Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 233

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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 233.
Not All Children Are Angels (3)
“How did this happen?”
“What did we just witness?”
Timil wasn’t the only one shocked. Every person on the deck had frozen mid-motion, eyes wide with disbelief. The time it took Timil to descend the gangway and return was barely enough for a handful of words to be exchanged. Yet in that brief span, Igori’s great blade was now embedded in the deck floor, and Igori himself was pinned against the cabin door.
Fran turned to look at Timil.
“Didn’t you say earlier you wanted to do something?”
Then he pointed at Igori, who was slowly rising to his feet. Timil shook his head vigorously and pressed himself behind Fran.
“No, no, absolutely not. I don’t want to do anything. I’m completely satisfied. My life is perfect.”
Igori got up and walked to the center of the deck, pulling his blade free. As the onlookers scattered, a wide open space formed in the middle.
As Igori approached Fran, Timil retreated one step—or rather, five steps. He would have preferred ten, but there was nowhere left to go. When Igori faced Fran, he let out a low chuckle.
“Well done. You truly are worthy of the name.”
Then he extended his hand. Fran moved to grasp it. At that moment, a voice called out from the forecastle.
“You can’t claim to be worthy simply by shaking that hand.”
Every eye turned toward the forecastle. A captain’s hat appeared first from beyond the railings, followed by a man. A black naval jacket, blonde hair streaked with silver, an imposing height. A short baton in one hand bore a red gem at its tip. Everyone on deck instantly straightened their posture. A shout rang out from somewhere.
“Salute the Captain!”
The crew raised their right hands in unison. The man lifted one hand in acknowledgment and descended the stairs slowly. As he approached Fran, Igori quickly stepped aside. Fran, facing the man, spoke.
“It has been a long time, Uncle Hispanie.”
Timil’s mouth fell open. Uncle? he thought.
Fran’s uncle, Hispanie, had a face whose age was difficult to discern. Deep lines creased the corners of his eyes, and several more marked his cheeks, yet his facial structure remained so sharp that from a distance he appeared to be a man in his mid-thirties. In reality, he was likely somewhere between forty and fifty, or perhaps older still.
Beneath finely sculpted brows, his eyes were a deep, piercing blue. Graying blonde hair fell loosely across his straight forehead. One could only imagine how strikingly handsome this man must have been in his youth. Though Fran called him uncle and was thus his nephew, Fran’s hair was dark, and he lacked his uncle’s exceptional beauty.
Hispanie’s gaze swept over Fran from head to toe. It was not a particularly warm look.
“I trust you had reason to seek me out across such a distance.”
His voice carried an almost cold tone. Fran replied.
“I did.”
“When I showed you the way, it was not an invitation for familial pleasantries. Think carefully about how you will silence the one you’ve brought with you.”
“I have already considered it.”
Timil, who had let his imagination run wild, flinched.
“I doubt it. Anyone naive enough to believe Igori was merely offering a handshake hardly seems equipped with a solution worth employing.”
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Fran’s mouth.
“I had no intention of shaking his hand either.”
The uncle studied his nephew once more. Fran had a solid build, but Hispanie’s height was equally impressive, so their eyes met at nearly the same level.
“Very well. Follow me.”
Hispanie turned and climbed toward the forecastle, with Fran following behind. Left alone on the deck, Timil called out desperately.
“Wait, what about me? If you leave me here alone, what will I—”
He tried to follow, but the crew members who had retreated toward the rail now returned, blocking the stairs. They surrounded the flustered Timil and chuckled.
“Shall we resume entertaining our guest?”
Hispanie and Fran stood at the end of the forecastle, at the bow of the ship.
Beyond the bow, the night sea was not visible. The moon and stars did not sway. The figurehead had faded, and the deck’s glue had peeled away. Like a soldier returned home after war, the ship lay upon the earth.
The crew called Hispanie “Captain.” Yet this sleeping ship needed no captain. They too did not appear to be sailors. Though they treated the captain with the courtesy of those at sea, the voyage had ended.
But this was an Uninhabited Island without a single tree. No one could settle and live here.
“Franz.”
Hispanie’s voice sounded far younger than before—different from the tone he’d used before his retainers. Franz, or rather Franz, answered.
“I apologize for arriving so suddenly.”
Hispanie spun around abruptly and looked Franz up and down.
“Apologize? What’s with this pathetic state? The Duke Franz von Arnim, right hand of King Anomarad, wandering about without a single jeweled coat, dragging a decrepit sailing ship instead of a white horse—what business brings you to such a condition? Don’t tell me the Family Clan has fallen without my knowledge?”
