Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 224

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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 224.
Choose the Dawn (36)
I have not forgotten a single word of the conversation I shared with Yefnen in the Meadow. The blood spilled by my Family, the legacy of that blood—I was told not to accept it.
“To sever that cycle, Tulk, there may certainly be methods like yours. But just as you follow the way that Yulken Jineman left as your legacy, I will follow the path of Yefnen Jineman.”
Their eyes met directly. In this moment, Boris found Tulk no longer difficult to face.
Toward the final steward of House Jineman, a resolute voice spoke.
“I am not like you. You are a steward, and you need only die for someone, but I cannot. As you said, I am the master of this house. I must ‘live’ for someone. That is the way of a patriarch that I have chosen.”
Boris set down his napkin and rose from his seat.
The Silent Steward listened to every word without changing his expression. Then he stood and bowed deeply before speaking.
“As you wish, Master Boris Jineman.”
Even the sunset had vanished, and four candles illuminated the final banquet of the crumbling manor….
Before them, Boris heard the word “Master” for the first time.
The members of the Family had died one by one, and now the last remaining souls sought to end the tragic history in their own ways. It would end. Like this manor crumbling and disappearing, it would be buried within Emera Lake.
Boris gazed down at the dish that rose with only faint steam, now grown cold. He picked up his knife and fork, placing them diagonally on the empty plate to the right—a gesture signifying a meal well enjoyed.
“Tulk, I am deeply grateful for your devotion to my father. In the name of Yulken Jineman’s son, I release you from the Family today. Go your own path now. But I will not forget the words I heard today. From now on, I cannot help but remember that I am the master of House Jineman.”
Tulk straightened from his bow and regarded Boris with an enigmatic gaze. Boris read in that face something like a wound that would never fade, no matter how many years passed.
Tulk spoke.
“Young Miss Yenichka was left at the Lakeside. By now, she will be asleep, unaware of the world. Go to that very place that exists in your memory.”
Boris nodded and passed through the Banquet Hall with quickened steps. As he reached the entrance, Tulk spoke from behind.
“Be cautious. You may encounter the one who sat there until recently. This is my final word as the steward of this Family. Master of House Jineman, preserve your strength and pride as you live on.”
Tulk’s hand pointed across the dining table. Boris looked upon Tulk’s face one last time before flying down the stairs.

“Yenichka!”
Blado Jineman had arrived half an hour before Boris. The moment he reached Emera Lake, he began searching every corner of the lakeside for traces of his daughter.
Throughout the frantic ride from Ron, Blado’s mind had been consumed by madness.
When he encountered Tulk at the Jineman Residence and found Yenichka absent from his side, he had forced himself to listen calmly to extract information about her whereabouts. But at the mere mention of “Emera Lakeside,” he could bear no more and had bolted from the manor, wandering through thickets and swamps.
These past days, his heart had become like the manor itself—corroded by the venom of Krigar’s poison.
Emera Lake.
Longord, which he had seized by pushing aside his Elder Brother Yulken, yet he had not remained there even a year. Since departing then, he had returned only once—until today.
Emera Lake was his first time back since that night of the final battle. Blado had consciously tried to suppress such thoughts. The swamp that Emera Lake had become, the place that had consumed his sister and brother in turn.
The thought that the hands that killed them were his own had always clung to his footsteps like a shadow. Even time itself could not absolve him of his sin. Yet knowing this well, he had harbored the foolish hope for years that forgiveness might still be possible.
Little Yenichka, reborn as it were, so lovely and dear—raising that child had felt like resurrecting his dead sister. If Yenichka grew and found happiness, it seemed as though no sin would ever be repeated again.
Not for himself, nor for those he had harmed, nor for all those who might seek to harm him.
But it had been a delusion.
That wretch Tulk had spoken of little Yenichka as “the final sacrifice to end the tragedy of House Jineman.”
From the beginning, from the moment Yenichka was born, he had marked that child—beautiful as a golden flower—as a victim… and had been counting down the remaining days of her life.
He had volunteered to play the role of a loyal dog for this day, deceiving him with that abominable face!
Blado raged like a madman, yet simultaneously could not comprehend it. He could not accept the fact that there existed someone in this world who did not love Yenichka. He could not forgive himself for failing to notice the one who had been stalking her like a wolf, ready to devour her.
A pile of rotting vegetation burned and sank against the crimson sunset. Black water… In water where corpses decay…
“Yenichka!”
That night too, he had called out her name like this.
“Yenichka…!”
The memory of that late summer night, muddy and damp, when he had fought his final battle with Yulken, came flooding back. The two brothers had aimed at each other while simultaneously calling out Yenichka’s name.
Angelic Yenichka, now not even a decomposed corpse remained, now please just sleep.
Even if your curse refuses to forgive a single soul of House Jineman, please… return only Yenichka to me. Return only my Yenichka…
“Yenichka! Yenichka! Please answer me…!”
Blado did not know that something moved silently within the black lake. Thinking only of Yenichka in her white dress, he ran along the lakeshore. The thought that she might be lying collapsed somewhere, or being threatened, made his heart feel as though it would burst.
The silent movement followed Blado. When he stopped, it stopped as well. Standing still, Blado called out Yenichka’s name at the top of his voice once more.
“Yenichka! Where are you! It is your father!”
Then, from the darkness, a thin voice was heard.
Blado immediately recognized it as Yenichka’s voice. The voice, which had been threadlike at first, came again, this time clear and unmistakable.
“Wait for me, Yenichka!”
But what appeared was not Yenichka alone.

