Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 192

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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 192.
Choose the Dawn (4)
As I approached the Village Entrance, several Mercenaries had gathered—some who had just arrived in Yuldruyi or were about to depart for the Land of Mortals.
They exchanged greetings among themselves and loudly welcomed reunions, patting shoulders in a manner that resembled a bustling marketplace. There were multiple horses and carriages, and far more llamas than either.
Two llamas, a Young Boy, and a Young Girl passed through their midst. The Young Boy, wearing a hood pulled low like a member of the Monastic Order, and the Young Girl, whose silver hair gleamed beneath a turban, quickened their pace toward the desolate horizon, blending into another group of Mercenaries.
Among the Mercenaries, a young man spotted another and embraced him warmly, planting kisses on both cheeks. At first glance, his appearance differed somewhat from the Mercenaries crowding this place. His hair was soft, his jaw narrow, and his complexion fair.
A man resembling him waited just behind, watching for him to finish his business.
“Business been good lately? Did you fleece that rural nobleman well back then? I haven’t had a decent job come my way in ages. This time some addled fool asked me to find his runaway son, and I wanted to ask around. You ever seen someone who looks like this? This is what he looked like five years ago.”
Just after the young man pulled out a worn portrait from his pocket and showed it to the Mercenary, Boris and Nayatrey passed by them.
The young man caught a glimpse of them but showed no interest. He could not have imagined that the small, delicate boy in the portrait had grown into such a physique.
The Mercenary who examined the portrait let out a derisive snort and replied.
“I don’t know. How could such a soft, weakling boy crawl into a dangerous place like Yuldruyi of his own accord? A wretch like this must surely be sprawled in some gambling den in a bustling district.”
The Mercenary, speaking with unwarranted certainty, pushed the portrait away and asked in a casual tone.
“Anyway, Yuritchi, why don’t you stop wasting time on this nonsense and come scrape together some gold with our crew? With your skills, you’d get a decent cut.”

