Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 231

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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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…That demon, the moment a child is born, whispers secret words into their ear and blows black breath straight into them.
Then that tiny creature speaks the moment it’s born, reads by the time it’s not even a year old, and by five years old, memorizes every book it can get its hands on.
And that’s not all. It plays any instrument it touches flawlessly, writes poetry like the poets do, paints like the painters do, and even gains such a strikingly beautiful face that the angels themselves avert their eyes as they pass.
Unless that creature can remember the secret words the demon whispered in its ear at the very beginning, its fate can never escape from the grip of that black, tailed thing.
Ah, but what problem could there be when it’s given only good things?
Listen, a demon wouldn’t just give gifts and leave like that….
The Children of Rune
Demonic
Episode 1.
Not All Children Are Angels (1)
Prelude.
An Ill-Advised Departure
“Set sail tonight? Why not just shove your nose into that soup from earlier and die? At least then you’d only get your nose wet before you go?”
I’d found a man who’d been working boats in these waters for five generations, but he refused outright. That made four. And he was right. In a tavern warm enough to be stifling, with the appetizing aroma of roasted flounder and barley beer wafting through the air, why was every customer still in their right mind?
It was the background music. The vicious sound of relentless rain—the kind you couldn’t chase away like a cheap band by kicking them out.
It had been raining for five days straight. It might be better than a sea churning with storm surge. But the mouth of the Bluet River, swollen like a snake that had swallowed prey for five days, was right at hand.
The thrashing river spewing water had created ocean currents that didn’t exist before, pushing most ships southward. At the entrance to Gilbert Bay, forty daughters born of the sea queen—the notorious Reef Princesses—held their ground.
The more experienced a sailor was, the less likely they’d even hear talk of setting sail on a night like this. Even offering “I’ll pay whatever you want” was a gamble—you’d be lucky if you only got hit on the back of the head with a money pouch.
But Fran didn’t bat an eye at the continued refusals.
“Then I’ll pay double.”
A new money pouch clinked as it landed on the table. The first one he’d pulled out was already substantial. It was the kind of money you might not even earn if you set sail ten times in a safe season. Was the man mad with desperation? The sailor Timil found himself licking his lower lip without thinking, studying Fran.
On the surface, he looked perfectly sane. Tall and lean, with hands like a warrior’s, yet with a pale, clean-featured face. His clothes, cloak, and boots were all neat. Actually, they looked like they’d only recently been acquired.
But he didn’t look like some greenhorn who’d just set out on the road. It wasn’t just his age—it was his eyes.
“Really now, why the rush? The lady here sells good liquor, and if you pour it down your throat and blink once, two days vanish without a trace. Drink three bottles and the weather will clear right up. What do you say?”
“I must go tonight.”
“Ugh, you’re a stubborn one. When a ship hits a reef, the bottom gets a hole. When there’s a hole, the ship sinks. When the ship sinks, the men aboard drink salt water and become plump fish food, you see? Fish don’t care about gold coins. So if I grab this delicious-looking money pouch and sail out tonight, in ten years I’ll just be handing over a windfall to some lucky fisherman. Do I really have to explain all this?”
Unexpectedly, Fran laughed aloud.
“Thank you for the kind advice. When I first took to the sea at thirteen, someone gave me advice just like that.”
Wait—so this man was a sailor too? Timil’s nose wrinkled.
“Well, I’ll be? A sailor wanting to set sail on a night like this?”
“Let me make you a new proposal. I’ll buy your ship. But since I can’t row it alone, I’ll need to hire you. This money is your wages. The price for the ship is here.”
When Fran placed a third money pouch on the table, it was so heavy that the short-legged table tilted to one side. Timil instinctively grabbed the sliding pouches. Without knowing how much was in them, if gold coins spilled onto the floor, the ruffians at the next table would quickly pocket a coin or two—that wouldn’t do at all.
Then Fran spoke.
“Good. The deal is struck. Prepare yourself and come out. I’ll be waiting at the ship.”
“Wait, hold on, I haven’t yet….”
As Timil tried to say something, Fran stood and spoke.
“Don’t forget. Since I’ve bought the ship, I’m the captain.”
Then he grabbed his bag and strode out. As the door opened and closed, the roar of rain echoed through the tavern and faded away.
There’s a rule sailors learn from the age of seven never to forget: the captain decides when to set sail. Left alone, Timil glared at the gawking neighbors and gathered the money pouches, stuffing them into a goatskin sack. Once he’d slung the sack over his shoulder, he shouted at all the eyes fixed on him.
“Spread the word—tonight, the sailor Timil went to marry the Reef Princesses!”
An hour later, Fran and Timil were upon the Sea.
No matter where they looked, not a single light pierced the darkness. Whether visible or not, there was no doubt that only the two of them existed on this entire expanse of water. Surely these fools weren’t three in number?
