Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 109

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

Chapter 109.
Blood That Does Not Fade (22)
This time, it was her own voice. Isolet regarded Daphnen with composed eyes. Then she shifted her right shoulder slightly.
“Is it because of this arm? I can simply cut it off.”
“C-cut it off?!”
That statement was equally shocking. Cut off her arm? Could such a thing be spoken of so casually?
I could not even imagine Isolet without one arm. Perhaps it was mere prejudice on my part, but if she lost an arm, she would no longer be able to wield dual blades.
“So you are not the Moon Queen’s son after all. I suspected from the beginning that you could never become her descendant.”
Isolet’s face remained serene. Yet she did not know the truth.
Not only was cutting off her arm unacceptable, but it would not solve the problem even if she did!
Seeing Daphnen’s face contort, Isolet softened her expression as though she herself should offer comfort instead. Then she raised her uninjured right arm and gently caressed his cheek.
“Why do you look like that? It is a master’s natural duty to protect her disciple. Of course, I have not done so properly. So it is not your fault.”
Daphnen shook his head frantically.
“Why did you come here? This was a problem I had to settle myself. I did not want to drag you into this….”
“I came to resolve my own problem. It was I who was insulted. That was my matter.”
As she spoke these words, Isolet felt her heart lighten. Yes, one need only take responsibility for one’s own affairs. How fortunate that I would not be indebted to Daphnen. Never again would I bear such emotional debts.
Then another voice suddenly interjected.
「Truly, it is no wonder he has fallen for you.」
“Who are you? Are you inside Daphnen’s body?”
Isolet was not ignorant of necromancy. She had heard of it from her Father and had even witnessed it herself. Though she did not know Daphnen possessed such knowledge.
But Daphnen merely bit his lips in confusion.
“This is, that is to say….”
He was in turmoil. He had despaired at the fact that Isolet’s life was in danger with no means to save her, yet simultaneously he had tried to oppose her decision to cut off her arm, and now he was struggling to reveal the cause of all this and his own responsibility.
In the midst of all this, he now found himself in a situation where he had to explain Endymion’s very existence.
Isolet, unaware of all these complicated matters, pressed the question again.
“I was not asking you, Daphnen. Now, what did you just say to me? Who is in love with whom?”
This was yet another new problem. Before Daphnen could even attempt an explanation, Endymion’s answer burst forth.

「You’re right. He is infatuated with you.」
Surprisingly, Isolet replied in this manner.
“That’s merely your assumption. If you are truly the spirit of the dead, then leave Daphnen’s body at once. An abrupt possession brings nothing but harm to those unfamiliar with it.”
「So you worry for him as well. Then, Daphnen.」
Speaking to myself through my own mouth—the situation was decidedly strange.
“Thank you, Endymion… I don’t know what to say. Your help just now was truly vital. Thank you for coming when I needed you most.”
Endymion fell silent for a moment before speaking.
「I understand what troubles you. To resolve it, the choice of a certain person will prove crucial. As the lady said, it would be better for me to depart now. Our elders are curious about this sudden winter, after all.」
Desperation suddenly seized Daphnen. He cried out urgently.
“You… couldn’t you help me just once more? Is there no way to save Isolet? This wound…”
「It lies beyond my power. I am a being of the Alternate Space; that wound belongs to the Other World. I possess only foresight.」
I felt a shadow slip away from my body.
Unlike last time, I could not see Endymion’s form. Yet I sensed something moving through the empty air—though it might have been mere illusion.
「But I believe you will meet the lady again.」
When silence fell completely, Daphnen could bear it no longer and cried out.
“Isolet, do you understand? Do you understand you might die? Severing the arm won’t… it won’t heal this wound! I know this curse far too well…”
“What are you saying?”
Two figures stood upon the Winter Plain, their breath visible in the frigid air. Frost settled white upon the frozen ground beneath their feet.
“I know that monster. From my homeland…”
“So do I.”
A startling reply followed moments later.
“It’s the same kind that killed my father.”
“Then how… how can you remain so composed?”
Isolet gazed past the black stain upon her shoulder and spoke without expression.
“I’m not composed. I simply endure with all my strength because I refuse to become weak.”
“…”
Our eyes met. Her pupils trembled like flower petals.
Are there lives that do not fear death? Are there flowers not grieved when they wither? Everyone treasures what is theirs most dearly. Yet what is it that renders a person so serene in the face of the end?
“I don’t want to let you go…”
These were words I should have spoken two years ago, when I held Yefnen back from choosing death. Why must I always be too late? I could have shouted them every day before they left, face to face without restraint.
Don’t leave. Don’t leave me alone. The burden upon those left behind is far too heavy.
“It’s still August, yet winter has come. Will the year end like this?”
Watching Isolet gaze upward at the sky between frozen branches, murmuring thus, I could no longer hold back.
I drew near. My hand touched her shoulder, and our chests pressed together.
“…”
With only one arm, I held her as close and as tenderly as I could. Why couldn’t I have warmed her before it came to this? Why do I now fumble to embrace someone whose right arm is gone, using only my left?
Isolet did not move. She merely breathed softly, sitting upon the cold ice, accepting this awkward embrace while gazing up at the blue sky.
As though unable to decide which to accept first—the confirmation of death or the confirmation of love arriving in its wake.
Moments later, a faint song spilled from Isolet’s lips. Her voice trembled delicately, beyond her control.
After the long night comes the short day,
After a short night comes a long day.

