Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 11

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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 11
The Winter Sword (11)

The next day, they departed the village and walked across the Meadow once more.
With only one horse between them, Boris rode most of the way while Yefnen led by the reins, regaling him with various tales. Yet these were not the entertaining legends of old or amusing incidents from neighboring estates that he had once shared back at Jineman Manor.
Whenever Boris spotted an unfamiliar tree or flower, he asked his brother about it as he always had, but Yefnen merely offered the name—nothing more. The beautiful legends and fables that once accompanied such moments never crossed his lips.
“Brother, have you forgotten all those stories you used to know?”
When Boris asked, Yefnen’s lips curved into a smile, though his eyes remained distant.
“I suppose so.”
Even Boris could tell it was not a genuine smile.
They walked until evening, yet no new village appeared. They had asked for directions before leaving, but it seemed they had taken a wrong path after all.
“We’ll have to make camp tonight.”
Before darkness fell completely, the brothers found a suitable spot. They gathered dry grass and branches, kindling a fire. Yefnen seemed practiced at such tasks—he had once gone on hunts lasting days with young men from neighboring estates. They tied the horse to a low shrub, knotting the reins securely, as no suitable tree was nearby.
Watching the flames, I recalled the torches that had surrounded Jineman Manor. The shadows of the shrubs wavered and danced with each flicker of the fire.
At first, I didn’t notice. Yefnen spoke in a low voice.
“Boris, draw your sword.”
Tension seized me, and every hair on my body stood on end. Yefnen casually tossed a branch into the flames and rose, gripping the Winter Sword.
“Do we really need to hide from a rabble like that?”
These three images would return to me whenever I recalled Yefnen thereafter. One was the blue of his eyes at Emera Lake as he spoke of dying together. Another was the sight of him standing before the campfire that night, the Winter Sword in hand, his back to me.
And the last one was….
“Arrogant little fool.”
Boris gripped his short sword without moving. Yefnen slowly drew the Winter Sword. Even in the darkness lit only by the campfire, the noble blade gleamed without losing its luster, splitting the shadows like a crack in the void.
“Surround them!”
Now it became clear to Boris’s eyes. The figures encircling the brothers before the campfire numbered well over twenty, all wielding weapons. Yefnen spotted a familiar face among them and spoke coldly.
“You’ve gathered quite the retinue, Guert.”
It was meant as provocation. Guert merely frowned. Instead, others responded with hostile voices.
“Who said we came to help that bastard?”
“Hmph, you still don’t grasp the situation.”
The enemies spread out and took their stance. The sound of the horse being driven away echoed in the distance. Shadows cast by the firelight danced across all sides.
Yefnen’s eyes darted quickly, searching for whoever seemed to be the commander.
“What do you want?”
Boris rose as well. Standing back-to-back with his brother across the campfire, he held his sword ready. He had never wielded anything but a wooden practice blade, yet he knew he could not appear as a helpless child. His stance, at least, was respectable enough.
One of them stepped forward toward the campfire and spoke.
“That sword of yours—is that the Winter Sword?”
As expected… Yefnen bit his lip and gripped the blade firmly. Revealing the sword’s name in a formal duel had been a mistake, if a mistake it was.
Yet Yefnen of the Jineman Family did not believe he could kill his opponent without revealing his name. He was not ignorant of danger, but having committed to an honorable duel, he could not abandon the proper form.
“Hand it over quietly, and I’ll let both of you leave unharmed.”
The commander was a tall man with a thick black beard. His voice boomed, and two long scars marked his exposed chest. A man commanding such numbers must possess considerable skill.
He spoke again.
“Your younger brother seems too young to die. Wouldn’t you agree?”
There was no way to defeat twenty enemies alone. Yet I had no intention of surrendering my sword before even attempting to fight. But what about Boris?
That’s when I heard Boris speak.
“Twelve years is hardly too short a span to understand what matters.”
“Heh, what are you trying to say, little one?”
The man with the dark beard, thinking Boris meant to hand over his sword, responded. Boris fixed him with a steady glare.
“It means I know when the time comes to die.”
No further words were needed. The first enemy lunged forward. The Winter Sword in my grip flashed horizontally, and blood sprayed through the darkness.
“Watch out!”
The moment I deflected the blade thrusting from the left with the Winter Sword’s edge, my knuckles tore open. I’d clashed with a curved short blade, then pushed away a longsword and parried another attack.
Seizing the opening, my thrust with the Winter Sword pierced one man’s forehead. Hot liquid streamed down the blade.
Boris strained to pierce the darkness with his eyes. Seeing something resembling a rope approaching, he flinched backward, but his foot caught a burning branch, startling him into wildly swinging his sword. With a whoosh, he felt the rope snap. His teeth clenched from tension until his lips split and bled, though he didn’t notice.
Someone swung a morning star at my head, but the Winter Sword’s blade wrapped around the chain. As I gripped the sword tightly, a sharp metallic ring echoed once more.
The chain shattered explosively, and the iron weight tumbled into the campfire. The burning branches shattered, scattering sparks in all directions.
“Hmph, so that’s the legendary ‘Frozen Break’ I’ve only heard rumors about.”
Frozen Break was the nickname for the Winter Sword’s magical power—an extreme cryogenic explosion. It drew the temperature of whatever it touched to absolute zero, destroying its structure through legendary force.
However, the fact that it only activated when wielded alongside the Snow Guard was not widely known.
“Impressive skill! But would you still manage if your brother had a hole torn through his belly?”
Three enemies surrounded and closed in on Boris. Because of the campfire, our movements were completely exposed to them. In return, they concealed themselves in darkness while maintaining clear sight.
