The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 94

Chapter 94: The fat aristocrat forgets things

“An old woman,” Mitrof thinks. But there was no proof.

Mitrof involuntarily took a step back because the figure in front of him was too abnormal.

Her back was bent at a right angle. In her right hand, she held a sheathed sword, and in her left hand, she held a lantern with a blue flame. Her white and dirty black hair was tangled, and on the ground, it coiled like a snake.

Instead of a face, there was a goat’s skull where it should have been. It was not a mask, but the face itself was a goat’s skull, with the eye sockets painted black.

She was wrapped in a black shroud, adorned with gold and silver ornaments. Not only did she look unusual, but she exuded an eerie sense of oppression, as if a bottomless toxic gas was emanating from her.

Mitrof was speechless.

It was too abnormal to call it a “person.”

However, it was too “human” to call it a monster.

“Are you from the people of the labyrinth?”

Mitrof’s voice was hoarse.

The goat-skullhead-old-woman didn’t answer anything. She slightly tilted her head from side to side, observing Mitrof with her dark eyes.

Mitrof felt a sense of horror at the unusual and eerie experience he had never encountered before.

Click, click, click.

The old woman’s nails bounced off the scabbard. The fleshless fingers, covered only with a thin layer of skin on the bone, lacked the color of the living. Her long, yellowed nails tapped against the scabbard before coming to a stop.

——A singing voice

The sound was like metal rubbing against metal, like rain and air breaking through in a stormy night, like the twisting of a beast’s muscle strings being plucked. an exceedingly eerie sound that Mitrof had never heard before.

The mouth of the goat-skullhead-old-woman was open. The vibrations that emanated from it were undeniably making sounds.

When faced with an incomprehensible phenomenon, people react in various ways. Most often, they initially reject it. Facing a strange creature’s presence in the monster’s lair inside the labyrinth, Mitrof was unable to make a judgment.

Is this the enemy? Should he fight, or should he run away?

The goat’s skull rattled, and music that shook the depths of the earth echoed from its mouth. Mitrof drew his thrusting sword. By taking up a weapon to protect himself, he regained some composure.

At the same time, the next question arose.

‘Could I win against this opponent? Could I escape?’

She wasn’t massive, and her weapon was unsheathed. Her physique was not reassuring, and she looked like she might fall with a single strike from a steel sword.

However, the ominousness of the goat-skullhead-old-woman was enough to make Mitrof pause.

The goat-skull tilted, already level with the ground, as it leaned to one side, then the other, before slowly returning to its original position. Then she swung the sword sheath of her right hand like she was waving off the wind.

Flash.

Dodging it was due to a split-second change in consciousness. It was strengthened by sublimation, and sometimes it moved the body faster than reflexes. It had a keen sense of danger, like that of a wild beast.

Mitrof squatted as if to kneel on his right knee. The impact and gust of wind dissipated. There was a sound of something being slammed against the wall behind him.

There was a crackling sound. Mitrof looked at his shoulder. His clothes were burned. A sharp, thorn-like light flickered and disappeared.

“——Was that lightning?”

He muttered in amazement. His shoulder was numb. He looked at the old woman, who was still holding her sword and tilting her head left and right.

It could be magic, the sorcery of a monster, or the power of that sword. The old woman had just reproduced a lightning flash in the stormy sky.

Mitrof’s thoughts were spinning calmly. He stood up and prepared himself, suppressing his anxiety. One thing was certain. That thing was undoubtedly the enemy. Therefore, he had no choice but to fight.

His left shoulder suddenly twitched. Mitrof wondered if it was a curse that moved involuntarily, regardless of one’s will.

He timidly put some force into his fists and arms a few times, and the twitch stopped. If just a graze could cause an effect, he could die if he were hit directly. Mitrof was a bit surprised at himself for calmly thinking about his own death.

‘That’s right. I am now facing death.’

Before he could tremble in fear, the goat-skullhead-old-woman raised her sword sheath again. She did not swing it, only lifted it above her head.

Mitrof frowned and immediately sensed it—a lightning strike.

