Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 162

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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 162.
The Call of the Sealed Land (8)
Oizis climbed the Slope Path toward the Library, the book he intended to return to Zero tucked under his arm.
As I walked at a leisurely pace, I found myself chuckling at passages from the book I had read late into the previous night, and pondering which of the volumes Zero had once recommended I should borrow this time.
Yesterday’s book had been a tale of heroes from the Ancient Kingdom.
Like the “Needlework of Elvira” that Genesis had mentioned today, it was written in epic verse—a genre I had grown particularly fond of, so much so that I often asked Zero, “Don’t you have any more books written in poetry?” I frequently memorized passages from the verses I read.
In truth, I had even attempted to compose my own verses in secret, but dissatisfied with the results, I had shown them to no one.
I had learned from Zero that there once existed beings called “bards” in the Ancient Kingdom.
After hearing that tale, I had often wished I could become one myself. And truthfully, I possessed no shortage of aptitude for it.

Through grass-woven paths, beneath verdant shade,
Where waters catch the sunset’s painted hue.

To the worn spring, in weathered boots I wade,
Where dark-haired maidens play their pipes anew.

Frustrated that I could not quite recall the continuation of a passage I had favored, I opened the book as I walked.
The tome was large and heavy, so I carefully supported it with both hands. As I rifled through the pages, another beloved passage came into view, and without thinking, I began reading from that point onward, turning the pages—until my feet tangled beneath me and I stumbled.
Thud!
The moment my backside struck the ground, the book slipped from my grasp and tumbled down the Hill.
Greatly alarmed, I scrambled to my feet without regard for the pain and rushed after it. But I had not gone far before I stopped abruptly.
“Still the same fool—reading scraps of books on the path and falling flat on his face.”
“Hey, ground squirrel. Come to gather acorns?”
My face drained of color. Though Ekion was nowhere to be seen, five boys stood surrounding the fallen book as though they had been waiting.
Since Hector’s graduation, the harassment from the other children had diminished considerably, and after Daphnen’s prominence became apparent, I had grown complacent and carefree. But today, it seemed I had stumbled directly into the wolves’ den.
They did not laugh—merely shrugged their shoulders. Several of them extended their feet, kicking at the book’s edges.
In the past, I would have immediately fallen to my knees and begged, but having spent time with Daphnen, I had changed somewhat. Though I hesitated, I spoke clearly.
“Give me back my book.”
“Take it.”
A simple answer. Among them, I recognized several faces from those who had once accompanied Ekion.
Likos, who had competed in the Silverscull Tournament alongside Hector; Pikus, whose long legs delivered vicious kicks; and Gale, who possessed little strength but excelled at devising cruel schemes.
“All… right.”
“It’s your book, isn’t it? We don’t care about some book.”
I took a step toward them. The five boys waited for my approach, scuffing the ground with their toes or rubbing their hands together.
As I took another step, an inexplicable dread seized my heels. Yet I steeled myself.
I reasoned that the worst that could happen was a few blows, and that if I cowered or fled again this time, I would never reclaim my dignity. With these thoughts, I pressed forward.
Until I came to a stop before them, nothing seemed amiss.
I bent down to retrieve the book. As I picked it up from the ground and examined the damaged cover—scuffed from rolling and kicked by the boys’ feet—I found myself considering how to restore it, momentarily forgetting the unease I had felt moments before.
Crack!
I had no time to properly register the pain in my ribs.
Another foot struck my temple, and as my vision blurred, something warm trickled down my cheek.
Thwack! Crack! Thud!
No one spoke. Neither the boys delivering the blows nor I uttered a word, our mouths clamped shut.
There was no mockery or playfulness in the five boys’ faces. Likos gnawed at his lips as if restraining his fury, and Gale’s usual sneering smile had vanished entirely.
They had tormented me for years, but never with such brutal savagery.
I instinctively hugged the book to my chest with both arms as my body was ground into the torn grass and dirt, and what filled my mind was a light of indeterminate origin.
More terrifying than the pain was the way that light was slowly fading. What was that glow? What were these currents of agony flowing through my helpless body like electricity?
Everything was exploding like fireworks.
Suddenly the kicks slowed. A voice came from above my head.
“How does it feel taking a beating meant for your friend? Quite sweet, isn’t it?”
All at once, every boy began shouting.
“What kind of twisted nonsense is the Silverscull champion spouting! He’s nothing but garbage from the Continent!”
“We can’t trust some wandering outsider. We won’t give him anything. Never.”
“Tell him he doesn’t need a sword to fear us. Tell him exactly what we did to you, understood?”
“Go back and show him your wounds in detail. Tell him everything—how you were beaten. We’re not afraid of anything, so if he wants to come at us, let him try right now!”
There was no triumph in their voices, only the savage venting of emotions long suppressed.
I slowly regained consciousness. The light that had been flickering and dying in my mind suddenly blazed bright again—brilliant as a final cry of defiance.
“You… you’re all cowards who don’t even dare face Daphnen…”
As I fumbled through the words, my voice hoarse and broken, the boys’ faces twisted in disbelief, their brows furrowing.
“What did you say?”
“What the hell did that bastard just say?”
I finally managed to stand upright. My entire body was a mass of bruises, yet I still clutched the book to my chest.
“You can beat me… yes, you can beat me all you want… but you will never, never break me…”
I remembered a conversation I’d once had with Daphnen—words spoken by some boy who had been his friend on the Continent, words I’d only just now recalled. Words I’d always wanted to say at a moment like this.
“Because… because I have a free spirit!”
With those words, I lowered my body and drove my full force into a headbutt aimed at Pikus’s stomach.
The moment he fell backward, I gathered my remaining strength and bolted forward.
The boys blinked in stunned disbelief. They had never imagined I would escape their grasp, much less attack someone and flee like this.
Wasn’t this the same boy who trembled at a single blow and didn’t even know how to defend himself?
But it didn’t take the boys long to recover.
“Hey, chase him!”
“Go kill him!”
They had despised and belittled me for so long that they lacked the capacity to understand anything I said, no matter how true.
Convinced that catching an injured, limping boy was trivial, they immediately gave chase.
And I ran.
I ran with every ounce of strength I possessed, as if I’d never run so desperately in my entire life.
When I’d overheard that Daphnen had gone to the Upper Village to duel Hector long ago, and when I’d fled from Ekion, I had been consumed only by fear—nothing like the resolute determination that burned in me now.
I didn’t know how fast I was running. I had never run with such confidence before.
Using my abilities for the first time, my legs were quite swift—fast enough that I would have left Ekion in the dust.
But those pursuing me were boys with long legs and sturdy frames, and even they were bewildered that they couldn’t catch me as quickly as they’d expected.
I never knew that fleeing against the will of those who persecuted me could feel so exhilarating. I was not their plaything, and I was every bit as capable as they were—perhaps even more so.
The pain from the bruises covering my body barely registered. I ran and ran until I reached the Library.
It was my original destination anyway, and Zero would surely be there. There was no reason he would leave the Library at a time like this.
He would be more than capable of driving those thugs away. If that happened, I would have thwarted their plans. I resolved to keep doing exactly that, for as long as I could.
I didn’t even have time to knock. I shoved the door and tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed again, but it only rattled. Was it locked?
“Uncle! Zero!”
Time was running out. The boys had chased me down to the base of the Hill.
Desperate now, I pounded on the door with both fists.
“Uncle! It’s me! Oizis! Please open the door! Hurry!”
No answer came.

