Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 147

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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 147.
Two Swords, Four Names (31)
Boris narrowed his eyes and posed a question.
“I suspect it was you, Isolet, who leaked information to Lucian Kaltz… am I right?”
“Ah, I wouldn’t know. Didn’t you simply follow along after seeing me place my wager?”
Isolet spoke as though deflecting the matter, tossing two more gold coins. Boris extended both hands and caught them deftly, then offered a knowing smile. The situation had become clear enough. At that moment, Isolet’s eyes sparkled with a new thought.
“Don’t you regret leaving Pontina Castle in such haste?”
Boris, who had been tucking coins into his pocket, turned back with a puzzled expression.
“Regret? What could there possibly be to regret?”
“A grand banquet was being prepared for the Silverskull champion. With the guest of honor absent, it must have become rather dull.”
“That won’t be the case. The Young Marquis will have become the guest of honor in my stead.”
Both recalled the same matter. They had hastily sought out Duke Fontina before the banquet commenced to request permission to depart. They then rushed toward where the Duke’s carriage awaited, only to discover an unexpected figure already waiting there.
It was none other than Luisan.
Before the two, who started in surprise, Luisan offered a faint smile and spoke.
‘Thank you for the excellent match. I can no longer compete in Silverskull, so whenever you find yourself in Keltika, do come visit. I wish to face you again, and to treat you to the portion of tonight’s banquet that should have been yours.’
“But even if the Young Marquis invites you later, he won’t be able to summon the lady said to be Anomarad’s finest beauty. Had I attended that banquet, I would surely have danced a piece with her. Wouldn’t I?”
A playful smile crossed Isolet’s face. Boris wrinkled his nose in slight embarrassment.
“Beauty is a matter of personal preference. She falls outside mine.”
“But there exists a beauty that transcends mere preference, doesn’t there? I’d say she qualifies.”
By now, Boris had found his counterattack.
“Perhaps so. But my eyes have been ruined by the lady I met first, so I cannot perceive any other beauty whatsoever.”
The words came out well enough, but the moment he finished, his face flushed crimson.
Of course, it was the truth. One’s eyes could hardly perceive another when already blinded to a single person. Yet he had never intended to voice such a thing aloud.
Still, I could not bear to refrain from glimpsing Isolet’s expression. A glance revealed she had deliberately turned her head away, gazing toward the distant meadow.
A sudden surge of happiness welled up, and I struggled to contain my laughter. Had I ever felt such happiness before?
Yet whenever I dwelled upon such emotion, the figure of Nauplion inevitably surfaced in my mind.
Nauplion was the one who first taught me what trust meant, what it meant to laugh without reservation. In a world without Yefnen, he became my sole refuge, and even as he did, he acknowledged the void that had taken root in my heart.
During those travels we shared in Lemme, I never imagined a day would come when my reverence and affection for him could be compared to anything else.
When I discovered myself capable of happiness even without Nauplion at my side, something akin to self-loathing would surge within me.
Of course, it was an absurd sentiment, and had I spoken of it to my teacher, he would surely have laughed.
Yet I, who had grown up starved for parental attention and yearning for familial bonds, still feared separation from such forms of attachment—even when meeting a girl felt as natural as breathing.
But at times I forgot. Naturally, of course. There were moments when I vividly felt that the emotions I harbored toward the two were distinctly different. This moment was precisely such an instance. Though incomparable, this feeling could only come from Isolet.
Isolet’s voice sounded once more.
“Was it fortunate that you had no opportunity to fight Clanthi Alistair?”
“He didn’t lose to me, but he certainly appeared sufficiently disappointed.”
“Perhaps. His house is unaccustomed to despair. They’ve experienced little of it. Such people typically crumble when confronted with adversity, but he’s different.”
Isolet shrugged one shoulder and continued.
“He refuses to accept the despair that befalls him as despair. He denies the very possibility that such things could happen to him. People like that always find a way out, no matter the circumstance.”
“Considering he came to you with that absurd request, I wonder if that’s truly the case. At least now he cannot borrow your father’s name to become a Priest of the Sword.”
Upon hearing this, Isolet cast a sardonic remark.
“I’m curious what that kid will come up with next to rise from despair.”
“I’m somewhat concerned about how Clanthi Alistair will report our work when he returns. There’s the matter of Duke Fontina as well… and now that you mention it, what do you think Duke Fontina might demand of me later?”
Boris had always assumed he would have to pay a price. He believed it impossible for a stranger to offer help through sheer goodwill alone. Yet Isolet seemed to be withholding judgment.
“Rather, I’d like to ask you first—what change of heart made you refrain from severing the Young Marquis’s right arm?”
Boris smiled bitterly.
“To explain that, I’d need to tell you an old story.”
At the Silverskull finals, Boris had brought his blade down toward Luisan’s right arm, but at the last moment, he twisted the flat of the sword instead. Because of that, he hadn’t initially expected Duke Fontina’s assistance.
Yet unexpectedly, the Duke asked nothing about the matter and showed greater kindness than promised. They never had the chance to ask why.
“Don’t make it long.”
Isolet knew that when Boris spoke of old stories, it was no different from reopening wounds. Boris merely exhaled a light sigh before speaking briefly.
“The Young Marquis had a younger sister too. That’s all.”
