Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 102

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 102.
Blood That Will Not Fade (15)
“You mean the Priesthood doesn’t know that was a formal duel?”
“I didn’t tell them on purpose. They probably think he just swung his sword in a fit of anger. Because, well, if I told them that, they’d never let it happen again, wouldn’t they?”
Jilebo was not the sort to miss the core of what lay beneath those halting words. He spoke as though deliberately blaming the Priesthood.
“You’re right. A formal duel shouldn’t be stopped like that. A duel must always reach its conclusion. Even if it’s between boys.”
“Exactly! If Liriope hadn’t stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong, my brother would have killed that bastard!”
The conviction Ekion held toward Hector was not entirely free from being deliberately constructed. Yet the boy was still too young to distinguish between the beliefs he had created and genuine ones.
“That’s likely true. Hector’s skill is unmatched among the boys on The Island.”
Teacher Jilebo encouraged Ekion appropriately while biding his time. As expected, Ekion hesitated before asking in a subtle voice.
“Teacher, you’re the instructor of Scoli’s staff defense technique, and your skill in staff defense is the finest on The Island, isn’t it?”
“That’s so.”
“Then you’re also an authority on martial arts second only to the Priest of the Sword, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps….”
“You stand in a position to protect martial arts, including swordsmanship, don’t you?”
“That may be so.”
“Then won’t you just let a formal duel end unjustly like this?”
“Hmm.”
“If you were to arrange it, no one could say anything… Well, except the Priest of the Sword, of course.”
“….”
Ekion gauged the situation slightly before speaking.
“But the Priest of the Sword is entirely on that bastard Daphnen’s side, so he’s not in a fair position. His opinion can be ignored. So in other words… you just need to do it when he doesn’t know.”
“Hmm….”
Teacher Jilebo waited silently, maintaining a neutral appearance even as he watched things progress exactly as intended.
But the thoughtless Ekion had touched upon something uncomfortable.
“You find that Daphnen fellow distasteful too, don’t you? You’d be glad if that bastard were dead and gone, wouldn’t you? You don’t think it’s right that he and the Priest of the Sword act like they’re in league, strutting about?”
The words struck too close to the mark, and Teacher Jilebo nearly erupted in anger and threw the boy out. He barely suppressed his rage before responding.
“I have a duty to protect duels, but I’m not in a position to decide matters between you boys. I don’t meddle in areas outside my domain like some people do. Go ask the Priest of the Medal or the Priests of the Orbit about such things.”
Ekion understood only the first part and his face brightened. He had a habit of contorting his brow unpleasantly whenever his expression brightened. That was exactly what happened now.
“I knew it! So please choose a location without the other priests knowing. And oversee it too. Only the Priest of the Sword is protecting Daphnen, so even if that boy dies, nothing too troublesome will happen. Besides, he was the one who suggested the duel in the first place!”
This was the decisive difference between the boys of The Island and ordinary boys of the Continent.
Ekion genuinely and seriously accepted the matter of killing Daphnen with their own hands. It was entirely different from merely shouting “I’ll kill him” in a fit of anger and spite.
The children of The Island, though young, entertained thoughts of eliminating those they disliked with remarkable ease, and often rushed to put such thoughts into action.
The Priesthood’s laws prevented actual killings from being common, but their hearts were no different from the adults on the Continent’s battlefields who killed and died. This was also a side effect of the Moon Queen’s faith, which judged right and wrong harshly and punished savagely.
“I understand what you’re saying.”
Teacher Jilebo realized the time had come to voice his plan. Yet he struggled to suppress the smile that kept surfacing.
Daphnen’s actions had already reached Nauplion’s ears. He gazed silently at the boy’s face for a long while.
“Are your injuries all right?”
A mere nod—his head moved in answer.
“Will you do it again?”
It was different from his father’s tone, which would have urged him on with “You’ll do it again, won’t you?” Daphnen hesitated for a moment. The nature of a Trabaches person was whispering to him to lie.
“Yes.”
This time, he did not yield to that voice. His trust in Nauplion was still strong enough to suppress a nature that had only just begun to awaken.
“Are you confident in this path?”
“I’m not sure.”
It was certainly uncertain. If he had the Winterer in his hands, it would be easier, but it still remained in the hands of Priestess Despoina.
And even if he did have it, he still hesitated to use it readily. Not because it would be an unfair duel since he’d have the advantage, but because Nauplion had forbidden its use.
“How melancholy.”
Nauplion had already noticed how the boy continued to change since arriving on The Island.
Boys were naturally inclined to change, so he had tried not to dwell on it. When the boy first came to The Island, what Nauplion had worried about most was that the boy’s life would become too intertwined with his own.
He had feared that his decisions might then arbitrarily shape the boy’s entire future.
But circumstances had shifted. The number of people influencing the boy on The Island had already grown. Among them were those who seemed to exert an even stronger influence than he did.
The existence of that person brought Nauplion a bittersweet duality that had recently left him somewhat unsettled. He had tried to erase it, but it remained incomplete.
