Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 190

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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 190.
Choose the Dawn (2)
Boris watched everything unfold from where he sat. The swift, practiced movements of disarming an opponent flickered back to life in the recesses of his memory.
Yet she moved with greater strength and finesse than before. In a single breath, she neutralized three weapons and evaded the rest, standing upright to face those who had attacked her.
But there was no anger in her expression.
The people, bewildered by the girl’s astonishing movements, had begun to suspect she might be something akin to a ghost. The innkeeper’s voice grew hollow with uncertainty as he posed his question.
“What exactly are you? Human or spirit?”
The girl held no weapon in her hands—a sign she had never intended to attack from the start.
Beneath the turban commonly worn by Recordable Mercenaries, braided silver hair swayed before falling still. Though she offered no answer, the moment the girl ceased her movements, the murmuring crowd gradually lowered their weapons.
When the girl’s emotionless gaze swept across the room and met Boris’s eyes, he knew with absolute certainty. It could be no one else.
The Mercenary Girl who had aided him in Trabaches—it was her. He had heard mercenaries gathered here in great numbers, but he never imagined meeting her in such a manner.
Yet her name eluded him.
….
Whether the girl recognized Boris remained unknown. She simply sat in a nearby chair and spoke briefly to the One-Eyed Man standing beside her.
“Water.”
The One-Eyed Man responded with appropriate action without requiring explanation—he fetched a glass of water and then asked.
“Food?”
“Yes.”
The tense crowd was taken aback by the girl’s behavior, which defied all expectations, yet none wished to show it.
So they returned to their seats with composed expressions, embarrassed by the commotion a single small girl had caused, and hoping their peers in the same profession would forget their reactions.
Some quietly rose and retrieved their swords from where they had been driven into the floor.
But the One-Eyed Man could not suppress his curiosity. He brought several dishes to the girl’s table and asked in a deliberately casual tone.
“But how did you open that door? The mechanism should have been hidden. How did you even know such a door existed there?”
“You told me to find it.”
The One-Eyed Man recalled his earlier words about finding one’s own destiny. The girl had already turned away, stirring her soup with deliberate movements.
Once the inn had grown quiet, Boris climbed down from the ceiling hatch, making quite a commotion in the process, and approached the displeased innkeeper with a question.
“Who is the person who has ventured deepest into the Wasteland?”
These people called themselves “Wasteland Hunters,” and they simply referred to the Land of Mortals as the Wasteland. The name “Land of Mortals” seemed inauspicious to those who made it their livelihood. The name “Kaires Desert,” used in places like Lemme and Recordable, was far too grandiose for these impatient folk to pronounce.
“Planning to venture into the Wasteland?”
It was a predictable purpose for a foreigner arriving in Yuldruyi, yet the innkeeper raised his voice as if to dissuade him. Boris simply nodded and fell silent, waiting for an answer.
After a moment, the innkeeper replied with a displeased expression.
“Without question, it’s that woman Larazabi. There are rumors she crossed half the Wasteland. I’ve personally seen her bring back an absurd amount of gold. It would make sense for her to build a villa somewhere in Hyacan with that wealth, but that pathetic woman couldn’t abandon her hunter’s work—it’s almost laughably tragic.”
“Where might I find her?”
“The obvious answer? Her soul went to hell and her body to the earth. You can’t expect someone who lived that way to die of natural causes.”
A man at a nearby table interjected.
“Listen here, innkeeper. You’re declaring her dead without even seeing a corpse? At this rate, if I don’t show up here for a few years, you’ll go ahead and put me in a coffin yourself.”
The innkeeper raised his voice in response.
“Larazabi always prepared her equipment here before heading into the Wasteland, and she always returned when the hunt was finished! The items she left with me the last time she departed are still sitting in that corner, perfectly intact. But she hasn’t returned in years, has she? If she’s not dead, did she marry a ghost or something?”
“Who’s to say what really happened? Hehehehe….”
It seemed better to speak before the conversation devolved into pointless bickering.
“Very well. In any case, it’s reassuring to know such a person existed. I’ll purchase supplies—might you show me a map?”
Boris had gleaned enough from conversations in Noamid to know that this place housed the finest map of the Land of Mortals on the entire Continent. The hunters continually added newly explored territories to it, so the map improved with each passing year.
“Want to see the map? That’ll be one Tibow silver coin.”
Boris withdrew a silver coin from his inner pocket and placed it on the table. The One-Eyed Man promptly retrieved the map. When unfolded, it proved quite expansive.
Other nations were marked only with rough positions, while the Land of Mortals dominated the center, its borderlands rendered in meticulous geographical detail. Of course, everything beyond a certain distance inward remained blank—untouched by pen or ink.
Boris scanned it briefly, then pointed his finger at a spot deep within the white expanse.
“I’ll be traveling to this location. Please prepare the necessary supplies.”
The men who had been engaged in pointless argument nearby glanced at the map, saw where Boris’s finger indicated, and their expressions shifted to one of disbelief. Moments later, the proprietor began to chuckle.
