Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 111

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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 111.
Blood That Will Not Fade (24)
While Daphnen stood speechless with his mouth agape, Nauplion tossed aside the wooden sword and drew a short blade from his breast—Lunette. The broad blade rested in his palm.
“In nature, steel is sharper than wood. Because of this, humans easily abandon the strength of their spirit and rely on steel’s edge. Your situation is far more dire. Your blade is not mere steel; it is Winterer, a winter’s sword that unleashes terrifying killing intent in an instant. Can you deny that you have been swept up by that blade’s killing intent, or even that you have wielded it to your advantage?”
“….”
“Once that happens, you become the blade’s slave. You devolve into a puppet that moves for the blood the blade demands. And eventually, you will sell yourself to the killing intent that blade emanates.”
A voice still vivid in my ears echoed: ‘Then say you’ll become my slave!’
If I chose to become a slave, I could kill anyone I wished to kill without limit—but in the end, I would cease to be myself. Now Daphnen understood what Nauplion meant.
“Do you understand why I won’t give you a real blade? As long as you cannot shake off Winterer’s killing intent even when winter passes and spring comes next year, you cannot possess a weapon sharper than a wooden sword. Because I will not permit it.”
Autumn withered in an instant. A long winter arrived, deepening and deepening until the new year came—January, standing like a pillar in the heart of winter.
Skoli was on break. The Island’s summers were cool enough to endure, but its winters were long and brutal, so there was only one break period each year.
The break lasted from November through March and was flexible depending on the weather. During that time, in February, children who would become new students were brought in to take the entrance examination.
After all these preparations were complete, it was customary to begin classes immediately when the term started.
There was also a graduation ceremony in February. Children who had turned fifteen the previous year graduated from Skoli at this time and determined their vocations. After that, they apprenticed and learned their duties from adults until the late spring purification ceremony.
Once they underwent the purification ceremony and were reborn as true Pilgrims, they were thereafter treated as full adults.
However, some children’s dates became misaligned. That is, some turned fifteen before completing their graduation years and received the purification ceremony early, then graduated the following year.
Children who enrolled late for various reasons experienced this, as did those whose birthdays fell between two academic years. For example, Hector, who was born in January, was one such case.
Hector was scheduled to graduate in February this year. However, he was already sixteen years old.
Throughout the winter, Daphnen had not seen Isolet. Of course, just because Skoli was on break did not mean they had to be.
But when heavy snow fell once and temperatures dropped, the windswept clearing on the mountain where they always took lessons froze solid, and Isolet suggested a break. They parted ways.
There was no reason they couldn’t meet without lessons, but going directly to her house rather than the classroom on the mountain felt too presumptuous.
Isolet’s house on the hillside was completely buried in snow once winter arrived. She remained indoors and rarely ventured outside.
No one knew what she did or whether she had enough provisions and firewood.
When Daphnen expressed concern one day, Nauplion laughed readily and replied.
“Why don’t you go visit her? Isolet would be happy to see you.”
So toward the end of January, Daphnen set out to find Isolet, carrying sausages he had made with Nauplion.
The sword lessons that had not ceased for a single day throughout winter were graciously excused by Nauplion for one day. Moreover, he said this with a straight face:
“Go and convey my regards, and be sure to tell her that my clumsy disciple was of no help whatsoever in making those sausages.”
Sausages—hardly a romantic gift. Yet on the Island, where many perished in early spring after failing to endure the harsh winter, winter provisions were the finest gift one could offer.
Though bitterly cold, the day was clear. Snow piled on the slope leading up to Isolet’s house, sinking to the knees with each step. The Moon Island received such heavy snow that it was impossible to survive winter without leg wraps.
When he knocked on the door, snow that had accumulated on the frame tumbled down. It seemed she had not ventured outside in quite some time.
“Isolet, it’s me!”
There was no answer. He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the chimney. Smoke was clearly rising from it.
“Isolet, are you inside?”
He knocked again, and suddenly the door swung open. But no one stood before it. Who had opened the door?
He hesitated, then first brushed the snow from his feet. As he was brushing off what had fallen on his shoulders and hair, a voice came.
“You should shake all that off before the door opens. Cold air’s getting in—come inside. Close the door.”
He turned to close the door after entering, only to find it already shut.
He stared at the door in bewilderment for a long moment. When he turned around, a large chair by the hearth caught his eye.
The backrest was so tall that the figure sitting in it was completely hidden. Beside it sat a single small chair without a backrest.
As I approached, I saw Isolet holding something like a book in her hands.
I’d been curious about how she opened and closed the door, and I noticed a peculiar mechanism on the floor beside her chair. A wooden rod protruded from it, and it seemed she could open and close the door simply by pulling and pushing it with her foot.
“So you spend winter reading, then?”
Isolet closed the book and stood, pushing the large chair back. Then she brought a thick animal hide rug to the fireplace and laid it down. Glancing back at Daphnen, she spoke.
“You brought something.”
“Sausages. I made them with Nauplion Priest before winter arrived.”
The moment I heard the name Nauplion, Isolet seemed to pause, but her composure quickly returned. Daphnen sat on the rug by the fireplace, and Isolet took the sausages to the storage room.
Daphnen caught a glimpse of the book Isolet had been reading. It felt more like a notebook—sheets of paper bound together with twine—than a proper book.
“I’ll enjoy it.”
Isolet returned and sat on the rug, stretching as she spoke.
Daphnen smiled softly. He was glad that she seemed unbothered and didn’t find his visit inconvenient.
Through late summer, the brief autumn, and into the beginning of winter, the two of them continued their Sacred Chant lessons, but something felt different from before.
The emotions they had suddenly shared had faded, yet they hadn’t grown distant from each other either. What had happened in the Northwestern Village was something neither of them was eager to discuss. So they never spoke of that day again. The lessons made little progress.
“You look healthy.”
The islanders believed Isolet had been asleep in Despoina’s House because of magical research.
In their eyes, she was someone who knew everything, like Ilios Priest. Few would find it suspicious, whatever she claimed to have been studying.
“There’s no reason for me to fall ill again.”
Daphnen paused for a moment before speaking.
“It’s truly fortunate that the Island has someone like Morpheus Priest.”
Daphnen believed that Morpheus was the one who had healed Isolet’s wounds. When he had opened his eyes in the village and asked Nauplion, who was watching over him, that was what he’d been told.
When he heard that Isolet could be saved, he was overjoyed beyond words. Yet at the same time, an unavoidable regret had resurfaced, tormenting him. It still did.
If only he had known before that it was a wound that could be healed.
Of course, it must have been a special healing power unique to the Island. Morpheus Priest himself had said there was no one among the physicians of the Continent who could treat it.
Yet it was difficult to shake the thought that if such a person had been nearby, his family would not have suffered the tragedy that now existed.
If only he had saved Aunt Yenichka, Father and Uncle might never have come into conflict.
And Yefnen too….
“What are you thinking about?”
Daphnen suddenly snapped from his reverie and forced a smile, shaking his head.
It was a thought he’d had hundreds of times over. There was no need to tell Isolet. If she knew such things, her heart would not be at ease either.
Daphnen quickly changed the subject.
“I was a bit worried because it seemed like you weren’t going outside and were staying alone.”
“I’ve always been alone. Every winter has been the same since Father passed away.”
“What book are you reading?”
“Father’s journals. I brought a few volumes from the Library to read through the winter.”
Isolet handed me the book. Daphnen opened it to the middle and looked inside.
The records weren’t particularly systematic. Only the hastily scrawled dates were in order, while research schedules, sudden thoughts, village matters, and worries about his daughter were all written together.
After turning a few more pages, Daphnen’s hand stopped. Everything after the middle was blank.
Isolet spoke.
“It’s his final journal entry.”
Hesitating, she began turning the pages back. Ilios Priest had been skilled at writing. The final day’s entry was written in such beautiful characters that they seemed almost decorative.

