Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 105

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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 105.
Blood That Will Not Fade (18)
“You’ve guessed correctly. I’m considering summoning a creature from the Other World once more. If, by some miracle, I succeed, I intend to extract that ‘crimson heart’ from its body and use it to heal Nauplion Priest’s wound.”
Nauplion’s eyes widened. It was a plan he’d never imagined. He couldn’t believe such a reckless proposal was coming from Despoina’s lips.
Despoina continued.
“If Ilios Priest’s research records are accurate, that crimson stone is as vital to creatures from the Other World as a heart is to us. Surely, no matter how different the creature, it must possess a heart?”
Nauplion, recovering from his shock, shook his head vehemently.
“Impossible! Have you forgotten how many sacrifices were necessary just to kill that one monster? How can you guarantee what will emerge? We cannot risk such danger for one person when success itself is uncertain!”
Nauplion paused, as if suppressing his emotions, his hands clasped tightly together before he spoke again.
“Where is the sword? I will take it.”
“Daphnen already took it.”
“What… did you say?”
Bewildered, Nauplion’s words even began to stammer.
Then Despoina looked at him quietly, her eyes seeming to see through everything, and spoke.
“Don’t you already know how to kill that monster?”

A familiar scent drifted through the air.
It didn’t come to mind immediately, but it was certainly a smell he’d encountered somewhere before. It pricked at his senses—sharp and fishy.
At first, it resembled the bitter odor of medicine. But soon the stench of fish mingled with it. The damp scales of a fish left to rot slowly on dry land.
What was that smell…?
Hector had reached the entrance of the Town Hall, and Daphnen stood at the final step, positioned where the entrance came into view.
For a moment, neither clashed their swords. Hector seemed to sense that smell as well.
Behind Hector’s back, two pillars were visible, along with a half-destroyed door that hung closed. Oddly, the top of the door was damaged, making it impossible to see inside.
Hector retreated another step. With a back kick, he swept away the rotted door.
One door panel clattered and broke apart. Hector didn’t look back, but Daphnen, facing forward, grew puzzled. Why would he abandon the wide space and try to enter the Town Hall instead? Surely there would be obstacles inside that would hinder their duel?
As the door shattered, a thicker stench vibrated through the air. Daphnen felt a buried memory stir faintly within him.
This was the smell of rotting corpses.
The acrid reek that emanates from the end of life. He had smelled something like this only once before—a scent impossible to forget.
Hector leaped backward and entered through the broken door. Daphnen, who had been crouching with sword in hand, soon followed inside.
In their frantic rush, both boys had forgotten that the foothills leading up to Isolet’s House were drawing near.
Ekion was afraid of Isolet. Just days ago, hadn’t he been there when Hector boldly shouted in front of Isolet’s House?
No—whether he’d been there or not, wasn’t he the brother of Hector, who had spoken such insults?
He’d thought it strange that Isolet, who must surely have been inside the house, showed no reaction to such an affront. He’d even wondered if she was frightened, or if her heart had grown weak like that of ordinary girls.
But the moment he saw her in person, terror was reborn.
Isolet was not one to forgive. Whether insult, sin, or resentment—endurance was not her virtue.
She was the daughter of the Priest of the Sword, one who would repay debts, no matter the cost.
“Get up.”
Oizis, who was just as frightened as Ekion, suddenly came to his senses at the cold voice from above his head.
Isolet was Daphnen’s Sacred Chant Tradition instructor, wasn’t she? Though she was someone he feared, she might not turn away if it concerned Daphnen.
“I… I have something to say!”
Ekion’s face twisted grotesquely. Yet even as he longed to glare, Oizis had already stopped looking at him. Rising awkwardly, he fixed his gaze solely on Isolet.
“Speak.”
Isolet, who seemed ready to draw her sword at any moment, merely let her short hair flutter in the wind. Her pale hands remained at her sides.
“I—that is—Daphnen is in danger right now!”
She hadn’t expected a reaction like “What did you say!” Yet Isolet only raised her left eyebrow slightly. From her expressionless lips came another word.
“Be specific.”
Ekion realized he faced an opponent he could never overcome and began backing away.
Under these circumstances, his best course was to follow Teacher Jilebo, who had gone ahead. He needed to reach him as quickly as possible, inform him of this matter, and devise a countermeasure.
Isolet paid no attention as Ekion slipped away.
She was not the sort to involve herself in children’s disputes. That they hated, ostracized, and beat one another was hardly a new sight—it had been commonplace for years.
Rather, the fact that she had intervened this time was itself the result of several coincidences overlapping.
“Daphnen and Hector went to the Upper Village to finish the duel they were having before. They said they wouldn’t end it until one of them was dead. But a moment ago, I overheard Teacher Jilebo and Ekion plotting something…”
“…”
On the Island, not only children but adults too would resort to duels to settle their differences once or twice a year when their intentions clashed.
When children fought, adults usually intervened to stop them, but in cases where they were left alone, matters had escalated to killing and death.
Isolet knew this. And she harbored no great aversion to settling disputes with the blade.
If one was insulted, it was foolish to endure it; if one harbored a grudge, it must be repaid to reach an end. Isolet too was a girl raised in the lands of the Moon Goddess Faith. Moreover, she was a warrior who had grasped a sword since she first learned to walk.
Yet Isolet could not deny that her own existence was entangled in this matter.
Why had she remained silent then? She had clearly heard every cowardly word Hector spoke from inside the house. Yet in that moment, she had felt it foolish to step outside and loudly refute him.
In such matters, the one who provided the source of rumor became the helpless weak. Instead, she had wanted a different form of resolution.
What kind?
“…So?”
Had she believed Daphnen would strike the man on her behalf? Had she thought his defense was necessary in such a matter?
If so, then that would mean… she had tried to rely on Daphnen? In what capacity?
As a boy learning the Sacred Chant Tradition from her?
It couldn’t have been…
“If Hector wins, Daphnen won’t come back alive! And even if Daphnen wins… still… I think… they’ve decided to kill him while they have the chance!”
“I understand.”
Isolet spun around sharply. The white hem of her divided garment fluttered, drawing a line through the air.
“Go find others who can help ease your anxiety.”
Oizis, thinking Isolet meant to turn a blind eye to this situation, stared at her retreating figure in stunned bewilderment. Yet instead of heading home, Isolet climbed the mountain at a brisk pace.
Only then did he realize her words meant “go seek help from someone else.”
Oizis drew a deep breath. For Daphnen’s sake, he had to do whatever he could. But what would be best?
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.
Someone was knocking on the door. Insistently.
Priestess Despoina glanced toward the door, her expression uncertain. She did not want this conversation to leak out.
Yet the visitor might have come bearing important news. In any case, this was the Town Hall where the Island’s most crucial matters were decided.
“I shall see.”
Morpheus rose and went to the door. Nauplion, who should have done so first, remained with his head bowed in thought.
“What is it? Oh, isn’t that Oizis?”
Morpheus frowned at the sight of his opponent being a child. He thought it was a trivial matter interrupting a serious conversation.
“What is it?”
“Huff, huff… Is Nauplion Priest… here right now?”
Oizis had found the right place. If it concerned Daphnen, Nauplion would be the first to step forward and resolve it.
Of course, finding the Priest of the Sword as he moved about The Island attending to his duties was not a simple task. Oizis had wasted considerable time wandering aimlessly through other areas. Half an hour had passed since parting with Isolet.
“I’m here. What business brings you?”
“It’s… very… important… about Daphnen… about Daphnen… danger…”
Oizis had run far too much that day. He hadn’t been able to rest for a moment, fearing he might be caught by the vanished Ekion. Upon hearing Daphnen’s name, Nauplion turned around. He rose abruptly and strode toward the door with long steps.
“It’s Oizis. What has happened to Daphnen?”
“They’re trying to kill him!”
“What?”
At last, Oizis received the reaction he had been waiting for. Nauplion bent down, grasped both of Oizis’s shoulders, and pressed urgently for answers.
“What has happened? Who is trying to harm the boy?”

