The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 96
Chapter 96: The fat aristocrat knows how frustrating it can be
As expected, the bath was great. No matter what troubles or fatigue he had, everything vanished like bubbles once he got into the bath… If only he had known how good it was.
He left the labyrinth with no specific destination in mind and arrived at the sizable bathhouse while the sun was still high. Blanc Manje accompanied him or, more accurately, watched to make sure Mitrof didn’t go to grab his sword.
He had become bored with an injured arm and went to the labyrinth. But the result was terrible. He encountered a “demon,” left behind his precious sword, and now his arms and legs, hit by lightning, were beginning to ache.
As he soaked in the bath and reflected on it, he realized that he might have died if Blanc Manje hadn’t been there.
Although he had come to the large bathhouse with the expectation that his mood would be refreshed, Mitrof’s emotional baggage did not dissolve into the water and remained a heavy burden.
He had soaked in the bath for so long. Whenever he felt dizzy, he would sit on the edge to cool off his upper body. But no matter how many times he repeated it, his body remained boiling.
Mitrof left the hot bath and headed towards the cold bath. The open-air bath, enclosed only by a blindfold, had fewer people than the inner bath. The water drawn from the waterway outside the city was cold like snowmelt, and few people enjoyed soaking in the cold bath for long periods of time. Most people quickly washed themselves with water and returned to the inner bath.
Amidst them, a huge shadow was occupying the center of the cold bath, arms crossed and eyes closed, looking as if they were undergoing training.
Mitrof picked up a bucket of water and gently poured it over his body. Even if his skin was getting red and hot, the water was still cold enough to make him shiver. However, after repeating the process several times, he became accustomed to the coldness and felt a warmth within his body.
Suddenly, he remembered the goat-skullhead-oldwoman. To dispel that memory, he poured water over his head. Mitrof took a deep breath and plunged into the cold water up to his shoulders.
Initially, it was painful, but once he was fully submerged, he felt surprisingly comfortable.
“You’ve immersed yourself well again today—it seems like you’re used to the cold bath now.”
The big, lion-headed man opened his eyes and said—with his lips lifted, he must be laughing, but with visible sharp fangs, he looked like an intimidating beast.
“I took a long bath—my body is hot.”
Unintentionally, Mitrof’s response was lacking in politeness.
The lion-headed man raised an eyebrow. Through experience, he knew that adventurers, especially men, would show this attitude only when they had failed in a labyrinth.
“Did you fight a tough opponent? You don’t look injured.”
Mitrof cleared his throat and groaned. He rubbed his facial muscles, thinking about whether his attitude was too obvious.
He felt embarrassed as if his weakness had been exposed. However, he thought that this could be an opportunity to release what he had been holding back. His mouth opened on its own.
“…You’re clearly a strong person—I bet you’ve never lost.”
Mitrof muttered.
“I suffered a terrible defeat today—It’s unbearably painful. My entire life has been filled with constant losses, so this is probably normal… maybe I was just lucky to have picked up a few wins and got carried away.”
Mitrof’s eyes fell to the water’s surface. The sunlight reflected off of it, blindingly bright.
The lion-headed man remained silent, and the heavy silence between them made Mitrof feel uneasy. Without thinking, he continued speaking.
“Maybe I thought I could win—no matter who my opponent was, I could handle it. I can prove that I’m strong, talented, and capable of anything…”
His words trailed off, and he bit his lower lip.
An old man came to the bath, squatting at the edge of the water. He scooped water with a bucket and poured it over his head. He shouted “hyaa” and slapped his body before standing up and returning. The lion-headed man watched him depart and let out a deep sigh.
“You’re lucky.”
“… Because I survived?”
“That’s right. Anyone who loses in the labyrinth dies. There is no opportunity for remorse or reflection. However, you can soak in a cold bath, lament your weakness, and indulge in your misery—you are lucky.”
“That’s quite ironic—are you saying that I am foolish?”
“You are looking at a field.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s your own field—no one but you will tend to it—you sit there and lament about how there’s no harvest—but did you even sow any seeds?”
“…”
“Without seeds and care, even if you just want to reap the harvest, there’ll be nothing there—and yet, you’ve survived; you are lucky.”
“…”
“You asked me if I’ve ever lost. I have. Countless times. And I sowed seeds each time I lost—that’s why I’m still here—the Goddess of Luck can’t always grant our wishes, but we can manage our own fields—how about your field?”
The lion-headed man stood up, causing the waves to rock Mitrof. He broke through the water and left.
‘Sow seeds. Did I sow any seeds?’
Mitrof looked down at the water’s surface and raised his head. The sky was still bright, but the color was getting darker towards the edge. It felt like the beginning of dusk.
The lion-headed man had many wounds on his body. Seeing his unmoved behavior, one could guess his strength.
Even such a strong person has lost countless times.
Suddenly, the memory of Canule, an excellent user of shields, came to mind. She also said that she had never beaten his older brother, the silver knight.
Even strong people lose.
Mitrof felt like he caught a glimpse of the strange mechanism at work.
If he looked down at himself, who was down and out after losing, from above, he must look too small and indeed foolish.
Of course, he was meant to lose. He didn’t sow any seeds.
He felt like he finally accepted that feeling he couldn’t accept before.
‘Why did I always think I could win?’ The opponent was a monster, an existence beyond humans. He was lucky to have survived up until now, growing up as a noble, living a luxurious life without any effort or preparation. He was fortunate to have met and received help from others.
Before he knew it, he had become overconfident in his own abilities.
—I am weak.
‘But it’s okay,’ Mitrof said, nodding in agreement.
Until now, he had been living without acknowledging this fact. Comparing himself to others meant facing his inferiority. So he shut himself in his room, looking for convenient excuses and convincing himself that he was not at fault.
‘Bad birth, bad environment, bad father, bad world that doesn’t accept me…’
“I am lucky.”
He survived. He had friends. He could reflect, regret, and start over.
Mitrof thought he was far behind in this realization.
However, he still wanted to sow the seed, even at this late stage. He wanted to do so out of frustration.
He was frustrated with losing.
He was frustrated with his powerlessness.
Yet, he was happy to feel this emotion within himself.
“I will become stronger.”
He had lived without knowing what he wanted to do. But now he knew that a core was slowly emerging within him.
Mitrof got up energetically.
A sudden gust of wind blew, wiping away the drops of water that had appeared on Mitrof’s skin. A sudden chill crept up on him, and Mitrof sneezed loudly.