Franz shook his head.
“Of course not, sir.”
“Where did all your attendants go? Don’t they care if your noble person comes to harm? Can’t they even prepare for travel properly? Those clothes you’re wearing—I’m certain you pilfered them from some inn’s laundry line on the way here?”
“It took some effort to avoid drawing people’s attention.”
“Why go to such trouble? What business could you possibly have with a pirate uncle cast out from the Family Clan?”
Then Franz lowered his head before raising it again to speak.
“Uncle. My respect for you has not changed one bit since I was thirteen. You know I wished to become a servant on your Ship, don’t you?”
Hispanie squinted one eye.
“I did consider letting you. It would have been a laughingstock for years.”
“Had you done so, I might have become a better Duke than I am now.”
When Franz was around thirteen, he first boarded his uncle’s Ship. He became completely captivated by the Sea, the sailors, and his uncle who commanded them all—nearly staying aboard.
But Franz’s father, the Duke of Arnim of that generation, did not approve. So Franz eventually returned to the Manor, and never again had the chance to sail on his uncle’s Ship.
Hispanie tapped the railing with the stick he held.
“I understand. After all, the Family Clan needs at least one Duke. But even if you’d sailed for five years and returned, there would have been time enough. Your father lived his fill, yet he imposed needless overprotection. Look at you now. Had you studied a few more years beside me, someone like Igori would be licking the dust from your shoes by now.”
“You must have been worried.”
“Worried? Of course I was worried—terrified you’d discover the joy of being with me and refuse to leave. Truth be told, it would be amusing if the boy who sailed my Ship returned to be cooped up in the Manor, swinging a sword at scarecrows. And those books filled with nonsense? Tell me, did you memorize all seven volumes of that genealogy or whatever it is?”
A look of embarrassment crossed Franz’s face.
“No, sir.”
“There you have it. Why should you memorize such things? Humans must know their place.”
Hispanie’s elegant brows furrowed, and his lips curled in a mocking smile. He was not as refined in temperament as his appearance suggested. Franz nodded slowly as he spoke.
“The book you memorized entirely at five years old, Uncle.”
Hispanie flinched, then spoke quickly.
“Memorize? I didn’t memorize anything. I simply read what I was told to read.”
“But you remember everything you read, don’t you?”
“What kind of legend are you spouting? My mind was sharp in youth. I’m old now.”
“You remember everything you’ve seen once, recall conversations from twenty years ago perfectly, write negotiation documents in a language you learned mere days ago, have never lost a sword fight, have never raised a white flag on your mast, paint better than painters, play the lyre better than musicians, and have a face one can never forget once seen.”
Hispanie immediately burst into hollow laughter.
“What? This is absurd. Listening to your shameless hymn of praise makes me feel like my body is shrinking and disappearing. Who says such things? Surely not your father?”
Franz did not smile.
“I could not memorize that genealogy, but I did read it all. After reading it, I understood why Father asked me to memorize it. He likely never truly expected me to succeed. I am ordinary, after all. Or perhaps he tried on the chance I might—but in any case, I could not.”
“Don’t worry. When you failed to memorize it, your father must have wanted to dance with joy.”
Then Franz’s cheek trembled slightly.
“Yes. I didn’t understand then. But now I do. I understand why you left the Family Clan.”
“I abandoned the name Arnim because I was sick to death of all of you. This suits me. Your father suits standing at the right hand of that fool King Anomarad. What good would come of a Duke and a pirate captain being brothers? You could have done both, but in the end you’re not my son but his, so it suits you to do what he does.”
Though Hispanie spoke dismissively, his eyes carefully studied Franz’s face. Franz continued.
“At that time, I didn’t understand Father’s intention in giving me the genealogy. It wasn’t until last year that I began to take it out and read it again. I hoped there might be even a sliver of hope hidden within those pages.”
Hispanie was aware of what change had occurred in Franz’s life in early last year. At the same time, he realized something.
“You don’t mean… that child born last year…?”
Franz nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Hispanie’s expression shifted dramatically. The mockery vanished, replaced by cold clarity.
“Are you certain? Truly? What did you see?”
“The story that displeased you moments ago—what could I have witnessed to be so certain? As you know, such events occurred only centuries ago, before your time. It was mere legend. Even the tales surrounding you, people dismissed as mere rumor. Yet for me, at least, it is legend no longer.”
Hispanie fell silent for a long moment, then suddenly spoke a single word.
“Demonic.”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Moon Books
The copyright of this book belongs to the author and 14 Moon 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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