Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 131

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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 131.
Two Swords, Four Names (15)
“There was no need to go to such lengths….”
My protests fell on deaf ears. Boris and Isolet were unceremoniously swept away into a luxurious inner chamber they hadn’t seen in ages.
Luxurious, perhaps, but it paled in comparison to the splendor of Belnoir Castle in days past—if anything, it reminded me more of home in Trabaches.
Even as the residence of a great lord, Lemme’s castle prioritized defense over comfort, its structure austere and practical. The furnishings and decorations were bold rather than refined.
Yet it possessed enough elegance: carved armchairs, a heavy bed draped in wool blankets, gilt lamps, and silver tableware gleamed throughout. In such a castle, the two of us were treated as honored guests.
It happened the moment Boris, led by soldiers to Lord Dicam’s castle, displayed the sword Nauplion had given him and spoke the name “Isildor San.”
Though I was bewildered by the sudden hospitality, they were far more flustered. The entire castle stirred with activity—preparing a banquet, cleaning the finest chambers, bringing fresh clothes.
Not only Lord Dicam and his family knew the name “Isildor,” the alias Nauplion had used in Lemme. Even common soldiers and servants understood why they must treat us with such deference.
Since Boris and I were soaked through, we had no choice but to change into the indoor garments they provided. While waiting for the meal to be prepared, we were shown to a rest chamber where we faced each other awkwardly.
Isolet, sitting uncomfortably in an armchair, shrugged her shoulders.
“Whatever this is, we’ve certainly received an extraordinary kindness.”
Boris stood in the doorway, silent as he surveyed the room. Isolet studied his face and spoke.
“You’re remembering old times, aren’t you? Thinking of when you traveled with him?”
“No…. I was thinking of the time he wandered alone, without me.”
From when Nauplion drifted into Count Belnoir’s castle until he met me again—roughly two years of solitary wandering across the entire Continent. He must have experienced countless trials.
Had it been joyful? I found myself wondering if it had been lonely instead.
The Nauplion I first met was an optimistic eccentric, and I, endlessly dark, had loved his brightness. Yet ultimately I had shattered his expectations, he had departed, and after that reunion, and….
Why had Nauplion, who wandered alone, been forced to leave his homeland?
It was not the first time I had wondered this. I had dimly sensed that Nauplion harbored a secret he told neither me nor anyone else.
I had chosen not to pry out of respect. Such was my nature.
“No one banished him from The Island. He banished himself.”
It was as though she had read my heart. Just as I was about to ask further, a knock sounded at the door.
A maidservant entered and announced that the meal was prepared and we should come down.
The spread that awaited us was enough to astound us both. The diners numbered merely five—Boris and myself, Lord Dicam and his wife, and their young son. Yet atop a table so long it took twenty paces to traverse, dishes were piled like mountains. Many of the preparations were unfamiliar even to Boris.
There were no chairs around the long table. A separate dining table with chairs had been prepared nearby. Upon a damask tablecloth gleamed small flower baskets, silver candelabras, and silver tableware.
“Please help yourselves freely. Since you are unaccustomed to our dining customs, my son shall demonstrate. Come now, take your plates and come this way.”
Lord Dicam’s son was a composed young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four. As we all took our plates and approached the long table, he stepped forward and spoke.
“With the cold plate, one begins with fish. Here we have pickled herring, and there is salmon with mustard. Have you tried eel? If you dislike fish, there is smoked ham over there.”
As I brought small portions to our table, I noticed the lord and his wife had taken similar selections.
After finishing, servants cleared the plates. The young man then instructed us to bring warm plates with meat dishes.
He explained that the tender braised beef thigh with potatoes fried in lard and a sauce made from grated radish and apple originated from Eltibo, the capital of Lemme. As sausages filled with vegetables and cheese and veal breast with sweet meatballs were brought out, servants presented us with small plates of fresh salad.
As Boris examined what appeared to be a jar of small fish-like pickled items, the young man told him they were “anchovies.”
Across the table, I saw Isolet shaking her head at Lord Dicam’s wife, who was offering beer.
On The Island, where arable land was scarce, there was no surplus to cultivate grain for spirits. Island people rarely drank alcohol. Unaccustomed to it, Isolet could face difficulties from even one or two light glasses.
As the meal concluded, sweet desserts arrived in succession.
Rolled and baked apple pie, thick pancakes filled with melted chocolate, pastries topped with almonds and raspberry jam—each was so intensely sweet that one needed milk after just a bite or two.
“Time was short, so I fear we could not prepare a proper meal. Should our benefactor learn of this, he might reproach us for our negligence.”
Only upon hearing the lady’s words did I find the presence of mind to ask a question.
“That cannot be. He merely lent me his sword and suggested I visit if I needed assistance while traveling through Lemme. I never dreamed I would receive such generous hospitality. If it is not too presumptuous, might you tell me what your relationship is with him?”
“Ah… I’m afraid…”
As the lord’s wife trailed off, Lord Dicam’s expression hardened and he spoke.
“I am truly sorry, but that is one thing I cannot speak of. My benefactor has forbidden it, and I have no choice in the matter. Still, I am grateful to meet those who know my benefactor and thus repay even a fraction of the debt I owe.”
The young son continued.
“I must confess, meeting both of you is quite surprising. Of course, we have always hoped for an opportunity to repay our debt, but honestly, I had nearly resigned myself to the belief that such a chance would never come. Given my benefactor’s nature… it seems you two must be very precious to him indeed.”
The moment they heard the name “Isildor San,” they became so moved that Boris dared not use the surname “San” and instead introduced himself as “Boris Misterie.”
Had he said “Boris San,” the atmosphere suggested he would have been detained here for days and unable to escape.
Isolet likewise used the surname “Misterie,” so they naturally assumed the two were siblings.
“Rather, we are curious and envious of how intimately you both know our benefactor. If you do not mind…”
There was nothing to explain. The truth could not be told. Boris spoke quickly.
“Ah, my apologies. We too must keep that matter…”
After that, they exchanged apologies for their mutual inability to reveal their secrets, bowing repeatedly to one another.

