The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 99
Chapter 99: The Fat aristocrat reads a fairy tale
It was a lively dinner.
There were children, Grace, Lattier, and two nuns who sympathized with Saffron’s actions and worked at the abandoned church despite being nuns. With Mitrof and Canule joining, the number of people at the table increased.
The dishes were also hearty, and today’s dish was stew cooked in a large pot. Lattier was in charge of cooking, and Canule helped in a supportive role.
The church kitchen has become her garden, which she cooks with great skill—Canule told Mitrof.
After the meal, the children worked hard. They seemed to have firmly embraced the spirit of independence and support, taking care of themselves and others if they had enough spare time. They divided up the tasks of washing dishes, cleaning up, and even taking care of the young children.
Canule had become so familiar with them that she led the group in motion, and both Lattier and Grace worked hard here and there.
Only Mitrof was left alone in the chair, treated as a guest, looking around uncomfortably.
Although he knew he should help with something, he didn’t know what to do due to his lack of experience.
“Mitrof, you’re in the way.”
“Ah, sorry.”
A girl, with one eye covered by her hair, poked Mitrof’s shoulder. She was the girl who had tried to make an information deal with Mitrof during the day.
When Mitrof got up, she skillfully took the chair and cleaned up. There was no place left to sit, so Mitrof left the room so as not to be a nuisance.
They were probably using tallow candles made from animal fat to save money. The hallway was dim, and the smell of burning fat lingered in the air.
Although the window was well polished and without stains, the moon in the sky was thin, and there was an uneasy feeling due to the dim light.
If he continued on, he could hear the voices of children in the distance, and he would come across a door that led to the chapel. When Mitrof casually opened it, he saw Saffron kneeling in front of the holy statue and offering prayers.
Candles of various sizes were lined up, but only one was lit. Saffron, who was praying before the lit candle, seemed so serious that it was daunting to speak to him.
Mitrof quietly closed the door and sat down on the edge of a nearby bench, trying not to make any noise. The bench creaked and groaned as he sat down, but luckily it did not collapse.
Mitrof looked around the chapel.
The interior, which was once beautiful in white, now had more cracked, water-stained, and peeled surfaces. Despite being thoroughly cleaned, most of the old parts were beyond repair. The walls were crumbling, the benches were decaying, and the pillars were chipping away.
Despite everything deteriorating, the painting on the ceiling remained stunning and unfading.
Extraordinary and religious paintings have special treatments and magic spells to keep them in good condition. Even if the church were to collapse, this ceiling painting would remain beautiful.
For a while, Mitrof stared at the painting absent-mindedly.
“I was captivated by this painting.”
Saffron suddenly sat down next to him, looking up at the painting just like Mitrof.
“When I discovered this church, the windows were broken, the walls were crumbling, and the inside was in disarray—however, thanks to that, the sunlight was coming in very nicely, and the illuminated ceiling painting was incredibly beautiful—before I knew it, I had been sitting here, gazing at it until sunset.”
“The painting is mysterious—it draws you in.”
“Yes, it draws you in.”
The two fell silent once again.
The candle flickered in the draft, changing the expression of the painting’s shadows. The gentle smile of the saint seemed to suddenly turn into a cruel expression.
In the solemn darkness of the quiet cathedral, Mitrof feels as if he is reflecting on himself.
In terms of time spent emptying the mind, calming the heart, and introspection, it is similar to bathing in a bath. However, while the bath melts and loosens the body and mind, the time spent looking up at the painting in the church gives a feeling of purifying the heart with cold, clear water.
Even Mitrof, who did not have a deep religious faith, felt the urge to pray for something. This was a special place, and even without anyone telling him, he could feel it.
“I want this ceiling painting to stay here as it is.”
Mitrof murmured softly, and Saffron nodded in agreement.
“…I heard there is a plan to solve the problem with the mafia.”
When Mitrof glanced sideways, Saffron smiled wryly.
“Yes, there is always a way to solve any problem—no matter how difficult it may seem, it is inevitable.”
“The way priests talk is like nobles.”
“Oh? Authoritative, was it?”