Because I bore the name of the sun, I could never become a subject of the Moon Queen.
And so I worry about the “noble solitude” that will remain in my wake.
I only wish that child might find her life’s path through her own name.
That alone is my final hope and my teaching.

Now I entrust the time that follows my departure to the hands of the Ancient Mages,
and to the land of gold and silver, I walk the path you have walked.
There is no eternity in this world—only days and nights that repeat endlessly.
When day is long, night grows short; when night is long, day grows short.
Those who have known long happiness receive only brief sorrow,
and those who have endured long suffering receive only fleeting joy.
Just as three hundred and sixty-five days are needed for day and night to balance,
so too will fairness in the human world come only after countless ages.

“This is….”
The final few sentences written there—I had heard them before. Isolet nodded.
“I created it as a chantica—a short chant—after reading Father’s journal.”
Daphnen nodded and asked again.
“What does ‘the name of the sun’ mean?”
“It’s the meaning behind Father’s name. Ilios means sun. On Moon Island, it’s rather an ominous name, in a way.”
“How peculiar….”
Daphnen closed the journal and imagined it: the most revered figure on the Island, an incomparable genius, a man who loved his young daughter dearly.
He could never have wished to die. Yet there he sat before a candle, choosing his own death, leaving behind his final words with all his strength, calm and composed, in beautiful script.
“Where were you at that time?”
As soon as I spoke, I realized my mistake. But Isolet answered without any particular expression.
“At Priestess Despoina’s house. I was confined there. After that day, I never returned to that house—until summer’s events forced me to stay there unexpectedly. When I awoke, I saw the marks on one side of the door that I had made and damaged six years prior.”
“….”
The two fell silent for a moment. Only the hearth crackled and burned.
“Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”
After a long pause, Daphnen spoke, and Isolet burst into laughter. Her eyes, as she laughed, seemed luminous.
“Why? Do you have something you want to 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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