Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 118

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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 118.
Two Blades, Four Names (2)
The Three Sages startled, their eyes darting upward into the void. It was not the voice of a god or supernatural being—merely the frightened, bewildered voice of a young boy.
“Child, who are you? Where do you stand?”

They had posed the same question to each other. The boy’s voice hesitated for a moment before answering.
“I… I don’t know where this place is. But I’ve been watching you three since a moment ago. No… not just you three. I’ve been seeing many other things as well.”
Boris—the young boy who had been called Daphnen for some time, though his true name was Boris—spoke, yet found himself bewildered by his own words.
At first, he thought he was dreaming. But why did he still find himself in this unknown place, witnessing those ‘dreams’? And how could he even converse with them?
So it was Boris who wished to ask questions. Where was he? That much was certain—it was not the same place as the three elders standing before the Altar in the Ice Cavern.
Between them and himself existed only a void, as if a hole had been torn through swirling clouds.
Moreover, were those things he had seen truly dreams? The one who pierced the beast to death and the winter he created, the ruler who destroyed all he had accomplished before greeting the dawn, the eyes of a princess deliberating beneath the banner of darkness in the depths of evil, wondering whether to choose that blade for confrontation…
They all possessed this blade, the Winterer, and they were all stronger than him. They were beings of steadfast will or noble ideals.
Some were merely beginnings, while others showed their ends. The Winterer’s history—the tale of those who had wielded it, humans ultimately stained with blood.
“So you exist ‘outside.'”
The fiercely rotating ring of light slowly rose into the air. Simultaneously, the blade resting upon the Altar ascended as well.
The center of the ring transformed into a swirling mist. Through its gaps, fragments of what seemed like another world flickered into view.
The Three Sages released their clasped hands and withdrew from the Altar. They exchanged a few words among themselves. After a moment, one of them addressed the boy.
“What is the medium connecting you and us? Is there something in this place familiar to your eyes?”
“It’s your blade. I possess something identical to it. Are the two blades twins?”
The Blue-Cloaked Sage lifted his head. His face had hardened as though he had witnessed something ghastly.
“What did you say? You know that blade?”
Boris felt confusion wash over him. Yet contrary to his mind, his lips answered with certainty. It was like how people often dream in fragments, lacking context, yet speak with unwarranted confidence.
“The Winterer—that is the name of the blade I possess. What is the name of yours?”
The elders appeared bewildered. The Orange-Cloaked Sage answered in a trembling voice.
“That is… called the Blade of Winter. It is also known as the Winterer, and by another name… it is also called the Winterer…”
This time, Boris received the shock. Two identical blades? Was such a thing possible?
Could the blade so special and fearsome exist not as two, but as three, four, or even more? Did the same blade exist in every world? Were all the countless Winterers he had witnessed precisely those?
If not… was he conversing with the past or future of the blade itself?
Boris glanced about and spotted the Winterer lying nearby. He picked it up.
Grasping the cloth-wrapped section in place of a hilt, he extended it with the blade lowered. In that instant, he saw a rainbow-like iridescent radiance frost the edge of the steel.
“To be precise, it resembles the form my blade possessed in the past. Now my blade has transformed into a simple silver edge.”
As he spoke, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Whether their blade was the same as his Winterer, different from it, from the past or the future, if it at least bore a similar shape, might its power also be comparable?
Then he could ask them! Everything he had wondered about for so long. What was the true nature of this blade, what power did it possess, and how should it be wielded?
But immediately after, Boris recalled the sight he had witnessed moments before, and his words caught in his throat. Were the elders not attempting to send ‘their world’s Winterer’ to another world?
The Purple-Cloaked Sage opened his mouth.
“By my conjecture, you are either the former or future master of the ‘Blade of Winter.’ I say with certainty that if another blade such as this were to exist, not a single world among those interwoven like a net would remain whole.”
“We do not know all those worlds. Yet we know with certainty that somewhere, they exist in thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of millions of possibilities. Among them, our world is one where magic has developed excessively, tilting the scales of balance. Whenever we open a door to another world, our power always flows to the opposite realm, seeking equilibrium.”

「If our world could not tolerate that single blade, how could another world have harbored it in silence all this time? Child, how long has that sword existed in your world? How many calamities has it wrought?」

In Boris’s grip, the Winterer blazed with even more resplendent radiance. It shone like stained glass composed of hundreds of colored panes. And it seemed to speak thus:
‘You won’t want to let me go. No matter what happens, forever and ever….’
“I don’t know. My father passed this blade to my Elder Brother, and my Elder Brother passed it to me. I only know that many people fought over wanting to possess it in the past. But I don’t think it caused calamities of that magnitude… Actually, I’m not entirely certain. I’ve only held this sword for four years….”
「Wait, four years, you say four years? Child… how old are you?」
“I will turn fifteen this July….”
Only after speaking did it occur to me that their time might not flow the same as here. Yet the Three Sages were struck by a different concern entirely and paid no attention to such details.

