Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 175

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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 175.
The Call of the Sealed Land (21)

“Not long ago, I learned that the ancestors of the Island’s people had migrated from Ganapoli, a Magic Kingdom that once existed in the Land of Mortals. Before hearing that story, I could only vaguely guess they came from some distant, unknown place.”

“Indeed. Yet Ganapoli fell and vanished long ago. Do you believe the people of this Island are striving to reclaim the glory of the Old Kingdom? Or do you think they harbor such desires?”

Daphnen shook his head as he spoke.
“With rare exceptions, they do not. The Island’s people call themselves Pilgrims, and they seem to have forgotten almost everything about the Old Kingdom.”

“Then you yourself harbor no such ambitions? You chose to become one of the Island’s people, so there is no reason you could not pursue such a path, is there?”

Daphnen hesitated before answering. The question was nearly identical to what Zero had once asked him.
Why had he been unable to accept Zero’s hopes then, to become the Priest of the Sword and work to transform the Island?
He could offer countless excuses, but the truth was he lacked the strength to bear such a tremendous burden. He, who had wished to become a hermit remembering the dead—could he truly become a revolutionary reforming an entire society?
Perhaps Langier Rosencrantz, whom he had met at the Belnor Estate, would have been suited for such a task.
But unlike Langier, Daphnen was someone who accumulated countless emotional debts through his personal life alone, and he knew neither how to diminish nor discard them.
Though Langier had endured equally terrible tragedy, he possessed the capacity to suppress his old emotions to mere traces in pursuit of a new ideal that could fundamentally prevent such suffering.
Daphnen, by contrast, was someone who could never erase, suppress, or abandon the affection he had once harbored deeply, not even until death.
For Daphnen, no grand ideal could ever transcend his feelings for one or two cherished people.
If he ever truly attempted to shoulder an entire society for any reason, the very manner of his responsibility would likely crush him beneath its weight.
“I cannot say with certainty, but perhaps I would not succeed. It seems my own will and ability are far too insufficient to live for two values at once. To those who wish for it… I am truly sorry, on a personal level.”
He recalled Zero, whose eyes could no longer see. His future would be as dark as a moonless night.
The inadequacy he felt at being unable to help even fulfill the wish Zero had longed for his entire life was genuinely heartbreaking.

“I see. Then for the ninth time, I shall ask again about the sword. Through the events of last year, you learned considerable history of that blade. Does it not frighten you? Do you not fear becoming like those souls trapped by the sword, neither dead nor alive, suffering eternally? If not, what is the source of such self-confidence?”

Daphnen fell silent with a bitter expression before answering.
“In truth… I shall speak honestly. I do not trust myself greatly. I am easily deceived and frequently make mistakes. I lack strong will or power, and I am neither wise nor particularly knowledgeable. Yet despite this, the confidence I display regarding that sword is… well, recklessness. In other words, it stems from the concern of those around me.”

“What do you mean by that? Explain further.”

Daphnen hesitated again. But eventually, he continued.
“No matter what anyone says, I will not abandon this sword. Knowing they worry and advise me out of concern, I could not accept their counsel. If the outcome will not change regardless, I thought it better they find some peace of mind. My minimal hope is that if tragedy comes, its impact ends with me alone. That is why I lied—claiming I could bear all responsibility myself, that I felt no fear and knew all the methods to proceed.”
As Daphnen finished speaking, an awkward smile appeared on his face before fading.
It was the first genuine confession since he had resolved his heart regarding the Winterer. He still feared the Winterer’s power. He could only hope that the baseless confidence he had shown Nauplion had brought him some measure of peace.
The spirits exchanged glances with one another, and one or two of them nodded slightly.

“This shall be my final question. By your own account, that sword remains a potential threat to those around you. Then do you not harbor the desire to depart, to eliminate such a threat?”

Daphnen met the ghost’s gaze with bold defiance.
“Are you telling me to abandon the Pilgrims’ path and return to the Continent?”

“No, it is different. If you could journey to the place where the sword’s power might be understood, where you could learn to control that power—in other words, to where the one who created that sword dwells—would you undertake such a perilous adventure?”

Daphnen’s expression froze in place.
“You mean… someone created that sword? It was forged by human hands?”
The ghost shrugged slightly before responding.

“Again, it is somewhat different. Whether that being should be considered human or a living creature at all is a matter worth pondering. In any case, answer the question.”

“Of course… I will go. What reason would I have to refuse? I would gladly venture forth regardless of the danger. If you know where such a being dwells, please tell me.”
All questions had concluded. While Daphnen’s mind churned with the new revelations he had heard, the ghosts gathered the scattered dice.
The one who had first produced the leather pouch spoke.

