Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 202

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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 202.
Choose the Dawn (14)
I was startled to realize I could understand what the other person was saying. After all, even the puppets of Ganapoli had not spoken in a language I didn’t know?
Yet here, in a strange world I had never heard of before—not somewhere on the Continent—I encountered someone who spoke the same language. And above all, this person knew of the Winterer!
I still didn’t know whether the other harbored malice or goodwill, but since we could communicate, there was something I absolutely had to say.
“Thank you. I survived because of you.”
“Do you wish to express gratitude?”
I hesitated for a moment, but then spoke with firm resolve.
“Of course. If you tell me how, I will do whatever lies within my power.”
At that moment, I had no inkling of what would follow. Thus, when those utterly unexpected words spilled from the other’s lips, I found myself unable to muster an appropriate expression or response.
“Will you not give me that sword?”

Mist flowed between the blue night and golden day.
The world viewed from the sky while flying was far more terrifying. Wind swept in suddenly, scattering clouds, and with a flash, everything blazed bright before plunging into darkness again.
Damp air brushed my cheek, and in the next moment, water droplets fell steadily from my hair. It was a world of constant transformation. A realm of grotesque radiance.
For a time, dark clouds surrounded us on all sides. Soon the clouds dispersed, revealing an open sky above. Below, clouds spread like earth, writhing in shades of blue and purple, shifting into countless forms. Where did the light come from in a sky where neither sun nor moon existed?
Everything seemed like a strange painting. Purple, yellow-green, deep crimson—a world of terrifyingly vivid hues swirled around us.
“Are you a hero of this place? Or perhaps a god?”
Though I said ‘this place,’ I truly had no idea where we were. The winged one who held me as we crossed the sky answered.
“I am one you cannot fathom.”
“Then this place is….”
“A place you will never know.”
The winged one asked nothing. It acted without hesitation, as though it had known me all along.
I believed this being was the guide Epibiono had spoken of. So I followed without asking about our destination. Yet as we flew together through this strange world, so many questions arose that I could not bear to remain silent.
“Will you not even tell me your name?”
I couldn’t even determine whether this being was male or female. It was uncertain whether such distinctions existed in this world at all, but if I had to guess, I leaned toward male. Its hair was as white as Nayatrey’s.
“I did not ask for your name.”
It was a cold but efficient answer. I fell silent for a moment, then spoke again.
“Then at least tell me this—have you seen my companion? A young girl with silver hair like yours. We entered together, but I don’t know where she disappeared to, and I’m worried.”
I hadn’t expected much, but an unexpected answer came.
“The girl is safe.”
I asked urgently again.
“Where is she?”
“That child walks her own journey. A different path than yours.”
The clouds below parted. Only a portion split open, but at that moment, the winged one began to descend.
The landscape of the earth appeared in sequence. I saw a land frozen in blue. Something like black moss spread across it, and as we descended further, I realized it was a forest of blackened, withered brush.
We flew along gentle hills as if skimming their surface. Before a rocky mountain that rose like a spire, we descended. The black cave at the mountain’s base opened its mouth to greet us.
Only when my feet touched the ground did reality return. The intoxicated feeling I’d had while soaring through the sky, entranced by the strange display of colors, finally subsided.
Yet seeing the deep crimson wings, my heart stirred once more. The winged one gazed at the sky beyond the rocky mountain, shimmering with a pale golden light. A long silence passed, and then it spoke.
“Let me ask once more. Truly, you cannot give it up?”
Boris’s body tensed all at once.
“Yes. Exactly as I mentioned before.”
“….”
He could have seized it without hesitation. Yet the winged being merely gazed down at Boris with melancholy eyes.
He spoke.
“I have brothers. I am the third among males, and compared to my elder brothers’ strength and abilities, I remain insignificant. We have but a single sister, and though she is the youngest among us, she is in truth our greatest elder, cherished above all else by every one of us. I require your Winter Sword for her sake.”
Something felt profoundly strange. The words—elder brother, sister—seemed utterly incompatible with this being. Had he called himself a god, Boris might have believed it more readily.
Above all, having witnessed his combat moments before, Boris found it impossible to accept that someone stronger than him existed.
Yet this place was far too vast, too alien, too savage for Boris’s comprehension—a world where even the weakest adversary he had ever vanquished would become a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions.
“Why does she require it?”
Hearing a being he had deemed nearly absolute speak of family need made Boris feel his refusal was a grave discourtesy.
Even as he clung to what could not be surrendered, Boris genuinely endeavored to understand the other’s position, and asked thus.
“Unlike we brothers, my sister was born with finite life. The Great Mother granted her prolonged slumber for this reason. Yet even that reprieve nears its end. Soon she shall awaken from her long sleep and venture forth into the world, beginning a life desperately, achingly brief. How futile it must be. To we brothers, who have lived for immeasurable ages, her existence appears as tragic as a flower that blooms and withers in a single season. Thus have I long pondered whether there exists a way to grant her immortality, and your sword is that answer.”