“No, it’s convoluted.”
“That’s a painful truth—indeed, we must recognize honesty as a virtue.”
“That’s also convoluted.”
“…”
Saffron laughed, snorting his nose. It was not a formal, textbook-like image of a priest, but a laugh that reflected Saffron’s personality.
“Everyone needs a place to return to, a place to call home and rest—although we call the church the house of God, this is the house of those children.”
Faintly, the children’s cheerful laughter could be heard from beyond the door.
“For the future of these children, there is little I can do—still, I want to fulfill the duty of protecting this house.”
“Why are you so devoted to this cause?”
Mitrof asked directly.
“Some parents abandon even their own children—in this world, people ignore dying infants sitting on the side of the road. Yet you have opened an orphanage and devoted your life to it. Perhaps you have gained such faith?”
It was an honest question.
For Mitrof, who had learned the ways of the nobility, judgments tended to be profit-oriented. Is it beneficial or detrimental to me? What is the gain? To him, Saffron’s actions were a “loss.”
Taking in children, taking responsibility for their future, and finding a way to make a living each day.
He would never be free from his daily struggles, unable to live selfishly.
Mitrof could not imagine how heavy the burden and responsibility on Saffron’s shoulders were.
Saffron looked up at the ceiling mural once again.
“No matter how far you go, this is all for my own satisfaction—I once committed a sin—the guilt ate away at my heart, and I couldn’t even sleep. One day, I found this decaying church and was captivated by this painting… In truth, I wanted this painting.”
Saffron leaned in toward Mitrof and whispered quietly.
“In truth, anyone can become a priest—if you make many donations and beg them humbly, the church will give you a cane and clothes. I am a false priest.”
Mitrof’s eyes widened. Saffron had an innocent smile on his face, like a mischievous child.
“Ah, I feel so refreshed—confession really does work—I became a priest that way, made more donations, and obtained the management rights to this abandoned church—that’s how I spend my days looking at this painting—how selfish of me, don’t you think?”
“I see that you acted for your own benefit—but if you already obtained the painting, wasn’t that enough to satisfy you?”
Saffron didn’t answer immediately. He hesitated like a boy wrestling with whether to be scolded or praised by his parents, twirling his finger around his nose. Then he started talking.
“One night when I was fixing the church wall, a couple came with a child—the child was a ‘branded child.’ Nowadays, it refers to those who have been cursed by the labyrinth, those who are born with strange forms. But in ancient times, it was the name given to the children chosen by the ‘demons.’ Even now, the church denies the use of such terms, but some devout believers still believe in them.
Mitrof excavated memories of his childhood learning—during his theological studies, he learned about the existence of ‘demons.’ They were the evil beings imprisoned in the underworld beneath this world.
It is believed that a demon is responsible for a person’s actions becoming biased towards evil.
“The couple kneeled and prayed to me, asking for forgiveness for their sins and requesting not to take their child’s soul to the underworld. They asked me to perform the ‘purifying fire’ for their child.”
Saffron nodded in agreement as Mitrof tilted his head in confusion.
“‘purifying fire’ refers to purifying the soul by sending it to the heavenly flame. Before demons took the soul to hell, priests would send it to the peaceful world.”
Realizing what it meant, Mitrof nodded back at Saffron.
“For those who have faith, the most terrifying thing is the fate of their soul after death…to be eternally trapped in the underworld, the ‘hell’ where demons reside and seek to destroy this world.”
“…Do you truly believe that? That there is a hell at the bottom of this world, where demons reside and seek to destroy this world. That myth?”
Saffron replied, looking at Mitrof and lowering the corner of his eye.
“Well…”
“Well?”
“I haven’t seen it myself—there is a bishop who claims to have seen it with his own eyes, but, well, there is no proof—we can’t deny the hearts of those who believe, even if we cannot say whether it exists or not—the fear is real, and it exists there.”
Mitrof shuddered with a chill down his spine.
He couldn’t believe it.
“I pledged to perform the ‘purifying fire’ and took in that child—but I never performed the ‘purifying fire.’ Instead, I decided to raise the child here.”
