Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 139

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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 139.
Two Blades, Four Names (23)
It took Wolfren a moment to comprehend those words. Yet there was someone who grasped their meaning far more quickly.
A clear, ringing laugh echoed from the direction of a chair neither of them had been looking at.
“Ahahaha….”
Wolfren spun around in alarm, only to find the source of that laughter was the castle’s young mistress, Chloe da Fontina. From behind her long golden hair, a laugh emerged that was swift and cheerful—far different from the demeanor she had displayed until now.
The moment Boris approached and came to a halt, the laughter ceased, and another voice spoke from beside him.
“How fortunate that you’re all here. I thought we might share in some amusing conversation. Do sit down, everyone.”
It was Duke Fontina. Chloe quickly returned to her composed expression.
Now that I looked around, Luisan and Charlotte de Orleans were present as well. One of the Duke’s attendants, noticing the situation, hurried off and soon returned with Hector.
Thus the five competitors found themselves seated around a table in one corner of the Salon alongside Duke Fontina. Besides the five competitors, only Chloe and Isolet, who had been there from the start, joined them.
“I have attended Silverskull without fail every year, yet it seems rare for the overall standard to be as high as it is this year. Moreover, this Silverskull has seen truly distinctive individuals come to the fore. Their origins are diverse, their stations varied. And that a female competitor remains in the third day of competition—that is something I have not witnessed in several years.”
Several eyes turned toward Charlotte de Orleans.
Presently, Duke Fontina inquired how a woman could have cultivated such skill. Charlotte, whose short black hair made her appear almost like a beautiful young boy, answered.
“In Orlanne, we do not believe that girls should be content with inferior ability simply because they are girls. Our nation is small, and our population is sparse.”
“It would be remarkable enough if an ordinary person from Orlanne had said such a thing, but when the speaker is that land’s princess, it inspires something akin to fear. Hahaha….”
Boris found himself suddenly aware of something. Charlotte was clever, but she lacked the worldly experience to conceal her antipathy toward Anomarad with such finesse. And Duke Fontina, it seemed, understood this fact well.
“What is equally astonishing is that there are two commoner youths among the competitors. It must have been difficult for you to find excellent teachers—how did you manage to attain such skill?”
The Duke was a man who knew how to extend appropriate courtesy to commoners as Silverskull competitors.
Hector paused to consider, then answered first.
“I was merely fortunate, I suppose. I am satisfied simply to have come this far.”
It was a tactful response, born from knowing that boasting before nobility would only backfire.
Duke Fontina turned his gaze toward Boris.
“Is that so? Then what of you?”
Boris was not unaware that answering as Hector had would be the prudent course.
Yet Boris differed from Hector in one crucial respect. I had been born into a lordly house of the Continent, and several names were bound to my honor.
Those names were no lighter than the pride these nobles before me carried so confidently.
But I could not speak of such things. I answered briefly.
“I believe real combat teaches more than practice, and survival demands more than effort.”
Duke Fontina tilted his head slightly, then suddenly fixed his gaze upon his daughter.
“Chloe, what do you make of this youth’s meaning?”
Chloe glanced at Boris’s face for a moment, then answered in her composed tone.
“I believe he means that even the finest teacher’s instruction cannot compare to what a true enemy teaches, and that even the most diligent practitioner cannot match the desperation of one fleeing for their life.”
Duke Fontina nodded slowly, his eyes carefully studying Boris’s face.
The moment Chloe finished speaking, Luisan’s gaze fixed sharply upon Boris. He opened his mouth to speak without hesitation.
“Forgive my interruption, but I too have a question for this youth. Boris Misterie—my father once told me of a former competitor named Camin Misterie. If it would not be presumptuous, might I ask what relation you bear to that name?”
Then Isolet, who had been silent until now, spoke.
“He is my father.”
Not only Luisan’s eyes widened, but Duke Fontina’s as well.
Luisan pressed his lips together and blinked several times before asking again, as if seeking confirmation.
“If what you say is true… where is your father now, and what is he doing?”
“He passed away long ago.”
“Passed away? Then before that….”
“My father was a member of the Priesthood. I’m afraid I cannot say more than that.”
Ilios was indeed a priest of The Island, so he had not lied. Yet for such a casual remark, it was quite clever.
Across the Continent, there were countless temples and religious orders both great and small, and such places were home to many clergy who devoted themselves to religious ideals without revealing their pasts.
For such individuals, it was not unusual for their status or abilities to remain unknown. In regions where their faith was not practiced, concealing one’s parents’ identities was hardly an uncommon occurrence.
“I see. Then are the two of them still at that temple?”
“Recently, having lost their place of refuge, they have been wandering the Continent.”
It was then that Duke Fontina spoke.
“How remarkable. Camin Misterie—I remember him as well. Was he not that mysterious young boy who defeated the undefeated Kangpir Marquis at Silverskull in days past?”
Having spoken thus, the Duke gazed upon Isolet’s face once more and continued.
“Now that I look at you, the resemblance is quite striking. You truly do appear to be father and daughter. That boy back then—or rather, your father’s skill was truly remarkable. After that tournament ended, you cannot imagine how many sought to find that young man.”
As his family’s forbidden secret spilled from Duke Fontina’s lips, Luisan’s face flushed crimson.
“What a pity that such a man has already passed. I offer my condolences. Since you have inherited the legacy of such a distinguished person, I hope you will display your full prowess in tomorrow’s match.”
This time, Boris too bowed his head lightly in acknowledgment and replied.
“Thank you for your kind words.”
The dessert course had ended as well. The nobility seemed inclined to linger and continue their pleasant conversation, but when word came that tomorrow’s competitors were free to withdraw and rest, everyone rose from their seats.
Wolfren, of the Hyacan royal family, had gazed upon Isolet throughout, unable to conceal his suspicion-tinged emotions. Being a swordsman himself, he had heard the name Camin Misterie before. No—it was far more than merely hearing it.
He had visited Lugran, which lay not far from Hyacan, once or twice. Among Lugran nobility, it was common social discourse to rank the successive champions of Silverskull.
Camin Misterie was a name that had never fallen outside the top five in such debates.
Even that ranking was only because they deferred to more recent champions, and in truth, his name had become synonymous with “overwhelming victory.”
Moreover, Misterie had, quite literally, devoured that tournament whole and vanished like smoke the next day. Rumors had circulated that he must have been assassinated by some nobleman enraged by such humiliating defeat.
The daughter of such a man?
Now, setting aside his prejudice and observing her anew, she was far more than merely a beautiful girl. She possessed not only the cold, piercing gaze unique to those who wielded the blade, but her very movements were extraordinary.
As Boris moved toward the exit, he heard a quiet voice from behind him.
“Tomorrow, I look forward to a worthy match.”
It was Luisan. He had patted the head of his younger sibling, who whined for him not to leave and begged to play longer, telling them to enjoy themselves a while more, before stepping outside first.

