Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 150

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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 150.
Two Swords, Four Names (34)
It happened when Isolet was ten years old and Nauplion was twenty-three. At that time, the two of them were as close as siblings. The person who first conceived of this plan was Ilios Priest, Isolet’s father.
As Boris knew well, Nauplion was an orphan whom Priestess Despoina’s parents had taken in and raised.
Having suffered greatly in his youth, he had long been a wayward troublemaker until he began learning Tigris from the elderly master Isolet had mentioned before, at which point he finally settled himself. Thanks to that, he grew into the person he was now.
However, his master had only taught him well in matters of character. Since the man possessed little skill in swordsmanship, his student’s progress could only be slow.
The keen-eyed Ilios Priest had long since seen through the young Nauplion’s potential, but since he had already decided to learn Tigris, he pretended not to notice for a long time.
Yet ultimately, Ilios could not help but covet Nauplion’s talent—precisely because of Tiela’s characteristics.
When his two previously accepted disciples hit the wall of Tiela and their progress came to a complete standstill, he had no choice but to seek another breakthrough.
Ilios was a man who had suffered greatly under a cruel master in his childhood and gained nothing from it. Because of this, his resolve to accept only a talented disciple and teach him with care was all the stronger.
Moreover, as the successor of Tiela, which had reached the greatest heights across all generations, the desire to have an outstanding disciple to inherit it was only natural.
Of course, extracting someone who had already begun learning Tigris was no simple matter.
Yet the master teaching Tigris was incompetent, too old, and his mind was even beginning to waver, so it was obvious to anyone that Nauplion had no future remaining under him.
After much deliberation, Ilios consulted with Despoina about this problem. Despoina, who had always worried about Nauplion’s future, readily agreed to Ilios’s plan.
What if they made Nauplion Ilios’s son-in-law? Then wouldn’t the matter of him having originally learned Tigris and the problem of being a late-admitted disciple resolve themselves naturally?
And wouldn’t this also make it possible to pass down the position of Priest of the Sword to him in the future without hindrance?
Though the age difference was a burden, the position was too good to let slip. Despoina, thinking that Nauplion, having no parents, would be unlikely to find a better match elsewhere, seemed very earnest about it.
She suggested that they settle the age problem by merely becoming betrothed for now, and hold the formal wedding ceremony after Isolet came of age.
Since the Island had a small population, early betrothals were common, and marriages with large age gaps were not rare.
Still, a difference of this magnitude was unprecedented, and moreover, since the party involved was the young daughter of the Priest of the Sword, the news stirred quite a commotion on the Island.
The problem lay with the parties themselves. Isolet was far too young and followed Nauplion like an older brother, so she consented to the betrothal without much thought.
Nauplion initially refused in great shock, but after Despoina persuaded him at length and, crucially, after some conversation with Ilios, he agreed.
No one knew exactly what frame of mind Nauplion had when he consented to this betrothal. In any case, Nauplion did not dislike Isolet either.
Whether there was any love in it then, or whether there ever came to be love afterward—Isolet said she still did not know.
What Ilios had said to Nauplion while persuading him to accept the betrothal was something the ten-year-old Isolet could hardly have known.
Thus the betrothal ceremony was held, and the problem erupted the next morning.
Ilios Priest apparently believed that once Nauplion became betrothed to Isolet, he would naturally enter his tutelage. However, Nauplion naively thought the two matters were entirely separate.
Somehow, this issue was never confirmed between them until the betrothal ceremony ended, and by an unfortunate twist of fate, it exploded the next morning.
Nauplion shook his head stubbornly and said he could not abandon his master.
Even when Despoina pleaded with him, and even when his Tigris master himself told him to go because that path was better, it did not work.
He said he could do anything for Ilios Priest and Isolet, but he could not abandon his elderly and ailing master, and that he would not forsake Tigris even after his master’s death—there was no room for compromise.
When Ilios, trapped in an impossible situation, even swallowed his pride and tried to persuade him several times to no avail, his emotions finally exploded.
He declared the betrothal ceremony from the day before null and void, then told Nauplion never to appear before him or Isolet again, and took his daughter home.
So great was Ilios’s anger and disappointment that within tens of days, he built a new house on the Mountainside and moved there.
Even Despoina did not dare approach Ilios until that year had passed.
That house on the Mountainside was the one Isolet now lived in.
“Father seemed to feel that what happened was a tremendous betrayal and a great humiliation. And since we had publicly become betrothed and then broken the engagement in a single day, he thought it would leave a blemish on my future as well, so he was deeply grieved. Out of pity for Father, I could never have imagined disobeying his words and meeting Nauplion. So I don’t know what state he was in at that time.”
Just now, Isolet had called Nauplion by his name alone without any honorific, and it was so natural that Boris found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
Until now, she had always called him “Priest,” keeping deliberate distance, but now seemed closer to her true feelings.
“After that, we became terribly uncomfortable with each other, as if we had never been close. And then, a few summers later, that incident you know of… Through that, I lost my father, and an insurmountable wall was erected between him and me. It has remained that way ever since.”
Isolet pressed her lips together, then shifted her gaze uneasily as though wondering what expression she was wearing.
But she soon regained her composure and spoke one final time.
“There. That’s my story. From my perspective, it’s everything I can tell you. When I said I didn’t trust Nauplion, it was admittedly emotional, but as you yourself felt, there were inconsistencies in that tragedy. For a long time, I believed he was hiding something about Father’s death—he was the only one who witnessed it.”
Isolet looked up at the sky.
“Because he never spoke of it, I’ve sometimes felt anger, regret, and harbored many dark thoughts. I still don’t know what it was. But to be honest… except when I miss Father most, when my heart is most shaken, I don’t believe he did anything wrong to Father.”
Her gaze returned to the ground. Her voice grew calm.
“How must he have felt toward Father, who declared the engagement broken when he refused to become a disciple? In a way, he should have hated Father. But he didn’t. I know better than anyone that he didn’t. I know he’s not that kind of person.”
To say she suspects Nauplion of hiding something yet doesn’t doubt him—this was once an answer Boris had desperately hoped for.
Back then, he had believed there was a misunderstanding between them, and he had wished with all his heart that it would be resolved.
Yet now, hearing those very words, he felt no joy whatsoever. It was strange. A stronger sense of disappointment, or perhaps loss, pulled him down as though sinking slowly beneath the earth.
It took Boris considerable courage just to open his mouth.
“Isolet… there’s one last thing I want to ask you.”
Isolet nodded slightly. Her expression too was dim, and Boris could not easily discern what emotion lay behind it.
“That day… when the snow was falling… when I came to find you… there was… something… wasn’t there?”
Even with just those words, Isolet understood what he was trying to say. She turned her head briefly, then answered shortly.
“Yes.”
Was that enough?
A long silence fell. Stars streaked across the sky.