「Impossible. A mere child of barely fifteen years has possessed the Winter Sword for four years without incident?」
「Could that child’s blade truly be the Winter Sword?」
「It must be… If not for the sword’s power, how could that child converse with us? This is surely because the sword has interlocked the boundary between two eras… Oh!」
Suddenly the Blue-Cloaked Sage cried out in revelation.

「We are witnessing another power of the Winter Sword! That child must surely be a memory dwelling within the blade. An ancient memory risen from the sword, believing itself to be real, speaking to us! So many wicked spirits are said to dwell in this blade—but even a child’s spirit resides within it!」
Though the Sage marveled, Boris was left speechless. Himself, alive and whole, reduced to a memory trapped in the blade? A spirit imprisoned within?
If that were true, then all the emotions and memories he vividly recalled, the world he had inhabited mere moments ago—all of it would be nothing but a phantom from the distant past?
That couldn’t be!
Boris felt his throat tighten at the mere thought and cried out.
“Stop spouting such nonsense! What grounds do you have for arbitrarily transforming a living, breathing person into a shadow long dead? Until just recently, I was surrounded by people, experiencing all manner of things, and moments ago I saw different versions of the Winterer held in the hands of countless people—not just you. I thought it was all merely a dream of mine?”
Though their eyes did not meet, the Sages seemed taken aback by the emotion Boris radiated. He continued.
“If that’s the extent of your reasoning, then I can offer my own. From my perspective, you all appear to be the Winterer’s past, spirits dwelling within the blade. At least, that’s what I see!”
Toward the vortex of light hovering above the Altar, the tip of the blade that had risen alongside it slowly began to descend. However long it might take, it was clearly moving toward another world.
「Such an unbelievable thing….」
Yet moments later, the Orange-Cloaked Sage spoke.

「The child speaks truth. If both that child and we regard ourselves as real, who could judge which is correct? What grounds exist anywhere to be certain which is illusion and shadow, or whether either is?」
Hearing those words, even Boris felt a chill. By that logic, couldn’t the possibility that he himself was mistaken not be ruled out?
Those he loved and clung to—his homeland and Yefnen, Nauplion, and Isolet… Perhaps they had all died in the distant past, leaving no trace, no memory behind.
Perhaps he existed only within the fragmented memories of Boris Jineman, endlessly repeating, held fast by this strange blade.
Where was reality? When was the present? How, and by whom, were the real and false, the substantial and the shadow, distinguished?

That afternoon, a meeting was convened at the Town Hall—the first in quite some time—gathering six Priestesses, seventeen monks, and the teachers of Scoli all at once.
Though entry was forbidden to others, the mere assembly of such numbers became the talk of the entire Island.
Chairs were arranged in a circle around the seven-pointed star, the sacred seat of the Priesthood. The number of chairs matched precisely the number of those who would attend. Soon people filed in and took their places.
And Isolet was there.
She had arrived before the others and claimed one chair, sitting with composed stillness. She was neither Priestess nor monk. Yet no one dared ask why she had come, nor could they demand she leave.
When all who were meant to arrive had entered and been seated, the chairs fit perfectly—not one too many, not one too few.
“Thank you all for coming. I shall now close the doors of the Town Hall.”
The doors shut with a heavy thud, followed by the metallic clang of the bolt sliding into place. The monks assisting Priestess Despoina closed every window that opened to the outside, then returned to their seats.
As the interior grew dim, the center of the seven-pointed star suddenly blazed with light. Priestess Despoina stood at that focal point, leaning upon her staff.
The radiance emanated from a crescent moon adorning the staff’s head.
“The meeting begins. Today, our words and deeds shall be observed without cease by the Moon Queen, and she alone shall weigh the conclusions we reach, accepting what is worthy and casting aside what is not. Right and wrong rest solely in her hands. We are all blind and deaf in the realm of truth, yet only by leaving footprints unmarred by selfish intent even in darkness shall we be guided toward the open door. Praise her.”
“Praise her.”
“Praise her.”
The echoing refrain that followed was soft, yet every voice spoke in perfect unison.
“The Regent does not sit with us today. Instead, a young girl shall serve as her ears and also as her voice.”
All heads turned. Behind Priestess Despoina stood a high-backed chair, and in it sat Liriope.
She was merely “a young girl” because she had not yet reached the age to be proclaimed the Regent’s successor. Yet Liriope, with her expressionless face and not even the slightest nod of acknowledgment, was already the “Regent’s daughter”—one fully conscious of her own station.
“We have gathered to devise measures against the unfortunate disappearance of a young boy, to uncover its cause, and to illuminate the righteous path forward. Since all of you are aware of the circumstances, I shall not belabor them. Let us first gather opinions on whether the search should continue, and if so, what methods might be employed.”

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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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