Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 234

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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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Episode 4.
Not All Children Are Angels (4)
Franz did not answer. Instead, he murmured the word silently to himself. Demonic. A curse passed down through generations of House of Arnim, and yet its most radiant light.
I never imagined I would encounter in my own lifetime what I had believed to be merely ancient legend. And least of all, that it would be my own son. When I first heard the tale as a child, it had seemed nothing but fascinating. The family occasionally produced terrifying geniuses, I was told—they left behind remarkable achievements but did not live long. It was only natural; they accomplished in less than a decade what others could not achieve in centuries of life.
Those days of blissful ignorance were happiness itself. Looking back, it seems almost laughable. Why had I thought of it only as someone else’s story? Because I myself was not Demonic? Because I saw none around me?
Of course, I had heard that my uncle Hispanie was Demonic. Yet the uncle I knew in childhood was merely a being so strikingly beautiful he seemed to have had his very soul drawn out. I had heard that some Demonics in the past had gone mad, been possessed by spirits, or died young—but were those not incidents from centuries ago? Now they were merely old tales. The people who might have passed down those tragedies as living memory were already dead.
Hispanie’s voice called me back to reality.
“So that child is Demonic, then. Finally born again. Faster than expected. Why is that?”
He was not speaking to me. He was questioning the empty air. Yet convulsions crossed my face as I listened.
“Only you would understand what that truly means, Uncle. That is why I have come. Please give me the answer. How must I raise this child? How can I ensure he survives to adulthood and—”
“Survives? What are you talking about?”
“The average lifespan of a Demonic is… merely fifteen years, is it not?”
Sharp creases formed between Hispanie’s brows.
“How do you know that?”
Franz bowed his head. He spoke while remaining thus.
“Uncle, as I mentioned, I have read through the entire genealogical record. You left many marks within it.”
Hispanie regarded Franz for a moment in silence. With an expression difficult to name, he spoke.
“So you discovered it as well. But most of those marks were not made by me alone. Not by just one person. I do not know who began it first. I did not expect you to find it. The heart of a parent is not so simple a thing.”
The mysterious marks left throughout the genealogical record were all desperate struggles to uncover the lifespan of Demonics, their birth cycles, and above all, the characteristics of those who survived longest. Comparing years, contrasting birth dates, calculating bloodlines. Whether firstborn or youngest, male or female, where they were born, when their nature first manifested—
Who had first begun this painstaking effort to gather seemingly meaningless information and divine the future? How had the next generation even recognized what was being done? How desperately must those who read through genealogical records—documents most ordinary people found tedious and refused to examine—have wished to learn a single secret?
“According to the marks in the genealogy, the average lifespan of a child born Demonic is fifteen years, the probability of not reaching their tenth birthday is six in ten, the probability of developing madness is eight in ten, and among Demonics who inherited the family and became Duke of House of Arnim… there has never been a single one. What am I to do? Elza nearly died giving birth to this child. His very birth was a miracle.”
Hispanie’s eyes narrowed with cold mockery. Franz continued speaking.
“The only hope remaining to me is you, Uncle. Please, teach me. How can I save my son? How can he survive, as you have?”
Hispanie left the bow of the ship and circled the Bow Cabin. Unlike the biting sarcasm he had displayed moments before, his face was now shadowed. When he returned before Franz, he spoke.
“What exactly do you wish to know? How to raise a child born Demonic well? Or, if it were possible, how to reject a Demonic existence?”
“I… simply do not wish to lose that child. The method matters not.”
“So you mean to say it would have been better had he been born ordinary, not Demonic?”
Franz could not answer immediately. No—the answer was already determined, but he could not bring himself to speak it aloud. A sneer played at the corners of Hispanie’s mouth.
“I need not hear your answer; I already know it. Shall I tell you the coldest solution? Give up, and have another child. Surely it will not happen twice in a row.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As you know, one is born perhaps once every four generations. By that reckoning, this time came rather early.”
Even as Hispanie spoke thus, his lips pressed together with such force they nearly twisted. Though he had not yet seen the child’s face, he could not remain entirely unmoved by the fact that a child had been born Demonic, just as he had been. Yet Franz’s expression was beyond words.
“Give up? Is that truly all you have to tell me?”
When Hispanie did not continue, Franz closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. The single thread of hope I had come seeking had vanished as well.