“Through this exchange, we have come to know you somewhat better. You still have two questions remaining for us. Consider them carefully before you speak.”

One question was virtually predetermined. I suppressed the fierce heat rising in my chest and asked.
“You spoke of my brother earlier. What state is he in? He is certainly dead—I witnessed it myself and know it all too well. Has he become a ghost now? Or has he been revived?”

“Neither. He is ensnared by the power of the white armor and his own obsession, so he has not become a complete ghost, yet neither has he regained a living body.”
“He stands precisely at the boundary between the living and the dead—much as you once dwelt between your world and ours. His obsession is nothing other than an attachment to you. And there is also an event that occurred after you departed from him.”

As the ghosts withdrew slightly, a void opened between Daphnen and them.
From the empty ground, a silvery point emerged and gradually swelled, undulating softly. It gleamed and spread like molten mercury, then soon transformed into the shape of a vast mirror.
Yet it was not a solid mirror. Ripples rose ceaselessly from within it, like water from a spring.

“Look into it.”

Daphnen peered into the pool. At that moment, ripples erupted from the center as though a stone had been cast into it.
As the ripples spread outward, the water’s surface stilled and became smooth. An image flickered across it, gradually sharpening into a clear landscape.
There was no mistaking what he saw.
Daphnen gazed at it with his soul suspended, his throat tightening. It was Trabaches—the autumn-wind-swept wasteland, the familiar meadow from which he had parted with Yefnen forever.
It differed somewhat from the visions he occasionally glimpsed in dreams. Yet so many years had passed; change was inevitable.
But when unfamiliar carriages and horses arrived moments later and came to a halt, his heart began to race wildly.
When a figure emerged from within the carriage—a face he recognized—his complexion drained to an ashen pallor. Count Belnoir!
“How… how could this be…?”
Moments later, the meadow transformed into a nighttime scene. Unidentifiable shadows crossed the field.
Soon they reached the place where Yefnen had been buried and began excavating the earth with shovels and the like.
“…”
Endymion watched as Daphnen’s fury consumed him so utterly that words abandoned him. The specter, who had maintained composure for so long, found himself electrified by Daphnen’s rage in this moment.
Long ago, he had shattered the Memory Egg and shown Daphnen his cherished moments with Yefnen. Was that why? Had he perhaps absorbed Daphnen’s emotions when he possessed him?
In the vision, the shameless grave robbers nearly finished their excavation. He saw a woman leap into the tomb itself.
Daphnen did not even notice the two streams of tears flowing down his cheeks. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails threatened to draw blood from his palms.
The interior of the grave became illuminated. Daphnen instinctively bent forward, straining to see more clearly.
Within lay… him. The person Daphnen could not forget even in dreams, lying with eyes gently closed as though merely sleeping.
Yet soon it shattered like a dream.
The woman’s screams reached Daphnen’s ears. Only then did he recognize her identity. Yanika Gos—the mercenary who, long ago alongside Yefnen, had taught him the bitterness of the world a second time.
The moment he dimly surmised that this woman had served as Count Belnoir’s guide, the night in the vision suddenly began to tremble as though a storm were about to break.
For Daphnen, it was a tragedy he would have preferred never to witness.
One by one, those who had desecrated the grave fell. Yanika and the other men fled in panic, but they were slaughtered without exception by an invisible hand.
Because it was night, and because the killer’s form remained unseen, he could not discern the exact circumstances. Yet the answer already dwelt within his heart.
His Elder Brother, whom he had believed to have chosen eternal rest, remained alone in that land in a ghastly state that his younger brother could never wish to see.
Trapped by resentment because of the armor he had given, because of the anguish he had bestowed…
If his Elder Brother were to see Daphnen now, would he treat him differently than those grave robbers? Might he not, consumed by the tangled resentment Endymion had once described, fail to recognize anyone at all?
The vision grew dim.
When nothing remained visible, Daphnen’s voice emerged with surprising composure as he asked his question.
“What must I do to grant my brother eternal peace? No matter how difficult the condition, please tell me.”
Even as he spoke these words, Daphnen condemned himself. How could he have failed to see his Elder Brother even once in his dreams, when he suffered in such torment?

「The answer is the same as before. Seek out the one who forged the sword. All answers lie there. Your brother will find rest the moment the secrets of the sword and armor are revealed.」

One more reason to journey to that place had been added. Daphnen bowed his head in gratitude.
A specter, observing his gesture quietly, spoke.

「Then from this moment forward, I shall show you where that place lies. If you truly intend to go there, observe carefully.」

Daphnen gazed once more into the mercury spring, where something was beginning to take shape.

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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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