He rolled away horizontally as the ground shattered with a flash of light. The impact, the light, and the sound were overwhelming. He was unable to protect himself and could only roll awkwardly. However, thanks to the fat stored in his body, he could absorb the shock.

Trying to get up immediately, he found that his right leg had no strength. There was a glimmer of light flashing from his knee down.

“Damn it!” he swore, slapping his right leg. His hand felt numb and painful, so he instinctively pulled it back. His spasmodic leg had no strength, and it was the only part of his body that was limp like a dead body.

He stood up with only his left leg, but his own body felt too heavy.

While holding an out-of-place thought that he should have lost weight, Mitrof maintained his stance with his thrusting sword as a cane.

The goat-skullhead-old-woman was not pursuing him. She tilted her skull from side to side and gazed at the sword in her hand. It was like a baby exploring the outside world for the first time, but Mitrof felt a sense of horror at the innocent behavior that was harbored in her abnormal appearance.

The goat-skullhead-old-woman’s eye sockets face towards Mitrof.

Holding his sword, which he had been using as a cane, and taking a deep breath, Mitrof ran off.

A creaking sound echoed from behind her yellowed teeth. Was it a voice or a song? The scabbard shook, and a spark flashed in the air. The thorns of light were visible.

‘How to avoid it?’

Mitrof stepped forward with a left step. The thorns, with irregular nodes, headed towards Mitrof but suddenly turned just before contact. Mitrof managed to dodge the attack while the sharp, thrusting sword in his hand bit into the air with a delayed explosion like heat.

One’s mind should grip the sword, for to let go of one’s weapon is to die.

However, his body disobeyed the firm command of his mind and released the sword. The unprecedented shock and heat made him realize that holding onto the sword at that moment would have led to imminent danger.

While stepping on the ground that trembled from the shock wave that occurred at his fingertips, Mitrof looked at his hand. The briars were entangled in the thrusting sword floating in the air. The burns on his palm spread like branches—’did lightning have heat?’

Mitrof’s eyes widened, as if he had discovered something new, like a scholar, in a completely inappropriate situation.

In the fleeting moment when his thoughts were interrupted, Mitrof adjusted his posture.

The goat-skullhead-old-woman was right there, but he had let go of his weapon—no, he had a short sword that he received from the Silver Knight.

Mitrof drew the short sword from his waist.

He leaned his weight onto the sword, thrusting it as if he were tackling. But the tip of the blade was sucked into the black tatters of her cloak and pierced through, even cutting through her arm.

He gasped in surprise and confusion. His momentum did not stop, and Mitrof passed through the cold membrane that made his spine freeze, rolling to the ground.

He hurriedly got up, taking a defensive stance. As he looked back, he saw the cloak fluttering, but there was nothing where the body should have been.

Shaking a pale blue light, the goat-skullhead-old-woman turned around. With her skull tilting to the right, she stared fixedly at Mitrof.

“This is…interesting—no, this is not a time to be amused.”

Since enhancing his mental strength through sublimation, there were times when Mitrof felt like his thoughts were splitting apart. There was a part of him that was deeply agitated and another part that calmly analyzed reality. Both were aspects of himself, but he wondered which one was the true Mitrof.

This was a completely different kind of entity from the monsters he had encountered in the labyrinth. His attacks were ineffective against it. There was a part of Mitrof that was scared, crying out, and wanting to escape immediately.

It was an existence that took form without a body, likely based on the principle of magic. It should be classified as a “magician.” It used magic that resembled lightning. If her body was useless, what about that skull? It seemed easy to aim for.

The part of himself that restrained his emotions, separated his feelings, and analyzed the entity between his eyes—was that the “strong Mitrof” obtained through sublimation?

He didn’t know. But that kind of thinking was necessary to survive.

Mitrof slowly took deep breaths and pushed down the screaming part of himself deep within his heart. For a moment, he glanced at the door. It was on his left. Even if he ran straight for it, the lightning from the goat-skullhead-old-woman entity would be faster.

