Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 237

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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 (7)
On the first day, they too had merely plastered proclamations from the Republican Government across the city and made grand declarations. But once they discovered the pleasure of trampling fine carpets with muddy feet, they progressed to smashing windows, beating those who stood in their way, plundering valuables, and eventually committing murder and arson without hesitation. The people called them Republican Rioters.
Jade Ring Castle had been surrounded since the kingdom’s earliest days by a massive fortress encircled by a ring-shaped blue forest. That forest was called the Nightingale Forest. Between the castle and the forest lay a labyrinth garden renowned for its beauty. Those who stormed the castle immediately set about trampling it.
They lashed intricately carved trees with rakes, hurled rose-adorned chairs into ponds, set vines ablaze, and shattered pavilions. The destruction consumed so much time that it took them considerable hours to finally reach the castle itself. The garden was that vast.
When the rioters reached the castle entrance, they discovered a single man standing before the gates. It was Franz von Arnim. Having learned of their approach the moment they passed through the main gate, he stood there, remarkably, unarmed. The castle gates themselves stood wide open.
The rioters wielded scythes and pitchforks already stained with the blood of nobles. As they surrounded the Duke, Arnim opened his mouth.
“Whenever Keltika has faced peril, the gates of this castle have always stood open. My ancestors, from the moment they founded this nation, have regarded the protection of Keltika’s citizens as the duty of our House. I shall do the same. If you find yourselves in danger, enter. Duke Arnim will protect you.”
In four days of ravaging Keltika, the rioters had never hesitated before a noble’s castle gates until that moment.
Though they moved in groups and carried themselves with swagger, their true strength lay in the impoverished masses who had built ramshackle hovels—hardly worthy of the name dwellings—around the Bluet River. They were people who could not write their own names, who had never worn buttoned clothes, who knew neither their parents nor their own children, whose average lifespan was barely past twenty. Even the Republican faction seemed uncertain whether to regard them as citizens of Keltika.
They followed Duke Arnim into Jade Ring Castle and occupied the largest hall within. The Duke provided them with freshly laundered bedding and hosted a banquet where they all dined together at the same table.
As word spread, impoverished masses in similar circumstances streamed toward Jade Ring Castle. When two halls proved insufficient, they ventured into the garden, felled ornamental trees at will to construct temporary shelters, washed clothes in the ponds to dry them, and gathered firewood from the forest to prepare their meals.
Thus the garden became their village. Duke Arnim and the Duchess would stroll through the haphazardly constructed cottages and tents, conversing peacefully with them, resolving disputes and addressing shortages of supplies.
On the seventh day of the Republican uprising—or rather, revolution—the Republican Government issued a proclamation strictly forbidding such plundering.
By then, news of what transpired at Jade Ring Castle had spread throughout all of Keltika. Meanwhile, most other nobles’ castles had not escaped plunder and destruction. One might even suspect the Republican Government had deliberately delayed the proclamation to allow the poor their vengeance.
Afterward, several Republican faction leaders visited in succession to observe the situation at Jade Ring Castle before departing. Some ten days later, one night, Dansburg arrived unexpectedly and requested an audience with Duke Arnim.
Duke Arnim, who came out to greet him personally, led Dansburg through the ballroom where dirty bedding hung everywhere and up to his study on the second floor. As they passed, the impoverished masses seated about greeted them warmly—but it was Duke Arnim they recognized, not Dansburg, whose face they could not possibly know.
In the Duke’s study, furnished with classical elegance and without fashionable ornamentation, the two men sat facing each other. Tea was brought by the Duchess Elza herself. Though she knew who her guest was, she welcomed him without hesitation before excusing herself, mentioning she needed to distribute bread downstairs. The castle’s ovens could bake a hundred loaves at once, yet even constant firing throughout the day now proved insufficient.
Elza’s health was poor, and she could move about for only a few hours each day, yet she always personally distributed the bread. The people had grown so considerate that they naturally kept quiet during her afternoon rest.
Dansburg observed the objects on the Duke’s table for a moment before speaking.
“I have heard rumors for some time, but the traditions of House of Arnim are indeed formidable. Such actions are easy to speak of but extraordinarily difficult to execute. Because of this, a person like you could be seen as a friend to the Republic, yet conversely, as its greatest enemy. We cannot simply leave you as you are. Therefore, I wish to make you a proposal.”
What passed between them that day was never afterward disclosed in detail.
