think all the past overworking has piled up—it’s surprising that you were able to remain calm while suddenly diving into the labyrinth and swinging an unfamiliar sword.”

Mitrof tilted his head in confusion.

“Using a sword requires physical strength, while diving into the labyrinth requires mental strength—both are essential, don’t you think?—Mitrof-sama has more than enough mental strength, but in terms of physical strength…”

“You’re being too considerate and coming off as sarcastic—just tell me I need more training.”

Canule gave a silent nod, and Mitrof returned a wry smile.

“Yeah, I need more training—I’ve turned back due to exhaustion many times before…”

Thanks to Canule, a reliable shield, Mitrof’s burden has greatly decreased. However, as the exploration time extended, Mitrof’s physical problems led him to abandon exploration more frequently.

Mitrof’s rapier was specialized in thrusting, and it was much lighter than the swords that adventurers typically preferred. Nevertheless, for Mitrof, whose body had more fat than muscle, it was still heavy.

“I should be mentally exhausted too, but I don’t really feel it—maybe it’s because of ‘sublimation.'”

During labyrinth exploration, the mind is inevitably tense. Darkness, the oppression of caves, and attacking monsters all wear down adventurers’ minds.

Although Mitrof had led a life of peace and debauchery, he had never experienced the feeling of mental exhaustion.

The effect of Mitrof’s mental strength enhancement through “sublimation” seems to support him not only during battles but also during breaks in exploration.

“‘Sublimation,’ huh? I often hear about it but it’s a mysterious thing.”

“Yeah, Grace and I obtained it by defeating a ‘kobold’, but… ever since then, we haven’t had any luck with defeating any other monsters. I think both Canule and I have defeated our fair share of monsters.”

“I might be an exception, though.”

There was a hint of a wry smile in the voice, tinged with a sense of resignation. It was as if the person had become somewhat hesitant about expecting anything more.

Canule was a different mystery of the labyrinth from “sublimation”… affected by an ancient “curse,” Canule had taken on the form of a skeleton. Considering that she had transformed into something close to a monster, it was unclear whether the phenomenon of “sublimation” could even occur.

“Don’t worry, it might happen to you too—if you’re able to achieve ‘sublimation’, exploring the labyrinth will become much easier.”

If there were a way to obtain “sublimation,” everyone would be eager to do it.

However, nothing is yet certain, and everyone is simply talking about their own superstitious methods.

Mitrof had also heard some rumors, but they lacked credibility, and he had no evidence to deny them. Currently, whether “sublimation” would occur is simply a matter of luck.

That’s why it was creating a buzz among many adventurers. It was a phenomenon that could happen to anyone, and just obtaining one or two could drastically change the exploration of the labyrinth.

If there was a raffle with a big prize and free entry, anyone would dream of winning.

“I hope there will be some kind of sublimation that will make this meat disappear…”

Mitrof murmured dreamily while stroking his chubby stomach.