The length of a day remains constant,
and the world is built upon this truth.

Nauplion reached up to touch an icicle hanging from a branch. It was ice that did not break easily. Despoina bent at the waist, examining the ground beneath her feet.
“How can this be? Winter in the height of summer?”
“Twisted intent begets twisted consequence. Just as night visited us briefly at midday, this must be the same distortion.”
The three priests crunched across the crackling ice and entered the Ruined Village. Fortunately, the snow and ice halted at the village’s edge.
Yet as they approached the Town Hall, the ice thickened, and the snow hardened to a deep blue. The air itself was winter-cold, and the three figures in summer garments shrank against the chill, their shoulders hunched.
“It is quiet.”
Not tension, but mere silence. Only the sound of footsteps crushing frost echoed loudly.
The Town Hall came into view in the distance—or rather, what remained of it.
One of the four walls had collapsed entirely, and two others beside it were half-destroyed. The courtyard before the Town Hall was barricaded by an enormous drift of snow.
Before approaching the drift, they discovered something else first: a fallen Young Boy. It was Hector.
“Listen, come to your senses!”
Nauplion knelt and pulled the Young Boy from the snow. His clothes and skin were frozen to the ice, requiring Despoina’s magic at once.
As warmth spread, the ice shattered with crackling sounds. Yet only a small portion melted.
When I pressed my fingers to his wrist, a faint pulse still beat. The wound that had felled him was a broken sword blade embedded in his chest. It had missed his heart, but the bleeding was severe—recovery would not come easily.
Now it was Morpheus’s turn. As Nauplion carefully withdrew the blade fragment, a brilliant healing light poured from one of Morpheus’s hands.
The external wounds closed somewhat, but consciousness did not return.
Leaving Hector in Morpheus’s care, Nauplion approached the snow drift. As Despoina followed a few paces behind, he crested the drift first and beheld what lay within.
“….”
He fell silent. Then he stepped back. As if he had seen nothing, he gazed down at the ground for a moment.
Despoina drew near.
Upon discovering Daphnen and Isolet, she looked first at Nauplion’s face. Then she pushed through the snow drift and entered.
The two lay entwined, asleep—or unconscious.
Ice rising from the ground gripped their knees and legs like tree roots. Frost lay white upon their arms and hands, their necks and heads, making them appear as sculptures buried in snow.
Despoina pressed her fingers to their necks and confirmed they still lived.
As she brushed snow from their shoulders, she discovered Winterer clutched in Daphnen’s right hand. The blade was frozen solid in the Young Boy’s grip. It seemed unlikely to yield even to warmth.
Yet something was strange. The sword’s surface bore no trace of frost. Where the blade’s tip touched the ground, the snow had melted.
Gazing upon the blade—which gleamed with such a chill that even the surrounding ice seemed warm by comparison—Despoina felt an unbearable shudder run through her.
Soon, lifting her gaze, Despoina discovered a frost citadel rising beside the two figures. Dark stains and fragments clung to the ice that formed the citadel.
After stepping closer, she recognized what they were and drew her hand across her chest. She dared not approach further.
Presently, Nauplion drew near and placed his hand upon Daphnen’s head. A weak sigh escaped.
But in the next moment, he discovered a terrible truth and froze, his breath catching.
“Ah….”
Despoina, rigid with desperate foreboding, looked at him. Nauplion whispered softly, yet with profound sorrow.
“What you feared has come to pass.”
Both of them knew all too well what the dark mark upon Isolet’s shoulder meant. Nauplion, in particular, knew it better than anyone on the Island—better than anyone in this world.
And that very wound existed upon his body as well.
Yet the reason he had managed to survive outwardly unscathed until now was due to the reprieve granted by the Ilios Priest’s half-measure gift.
As though awaiting deserved retribution, I gazed down at the wound that had manifested anew upon the Ilios Priest’s daughter.
Only he—once betrayed—could undo what had been done.
Nauplion lowered his head and sealed his lips. Yet the decision did not take long to reach.
He approached the Frost Citadel and drew his blade, the Rune of Thunder. Then he struck the ice with all his might. At first, only shards scattered, but as he unleashed his full strength, all the ice barring the way shattered and fell away.
Within lay something like a husk drained of its soul. Nauplion drove his sword deep into the chest of the already-dead enemy, as though to finally release the resentment that had festered for so long.
While Despoina and Morpheus, the two Priests, could only watch in silence without uttering a word, Nauplion tore open the lower chest of the creature and extracted a single crimson jewel.
A gem no larger than a quail’s egg, burning like a small flame.

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