The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth

Chapter 3: The fat aristocrat goes to the labyrinth

The true identity of the labyrinth is unknown to anyone.

It is generally believed to be a ruin built by an ancient civilization for some purpose. No one knows what lies at the end, and for decades, those called adventurers continue to challenge it.

The labyrinth has its own ecosystem. The monsters that exist within it are more ferocious, stronger, and hostile compared to the creatures on the surface. They are called “monsters”. Their materials are extremely useful, and the labyrinth guild will eagerly buy them off.

So, anyone who is struggling to make a living will undoubtedly challenge the labyrinth. They enter it with whatever money they can earn and for the sake of surviving the day.

And then they die.

Even so, no one cares. If someone dies today, someone else will come tomorrow. And so, the labyrinth continues.

Mitrof changed into his training clothes, took only his rapier, and entered the labyrinth to earn enough gold for today’s meal.

The labyrinth deepens underground layer by layer, but the shallower depths have already been fully explored.

People’s hands were everywhere on the stone floor and walls, and the passage had lanterns and graffiti. In a small plaza, vendors had taken up space, and bright bonfires illuminated the ceiling. It had become a night market.

Without encountering any monsters, he descended to the second basement floor.

Monsters could pop up from anywhere. Mitrof thought back to what the instructor had said during the training.

“Beginners die on the second basement floor. That’s where——”

A cry rang out. Mitrof instinctively took a half step back and drew his rapier from his waist.

The creature was illuminated by the lantern hanging on the wall.

Its dense green body was thin, and it appeared to be dwarf-sized. However, its eyes were bulging and its pupils slit vertically. Its nose was crushed, and drool dripped from the gaps between its yellowed teeth. Swinging a rusty short sword in its hand, it approached.

“…A goblin huh?”

Mitrof swallowed hard. The liquid he expected to go down smoothly felt like hard pebbles in his throat.

The hand holding the hilt was sweaty. The back of his neck was cold.

This creature was trying to kill him.

The fact was terrifying.

Accompanied by a wheezing cry, the goblin rushed towards him.

“Ah!”

Instinctively, he stepped back, but reason told him it was useless. Yet his instincts were afraid.

The goblin leapt up, swinging its short sword overhead.

There are gaps, reason said.

Terrifying! cried his instincts.

He couldn’t move, he just watched. So this is how beginners die, Mitrof realized.

——Thunk.

An arrow pierced the goblin’s forehead. The next moment, the goblin was thrown back and rolled across the stone pavement, the sound of the short sword clattering echoed. Mitrof was standing there dumbfounded.

“Are you alright?”

A voice came from behind.

Mitrof slowly turned around.

There stood a girl with blue eyes. She had a beautiful, jewel-like radiance.

She held a short bow in her hand, and had a quiver on her back. Her fur clothing was more akin to that of a forest hunter than an adventurer. Silver earrings dangled from her long pointed ears, for she was a member of the elven race, known as the folk of the forest.

“…T-Thank you. You were a great help.”

“No problem. We help each other in the labyrinth, don’t we?”

Though she looked young, her voice was light, like the sound of a rolling bell.

However, her way of speaking was oddly old-fashioned, which made Mitrof somewhat confused.

“There aren’t many people who would really help like you did. You’re a good person.”

“That’s right. I’m a good elf. It’s boring to die in a place like this, so be careful.”

The girl approached the goblin with ease, retrieved her arrow, and used a knife to cut off its left ear. Goblin materials were worthless, so the only reward for defeating one was the bounty for the left ear.

As he watched the girl’s departing back, Mitrof sheathed his rapier, which was trembling in his hand.

A rusty short sword lay on the ground. It belonged to that goblin.

He picked it up, stared at it, then threw it at the wall.

It would be boring to die here.

Mitrof thought the girl was right.