Four days later, only a blue horizon meeting yellow earth remained beside Boris and Nayatrey.
Before two days had even passed, the Mercenaries departed in search of their own interests. Only two people continued walking along the ancient roads of Ganapoli. Two llamas followed behind them.
Even calling the two of them a party seemed like a stretch, for in four days of walking together, they had exchanged more than three words only once a day.
Those three words were “let’s eat,” “let’s depart,” and “let’s make camp,” and even then, when one spoke, the other merely nodded in response.
It was not always Boris who initiated. Boris himself was not particularly sociable and felt no need to broach trivial conversation. Thus they continued southward.
The Land of Mortals was also called the Desert, though it was not unbearably hot. This was partly because they remained in the north, close to Lemme.
Still, Boris and Nayatrey walked in the evening, night, and morning hours, avoiding the sun as much as possible, and ate only twice a day.
Carefully rationing the water was the most critical task. By the fifth day, I planned to alter our course toward a Sacred Spring. If we did not stray significantly, we should arrive at the spring with one waterskin to spare.
Yet nothing appeared, which seemed strange.
I had heard since childhood of the blood-hungry Spirits that wandered the Land of Mortals and had steeled myself accordingly. But I saw neither Spirits nor mirages. Then again, my body’s condition remained good enough that I would not yet see mirages.
Soon I turned my attention to the ancient road we were following. It was wide enough for two large carriages to pass side by side and bore traces of having been meticulously paved with stone and mortar.
Though no one maintained it, its original form had not deteriorated much. There were few places where it had crumbled and sunken, and the edges on both sides showed only scattered cracks.
Soon I noticed that the craftsmanship of the road paving matched the stones I had seen in the Island—or rather, in the Alternate Space of the Island.
This made sense. The Spirits of the Island had originally been people of Ganapoli, and they must have recreated their world in the image of the land they had inhabited.
Yet the beautiful blue stones I had seen in the Alternate Space were now covered entirely in yellow dust, transformed into rough, weathered stone.
As the sun rose again and slowly warmed the thousand-year-old stones, the two prepared to make camp.
Preparation was not simple. With no trees or rocky outcrops nearby to provide shade, they had to dig into the sand to create sleeping quarters.
Of course, the underground beds they prepared this way were intensely hot. But it was better than being baked like clay figures under the sun all day.
The ground near the road remained firm, so finding earth soft enough to dig with a small shovel required venturing roughly a hundred paces from the road.
Once we found suitable spots, each of us dug a place to lie down. We made sure to dig perpendicular to the road’s direction so as not to lose our bearings.
Once our bodies barely fit into the holes we had dug, we covered our faces with cloth. Soon the sand began to trickle down slowly, and by the time it became difficult to turn over, we were already asleep.
I had worried about where to tether the llamas, but Nayatrey pulled out a suspicious black cloth from her pack, unfolded it, and draped it over the llamas’ bodies.
It was strange, but the llamas stood motionless beneath the cloth through the night. The cloth was stiff but had an odd sheen, and it emitted something like a medicinal smell.
Around evening, I suddenly awoke from sleep.
Since the sun was still up, I left the cloth in place and remained still for a moment. There was no sound. Yet something had definitely awakened me from my sleep.
Boris listened carefully and grasped the hilt of the sword I had placed in the sand pit alongside myself.
Though I didn’t know what sense had roused me, I trusted myself. There was certainly something nearby. What constricted my chest was not the pressure of sand.
This was a land where spirits wandered freely, after all. Nothing would be strange to encounter here.
Shortly after, an unfamiliar sound reached my ears. A short melody with a shrill tone repeated itself. It sounded like a small flute.
Then the oppressive feeling that had filled the surroundings dissolved, and I sensed something transparent as air slipping away. Boris pushed aside the cloth and rose to his feet.
Emerging from the pit, I found Nayatrey already outside and seated. As expected, the flute was in her hands. It was less a flute than a small pipe.
“What was that?”
Nayatrey didn’t answer. She tucked the flute into her garment and stood, looking around. After concentrating her senses on something for a long while, she turned to Boris and spoke.
“Let’s go.”
It was an earlier departure than usual. We quickly gathered our belongings and left that place, returning to where the road lay. As we did, the sun descended and darkness fell around us.
As Boris walked, I decided I had to ask clearly this time.
“Does that flute drive away spirits?”
“….”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
Suddenly Nayatrey looked at Boris.
“It does?”
Boris met Nayatrey’s gaze with an ambiguous expression, then found a clever response.
“Doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
“It does.”
“I suppose it does.”
After this truly exasperating exchange, the two of us walked in silence for a long while.
I was absently listening to the sound of sand dragging beneath my boot soles when, surprisingly, Nayatrey spoke first.
“Be careful.”
“Of what?”
“Behind you.”
Boris didn’t ask further. I drew my sword and spun around, slashing through empty air. It was a perfect motion I couldn’t have imagined four years ago. And the blade’s tip struck something.
There was no sound.
“!”
A strange sensation came to my hand, as though I had pierced folded air. But beyond the puncture was again nothing but empty space—as if I had thrust my blade into a sheet someone was holding taut.
Boris withdrew the sword. Now I felt nothing.
Turning around, I found Nayatrey standing with her back to me.
“….”
She said nothing, but I understood she wanted her back protected. It was the right judgment. Soon the moment came.
Boris felt the pressure of air once more, while Nayatrey sensed something slightly different.
Relying on their respective senses, the two of us defended forward. Boris with the sword Nauplion had given him, Nayatrey with a sharp short blade that might span two hand-widths including its hilt.
But this time neither of us managed to strike anything.
The sound of llamas nervously shifting their feet reached our ears. Most of our survival supplies—water, provisions, and the like—were loaded on the llamas’ backs. If the llamas bolted into the darkness, it would be catastrophic.
Moreover, if the llamas were killed by this unknown enemy, the journey would become extraordinarily difficult. Yet there was nothing we could do about it immediately.
Their backs did not touch, yet tension flowed between them. Since they only needed to follow the path, they had lit no torch. The surroundings were pitch-dark, and only moonlight was visible.
Boris did not favor the moon that reminded him of Moon Queen’s Land, which he had been forced to abandon. That inconvenient moon hung upon the horizon, staring down at him—as if mocking him for trying to see what could not be seen.
Yet Boris sensed it again: pressure bearing down upon them. The sword he swung left and right produced a sharp, piercing sound, as though it had torn through some invisible veil before it.
Screech!
It vanished again. But now that he knew something was there, he could not move—as if caught in a trap.
When tension reached its peak after a stretch of eerie silence, Nayatrey suddenly spoke.
“Have you ever been to Anomarad?”
I had no idea why she would ask such a thing at this moment, but I answered curtly.
“Yes.”
“What was it like?”
Why ask such a thing now, of all times?
“…Prosperous.”
“And?”
“And… like other places on the Continent, it was home to diverse peoples.”
“Did you stay long?”
“Long enough to understand it somewhat.”
“Did you like it there?”
Whether she was trying to ease the tension or not, I could not concentrate, and my nerves grew sharp.
There had been plenty of time to ask such questions before, so I could not understand why she chose this moment. I grew irritated and answered with some displeasure.
“I did not care for it. Just as I do not care for you asking such things now.”
In that instant, Nayatrey leaped forward and drew a short line with her dagger. I heard it too—a sharp cutting sound.
And a strange wind brushed against my left cheek. When I severed my sword to the left, I saw Nayatrey dart in that direction as well.
In the darkness where it was difficult to perceive each other’s movements, two blades scattered the same target in opposite directions, tearing through yet another thin membrane. There was no time to protect each other.
I saw Nayatrey’s dagger blade approach and recede in an instant before my eyes. With a whisper, a handful of my hair was severed and scattered into the air.
When both our movements ceased, Nayatrey’s voice reached me—more composed than usual.
“Ending them is wrong. If we cannot kill them in one strike, there will be no second chance.”

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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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