Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 135

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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 135.
Two Swords, Four Names (19)
When those around her remained silent like fools, Charlotte furrowed her brow, swiftly sheathed her sword, and departed for the waiting area reserved for competitors.
Isolet tore her gaze from Boris and fixed it upon Charlotte. The girl carried herself with the bearing of a crown prince—the very essence of royal succession. Yet from what Isolet had heard, the princess of Orlanne had an elder brother. Therefore, the princess could not be the heir.
Then why did this princess stand so tensely, like a general’s keen blade taking the offensive with her back to a cliff? Who was targeting her?
When the third match concluded, the arena was once again engulfed by the intermingled voices of the disappointed and the jubilant.
After the first round of the main tournament ended, the thirty-five competitors had been narrowed down to eighteen, including those who had advanced by default.
They would be reduced further to nine, and once only five remained, today’s main tournament would conclude. The semifinals and finals would take place tomorrow.
The semifinals and finals were Silverskull’s greatest spectacle—so fierce that deaths occurred nearly every year.
The judges, mindful of the audience’s expectations, would not declare a match over for mere injuries. The battles raged until one competitor surrendered, became too injured to rise, or truly lost their life.
The throngs of people who came to witness the final day’s matches defied imagination; once they departed, it was commonplace for the host territory to be half-devastated.
Yet these losses were more than offset by the modest admission fees collected and the tributes brought by those who opened gambling dens with the organizers’ tacit approval. And the victor’s name spread across the entire Continent.
In a year with such a formidable favorite, the fervor of those seeking to profit through gambling diminished somewhat. However, in its place loomed an enormous issue: would Luisan von Kangfir achieve the unprecedented feat of five consecutive victories?
Thus, the number of people who flocked to witness this spectacle was staggering.
It was fortunate that this Silverskull tournament was held in the Pontina Duchy, for few territories across the entire Continent possessed the capacity to feed such multitudes for days.
After lunch concluded, the second round of the main tournament commenced. While people dined, workers had reduced the arena to two separate grounds.
The fervor of the spectators who had wagered money intensified, and the physical scuffles among them nearly toppled the barriers.
Boris’s turn came last. At first glance, his opponent was a young boy with sun-darkened skin and a sturdy build.
The boy, whom people affectionately called “Narvic the Sailor,” had reached the semifinals in last year’s tournament, marking him as a formidable competitor.
“Klanch Alistair from Anomarad! Taititus from Rugran Golcumber Hill!”
Upon seeing the two young boys step forward, I learned that Hector’s alias was Klanch Alistair.
Yet the opponent’s name somehow carried a resonance similar to that of The Island’s people. Moreover, like them, he bore no family name.
“For the honor of Lugran!”
“Taititus, victory at Silverskull awaits you!”
“Show us the true mettle of the founding nation!”
Despite the passionate cheers from Lugran’s supporters, the duel between them proved anticlimactic.
After a brief probing exchange, Klanch—that is, Hector—swiftly pierced both of his opponent’s forearms in alternation.
Yet the boy called Taititus did not immediately surrender. So Hector, to ensure an unambiguous victory, drove his blade through the boy’s shoulder blade.
“Ugh!”
As his opponent collapsed and released his sword, Hector’s foot came down and pinned it beneath his heel.
Though the match was declared over, the spectators sat in stunned silence. Naturally, no one had wagered on Hector. Instead, those who had backed Taititus—the representative of Lugran—stood dumbfounded, unable to bring themselves to leave the arena.
“That one shows the makings of a capable warrior.”
From the special seating at the arena’s center, Duke Fontina, surrounded by his family and retainers, watched the main tournament without leaving his seat. He rarely stirred.
At his single remark, a man standing beside him immediately descended into the arena. The Duke nodded and awaited the next match.
The small beauty who had become the talk of the crowds rarely appeared in this special seating. Instead, Duchess Lucretia of Pontina drew the people’s gaze, hearing remarks such as “Now I understand why her daughter is so beautiful.”
The Duchess was considerably younger than the Duke, whose hair was sparsely white; rumor had it she was his second wife.
Seats for Duke Fontina’s guests—nobles from various lands, particularly influential figures from Anomarad—were arranged in the well-positioned left and right sections of the front. It was said that considerable gifts had flooded Pontina Castle since early this year, all from those seeking invitations to these seats.
Among these nobles, one watched the matches alongside his daughter.
“Father, if I had continued my sword training, could I have stood in that arena and competed?”
“Of course you could have. But your father does not wish for you to enter such a perilous tournament. Did you not just see that boy bleeding? It is far too dangerous, even for them.”
“But there are girls over there too. The skill that the young lady from Orlanne showed earlier was truly remarkable! If only I hadn’t given up so quickly and worked harder, I could have become like her….”
“Yet she still doesn’t look like a boy, does she? That makes it difficult to receive proposals from good men.”
“Still, since she’s a princess from Orlanne, she must receive many good proposals.”
“The same applies to you, Roznis. Because you are lovely and beautiful.”