“Listen here—are you having a laugh at an old, ailing innkeeper’s expense? Do you even know what that place is? Why would a fresh-faced youth like yourself go searching for a grave to die in? If you want to die, there are far better prospects right here in the vicinity!”
“If I die nearby, at least my body can be placed in a grave.”
“Do you know how many empty graves there are in Yuldruyi? If you want to find out, go look at the graveyard behind the vegetable patch!”
“When Larazabi boasted she would traverse the Wasteland, she’d already ventured through that land more than a dozen times! If you have a life to throw away on recklessness, you should donate it to an old man like me instead!”
Boris waited for them to finish speaking before repeating himself.
“I’ll be traveling to this location. Please prepare the necessary supplies.”
The proprietor ceased his laughter and attempted to examine Boris’s face more closely.
However, the lowered hood revealed only his nose and the line of his closed mouth. As the proprietor prepared to speak again, the One-Eyed Man interjected.
“Elder Brother Rockmode, just give him what he needs. But when he returns after not getting far and tries to sell the equipment back, absolutely don’t offer him half price.”
Rockmode, the proprietor, lowered the corners of his mouth and cast his eyes downward, then observed Boris’s hand resting on the table. He studied its shape thoughtfully before asking.
“Why do you wish to go there?”
“I have business to attend to.”
“Is there some matter requiring substantial funds? I could introduce you to someone I might lend to.”
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not a matter of money.”
“Then what is it? Mages do come by occasionally to study the Ganapoli Kingdom, but judging by your hands—which have clearly wielded a sword—that doesn’t seem to be your purpose. What do you think lies there? There’s no guarantee you’ll find wealth by venturing deeper. The further south you go, the more sand consumes the land, and both visible and invisible spirits will pursue your body day and night, seeking to possess it. Should they succeed in taking your body, we’ll have no choice but to kill you ourselves.”
Boris lifted his head slightly within the hood before responding.
“If that comes to pass, I beg you—please do so.”
“….”
Rockmode’s expression hardened. He said nothing more and turned toward the side door adjoining the kitchen. He began retrieving items and stacking them in succession upon the bar.
Sacks of biscuits and grain flour, dried fruits bound with twine, several leather water skins, a yew staff, blankets, several towels, a small shovel, chunks of rock salt like stones—and more.
He then brought out a fresh map, folded away the first one, and spread this new one in its place. This map bore only the basic terrain, with no other markings.
Rockmode dipped his pen in ink and drew a curved line from Yuldruyi village inward into the Land of Mortals, spanning roughly a hand’s breadth.
“An old road from the Ganapoli Kingdom remains here. Even if you wander, finding this road will at least ensure you don’t lose your way back.”
He then drew circles at two locations some distance from that line.
“Here, and here—hunters have confirmed springs at these points. At this season, water will certainly be present, so even if you stray from your intended path, you must stop at these springs. Even so, water will be scarce.”
Boris nodded, and Rockmode held up one of the water skins.
“Fill this skin to capacity, and it will sustain you for a day and a half. Assume you’ll drink five times daily and ration accordingly. If you walk only in the evening, night, and early morning—avoiding the day—that amount will suffice. When thirst strikes, holding a small pebble in your mouth helps. But know this: if you try to conserve beyond that, you won’t travel far before your body fails you.”
Having said this much, Rockmode tilted his head, considered for a moment, then spoke again.
“At that rate, even if you replenish fully at the last spring, the farthest you could reach would be approximately….”
He pointed to a location and marked it with an X in pen.
“This would be your limit.”
It was a point far closer than where Boris had initially indicated he wished to go. Yet Boris nodded and accepted this.
“I’ll remember your advice well.”
Boris paid the exact amount the innkeeper demanded without haggling. Perhaps because the Wasteland required everything to be sold in bulk, the prices were about twice as expensive as elsewhere, yet he paid without complaint.
He placed five Seed silver coins worth 17 Tibow each, one 50 Tibow gold coin, and several Elsono coins on the counter.
At that moment, Boris felt someone approaching from behind and quickly tensed his body.
But the hand that came forward merely placed several silver coins, gold coins, and copper coins on the table—the exact same amount Boris had just paid.
A voice spoke.
“The same as that.”
Boris turned around. Standing behind him was the Mercenary Girl from moments before. Rockmode asked with a suspicious expression.
“Are you planning to head into the heart of the Wasteland too?”
“No.”
“Then?”
The girl raised her finger and pointed to a location in the southern part of Anomarad.
“Here.”
Rockmode’s expression turned bewildered.
“There? You’d have to cross the Rosenberg Gate for that. This young man is trying to enter the heart of the Wasteland. You don’t need equipment like this, little miss. In fact, you couldn’t even carry it.”
“Rosenberg?”
The girl’s eyes shifted slightly, then pinpointed the exact location of the Rosenberg Gate, the passage between Lemme and Anomarad.
“Here?”
Rockmode grasped the girl’s finger and traced a route on the map: heading north to East Tibo Bay, taking a ship and turning toward West Tibo Bay, disembarking at Eltibo, the capital of Lemme, then continuing southwest to the Rosenberg Gate, and from there heading straight south.
“That’s the way to go.”
The girl’s answer was brief.
“It’s too far.”

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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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