“Elza cannot bear another child. This time too, she attempted it with the resolve to stake her life. Our firstborn daughter—”
The Duke of House of Arnim’s eldest daughter, Ivnoa von Arnim, was far from ordinary. Her mind had ceased to develop at the age of five. It was for this reason that the couple had been willing to risk their lives to bear a second child. Yet this time too, they had failed to obtain an heir to pass down the title. For no Demonic had ever inherited the family line.
Long ago, people must have marveled and envied and praised them. They would not have attached the contemptuous epithet “Demonic” to the blood of House of Arnim—those beings so strikingly brilliant that they excelled at everything naturally, requiring no instruction in anything.
But as Demonics repeatedly left behind lives as twisted as their genius was profound and departed, people began to fear. And parents began to hide it. The fact that another Demonic had been born.
Even as a child, Hispanie had believed he must conceal that he was Demonic. As a result, even now, this fact remained almost unknown. Hispanie’s voice grew sharp without his awareness.
“I bore two children, and neither can inherit the family, nor can I even be certain either will reach adulthood intact. Do you think I wonder why such things befall only me? I regret what happened with Ivnoa. But what of the Demonic? You come to me—of all people—and complain that your child is Demonic and it troubles you?”
Franz looked at Hispanie’s face in alarm, but then slowly his expression softened.
“If my concerns prove unfounded, I would be truly grateful. Then you know a way to save the child, Uncle?”
Hispanie gazed out at the sea for a moment before letting out a derisive chuckle.
“You could just watch my lips and be satisfied. But I cannot afford such luxury. I know well the limits of my own power—what I can and cannot do. Franz, do I strike you as a successful Demonic?”
“Of course you do, Uncle.”
Hispanie shook his head.
“Perhaps if judged solely by longevity, that would be true. But from what I’ve uncovered of my Family Clan’s history, I differ from most Demonics in one crucial aspect.”
This was the first Franz had heard of such a thing. He knew well how extraordinary his uncle was. Something he lacked?
“What is it?”
Hispanie fixed Franz with an unwavering gaze, then shook his head.
“Do not seek to know now. Especially if you wish your child to live long. But I believe that someday, perhaps not through him but through someone, that power might yet produce a successful Demonic. It is merely my hope. But you would not wish for such a thing, would you? You would not desire such perilous experimentation?”
Franz nodded.
“To speak honestly, that is correct. My only wish is not to lose that child.”
“That is natural now. Indeed, any parent would feel the same. Besides, you cannot ask the child such things from the start. So let me ask you this: if I show you the way, could you raise that child accordingly?”
“I will do whatever it takes. No—I will do it, come what may.”
“Do not answer so lightly. And I myself have no evidence beyond my own experience. Of course, if you wish it, I will teach you to the best of my ability. Why? Because you are my nephew, yes, but more than that—because that child is Demonic. If that child grows to adulthood without dying young, then I will have…”
Hispanie drew a deep breath and exhaled before continuing.
“…finally found the true companion I have longed for all my life.”
Only Hispanie himself could truly comprehend the weight of those words. The Demonic was a genius of uncanny brilliance across every conceivable domain. And thus, inevitably, profoundly alone. There could never have been anyone capable of offering him genuine friendship as an equal. He had known only the necessity of diminishing himself to fit the world.
“I pray it becomes so. What must I do?”
“Send the child to me.”
Franz did not answer immediately, his eyes widening slightly.
“Here, you mean…?”
Hispanie nodded.
“Yes. Let him grow here knowing nothing of who he is. Not his name, not what it means to be Demonic, not that he is the heir to House of Arnim. Let him serve as you wished—as a servant. When he reaches fifteen, I will send him back to you.”
“Then during that time, neither I nor Elza may see him?”
“You may observe from a distance, but you must never reveal your relationship as his parents.”
“Is there truly no other way? I myself agree that it would serve no purpose for the child to learn beforehand what befell the Demonics of old. Avoiding people’s prejudices about Demonics might indeed prove beneficial. But must even his parents—must the very existence of his parents—become poison to him?”
Hispanie let out another derisive chuckle.
“Look at yourself. Consider why you came here. You cannot regard your own child without fear. Your terror will transmit to him as surely as breath. That is what I most wish to prevent—a child who fears himself.”
Franz turned his gaze beyond the ship’s rail, lost in thought. Deep furrows etched his brow, reflecting the turmoil within. Hispanie withdrew a pipe from his coat pocket and waited.
“That cannot be.”
By the time Hispanie had filled his pipe and lit it, Franz exhaled as though releasing a sigh. His answer came then. Hispanie, as though he had already foreseen it, simply drew once upon his pipe.
Children of the Runes – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months of Books
The copyright to this book belongs to the author and 14 Months of 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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