There was no choice but to face it, with this short sword? It was better to have a weapon, at least.

Mitrof took up the unreliable short sword. First, he had to avoid the lightning strikes. It had to be perfect. Even a graze would cause numbness in his limbs.

‘Can I do it?’ He asked himself.

‘If I couldn’t, I would just die,’ he answered himself.

The goat-skullhead-oldwoman trembled, and her song echoed louder than ever. She raised her sword, clutching it with withered fingers like a staff.

The moment Mitrof braced himself, a blade of flame attacked the goat-skullhead-oldwoman from the side. The goat-skullhead-oldwoman countered it with lightning generated by holding up her scabbard and shaking her head back and forth.

The figure ran through the darkness. Straight toward Mitrof, she ran, grabbing his hand and pulling him without paying any attention to Mitrof’s calls. Caught off guard by the sudden strength, Mitrof stuck his leg out to avoid falling, then ran along.

Behind them, there was the sound of air rupturing.

“Here comes the lightning!”

“Don’t worry.”

At Mitrof’s scream, Blanc Manje turned around and pulled Mitrof’s arm, running towards the door. Mitrof stumbled and they switched positions. Mitrof pushed through the door and stumbled out.

Blanc Manje fell backward and looked up at the sky. She swung her sword as lightning spread across the sky.

The flames of her innate magical power intertwined with the lightning.

The lightning that pierced through the wall of flames wrapped around Blanc Manje’s sword. She let out a scream, but held on. Just before she collapsed, she spun around and followed Mitrof out the door.

“Close the door!”

At Blanc Manje’s command, Mitrof, who had stood up, placed his hand on the door and closed it with all his strength.

“…But does it really matter if we close it?”

“The ‘guardian’s room’ is like a prison—once it’s closed, no one can come out.”

After Blanc Manje’s reply, Mitrof let out a breath. He leaned against the door and sat down, sliding down the door.

In front of him was Blanc Manje, wrapped in a pale green robe. A slender sword could be seen protruding from the long hem, as the woman’s hands were concealed. The edge of the robe was blackened and smoking.

“Thank you. I’m saved—are your arms okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine.”

Blanc Manje sheathed the sword into a scabbard in the shadow of the robe, then crouched down to meet Mitrof’s eye level.

“Mitrof-san—are you alright? Do you have any injuries?”

“Just a graze—what was that thing? A monster? The guardian?”

“I cast a magic barrier to repel humans, but how did you make it through?”

“Magic barrier? I don’t know, but I felt a strange presence and came here—so, what was that?”

Blanc Manje groaned with concern, then shook his head resignedly.

“That was not a ‘guardian.’ It’s a being called a ‘demon,’ who embodies ancient calamities, grief, and suffering.”

“I see, a demon.”

Mitrof nodded vigorously. It was Blanc Manje who was confused.

“… Uh, do you not believe me? They’re called “demons,” you know?”

“I learned about them in religious studies—aren’t they the inhabitants of hell? The embodiment of evil that corrupts humans, enemies of the gods… They’re common in labyrinths, aren’t they?”

“Well, they’re not that common, but…”

Blanc Manje stumbled over her words.

Normally, someone with more common sense would sneer or shout for them to say something more reasonable. However, Mitrof’s ignorance of the world worked in their favor. While he had knowledge, there were certain things that were far removed from the common sense of labyrinth society and everyday life.

Therefore, even if he was told that “demons” were in the labyrinth, Mitrof’s flexibility allowed him to accept it as just something that existed.

“Whatever you call them, they are terrifying.”

Mitrof recalled his fear through the door he was leaning against. Their abnormal presence, their terrifying form, their thin existence.

“They are said to be existences beyond the logic of this world—Ah, no, but more importantly…”

Mitrof stood up and looked back and forth between the tightly closed “guardian’s room” and Blanc Manje’s face.

“… My sword is still inside.”

Blanc Manje looked surprised and sighed in exasperation. Shaking her head left and right, she said,

“Just give up.”

as if she were talking to a little child.