Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 21

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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 21
The Winter Sword (21)

Tonya, who managed the counter at the inn, was the innkeeper’s eighteen-year-old daughter. When a small boy entered alone and asked for a room in a surprisingly mature tone, she tilted her head in puzzlement.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, I am.”
The boy was small, but his manner of speech suggested he was no foolish child. His voice held no fear, and he did not hesitate. After a moment, Tonya shrugged with an expression that seemed to say, why not?
“Alright then. Shall I give you the cheaper room?”
“Yes, please.”
“That’ll be five silver coins. There’s a room attached to the side of the kitchen over there. The bed is a bit small, but I don’t think that will trouble you.”
Boris withdrew the silver coins he had counted out beforehand from his pocket and handed them over. He instinctively knew it was unwise to display an entire purse. As Tonya took the money, Boris spoke in a slightly lowered voice.
“Um, and…”
Tonya, who had a rough-and-ready nature, felt curiosity toward this young boy traveling alone, so she responded in a tone kinder than usual.
“And?”
“I was wondering if you might know of a place that would hire even a small child like me. I don’t need payment—just food and shelter would be enough…”
Boris possessed a temperament somewhat similar to Yefnen’s, so it took considerable courage to voice such a request. Tonya’s eyes widened slightly as she examined the boy anew.
“You’re looking for work?”
This time, the answer came easily.
“Yes.”
“Hmm…”
Boris looked up at Tonya’s face for the first time. He found himself wishing he were already her age.
Tonya looked down at Boris in return. Having spent much time observing the inn’s counter, she suspected this boy had not been raised in a common household.
“You truly don’t mind any kind of work?”
When an unexpected answer came from Tonya’s lips, Boris tensed without realizing it and replied.
“No, any work at all.”
“Well, I can’t promise anything, but I recall Bunin from the Blacksmith’s Shop mentioning he needed an apprentice. I’ll ask him about it. If that doesn’t work out, the merchants who pass through here might need an errand boy.”
Tonya continued, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling as she murmured.
“A boy who looks like you might even appeal to wealthy ladies as a servant.”
Boris simply opened his eyes without expression, then lowered them again. As Tonya looked down at such a boy, her lips twitched in what might have been amusement.
“In any case, if I hear of anything promising, I’ll let you know. Now go rest in your room.”
After Boris bowed his head and entered his room, Tonya wondered whether the boy had eaten dinner.
“So there really was nothing?”
Camia dreaded looking at her peer’s face. The young lady was still wearing the same clothes as she was. Moreover, there was no good news to report.
“Then we should look elsewhere! This is such a large city—what do the nobles here wear?”
“This is the countryside, miss. Garments like those you wear must be made to order.”
“Hmph!”
Rosnis, irritated, flopped onto the bed. Just then came a knock at the door.
“Rosnis, it’s Father. May I come in?”
Though she was still young, her father treated her with the courtesy due a lady, so she could not remain in such a state. Rosnis quickly rose, smoothed her skirts, and answered.
“Yes, Father.”
Count Belnoir entered through the door with a charming dress draped over his arm, made from the emerald-green fabric that Rosnis adored most. It was new and satisfyingly luxurious, so Rosnis gasped with delight and cried out.
“Father!”
Hugh, the secretary who followed him in, closed the door behind them. Count Belnoir spoke.
“Your father saw how our little lady was at a loss without proper clothes, so he hurried out to rescue you. Do you like it?”
The moment Rosnis accepted the dress, she held it up to herself and answered with a radiant smile.
“I love it!”
“Then put it on quickly. Your father will take you for an evening outing. A wise lady must observe the customs of many lands.”
“Yes!”
After the Count left, Rosnis shed the clothes she despised with Camia’s help and hastily changed into the new dress.
When Rosnis caught her reflection in the mirror, a subtle smile blossomed across her face. With her bright lemon-colored hair cascading gracefully and her emerald eyes gleaming, she looked so beautiful that she startled herself. Though in truth, it wasn’t merely the dress—it was also because the murky feeling that had clouded her for half a day had finally lifted.
Camia clapped her hands beside her, flattering her young mistress. The two, brimming with excitement, soon descended the stairs.
The Count had finished preparing the horses and was waiting. After the Count mounted and Rosnis, aided by a servant, settled in front of her father, she asked what had been puzzling her.
“But Father, where did you find the dress? Camia said she only saw the tailor’s shop.”
“Your father bought it from that very tailor’s shop.”
Rosnis’s eyes widened in surprise.
“How?”
“A dress was being made there on commission from the Neighboring Village. I purchased it for double the price.”
“Ah.”
Rosnis smiled sweetly and nodded. Then she leaned comfortably against her father, who held the reins.
The horse departed. Behind the Count, Hugh the secretary and three escort knights followed on horseback as well.
Camia watched the departing horses and thought how fortunate the young lady was to have such a good father.
Her own father had sold her to a nobleman as a servant the moment she was born, and he was a drunkard who remained perpetually intoxicated whenever he had a few coins to his name. Years ago, he had abandoned the house and never returned.