And amid all this, the boy was changing once more.
He had always believed that even a father could not determine a boy’s entire life. Yet this boy was originally a being far removed from him—different in birth, different in people, different in the era and life he had lived.
Had he been a peer, he might have simply accepted difference as difference itself, but this boy continued to show him new facets of himself.
“Boris, we were originally friends, weren’t we?”
He spoke suddenly. Daphnen’s eyes widened as he looked at him.
“Are we not now?”
“No. We are still friends now. I’m just trying to remember that we started as friends.”
Nauplion exhaled slowly after a brief pause and continued.
“A friend should not intervene in a friend’s life and redirect the very current itself. You’re right—I should be satisfied with knowing your decision now. But do not forget that this place is The Island. The children here are as dangerous as the adults. It is an unavoidable consequence, for the Queen of the Night Sky who rules over us desired it so.”
Daphnen lowered his eyes and answered.
“I understand.”
“What is more dangerous is that I will not overlook your peril. I do not know what will unfold. But never forget that your fate and mine are bound to the same anchor.”
The next day, during lunch at Scoli, Daphnen received a note from Ekion.
He deliberately circled around to the back of the building and unfolded it to find the following written there:
You surely wish to continue the duel as well?
After your wounds have healed, let us settle it once more.
Five days from now, come alone to where we fought, after Scoli ends.
I will guide you to a new place.
The judgment shall be: until one of us draws his final breath.

“Yes, please return it to me.”
Priestess Despoina, who had been sitting upon one of the seven circles within the Town Hall, looked up at Daphnen before rising slowly to her feet. She then examined his face carefully for a long moment.
“Returning it is not difficult. But would you not tell me why you suddenly need it?”
“There is no particular reason.”
Daphnen spoke as though it were nothing. Yet sensing that Despoina’s expression demanded explanation, he continued.
“I do not sense it as a sword. But having held it for so long, I came to regard it as an extension of my old family. Its absence has made me unexpectedly uneasy. If there is no other reason, I would like to keep it with me again.”
Despoina fixed her gaze directly upon Daphnen’s eyes, though her voice remained gentle.
“You do not intend to use it for something dangerous?”
What was needed in such moments was the power of his bloodline. Daphnen, having resisted the subtle temptation, even smiled lightly as he spoke.
“What danger could there be? Does it still look like a sword to you, Priestess?”
Winterer remained as it was—merely a thin blade without a hilt. Despoina nodded.
“Then, let it be so.”
Winterer returned to Daphnen’s hands. He bowed his head deeply once, then departed the Town Hall.
A bundle of cloth was placed upon the table with a soft thud. Nimble fingers untied the knot. Within lay a blade so white it was indistinguishable from the cloth’s color.
He raised a finger and brought it to the surface. The cold aura of this sword differed from what one felt from ordinary metal objects.
A winter’s blade harboring many secrets—yet because it was his, this time it would be wielded according to his will. How could he strike an unforgivable enemy without perfect preparation?
He was alone in the house. Daphnen set Winterer aside and drew a short blade. With it, he tore slightly at the cloth’s edge, then grasped it with both hands and began tearing it into strips about the width of a finger joint.
Rip, tear, rip.
Listening to the sharp, successive sounds that rang out in the quiet room, Daphnen licked his lips slightly, expressionless. That noise, almost like a scream, was strangely pleasant.
The cloth soon became shredded into several strips of cord. He took one cord and began wrapping it tightly around where the hilt had been—the tang.
In less than an hour, all the cords were wrapped. After tying off the knots and finishing, he gripped it firmly in his hand.
Compared to a true hilt, this makeshift handle was inconvenient beyond measure, but there was a clear advantage to choosing this blade even at the cost of hand pain.
This blade would lead him by blood.
A clumsy revenge that would make his father and elder brother sneer was worse than useless. This was a sword that would allow him to perfectly punish his enemy.
Would Hector desire a fair duel? He acted as though he did on the surface, but who could guarantee what lay beneath?
Even brothers born of the same blood ultimately could not be trusted—such was the political nature of Trabaches. They would not be deceived even while anticipating cunning schemes from their opponent. Everything had to be prepared for, even without the slightest sign. No—they had to overwhelm.
Moreover, Hector was in a position where he could easily orchestrate foul play. He had no intention of dying prettily at dirty hands.
Even if he himself ended up committing foul play in place of Hector, it mattered not. If you do not lose, you are right. Crying out “coward” to your opponent while dying would only bring mockery in return.
Once, he had been a boy who committed his first murder and wept, trembling. But now, as he prepared for murder directly, he felt no disturbance whatsoever.
There was a father who had grown so cold as to refuse forgiveness even to his own younger brother in order to protect the family and its heirlooms. There was an elder brother who had grown strong enough to pierce his own heart for a younger sibling. They were all his blood….
And now there was himself, growing stronger to repay the insult that had occurred within his domain.
The young beast cast into the forest had grown, and had become clever enough to find acceptance within the very past he had so desperately tried to escape.
He feared not the price that would follow.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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