Boris’s eyes widened with bewilderment.
“What connection does my sword have with immortality?”
“You mean to say you are unaware that the Winter Sword possesses the power to render its master immortal?”
Stunned by this unforeseen revelation, Boris stared at the winged being’s face for a long moment.
Reading emotion from his expressionless eyes was impossible. That he, who called himself immortal, would engage Boris in such discourse was perhaps an extraordinary act of humility on his part.
Boris managed to force out a brief response.
“I had no knowledge of this whatsoever.”
“Not all masters draw forth and enjoy the immortal power within. For a race such as yours, blessed with brief lifespans, understanding becomes all the more difficult. Like countless other victims, you are likely to become a tormented soul ensnared within the sword’s grasp.”
Images Boris had witnessed long ago flickered before his eyes. All of them had once harbored will, yet ultimately remained as shadows bound within the blade.
“Though I must respect your choice, perhaps taking the sword from you would truly be aiding you. I do not believe a mortal can wield such immense power. Great strength in weak hands inevitably becomes evil.”
In that moment, Boris found himself responding without thought.
“Then does it become good when held in strong hands?”
Their eyes met. Yet Boris could not long endure the radiance emanating from the other’s gaze, and soon turned away.
“You trust yourself as befits a mortal. Their courage is beautiful, yet terribly ephemeral.”
Boris knew not what to answer. The winged being placed a hand to his brow and released a long sigh. Though the gesture held no exaggeration, Boris found himself infected by his emotion, shivering with sorrow.
“You are perhaps divine, or at the very least a being of comparable nature. Whichever you may be, I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness. As you say, my past and future are both brief, and in the end I have only myself to trust. This refusal to release the sword may be nothing more than foolish attachment. Yet just as one cannot fathom immortal existence before becoming immortal, I have no choice but to live within the bounds of my limitations.”
The winged being tilted his pale brow back and gazed once more at the Rocky Mountain. His wings unfurled. Each wing alone spanned twice his height, and his movements possessed a grandeur beyond measure.
He pointed toward the rocky cave.
“Enter there. The one you seek awaits within.”
Boris bowed deeply in gratitude.
There was much he wished to say, yet he dared not voice it. What comfort could a mortal offer for a sister who would never become immortal?
As Boris hesitated, the being spread his wings wider and spoke curtly.
“Go.”
Just before turning away, Boris spoke.
“I am Boris Jineman.”
With all four wings fully unfurled, silver hair amid violet plumage created an eerie harmony. Rising skyward with a single wingbeat, he gazed down upon Boris and spoke.
“It seems the destinies granted to both my sister and you are not easily broken. Young master of the Winterer, I am Jordans.”
The cave was shrouded in absolute darkness.
I pressed my palm against the wall and moved forward through that lightless void. Within moments, my hand grew numb, all sensation fading. The cave, it seemed, was carved from ice. Yet despite my touch, the frozen surface showed no sign of melting.
Only the sharp stones catching at my feet and the distant echo of dripping water assured me I was awake and not dreaming. If I had to name one other thing, it was the relentless cold. I had entered a cavern without wind, yet somehow the temperature plummeted with each step forward.
As I descended deeper, the cave traced a gentle slope downward. I continued far longer still.
Following the wall, I suddenly realized I had circled back to where I began—only then did I understand I had reached a vast chamber. Were there no other passages? I swept my eyes slowly across the darkness, searching.
“What will you find by looking about so aimlessly?”
The voice startled me. Though it carried the timbre of an old man, it resonated with the strength of dozens of youths speaking in unison, tinged with a metallic harshness like struck bronze.
Through my encounters with spirits, I had grown bold in such matters. When the voice did not return, I called out myself.
“Who are you? Are you the one I seek?”
Then the surroundings blazed with light.
A pallid radiance—tinged with an icy blue—poured from the walls on all sides.
As I had suspected, the walls were ice. Layered upon itself in terrifying thickness, it looked as though even flame would freeze rather than melt it.
“Even with light, you still cannot see. It seems your problem is not illumination, but observation.”
After searching for some time, my eyes finally caught something. A faint shadow suspended within the Ice Wall itself. Or perhaps beyond it, in some other space? The outline was so dim that without the voice, I would never have found it.
“Where do you think you are?”
The question came without warning. I shook my head awkwardly.
“This is the end of the world. Or perhaps the beginning. A boundary stone. Impossibly thick ice. A border between worlds. The world you know stands upon this ice.”
“I entered here through a well in my world. Then if I pass through this ice, my world lies beyond?”
“If you’re curious, break through the ice and see for yourself.”
A rasping laugh echoed through the chamber. In that room of ice where the unseen voice resonated, I felt a chill run through me. I had no time for cryptic exchanges in such a place.
“I have come seeking the one who forged my blade—this sword called the Winter Sword, or Winterer. Are you that person? If so, I ask that you answer me: why did you create this terrible sword, and how? What must I do, bearing such a blade?”

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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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