I was well aware of this disadvantage. But if I charged alone into their ranks, Boris would be helplessly captured. That was why I couldn’t break through their encirclement and change the battlefield.
To make matters worse, my eyes, accustomed to the firelight, kept losing sight of the enemies’ movements in the darkness. By the time I belatedly spotted the blade thrust between us, it was too late to defend. The enemy, feinting at Boris, drove his sword hard into my ribs.
That play…
A strange sound rang out. The blade struck the Snow Guard and slid across it with friction, and in that instant an inexplicable vibration arose, transmitted all the way to the hand gripping the sword. The enemy cried out in shock and dropped his weapon. The impact numbed his shoulder. The man with the dark beard’s eyes changed.
“Could it be that the armor is also in that man’s possession?”
What had happened to the Jineman Family had not yet reached this distant place. Therefore, he had no idea why the sons of that family were traveling so far from home.
Yet as he imagined that the treasure he’d coveted for so long through mere rumor now lay before his eyes, his greed burned all the brighter.
“Then, might I also claim this sword?”
At last the bearded man and I clashed directly. Within the first and second exchanges, we both instinctively sensed the other’s considerable skill.
But I was an inexperienced youth, while he was a man who had lived by wielding a blade for decades. He began to retreat deliberately, drawing me forward.
Once I’d taken a step forward, retreating was difficult. Lose the rhythm even slightly, and I’d be completely overwhelmed.
The enemy, knowing the Winter Sword’s power, avoided prolonging contact and carefully sought only openings. With each half-step, I felt like praying. My current skill made it difficult to overwhelm such an opponent. A single mistake would mean the end of everything.
Tsururu… Clang!
The blades tangled and slid, and my opponent quickly withdrew to avoid Frozen Break. I seized the opening and launched my attack.
“Haaah!”
It was almost done. Just as the Winter Sword’s blade was about to pierce my opponent’s throat, something strange occurred.
His body went limp and collapsed to the ground. He fell without even a cry, before the blade could touch him.
The other enemies, who had begun to murmur in shock, soon met the same fate. Several crumpled as if their legs had given out, and those attempting to flee fell one by one. All of them stopped breathing instantly.
I quickly retreated to the campfire and pulled Boris into my arms. I raised my sword and aimed at the unknown enemy.
“You fought well, young man.”
As all twenty enemies fell or fled, four figures emerged from the darkness.
One of them held a small but intricately crafted crossbow in hand. A fresh bolt was already nocked, and its shape was peculiar. The bolt’s tip was blunt, with a needle-like spike protruding from its end.
Yefnen remained vigilant as he asked.
“Who are you?”
The person who had spoken first laughed with a rasping sound. But listening carefully, the voice, though somewhat rough, sounded distinctly feminine.
“Whatever our names, we’re your saviors, aren’t we? Can’t you offer a more courteous response?”
The raspy-voiced woman was of medium height with a lean frame, but the corded muscles visible on her exposed arms marked her as a seasoned swordmaster. Yefnen remained in his guarded stance as he replied.
“If your aid was freely given, then I thank you.”
“Heh, hehehehe, hehehehehehe….”
As they approached the campfire, the figures of four people became visible. The female swordmaster wore black leather armor that protected only her torso, along with leather boots that extended below her knees.
She withdrew a pipe from her pocket and, without asking Yefnen’s permission, approached the campfire and lit it. After taking a drag and exhaling, she spoke.
“Free or not, do you even have anything worth paying with? We don’t need much of anything.”
Seeing the corpses scattered about, Boris felt unsettled. Just moments ago, these were people glaring menacingly at the brothers, yet they had transformed into corpses without even managing a proper scream. How extraordinarily skilled must these newcomers be?
“Looks like you’re young nobles out seeing the world for the first time. You probably don’t have anything worth giving us anyway, do you, Nika? I think just warming ourselves by the fire will be enough.”
The one who had held the crossbow spoke thus and unhesitatingly approached the campfire to sit. The bluish leather pants he wore, bound with leg wraps, gleamed with an otherworldly hue in the firelight.
Yefnen paused for a moment, then shifted his tone.
“Thank you for your assistance. You all appear to be exceptionally skilled.”
The four exchanged glances and promptly introduced themselves.
“I’m Wills Camb.”
“Call me Joachim. I have no family name.”
“I’m Romaback Yul. As you can see, I go by the nickname ‘Romaback of the Bolt.'”
After the one with the crossbow finished his introduction, the woman finally spoke.
“Yanika Gos. Most call me Yani or Nika. I’ll mention it so there’s no misunderstanding—I’m a woman, despite appearances.”
“That’s hardly an important fact, is it?”
The man who had introduced himself as Joachim grinned and approached the campfire to sit.
With that, only Yefnen and Boris remained standing. Yefnen sat down at some distance, positioning himself to embrace Boris protectively. Romaback suddenly spoke.
“Still don’t trust us, it seems? Well, that’s common enough. If our presence is uncomfortable, we can leave.”
Yefnen shook his head in alarm.
“That’s not the case.”
The four travelers soon produced wooden cups, water skins, dried fruit, and the like, sharing among themselves while casually offering some to Yefnen. When he declined, Yanika looked at Boris and spoke.
“Your younger brother, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“He’s still young to be wandering these desolate lands.”
Yanika retrieved a fresh-looking apple from her pack and tossed it deftly. Boris caught the apple, and she laughed.
“You’re no infant, then. There’s no poison in it, so eat without worry.”
Boris glanced at his brother, and Yefnen hesitated before nodding. As Boris began to bite into the apple, Yanika spoke again.
“As you can see, we’re people who wander here and there taking on work that pays. When we get bored, we even venture into the Land of Mortals. Just traveling the borderlands alone brings in quite decent income.”
Yefnen wondered if he had misheard and asked again.
“The Land of Mortals, you say?”

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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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