Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 156

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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 156.
The Call of the Sealed Land (2)
Daphnen smiled sheepishly as he spoke.
“Come now, this is far finer than the aged wine of Hebebro Village—do help yourself generously.”
Nauplion had once been the sort of man who enjoyed spirits so much that he would hide brandy bottles in the kitchen of Belnoir Castle and drink them in secret, yet since arriving on The Island, not a single drop had touched his lips.
Of course, as a priest who must lead by example in upholding The Island’s precepts, he could hardly steal and drink in secret the precious spirits reserved for sacred ceremonies.
Contrary to appearances, Nauplion was the sort of man who, once his mind was set, proved remarkably thorough in his duties—not someone who would attempt such a thing.
Nauplion gazed down at the cask, momentarily at a loss for words.
The fragrance of fine spirits, encountered after so long, was gratifying enough, yet it was the heart of the young boy who had brought it that intoxicated him far more than any drink could.
A snowy night, a disciple returned after years away, fine spirits, roasted hazelnuts—what more could one desire?
Daphnen brought two wooden cups and set them upon the table, then spoke with playful mischief in his voice.
“Back then you wouldn’t give me even a drop, but surely now you’ll grant me a cup?”
The night before departing Belnor Estate, he had wheedled for just a taste, only to receive water instead—a memory that now seemed impossibly distant.
So they had parted, and now they had reunited, become inseparable; truly, the passage of time works in mysterious ways.
Nauplion himself uncorked the oak cask. He poured the first cup, then replied.
“I cannot give such potent spirits to a boy who has only grown in height….”
Even as he said this, he was pouring into the second cup.
“But seeing the sincerity you’ve brought, I shall make an exception tonight and grant you one cup.”
They clinked their cups together, taking care that not a precious drop would spill.
“To the ‘great’ Furakan, master of Silverskull.”
Daphnen continued with a giggle.
“And to our esteemed priest, teacher of such a ‘great’ personage.”
Of course, Daphnen had to draw a sharp breath the moment he took a sip. Seeing this, Nauplion chuckled, whereupon Daphnen, emboldened, drained the rest in one go.
His face flushed crimson at once, and his spirits lifted. When Nauplion refused to pour again, Daphnen whined petulantly.
“One cup for the sincerity I brought, another for the effort of carrying it so heavily, yet another for the kindness of giving it all so freely, and one more for the fine taste of the spirits themselves—surely that’s not too much to ask?”
“I shall answer your lengthy question simply: it is.”
Nauplion drank, while Daphnen cracked hazelnuts. After that single cup, the cold no longer touched him, and he began to chatter about this and that.
The first story to emerge was of meeting Rosnis and Count Belnoir, whom both knew well.
As spirits tend to embolden storytelling, Daphnen recounted the night Rosnis had arrived with far more dramatic flair than his usual modest manner would allow.
At the part where Nauplion learned how much Rosnis had changed, he smiled warmly and spoke.
“So that little lady has come to understand the ways of the world. Hearing of her after so long makes me wish to see her again.”
“To double your longing, I should mention she’s also become quite beautiful.”
Nauplion responded at once.
“Ah, now my longing is doubled indeed. A single choice shapes the future—why did I bother teaching that dull fellow back then? Had I chosen differently, I might be drinking with a charming young lady at this very moment.”
Daphnen stuck out his tongue and retorted.
“Do you truly believe that makes sense now?”
When Daphnen then spoke of Count Belnoir’s schemes, Nauplion muttered, “That man shows no more growth than his daughter does.”
Soon the conversation turned to Duke Fontina’s inexplicable kindness, and to the semifinals and finals of Silverskull.
Though both already knew the outcome, Nauplion found it a pleasure to watch Daphnen, flushed with a single cup of spirits, speak with far more passion than usual. He did not mind hearing it all again.
Daphnen concluded as one might finish a fairy tale.
“And so I have proven that the sword our master lent me is truly magnificent.”
That was enough. Neither of us needed to say aloud, “I wanted to honor your name”—we both understood.
After a brief pause, Daphnen continued with the story of their escape from Anomarad through Duke Fontina’s consideration, and their subsequent travels with merchants.
What followed was the account of the assassins and Hebebro Village. Daphnen had tried to keep the story brief, but it proved impossible. Still, he could not avoid confessing that he had taken lives.
Nauplion’s brow furrowed slightly, yet he said nothing more. He chose to trust in Daphnen’s judgment.
“I must apologize for what I did with the sword you lent me. But there is one thing I would very much like to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“When blood stained that blade’s surface, strange characters appeared.”
Nauplion had already emptied nearly half a barrel of wine. Daphnen tried to stop him, urging him to drink no more.
“Yes, I can finish the rest another day. Ah, but rumors that the Priest of the Sword keeps wine hidden at home would certainly not look good. I suppose I must drink it all after all.”
“A convenient excuse.”
Nauplion drained the remaining wine from his cup before answering.
“That sword was crafted by my master. Have I mentioned this before? Ah, you’ve asked about it. I speak of Tigris—the one who taught me.”
“I remember. So he not only taught you swordsmanship, but also forged blades?”
“Merely a hobby. He was no blacksmith by trade, but he had befriended the Blacksmith who managed the Blacksmith’s Shop at the time, and would occasionally borrow the forge to craft one or two swords. The two of them were indispensable to each other—in other words, drinking companions.”
“Drinking companions? But there is no wine on the Island, is there?”
“Illicit spirits, as they say. On the Island, few would risk starving themselves to brew wine with such limited grain, yet those two shared a kindred spirit in such matters. When I said they were indispensable to each other, well—such ventures require a friend’s courage to undertake.”
Nauplion tapped the wine barrel once or twice with his fingertip, then let out a soft laugh.
“The truth is, they became so perfectly matched that they would sometimes stagger about arm-in-arm while drunk, right in front of people who had never touched a drop of wine in their lives. When I think of how people would frown at the sight…”
Nauplion rubbed his temples as if the memory still gave him a headache.
The way he spoke of his master bore an odd resemblance to how Daphnen himself would lament about Nauplion in jest.
Daphnen simply smiled. Nauplion, having drunk wine for the first time in ages, had grown talkative from the spirits.
“Yes, but curiously enough—though it may be strange to say—his swordsmanship was not particularly exceptional. Yet he possessed an extraordinary talent for metallurgy. That is why every sword he crafted, though few in number, became a masterpiece. Now I know not where they all have gone.”
Nauplion glanced at the sword resting nearby.
“He would give them away as gifts without much thought. Indeed, throughout his life, there was nothing he kept solely for himself that he did not eventually give to another. Ah, but you asked about those characters, did you not? They are…”
His master’s name was Oinopion, Nauplion said, and he even surprised Daphnen by explaining that the name meant “one who drinks wine.”
Oinopion had crafted ten swords in his lifetime, and each bore a special character visible only when blood stained the blade.
This technique was Oinopion’s secret alone—one that no blacksmith or craftsman could replicate. With his death, it vanished forever.
“What was his reason for inscribing such characters?”
“A warning. A caution never to stain the blade with blood carelessly.”
“…”
Daphnen’s face contorted with unease. He still could not shake the thought of whether his own act of killing had been justified, whether there truly had been no other way. In that moment, he had acted with such resolve, yet now doubt gnawed at him.
“In any case, that is how it is. Ah, I think it would be good for you to use that sword for a while longer. It is not yet time for the Winterer, and I have the Thunder Rune. When I consider what you have accomplished with that blade across the Continent, it seems a fitting sword for you.”
The night deepened with snow, wine, and stories.