Mitrof breathed a sigh of relief.
“Since then, priests who couldn’t bear the request for the ‘purifying fire’ have secretly brought children to me—with their assistance, this orphanage has been able to continue its operation.”
However, Saffron said, “There are parents who believe their child has found peace in being ‘purifying fire’d. There are children who have been abandoned and left with scars. We lie and raise these orphans without knowing where salvation lies. If it is indeed true that there is a ‘hell’ at the bottom of this land and the demons are seeking the souls of these children, then performing the ‘purifying fire’ may be the right thing to do.”
Mitrof stroked his chin. Theology, which had once been considered the world’s reasoning, was losing its popularity. People were becoming more rational and seeking a world with orderly rules.
“I have no right to judge whether your actions are right or wrong—however, I believe your actions are humane as long as you cannot prove the existence of ‘hell’.”
“What if ‘hell’ exists?”
Saffron’s tone was extremely assertive. It sounded like a statement with strong conviction.
Saffron bit his lip once and began to speak as if forcing thorny words out.
“Mitrof-san is an adventurer. He delves into the labyrinth—have you ever wondered why strange beings called monsters nest in the depths of deep holes, why the underground persists indefinitely, or why the phenomenon known as ‘sublimation’ occurs?”
Mitrof was at a loss for an answer. He didn’t understand everything; he simply accepted it as it was.
“There is an existence called the ‘heathen.’ They define the labyrinth as a hole that leads to hell—those who gain power by defeating monsters become ‘warriors’ and prepare for the final battle with the demons that will come.”
Mitrof frowned.
Certainly, the labyrinth continued deep underground, and no one had ever seen its bottom.
No one understood why monstrous monsters lived there, or why they discovered the ruins of ancient people. However, the idea that the hole leads to hell or that it is the final battle seemed like a religious story.
However, there was something that came to mind.
The goat-skullhead-oldwoman…the chilling song…the freezing coldness of life…
Blanc Manje called it ‘demon.’ Perhaps it was none other than the ‘demon’ that appears in mythology. But that’s just a monster. It’s only an existence that inhabits the labyrinth, and it’s not the devil seeking the life of a child from hell.
“Let’s suppose that’s the case.”
Said Mitrof.
“At the bottom of the labyrinth, there is a connection to hell, and there are “demons” there—but, so what? I don’t think your actions deserve condemnation. “purifying fire”? What a joke.”
At that moment, laughter echoed loudly from the other side of the room.
Mitrof and Saffron turned to face the sound.
“That merriment is the result of your actions—right now, those kids are laughing. Isn’t this laughter right in front of us more important than an existence we don’t even know for sure is underground?”
Saffron nodded. After a pause, she nodded again.
“…indeed. Yes, that’s right—somehow, I have become quite a devout person.”
There was a pitter-patter of footsteps running across the floor. The door opened, and the children rushed in.
“Sensei! Kou hit me on the head!”
“That’s a lie! I just gave you a little shove!”
“Saffron-sensei, will you read a picture book to us today?”
“No way! It’s my turn today! You have to read my picture book!”
The darkness, which had been silent until now, quickly became lively. Saffron stood up with a wry smile.
“Alright, alright, I got it—let’s listen to each person’s story one by one.”
As a father who spent his days protecting the lives of many children, there was no way he could avoid struggles and commotion. However, to Mitrof, Saffron’s face appeared vivid and full of life.
Arriving late, a girl with her hair covering one eye came walking down the aisle behind him. She paused and gave Saffron a “hmm” as she observed the clamor around him. Then she walked toward Mitrof.
“Will you read this for me?”
She offered him a picture book.
“You want me to read it?”
“Yeah, Mitrof is fine.”
“I have mixed feelings about being compromised…”
Mitrof took the book. The girl sat down next to Mitrof and leaned her face in close.
Opening the book, Mitrof struggled with the unfamiliar task of reading aloud, trying his best to keep his voice calm as he recited the words. It was as if he were being read to, just like someone had done for him a long time ago.
“Once upon a time, there was a knight who searched for the magic sword, and a saint who supported him—.”