When I felt myself being shaken awake and opened my eyes, the outside was already bright.
For a moment, I couldn’t recognize the face before me. I couldn’t remember how I’d come here or fallen asleep last night.
“Wake up! There’s chaos outside and you’re just sleeping?”
It was Hebetica. At the word chaos, the moment I tried to rise, I felt a pain like an iron skewer piercing the wounds on my back, and I cried out involuntarily.
Hebetica looked down at me with startled eyes and asked.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
After a long moment of pain that made breathing difficult, I barely regained my senses. But regaining my senses was all I could do—the pain that had assailed me did not disappear.
I wondered if it would hurt this much even if an arrow had just struck me. I thought I had trained myself to endure a certain degree of pain, yet here I was suffering so greatly because of a wound I’d already treated. Had I grown weak again?
As I remained half-risen, unable to steady myself, Hebetica’s face hardened. She turned around and pulled up my upper garment.
“No…”
She, who was not easily startled by most things, fell silent for a moment, then leaned her head over her shoulder to look at me. Our eyes met.
Hebetica wore an expression of disbelief.
“What in the world are you… how did you manage to sleep through the night in this condition? Stay right there for now. Don’t move at all. I need to call someone.”
When Isolet appeared, I had already been carried by the villagers to the house of the Grandmother who tended to medicinal herbs.
As I lay bare-chested and she cleaned my wounds, the people who had come to help the Grandmother could not close their mouths in shock.
It was remarkable enough that I had slept through the night in this condition, as Hebetica said, but everyone seemed to throw up their hands in surrender at the sight of a young boy who didn’t cry out even once while such a terrible wound was being disinfected.
Isolet saw it too. The wound that had been torn about two finger-widths the day before had transformed overnight into a dark, grotesque wound that even a full palm could not cover.
No one knew, but the blade at the end of the rope that had wounded me yesterday was certainly poisoned.
Though the Grandmother’s skill with medicinal herbs was recognized throughout the surrounding villages, because the poison hadn’t been neutralized early enough yesterday, the situation had become grave.
I did not lose consciousness.
When I saw Isolet arrive, I tried to smile, but the excruciating pain made my facial muscles barely responsive. All I could manage was to keep my face from contorting.
Isolet approached and sat down, whereupon Boris spoke in a hushed voice.
“It’s… bearable. I can endure it.”
The onlookers were astonished once more—Isolet showed no signs of tears, no helplessness, no fear. She displayed none of the reactions they had imagined.
Instead, she gazed down at Boris with composure and spoke.
“Yes. Bear it a little longer. I’ll think of a way.”
Once the wound had been disinfected and the medicinal herbs that promoted healing had been thoroughly applied, Isolet turned to her Grandmother and spoke.
“If it wouldn’t trouble you, might you step away for a moment? I’d like to speak with him alone for a while.”

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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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