“Hey, you there… open the door for me, would you?”
Tonya cursed her own foolishness for never asking the boy’s name as she knocked on the door. She’d assumed he’d be deep in sleep, but to her surprise, an answer came quickly and the door swung open.
“Come on out. The blacksmith wants to see you.”
It appeared the boy hadn’t been sleeping at all. As they walked together, Tonya asked what his name was.
“Boris… sir.”
“Call me Tonya.”
For some reason, it felt wrong to mention his surname. Tonya didn’t press further and led him to a table in the corner of the hall. A man in his forties with a tall frame and unusually thick forearms sat there, gulping down beer.
“Uncle Bunin, this is him.”
The man glanced sideways at Boris, sizing him up briefly, then spoke.
“Scrawny little thing, aren’t you? Think you can handle blacksmith work?”
Boris had no way of knowing what blacksmith work entailed. He started to nod reflexively but caught himself and spoke instead.
“To be honest, I don’t know what the work involves.”
“Hm.”
Bunin set down his beer mug and studied the boy carefully. Then he spoke.
“You’re not a liar, at least. One look at you and I could tell you’re no commoner’s child. What family are you from? Has there been conflict recently?”
“…”
The boy’s dark eyes troubled him. As a blacksmith, Bunin had supplied weapons for conflicts more than once. He knew well what such things meant.
Conflict was what happened when those who had something wanted to seize more from one another, and since the common folk lived on regardless of who held power, few people like Bunin could discern such matters at a glance.
Even as a Republic, Trabaches remained a society of rigid classes. The commoners had no voting rights to elect a prince-elector or representatives.
“Don’t want to talk about it?”
Bunin asked again, peering at Boris’s face as he stood in silence. When still no answer came, he drained the rest of his beer and spoke.
“Come to the blacksmith’s shop early tomorrow morning. I’ll have you do some work, and if you’re worthless, I’ll throw you out.”
Boris took the words at face value, but Tonya’s face brightened. She’d known Bunin for a long time and understood that words like these amounted to acceptance.
“Hey, aren’t you going to thank Uncle Bunin?”
Pushed by Tonya’s urging, Boris found himself bowing his head without thinking, then being led back to his room by her hand.
Tonya told him to wait a moment, then went to the kitchen and returned with a full bowl of warm soup.
“You didn’t eat dinner, did you? Have some of this.”
The soup wasn’t thin broth but rather hearty, filled with vegetables and chunks of meat.
Boris looked at Tonya for a moment before accepting the bowl and taking a sip. Tonya let out a soft laugh and spoke.
“You need to get into the habit of saying thank you when you’re grateful.”
It wasn’t a rebuke—she’d already read gratitude clearly enough in his eyes.
“Thank you… sister.”
Though it felt a bit embarrassing, Boris pulled a shriveled piece of bread from his pocket and dipped it into the soup. Tonya simply smiled.
Once he’d finished, warmth spread through his body. As Tonya took the bowl and left, Boris lay on the bed, lost in thought.
A blacksmith’s shop was where farm tools and weapons were made—surely grueling and dangerous work. Yet that wasn’t what troubled him. What did trouble him was a lesson born in his heart from all he’d endured recently.
Could he trust these people?
There were those who’d approached him like saviors, only to try stealing the sword he coveted and selling it to a mercenary band.
He’d seen adults who pretended to offer him shelter kindly, all while calculating how to pocket a few coins.
Those who’d seemed like close companions had betrayed each other the moment danger arrived.
Tonya and Uncle Bunin seemed kind, but they might harbor hidden intentions. In his experience, those who were unusually kind had invariably harbored the most sinister plans.
After deliberating, Boris rose from his seat, fastened his sword to his side, and stepped outside.
The night had grown late. He slipped past Tonya, who was busy at the counter, and ventured beyond the inn. He meant to verify whether such a blacksmith’s shop truly existed in this place. And if possible, he wanted to discern whether the blacksmith was an honest man.
As Boris walked into the street, he nearly found himself trampled beneath four galloping horses bearing down at full speed.
The fault was not his own. The riders had ignored the pedestrians and charged forward recklessly. In their wake, people scattered like ants across the thoroughfare.
“Whoa!”
Unable to dodge in time, Boris crouched low against the ground. One of the horses halted directly above him, then, still shifting its legs nervously, lashed out and struck his ribs with a sharp kick. He rolled to the side and escaped the street, but the pain persisted.
“What’s this! Do you wish to die, blocking the road like that!”
The accusation that he had blocked the road was pure fabrication. As Boris barely managed to rise and lift his head, four arrogant riders sat mounted upon their restless steeds, looking down at him with contempt. They exchanged snickering laughter among themselves as though they had discovered an amusing diversion.
“If you’ve obstructed the path of your betters, you should prostrate yourself and beg forgiveness at once—what are you staring at!”
Their authority was so overwhelming that the onlookers merely exchanged nervous glances before dispersing. Boris found himself uncertain how to respond. He was not yet accustomed to lowering his head.
“I apologize for obstructing the way, but… it seems equally wrong for riders to gallop at such speed through a crowded street.”
“Huh?”
“Listen to how he speaks. The fool hasn’t come to his senses yet.”
The riders laughed in disbelief, their mirth hollow and cruel. One of them spoke.
“Why don’t we help him regain his senses, brother?”
“I was thinking the very same thing!”
The foremost rider raised his whip high and brought it down upon Boris without hesitation.

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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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