Following the narrow passage between the rocks, past the shattered stone hinges, I arrived at a place that was neither dark nor damp. Suddenly, sunlight so brilliant it stung my eyes came pouring down.
Before me, a Clearing overgrown with blue moss and tall grass appeared like a mirage.
The opposite Cliff was covered in the withered bark of ancient wood. Fragments of thread, dandelion seeds, faded lace-like mosses, and enormous mushrooms densely adorned the rock face in a patchwork of colors.
The wrinkles of the Cliff stretching toward the sky split at the summit like the fractured end of a hollow log. At that opening, where the sky hung like a blue handkerchief, the midday sun gleamed white and brilliant.
Arrayed across the Clearing were roughly a hundred weathered gravestones.
Some had crumbled, others had faded. There were large stones carved with many names, as if multiple people had been buried together.
Weeds growing wild were at the moment of blooming small white flowers. Time had not stopped here, even during the long years humans had not visited.
The familiar flower stalks blooming at each corner of the Cliff spoke of a truth: the time given to them and the time given to us were one and the same.
Suddenly, the voice of Priestess Despoina came to mind.

Consider that time has flowed on even beyond your sight.

It was time that had flowed outside his world. It was an aspect of The Island he had never seen. It was the ancient land that the Mountain had concealed. It was a fragment of the old world that remained in this age.
Daphnen asked quietly.
“Whose graves are these? What kind of people are buried here?”
Zero walked among the gravestones and stopped at one, gesturing for Daphnen to come closer. He approached and examined the characters carved into the stone.
Though he could not read the script carved in the letters of Ganapoli, he recognized the numbers marked with tally marks. Zero read them aloud for him.
“The 32nd year of the Great Migration… December…”
Daphnen understood at once. The people buried here had been aboard the single ship that departed Ganapoli and arrived at The Island.
They must have begun counting the years anew from the moment they arrived on The Island.
Yet somewhere along the way, the people of The Island had forgotten the new calendar they themselves had created, and without recording the thousands of years that had accumulated since Ganapoli, they now used a calendar no different from that of the Continent.

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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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