The honorable title bestowed upon Daphnen did not immediately transform his daily life. Yet the stories he had heard on the Continent wrought a profound change within him.
One day, Daphnen visited Priestess Despoina and told her he wished to cease learning the Sacred Chant Tradition.
He explained that since Professor Jilebo was no longer available due to graduation matters, he would prefer to resume studying staff combat instead.
“If you consult well with the Headmaster, it is not impossible, but…”
Priestess Despoina trailed off, studying Daphnen’s expression. Yet in the face of one who had learned to conceal his emotions beyond his years, she found no trace of his true feelings.
“I am curious what drives you to such lengths. I heard that the two of you worked well together and cooperated during your time on the Continent—has some other matter arisen?”
“No, Priestess. It is only that compared to such an excellent teacher, I have made far too little progress. Moreover, my voice has been changing recently, making it difficult to sing. I believe it would be better for The Island if a child with greater aptitude were to learn such an important tradition.”
“But would Isolet be willing to teach another child?”
At this point, Daphnen answered with firm resolve.
“I am already continuing one important tradition as a disciple of the Priest of the Sword, and by that merit I journeyed to the Continent and returned. The title given to me now, still merely an apprentice Pilgrim, weighs heavily upon my shoulders, and I have come to understand that bearing the scrutiny of others’ eyes is no trivial matter. To prevent their doubts from turning to disappointment, would it not be better to devote myself to one path and demonstrate results? Staff combat, even if newly learned, demands qualities similar to swordsmanship, so it would be better to pursue it further.”
Daphnen’s reasoning was sound in practical terms. As a disciple of Nauplion with a priesthood virtually assured in his future, and simultaneously a student of Isolet—the sole heir to the Sacred Chant Tradition—whispers of excessive privilege were not uncommon.
Since Daphnen had brought Silverskull and received the title of Furakan, such talk had become far more frequent.
And the matter of his changing voice was indeed true. There was nothing strange about a boy in the midst of such changes wishing to rest from singing.
Yet despite all this, Priestess Despoina, drawing upon the intuition born of long years, discerned Daphnen’s true heart. She sighed deeply before speaking her final words.
“There is no need to deliberately avoid such things, Daphnen. There is no sadness quite like watching a boy who should be grasping the light of life deliberately cast away all that lies within his reach.”
The faint image of another boy overlapped in her mind—one who, as if bearing no regrets for the life that remained, had smiled and brushed away both hands, casting things aside.
Unlike Priestess Despoina’s own children, that boy had deliberately chosen a harsh voyage, and like a weary old sailor returning with an exhausted body, he had wished only to lie in her old cottage. Had he sailed too many seas for one so young?
And Daphnen, as stubborn as that boy, shook his head once more.
“No, Priestess. It was never my portion from the beginning. It was too much for me. There is still much that remains and much that must be done, so I shall harbor no regrets.”

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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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