Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 127

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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 127.
Two Blades, Four Names (11)
“If you want it, I mean it. Otherwise, it’s just a joke.”
I studied Isolet’s face intently, but I couldn’t detect any new expression.
“Ah… I need to think about it. No, wait… Do you also have any intention of going to Silverskull, Isolet?”
“Not at all.”
“Then what exactly….”
Isolet walked slowly across the Grassland, then suddenly bounded forward with movements that seemed to evade an invisible opponent’s blade.
But the moment she completed a rotation, Daphnen realized her movements resembled dance far more than swordplay. They were far too light.
“Everything is difficult. I’ve never ventured out onto the Continent myself.”
I’d been given an assignment of sorts. Yet before I could even deliberate, I felt as though a new path had opened before me. A soft laugh escaped my lips.
Had I truly regretted not going to Silverskull? It seemed I’d wanted to go quite badly.
“That sounds good.”
Nauplion approved so readily that Daphnen was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Shall we test you tomorrow? It will be an individual examination, though.”
“Ah… Yes. Wait, are you serious?”
“It’s not a difficult matter. Isolet said she would accompany you, didn’t she? If it’s Isolet, she has more than enough qualifications to serve as the expedition’s guardian. Though, to be honest, on the Continent you’d likely be the more useful traveler of the two.”
Nauplion tilted his head and continued speaking.
“If Isolet is also thinking of participating, the fact that she hasn’t graduated from Scoli would become somewhat problematic. However, it could be resolved with a simple examination. But does she actually intend to participate?”
“Isolet hasn’t graduated from Scoli?”
“Well, as you know, Isolet is the sole inheritor of the Sacred Chant Tradition, and she alone carries forward several other discontinued lineages. All of those are recognized as subjects within Scoli, so she never enrolled in the first place.”
“That sounds rather like a privilege.”
“When you’re the daughter of the Island’s foremost scholar, such special treatment naturally follows, doesn’t it?”
With those words, Nauplion smiled faintly. Seeing that smile reminded me of a question I’d been meaning to ask.
“Isolet’s swordplay—she inherited that alone as well, didn’t she?”
“Why don’t you ask Isolet directly? It’s called Tiela. The Ilios Priest was the one who reached the highest pinnacle among all the Tiela inheritors throughout history. Isolet has already attained considerable mastery.”
“And… there’s also something called Tigris, isn’t there?”
“There is.”
“So that means….”
Nauplion replied with an unbothered expression.
“The inheritor of Tigris is me. But I haven’t used it in a long time.”
“I see….”
That meant he’d never taught it to me either. This topic seemed best forgotten.
“But I’m uncertain whether it’s wise to permit you a real blade. What are your thoughts?”
I had already given this considerable thought. I answered.
“I believe there would be no problem.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Without certainty, there would only be doubt forever.”
Nauplion furrowed his brow and met my eyes. A moment later, I raised a finger and spoke.
“Don’t strain your eyes like that! Your wrinkles keep becoming more pronounced.”
“Whether you believe it or not, this is my face. A few wrinkles smoothed out doesn’t mean I’m not aging. Finish what you were saying. So whether it works or not, you’re going to try, and if it goes wrong and ends badly, so be it—is that it?”
“That’s not it at all. Perhaps I’m slow to understand things, or maybe I lack the confidence to overestimate myself. But I believe this matter is best resolved through direct confrontation.”
Daphnen’s face bore a rare light of conviction.
“It’s a confrontation I can’t avoid anyway, and since it’s not something I can end in a single stroke, I’d rather learn how to endure it persistently. Even if I fail and come back to spend another ten years holding only a wooden sword, I don’t want to be consumed without ever truly trying to face it head-on.”
“If you have the chance to come back and hide, you’re lucky. Battles often end in the blink of an eye. Do you really think that just because you’re thinking ‘if I lose here, I’ll practice hard for ten years,’ that fight will somehow become any easier for you?”
“I’m not trying to start a hopeless fight.”
Daphnen stood and pointed to where he had placed the Winterer.
“As you know, it was that blade that saved me when I fell from the cliff. At the time, I was only going to retrieve Isolet’s assignment, but suddenly the sword called to me. The next moment, as if enchanted, I found myself in a place I didn’t know existed, grasping the blade and leaving with it.”
I had spoken of the circumstances of taking up the sword before, but never explained it so clearly.
“I only realized what I had taken and became frightened after I’d already reached the stairs at the top of the cliff. How should I put it… The sword knew of the coming danger and was trying to protect me. I’m certain of it.”
Nauplion listened to Daphnen’s account with his arms crossed.
“I’ve thought about why for a long time. I understand it wasn’t mere goodwill. And I don’t believe the sword has a personality either. But they say that even inanimate objects develop something like instinct after thousands of years pass? Old rocks, houses, treasures—sometimes they guide human actions in remarkably strange ways.”
Daphnen laughed even as he spoke of these dubious matters. But his expression soon grew serious.
“But what if that sword wasn’t trying to help me? What did it want? For me not to die pathetically, but to die by its hand instead? Or was it a challenge—an invitation to fight?”