A girl with reddish-brown hair, loosely braided and long, sat upon the Grassland.
She fidgeted constantly with her poorly woven braids, glancing about in all directions. It was an unfamiliar place—within The Island, yet somewhere she had never been before.
“This is… where the two of us used to sing together…”
White rocky outcrops embedded in the ground gleamed with light. Here and there, only empty spaces remained. The two who had departed together were not here.
Liriope shook her head. They would return. And they would live here, on this Island, forever. Under Father’s rule, and soon under hers.
Yet even thinking this way, her heart felt strangely unsettled.
Liriope sprang to her feet and walked a few paces across the Grassland. As she had often done before, she began to dance lightly, bouncing on her toes.
Her legs extended and spun in time with her soft humming, her hair swirling in circles as she moved.
This place was not her own, but it did not matter. The entire Island was her land. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to hesitate over.
With a warm heart, she thought of him. Did she love him? Such a question did not yield an easy answer. The feeling was too gentle to be stated so bluntly.
Thinking more deeply, he was not particularly kind, nor was he clever, nor was he ambitious. In other words, he had little to offer her.
And that was precisely why she liked him.
The Regent’s daughter lacked nothing. She desired no further luxury, no greater comfort.
Thus, the prospect of gaining something held little appeal. Rather, she preferred someone to whom she could give.
Moreover, he had no happiness, did he?
I wanted to make him happy with my own strength. This wounded, isolated person with his guarded expression. I truly wished for him to find peace and rest here, on this Island, on my land.
How?
The girl dances upon the earth, dances in the sky.
Dancing happily beneath the light of day.
All stories in this world have happy endings
All people in this land deserve a beautiful spring day

Liriope was a happy girl. She could give any gift.
Happiness was simple. If the world’s happiest one, who possessed everything, with no anxious future nor sorrowful past, became hers, then that would be enough.

A friend calls out, in the forest where nightjars sing,
Dancing all night beneath the silver moonlight.
The white hillside where lily of the valley bows its head,
A green whistle blown with an old friend.

Boris and Isolet arrived in Pontina Territory and saw the sun hanging high above the castle gates. It had been a long journey of three months since leaving The Island.
During their travels through Lemme, they had received kind treatment from people who recognized Nauplion’s sword several times over. It seemed as though Nauplion had known in advance that Boris would travel this way and had deliberately prepared for it.
After crossing the Romarion Gate, which lay south of the Rosenberg Gate, and entering Anomarad, the roads became well-maintained, making the journey pleasant in a different sense. At last, the weather had turned to high summer.
July in Anomarad.
The Anomarad I remembered was a land of such intense warmth and pale green hue that it seemed impossibly distant to approach.
I had spent three seasons there—so excessively beautiful that it appeared like a painting in a frame, with its marguerite flower fields and forests, and the rainbow bridge cast over the silvery stream. Three seasons that began with anxious happiness and ended in cruel betrayal. The winter and spring of my twelfth year.
I had returned to that land. Now fifteen years old.
Though it was north of Belcruze, the fact that I had returned to Anomarad was vivid, whether I wished to feel it or not.
Pontina Castle was far taller than Belnoir Castle, a granite fortress with numerous defensive towers. Towering walls surrounded the main keep, enclosing a considerable expanse of land.
Through the lowered drawbridge, countless people were passing through, leading horses and carts. A deep moat had been dug around the castle walls.
“This must be a land that has seen much war.”
Isolet spoke while gazing up at Pontina Castle.
The castle bore the poetic name “Knight’s Joy,” though most people had forgotten it and simply called it Pontina Castle.
“I understand that Duke Fontina is the most powerful figure in Anomarad. I’ve heard he was the one who pacified the southern territories alongside the king when the new Monarchy was established in Anomarad. He is also the queen’s own brother.”

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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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