Yurichi, walking along the dark shore of Emera Lake, caught himself muttering in frustration as he listened to Blado’s occasional cries echoing through the night.
“How long is he going to search for that girl, anyway?”
Though young, Yurichi had fathered adopted sons of his own, so he understood Blado’s desperation in searching for Yenichka. Hearing that voice stirred something uncomfortable in his chest, and he found himself hoping they would simply find her quickly.
“The one we’re waiting for never comes. This place really is unbearable.”
Yurichi had heard rumors about Emera Lake before, though he had never taken them seriously. He knew the talk of phantoms and such, but he paid it little mind.
Yet the lake he now walked beside proved far more oppressive and suffocating than he had imagined.
He occasionally stumbled upon boggy patches that made him flinch, and the sight of rotting vegetation choking the water’s surface filled him with unease. Though a great moon hung in the sky, making the night unusually bright, the moonlit landscape only grew more grotesque and unsettling.
He thought to himself that he should have gone toward Anomarad instead of coming here.
He had insisted on coming to Longord to make a name for himself, but standing in this swamp that seemed ready to birth ghosts, listening only to the repeated cries of a father who had lost his daughter, his own mind was beginning to fray.
Had he not believed that Boris would target Blado for revenge, he would have slipped away long ago toward where those cries could not reach him.
When Blado’s voice fell silent for a time, Yurichi quickened his pace, fearing he had fallen behind. As he skirted around the swamp spreading across the ground, a wide clearing suddenly opened before him.
Yurichi took several steps back to avoid exposing himself, hiding behind the rotting vegetation. And there, he witnessed something extraordinary.
At first, he thought it was merely the night air shimmering. But then a writhing arm stretched forth. The length of what he took to be an arm easily exceeded the height of two grown men. In the moment Yurichi clapped his hand over his own mouth in shock, that appendage struck something within the water weeds.
Was it a scream?
A small white mass flew through the air and fell. Simultaneously, Blado’s bestial cry tore through the darkness.
Blado burst from the shadows, drew his blade, and charged forward to pierce that arm. Yurichi saw it clearly. Though the strike found its mark, the arm—like a mass of mist—showed no sign of injury.
But when the arm rose high, Yurichi realized it was no arm at all, but an enormous wing.
Crimson mist cascaded down like a curtain. No—it was the wing membrane unfurling beneath the wing bones, undulating and grotesque. It seemed as though the dead souls of the lake clung to that wing, rising all at once. When a second wing spread open, its span exceeded the height of four or five grown men.
Because of the darkness, little could be seen beyond the wings themselves… Yet Yurichi had no desire to draw closer. An assassin who had lived long enough to witness countless strange things, even he could barely manage to remain standing rather than collapse to the ground. This terror was unlike anything he had known before.
That is… a demon. A demon from another world!
Watching Blado thrust his blade toward such a creature, Yurichi found himself awestruck. In truth, he was genuinely moved.
Blado did not hesitate for an instant. Though his blade cut nothing, he thrust and slashed with tremendous force. Directly beneath where the monster’s wings spread lay a white object.
Against the hissing sound, Blado’s cry rang out.
“Were centuries of accumulated corpses not enough for you? You filthy carrion-eating abomination! Was consuming Yenichka not sufficient? If you lay your hands on Yenichka even once more, I will drive you to the bottom of this lake and ensure you never emerge again!”
It was difficult to believe that a human could harbor such murderous intent toward a supernatural being. Blado charged forward. To reclaim Yenichka, he wielded the dark blade once more, his grip fierce and unwavering.
But he was outmatched. The monster paid Blado no heed and extended its wing toward the white object.
And Yurichi saw it—something like gleaming fangs erupting from that wing. They shot forth like arrows, piercing the white object.
“No… No, no, no!”
With a cry that resembled the clash of metal, blood sprayed from the white object.
Blado became as one possessed, hurling himself at the monster. Such an act could only mean he was prepared to die alongside it.
The monster unleashed three talons in rapid succession. As they flew toward Blado, Yurichi’s confidence shattered completely. He thought to flee and took a step back—
—when a shadow burst forth like lightning, shattering one of the talons. The other two claws were then severed cleanly, clattering to the ground.
That person….
White flames danced along the blade he held. Witnessing such brilliance, so dazzling it seemed impossible, Yurichi’s mind cleared.
There was no doubt. No room for question. That was the white blade he had sought without ceasing—the Winterer!
The monster, its talons severed, ceased its movements as if searching, and looked down at its opponent. Before it, a young boy gripping the white blade spoke softly.
“I have waited long… for the child who once fled before you to return and stand in this place. I will take your life in exchange for those you have stolen. It will be a fair price.”
Freed from danger, Blado rushed toward the white figure—the girl in white clothes—and embraced her fiercely, heedless of the monster looming behind him.
He seemed to examine the child’s collar, and moments later, a cry of anguish tore from his throat.
“Yenichka!”

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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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