Chapter 4: The fat aristocrat goes to the labyrinth
Chapter 4: The fat aristocrat fights a goblin
He had learned swordsmanship since childhood.
This was a story from the time when his father still had expectations for Mitrof.
His two older brothers were more suited for civil service, so his father might have wanted Mitrof to become a military official and join the knights’ corps.
The hired tutor was a rough man, but he trained Mitrof well.
There weren’t many memories of praise.
The man was strict.
However, there was one time during a practice match where Mitrof’s sword skimmed the man’s clothes.
At that moment, the man said, “Not bad,” and laughed.
Looking back, that might have been the only time someone had praised Mitrof.
He went to a teatime gathering with his father and the Marquis family.
It was also an exchange meeting for aristocratic children, like a practice for socializing.
There, he was to have a mock match with the heir of the Marquis family, who was known for his talent in swordsmanship.
Mitrof easily won.
He thought that his father would be pleased and compliment him.
However, when they got home, Mitrof’s father severely reprimanded him and slapped him across the face.
“Never embarrass me again,” his father said.
“Why can’t you lose a match?”
On that day, Mitrof stopped practicing his sword skills.
He spent his time eating, sleeping, and being lazy, and eventually, the meat weighed heavily on his cheeks and stomach.
Now, that excess weight was endangering Mitrof’s life.
Breathing hard through his throat, his hot breath rubbed against the air.
Sweat trickled down his body.
He was hot all over.
This was not just an exercise; this was a battle.
They weren’t using sticks wrapped in cloth, but real swords.
This was a fight to the death.
The tension made his body feel heavier.
He wanted to rest right away.
If he gave himself up to laziness, he would die.
He knew that.
That would be such a boring end.
Suddenly, a goblin cried out with a “Gya!” and charged straight ahead.
Mitrof lifted his rapier in front of his body in a noble duel ceremony.
It was a gesture that he learned when he was young and was the starting point of his swordsmanship.
The goblin raised its club.
Mitrof accurately judged the distance, took a step back, and avoided the incoming strike.
The club missed its target, and the goblin’s body was exposed due to the weight of its weapon.
1, 2, 3.
He pulled the handle of his sword towards his chest and aimed for the right moment.
He stepped forward and pierced
With a sharp sound of wind cutting through, slower and less elegant than in Mitrof’s memory, the tip of the sword accurately pierced the goblin’s throat.
The goblin immediately recoiled, swinging its club but missing.
The inertia of its own movement caused the goblin’s body to spin around completely, and it fell to the ground.
Exhaling a hot breath, he swung his sword to remove the blood and raised it before resheathing it.
He took a life, and he couldn’t forget that.
He looked around to make sure there were no noises.
It was safe.
He then cut off the goblin’s ear and put it in a small bag hanging from his waist.
This was the fourth one.
“It’s okay,” he told himself.
He was used to it.
He could fight.
Despite the accumulation of fat, his body remembered his trained movements, though they were far from ideal.
He drank from a leather bag.
The water was incredibly lukewarm, but it tasted so good that it penetrated his body.
He had never had such delicious water before.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
He had done it so many times that his sleeve had already changed color and was soaking wet.
Checking left and right, he leaned his back against the wall.
His arms and legs were numb from the intense exercise after a long time.
His body was as hot as if he had put firewood inside.
His head was excited, shaken by the place called the labyrinth and the act of fighting.
“I am calm,” he muttered.
No, he shouldn’t be calm.
It would be strange if he remained calm.
So, he should not push himself too hard.
It was about time to go home.
But Mitrof was not tired.
He felt like he could fight goblins over and over again now.
However, he knew it was inappropriate because of the experience he had gained from being harshly trained when he was young.
His intense awareness and whole-body exercise make him forget fatigue or pain for a while.
But it accumulates, so the moment his consciousness relaxed, everything would come rushing in at once.
It would be too late to realize the tiredness then.
He had to get out of the labyrinth.
He needed to save some strength for the return journey.
With a decision, Mitrof stood up.
At that moment, he heard hurried voices coming from the end of the passage.
He instinctively grasped his sword’s hilt and crouched down.
As he listened intently, it became clear that the sounds were from people.
They were running, and their figures, illuminated by a lantern, appeared as they came around the corner of the hallway.
There were three young men, all of them older than Mitrof.
While they continued to run, they noticed Mitrof and waved with no hostility.
“Hey! You better run too! It’s a stray kobold!” says the man in the lead.
“The elf girl is facing it, but she won’t last long,” said the leader of the group as they passed by and disappeared from view.
Mitrof watched their backs as they went away, before running towards the end of the passage.
As he turned the corner where the men had come from, he found himself in a small square.
As expected, the elf girl was there—the blue-eyed girl who had saved his life earlier.
In her left hand was a bow, and she wielded a short sword with her right hand against the kobold’s attack.
She was being pushed back.
Mitrof pulled out his rapier and rushed in between them.
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