“Ha…”
Daphnen found himself at a loss for words at the sight unfolding before him.
A sound rang in his ears. It grew louder. Voices from memory tangled together in a cacophony. The content mattered little. Everything spoke to him of one thing alone.
Emera Lake.
The swamp of rotting corpses and malevolent spirits. The place that had annihilated his family.
How could one forget?
That swamp had been recreated in the center of the Town Hall.
Though smaller in scale, the murky green water decaying before him was identical to the Emera Lake of his memories. The water was so turbid that it was impossible to discern its depth.
How could such a thing exist in such a place? This was a ruin, yet wasn’t it once the Town Hall at the heart of the village? Moreover, wasn’t it atop stairs that rose more than a dozen steps?
Could a swamp truly form not upon earth but upon solid stone, and within a building that still retained its roof?
“What is this?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my concern.”
The two circled with the swamp between them. Soon Daphnen found himself standing deeper within the building, near the entrance through which Hector had entered.
Beyond the putrid water rising from ancient stone, I watched the enemy’s face, remaining vigilant. Black aquatic weeds extending from the lake climbed like vines through the crevices between bricks.
It was broad daylight now. It should have been different from the black swamp seen at night.
Yet my sense of smell, the stench itself, dominated my memory. Even surrounded by unfamiliar walls, this was that lake from my past.
“Why did you come in this way?”
“Now you’re finally speaking. Well, it’s not a pleasant sight. But for my purpose, there was no choice.”
Hector placed his left hand—the one not holding his sword—into his vest and withdrew something. It appeared to be a lump resembling red sealing wax used to seal envelopes.
Daphnen spoke with an expressionless face, only his lips moving.
“Have you brought some other method to defeat me?”
“No. You are destined to lose to me.”
Hector extended his left hand forward. The red lump rolled across his palm.

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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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