“You’re saying you don’t refuse a fight that comes to you?”
Daphnen turned to look at the floorboards where the Winterer rested.
“I think… that sword is a very serious opponent. While I slept then, I saw many things. I witnessed countless people who grasped that blade only to ultimately bring about their own destruction. Later, I wondered why it showed me such things. Was it telling me to flee quickly if I lacked confidence? Or was it introducing itself to me, reciting its record before the duel began?”
Nauplion’s expression was one of exasperation.
“Why don’t you just make up an old tale with the sword as the protagonist? Actually, listening to your story, I think I could write one too.”
Daphnen burst into laughter. Yet when he spoke again, his eyes gleamed with fervor.
“This sword desires a master. It devours those who show fear in a single rush, but it has the will to bow before the strong. Of course, it will continue to seek opportunities to consume me in the future. If it can dominate my mind as powerfully as it did the day I fell from the cliff, then no matter how I flee, the same thing will happen again. Direct confrontation is better.”
“Combat requires justification. Do you have some mission that demands you fight that sword with your life on the line?”
Nauplion knew what sense of responsibility Daphnen carried toward the Winterer. But when life itself was at stake, it was a different matter.
Daphnen nodded.
“I know that countless heroes who wielded this sword before me failed. They must have rushed forward hoping for victory too. But the problem is that I have no intention of abandoning this sword. So whether I lose or win, I’ve already chosen to challenge it. Of course, the sword is strong and I’m still weak… but I will continue to grow stronger until I die. Endlessly, without stopping, I will keep expanding.”
“That’s sophistry. You still have plenty of time. There’s no need to start this now. There are ways to grow stronger by fighting enemies, but only after you’ve reached the point where you can withstand their attacks.”
“That’s true. I shouldn’t rush in with strength that would get me killed in one blow. That’s why I plan to postpone using the Winterer.”
“You’re saying you’ll eventually use the Winterer?”
“It’s my sword, isn’t it only natural?”
Their eyes met. Nauplion’s gaze was serious.
“Everyone believes they alone will win. Even after seeing a hundred lose, no one thinks they’ll be the hundred-and-first to fail.”
“That’s right. I can lose too. But even if I do, I’ll choose my own destruction by my own will. As long as I have limbs attached to my body, I have the right to grasp destruction and walk into it. I can’t flee anymore. The moment I do, that creature will consume me in an instant.”
Nauplion thought the boy’s voice echoed like words he himself had spoken in the past.
Thus the test was conducted, and the departure was decided.
The Island stirred once more. The boy’s belated participation as the strongest favorite, Isolet’s unprecedented proposal, the fact that only two would depart but Isolet would serve merely as a guardian—all of it became tremendous fodder for gossip.
Despoina refused the retrial that Priest Peloros had requested. Displeased, Priest Peloros spent days appealing to other priests, but as if bound by some unspoken agreement, none accepted.
Thus the trial was delayed. With Daphnen’s participation in Silverskull decided, Priest Peloros, pushed from the headlines, devised a plan to stir up public opinion and have the boy exiled entirely when he returned from the Continent.
The night before Daphnen departed, Nauplion sought out Priest Peloros. It was a pitch-black night, as if to say tomorrow would be clear.
“P-Priest?”
It was Ekion who opened the door. The moment he saw Nauplion, he visibly paled and stepped back several paces. Nauplion looked down at him with a cold expression and spoke.
“Tell Father that the Priest of the Sword wishes to see him.”
As Nauplion entered the living quarters, Ekion had vanished without a trace. Priest Peloros, who had been adjusting his round shield, rose with a subtle cough to greet him.
“What brings you to this place at such an hour? I was just about to retire for the night.”
Nauplion settled into his seat and spoke without pause.
“Sleep need not concern you. Soon enough, you’ll find yourself awake through the night, burdened with thoughts.”
Priest Peloros frowned peculiarly and tilted his head.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you….”
On this day, Nauplion’s face was colder and more arrogant than ever before. His hands, clasped together and resting upon his knees, bore the predatory composure of a hunter poised before its quarry.
Though Priest Peloros remained unaware, his instincts compelled him to lean back, seeking whatever distance he could manage.
“Daphnen will depart for the Continent soon. He intends to compete in Silverskull. Isolet will accompany him as his guardian.”
“Surely everyone on The Island already knows this?”
“And he will return. Without fail.”
Priest Peloros’s cheek twitched habitually as he regarded Nauplion—one of the few islanders whose height the man, whose name meant “giant,” could not look down upon.
“Of course, his return means….”
“You’ve been scheming to prevent his return, haven’t you? I’ve come to inform you that such efforts are futile.”
Watching Nauplion cut him off so abruptly, Priest Peloros’s face flushed crimson. The tone was blunt, bordering on reproach.
“You…! Is that what the Priest of the Sword should say right now? That the blade the Young Boy carries is dangerous—even the Priest of the Staff acknowledged this, and others have already sensed it sufficiently….”
“Of course.”

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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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