Roznis da Belnoir smiled faintly at her father’s words, though she didn’t entirely believe them.
She was certainly beautiful, but she knew that the girl who garnered the most attention here was the daughter of Duke Fontina.
Roznis, who had glanced toward the House Pontina section, noticed that the celebrated young beauty had taken her seat after a long absence.
It was a name she had first heard years ago from the sword instructor who had briefly taught her. Chloe da Fontina.
Back then, with a child’s pride, she had grown angry, but now seeing her in person, I couldn’t deny a single word. The radiant skin with a rosy glow, the brilliant blue eyes, the golden hair that shone brighter than real gold itself, the nape of her neck as if never exposed to sunlight, and refined bearing without the slightest flaw.
How could anyone be born to match high society’s tastes so perfectly?
I recalled the wax figure I had seen in a shop in Keltika’s bustling district. A beauty so exquisite, as if painted with a brush, with not a single ribbon out of place.
I exhaled softly. I was no longer the foolish girl of the past. By now, I understood that I was not the happiest girl in the world, nor could I have everything I desired.
The social circles of the Capital, Keltika, which I had visited for the first time last year, had brought me only disappointment. It was certainly more glamorous and impressive than expected, but it was neither kind nor easy.
It was pleasant to be noticed as a beautiful noble girl from the countryside, but once I stepped back and entered the salons of the ladies, people who loved to gossip seized upon my smallest flaws and inflated them without mercy. I was dismissed as an uncouth child who knew neither propriety nor fashion in an instant.
I thought Chloe would navigate such people without giving them any weakness to exploit. She was the daughter of the second most powerful figure after the King, and truly flawless.
If only Father hadn’t raised me from the start as though I were a princess who possessed everything in the world, I would have been less disappointed. At least I might have tried to please others.
A temperament accustomed to acting willfully doesn’t change easily when circumstances shift. By now, after spending so many years as the little tyrant of Belnoir Castle, it was too late to humble myself and flatter the cold women of the Capital.
I suppressed my melancholy thoughts and turned my gaze toward the arena.
I thought that if I had learned swordplay like the young lady from Orlanne, I might have earned recognition somewhere other than in society.
Lately, I had been thinking often of my foster brother, with whom I had spent about half a year. The only time I had learned swordplay was during that period.
But as time passed and I looked back, I was only now beginning to understand how hard Boris had been working then.
And I could see so clearly now the small child I had been, doing nothing but playing pranks at his side. Come to think of it, had I ever worked hard at anything?
The final matches of the second round of the main tournament were underway. I was watching Luisan, the son of Kangpir Marquis.
Father was watching him too, because he had wagered a considerable sum of money on him.
When I was first invited to a ball at the Keltika court, Luisan was the boy I thought most handsome.
If Kangpir Marquis, called “the King’s Sword,” was an elegant and sharp figure, then his son Luisan was a strong yet serious young man. Truth be told, all the men at the ball had been kind.
I danced with him exactly once. I didn’t think it was bad, but there were far too many girls vying for Luisan—a handsome young swordsman with a father favored by the King.
‘Someone like that would never turn his attention to me.’
Thinking it was bitter but true, I turned my head, and my eyes fell upon a young boy in the adjacent arena, locked in combat with his opponent.
At first, I thought I must have been mistaken. The distance was considerable, and besides, so many years had passed….
But when the boy drew his sword swiftly, turned his body, and dark blue hair escaped from his bound locks and scattered, obscuring his mouth, I froze as though struck on the back of my head.
It was my brother.
My foster brother, Boris da Belnoir, with whom I had once lived. I never imagined I would see him in a place like this.
“Ah, Father….”
As I turned to tell Father, a new realization struck me.
Back then, Father had driven him away, and hadn’t he told me never to mention it again? Even when stubborn I had cried and thrown tantrums, hadn’t he only grown angry or fallen silent, never revealing his reason for casting my brother out?
As a result… hadn’t I suspected that my brother had been used and abandoned by Father?
“Hm!”
Realizing this much, I instinctively covered my mouth with my hand.
Had I been my former self, I never would have thought this far, but having learned the difficulty of dealing with people, I had grown into a girl who now understood that speaking the truth isn’t everything.
“Why do you look so startled, Roznis? Do not be so alarmed—the young marquis will manage it well enough.”
It seemed Luisan had just faced a moment of peril. Of course, Roznis hadn’t witnessed it herself, but Count Belnoir had jumped to that conclusion on his own.
He had noticed long ago that his daughter harbored an interest in Luisan. And with the matter of the wager hanging over everything, he had been so preoccupied watching over Luisan that he’d had no leisure to observe the other arenas.
“…Yes, Father.”
My mind began to spin in disarray. Before my eyes, I could see Luisan arrogantly driving back his opponent and piercing him down with a single thrust—yet somehow the scene refused to register in my consciousness.
All I could think of was how to speak with my Elder Brother again, what method might allow me to slip away without drawing Father’s notice.

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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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