The small lamp’s flame flickered.
After extinguishing all the candles in the chandelier, I had lit the lamp from the outdoor tent and placed it beside the bed. I closed the window shutters and drew the curtains tightly so no light would seep through—making it appear to any observer that I was already asleep.
“Your enemy, you say? The one who tried to steal your sword, the Winterer?”
Isolet, seated in the chair, had changed into her usual clothes and fastened her sword across her back. I sat motionless on the bed in travel-ready attire, prepared to depart at a moment’s notice. The night was not yet deep.
“He attempted to kill me but failed. However, he trampled and destroyed the last fragment of naive trust that remained in my heart—so in a sense, he did kill something.”
“He’ll still come after you, won’t he?”
“He won’t give up. He wore a mask and adopted me as his heir, waiting nearly a year to obtain the Winterer. He’s a persistent man who stops at nothing to achieve what he desires.”
“So you’re going to flee? Forfeit tomorrow’s match?”
In truth, fleeing was not simple either. This was Duke Fontina’s Castle, and strict security would certainly be in place. Had I remained in the tent as I did last night, evading watchful eyes might have been easier.
No, that wasn’t quite right either. Had I done so, I would never have encountered Count Belnoir today, and tomorrow in the semifinal, I would have been discovered one-sidedly with no chance to respond.
Then should I truly be grateful to the Duke?
“Honestly, I’m uncertain. Whether it’s acceptable to forfeit tomorrow’s match in such a manner, or whether I should face him directly instead. I even find myself thinking this: if he is truly my enemy, then regardless of whether I forfeit the match, shouldn’t I strike first and kill him myself, rather than waiting for his attack?”
“Do you pity him at all?”
“Not in the slightest. Had I possessed the strength and opportunity then, I would certainly have killed him. He was the one who first stained my hands with blood. If it had been Count Belnoir himself whom I killed, I would not have suffered so greatly at that time.”
Feeling my voice sharpen, I noticed Isolet’s brow furrow with tension.
Isolet had already heard roughly the circumstances entangled between me and Count Belnoir. She understood the situation we both faced.
I could flee or remain. If I decided to flee, all the effort and resolve spent coming here from the distant Island would come to nothing, and I would need to devise an immediate escape. To remain, I would have to prepare countermeasures against any attack that might come this very night.
Even if I endured tonight, tomorrow would still come. In this place—indeed, across all of Anomarad Land—there was no one to protect us.
At that moment, both of us simultaneously sensed a presence outside the door.
“Shh.”
The presence slowly approached the door. Would it pass by, or take some other action? As tension mounted, a knock sounded.
We exchanged glances.
There was no one who would seek us out at this hour.
I rose silently from the bed and grasped the sword I had placed there. Barefoot, I approached the door. Isolet, too, quietly rose and positioned herself behind it.
Knock, knock.
It came again—a cautious knock, careful lest anyone else hear.
The bolt was already drawn. Would the intruder break down the door?
Soon came the sound of a hand touching the door handle. Click, click—it seemed they were pushing the door, but when it wouldn’t open, unexpectedly, a voice came through.
Soon, the sound of someone touching the door handle was heard. Click, click—it seemed like they were pushing the door, but when it wouldn’t open, unexpectedly, a voice came through.

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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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