It was a small vessel with but a single mast, yet the rain fell so fiercely that they dared not raise the sails. The two rowed slowly. Each time the lamp affixed to the stern with glue flickered, the ink-black water swelled and subsided in rhythm.
“Listen, do you feel it? The boat is being pushed gradually southward.”
Timil paused his rowing and spoke. Fran lifted his head to look at him. Seeing his expression, Timil added, spitting out the words.
“Captain.”
“Don’t worry too much.”
Fran replied and plunged his hand into the water. It was an action he had been repeating since earlier.
Timil spoke.
“Ah, I know what you’re doing, but when it rains this heavily, it’s useless…. It’s useless, Captain.”
When Fran did not respond, Timil had no choice but to grasp the oar again. The two began rowing with renewed vigor. Timil grumbled while meaninglessly wiping his drenched brow.
“The Reef Princesses must be busy with their flower arrangements.”
Though he spoke thus, Timil was inwardly astonished at how skillfully Fran rowed—a man who bore every impression of having lived without hardship and looked nothing like a sailor. When rowing together in the currents, even the slightest mistiming of breath could send them adrift, yet Fran never once lost the rhythm of Timil’s breathing.
And he charted their course with the authority of more than mere title. On a night so overcast that neither moon nor stars were visible, even seasoned sailors struggled to discern direction, yet he showed no hesitation.
Of course, I still don’t know where we’re headed. But moving forward with such confidence—surely there must be a destination? He wouldn’t have dragged me along as a companion on a path to self-destruction, would he?
“So where exactly are we going?”
“Not far.”
“There’s nowhere inhabited nearby. Surely you’re not fishing in weather like this?”
Fran pulled the oar up with force and plunged his hand into the water once more. Then he spoke.
“We’ll arrive soon enough. You’ll see when we get there.”
There were indeed several islands nearby, but all were uninhabited. Perhaps they were the aunts and cousins of the Reef Princesses? They were rocky outcrops so barren that even grass was scarce.
There were fishing grounds in the area, and fishermen occasionally visited, but…. Timil’s thoughts shifted. Based on his experience, Fran was no sailor. Nor did he resemble a soldier or merchant. Certainly not a Mercenary.
Most suspicious of all was that he wore only recently acquired clothing. What if he had deliberately changed to conceal his identity? Then this could be no ordinary errand like fishing.
A man like this might well have hidden secrets on a barren rocky island. The thought of how he had insisted on setting sail in such ominous weather only deepened the suspicion.
Then Fran suddenly spoke.
“You left your purse at the harbor?”
“Of course—no need to ask twice.”
“Good.”
What did that mean? Before Timil could gather his thoughts, Fran seized the oar and shouted as he adjusted their heading.
“Row with all your strength! Alter course five degrees to starboard!”
Timil rowed as commanded, yet he was bewildered. Five degrees of course correction on a raft without a rudder? What nonsense was this?
Yet the moment they reached approximately five degrees to starboard, the boat’s labored resistance against the currents suddenly gave way to momentum, as if an invisible hand were pushing them forward. They surged ahead for an instant before lurching to a halt, and Fran cried out again.
“Once more, five degrees to starboard!”
This time the water’s resistance was fierce. The muscles of Timil’s forearms rippled and swelled as he gripped the oar. The moment they turned to that heading, the pushing force returned.
Fran released his oar, and Timil, breathing heavily, let the tension drain from his arms and spoke.
“What is this? Has a mermaid appeared?”
The sails were down, so it wasn’t the wind. Yet it couldn’t be the currents either. He had always prided himself on knowing these waters intimately. What was this force that had suddenly emerged at this point?
The slow current pushing northward, the swift current rebounding off the bay, the thin threads splitting where they struck the islands, and the water flowing from the Bluet River—a dozen or more currents tangled together here. Such currents shifted with the seasons and weather, and it was said to be impossible to find the exact collision points with precision.
So then…. No, surely not?
Had this man found those collision points?
“It’s over there.”
Fran pointed to one side, but nothing was visible through the downpour anyway. It took a bit longer before something emerged beyond the curtain of rain. Timil had excellent eyesight as well, but by the time he noticed it, the mountain’s silhouette had already risen to eye level.
“Could it be King’s Island?”
Fran looked at Timil then.
“Do people around here call it that?”
“Well, there’s an old story about it, isn’t there? They say it’s where Keltic the First first declared his own territory, or something like that. It’s also one of the larger islands among those nearby. But it’s just a pile of rocks—completely useless for anything.”
Fran smiled faintly and nodded.
“That’s right.”
“Since there’s nothing to catch, even fishermen don’t come here. Truth is, it’s hard to reach anyway. The currents don’t cooperate with this location at all. But what was that thing from earlier? Could it be….”
Just as Timil was about to ask, Fran gestured with his eyes for him to take the oars again, cutting off the question.
“Let’s head in that direction.”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Month Books
The copyright of this book belongs to the author and 14 Month Books.
To reuse all or part of the contents of this book, written consent from both parties is required.

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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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