No longer story was needed. The two, who had talked ceaselessly all morning about the Silverskull affair, walked in silence for a time.
As the scattered scrubland gradually descended, a river appeared. It was quite wide, and on the far bank, reeds grew densely, forming a thicket.
Boris suddenly recalled a memory and smiled. Feeling Isolet’s gaze upon him, he spoke.
“It’s not the first river I’ve seen. When I traveled here before with Isildor San… I had a rather amusing accident at this very spot.”
The vivid memory returned—a foolish wager that ended with him falling into icy water, thrashing about in what he thought was deep but was actually shallow, believing he would die. And the villagers who hesitated instead of rushing to help.
Isolet did not press for details, merely offering a smile.
After a moment, Isolet gazed down at the river.
“Is it deep?”
This location was downstream from where the commotion had occurred before, so no suitable crossing was visible. Yet on the far bank, two figures sat with fishing rods extended into the water.
Boris approached the riverbank and cupped his hands to his mouth, calling out to them.
“Pardon me, but do you know of a place where we might cross this river?”
Of the two figures dressed as country folk, one was a woman, and the other was a man whose sturdy build could be felt beneath his loose clothing.
At first, they did not respond, absorbed as they seemed to be in fishing. When called again, the woman lifted her head. In her hand was a long rod.
She wore a wide straw hat that obscured her face, but the memory he’d just recalled brought Hebetica to mind. Now that he thought about it, Hebebro Village, where they had stayed then, seemed to be only a few hours’ journey away.
The woman replied.
“If you want to cross the river, jump using those rocks over there as stepping stones! Of course, if you’re capable!”
Looking in the direction she indicated, he saw several pointed rocks jutting out like a stone bridge about a dozen paces upstream.
But suddenly, something felt odd. Based on their attire, they should have been natives of Lemme, yet wasn’t that distinctly a southern accent?
He recalled that Hebetica had spoken similarly before. Yet something about this felt subtly more familiar than that.
The two made their way there and crossed the river without difficulty. Isolet leaped so lightly, touching only one rock with each step, that she landed on the opposite bank with grace.
She then turned her head to thank the woman. But the two who had been fishing were now standing. Not only standing—they stared directly at both of them.
As Boris took a few steps closer, the woman let out a chuckle. Of course, she was not Hebetica. She was a stranger, a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties.
“Skillful indeed. Especially you, miss—carrying something like that on your back, you must be a swordswoman? Your body is remarkably light.”
“Thank you.”
Isolet was the type to treat strangers with only proper courtesy. Yet the woman approached her and suddenly seized her wrist.
Isolet reflexively tried to twist her arm free, but surprisingly, the woman’s grip was like a hook, unyielding.
When she tried to use her other hand, it too was caught. Isolet’s expression changed.
Though Isolet was strong for a woman, this woman’s grip strength was incomparable to that of sturdy men. Her grip was so forceful that both of Isolet’s hands quickly flushed red.
Isolet’s voice turned cold as she asked.
“What are you doing?”
“A blade’s speed alone doesn’t determine everything. Wouldn’t you agree?”
With those words, the woman tilted her head sharply and let her straw hat fall away. In its place emerged an intricately styled coiffure, secured with multiple pins, and a face that commanded attention.
A rural peasant woman? Hardly. The meticulously arranged hair, pale complexion, and eyes glinting with mockery made it instantly clear that this woman was no ordinary person.
“Who are you?”
The moment Boris lunged forward, the silent man standing behind them stepped in and shoved Boris’s shoulder.
The instant his hand made contact, an overwhelming force surged through Boris, throwing his balance completely off.
Boris crashed to the ground and lay there for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He had never experienced such raw, devastating power before.
“I’m Hell’s Messenger, here to collect you, little one.”
Again, that grating, peculiar accent grated on the ears. The woman then turned to her companion and shouted in a completely different tone.
“Tonda! Bind the girl!”
A rope shot out from inside Tonda’s wrist, coiling around Isolet’s ankles with a grip that felt almost alive. As Isolet’s knees buckled, the woman seized her arm and yanked her upright.
Isolet struggled to wrench her arm free, but the woman’s grip remained immovable. Isolet cried out.
“Back away, Boris!”
“Ah, Boris, is it? How considerate of you to confirm your own name. Well, I’d already guessed as much from your face.”
Isolet turned her head toward Boris and shouted once more.
“I said back away! Draw your sword!”
Boris sprang to his feet and retreated several paces while drawing his blade. The thought of abandoning Isolet never crossed his mind.
The silent man extended his hand again, and this time a lasso flew through the air. Its rim was studded with small, claw-like metal barbs.
“Hah!”
Boris’s blade flashed out to strike the lasso, but it bounced off the metal claws. Two lengths of rope then came flying at him with cunning precision. Sharp metal blades adorned the ends of these cords.
Unlike the rope binding Isolet, these possessed a special core that gave them tremendous elasticity and allowed them to move exactly as the wielder intended.
Yet the moment tension seized his wrist, it gained its own momentum. He swept away all the ropes and lassos in one fluid motion, their trajectories impossible to predict. The woman then laughed mockingly.
“Not bad at all. I only restrained the girl because I thought she was the swift one. With skills like that, I suppose it’s only proper to introduce myself. I’m Marinov Camb! Don’t expect us to go easy on you. If we’d thought we could kill you, we would have already.”

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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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