In the years that followed, the remaining nobles in isolated Keltika either vanished silently, faced public execution, were imprisoned in what amounted to Lerny Palace, or chose to survive by abandoning their pride to become minor Republican bureaucrats. Yet House of Arnim took none of these paths.
Franz and Elza von Arnim continued to live in Jade Ring Castle. They moved freely throughout Keltika and officially held no position. Only the title “Duke” had disappeared. In the Republic of Anomarad, they were called the “Arnim Couple,” recipients of a peculiar consideration.
Under the Anti-Plunder Law, the castle suffered no further damage. Since their House had never possessed lands beyond the castle itself, there was no property to confiscate.
After a year, the impoverished masses moved out of Jade Ring Castle and settled on the outskirts of the city—an achievement made possible by the consideration of the Republican citizens, the Arnim Couple, whom many still privately called “His Grace” and “Duchess Elza.”
Outside Keltika, nobles gossiped among themselves about how long such a flimsy Republic could possibly last, how it would collapse of its own accord without their troublesome intervention. Yet unexpectedly, the Republic endured. Children who had known nothing but the Republic since birth were now six, seven years old.
In the autumn of the Republic’s sixth year, Joshua von Arnim, the eight-year-old son of the Arnim Couple, enrolled at Mona Sid School.
Mona Sid was a prestigious music school where all students lived in dormitories. Rumor had it that the boy possessed musical talent, which was why they chose the school. It was said his frail constitution prevented him from studying anything else. People knew only that he was small, pretty-faced, and remarkably gifted at singing.
In the kingdom’s time, the fact that a duke’s heir had reached eight years old without learning swordplay or horsemanship, and without a single tutor, would have been scandalous gossip. But fortunately or unfortunately, in the Republic it was not a topic for open discussion. Rather, he received backhanded praise that Arnim was raising his son like a proper Republican citizen. Yet some people whispered in secret.
“Is Duke Arnim really raising his only son to be a singer? How does that even make sense?”
In any case, Joshua joined the school’s renowned Choir immediately upon enrollment and soon became a soloist. After the Choir’s first performance, those who attended spread another rumor.
“Duke Arnim’s son—that boy sings extraordinarily well, doesn’t he? I heard several audience members actually fainted that day.”
As word of Joshua’s singing ability spread, smaller rumors were overshadowed.
Tales that he remembered conversations with someone he had met briefly when he was three, that when asked about a book’s contents he recited them perfectly, that he had touched an unfamiliar instrument briefly and played it as though he had studied for ten years, that when someone jokingly asked how many flowers were in the garden he answered with five years of growth trends—all such stories were dismissed as exaggeration or jest.
These were all tales from Joshua’s early childhood. The recent Joshua seemed to have become an ordinary child in all respects save singing.
By this time, few people remembered what Demonic meant.
In Meterman’s advanced classical literature class sat twenty-nine students. Among the tall children over fourteen or fifteen years old sat Joshua von Arnim, nine years old, maintaining an impeccably composed posture.
The lesson content was challenging even for fifteen-year-olds. An ordinary nine-year-old would have squirmed within ten minutes, unable to concentrate, searching for some misplaced insect to blame for their wrong entrance. But Joshua did not. His gaze, cast downward with composure, was directed toward his book. Yet Meterman knew he was not actually reading it.
“Well, you’ve all finished, haven’t you? Then someone tell me about the iambic pentameter Lugran poem. Rick Hamit, shall we hear from you?”
Rick stood and drew a deep breath before speaking.
“Well, the most distinctive feature of Lugran poetry is, um, iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter means… it’s one of the characteristics of Lugran poetry… Lugran poetry is…”
Before Rick could repeat the term iambic pentameter again, the instructor looked away.
“That’s enough. Joshua von Arnim, would you continue?”
Joshua rose from his seat, bowed with proper courtesy, and spoke.
“Yes.”
Instructors yearn to teach brilliant children—those who not only comprehend the lessons readily but memorize effortlessly without prompting, sometimes even advancing ahead of the curriculum. If such a student were to engage in discourse with the instructor, it would be ideal beyond measure.
When encountering such pupils, instructors become desperate to impart every scrap of knowledge they possess—much like an eager puppy bursting with excitement.
As Joshua expounded upon the origins and characteristics of Lugran poetry, Meterman found himself gazing out the window as though he had regressed to a nine-year-old. Joshua’s explanation was identical to the one Meterman had delivered the previous hour—only the inflection at the end had been subtly altered.
“Good. Now provide a poem as an example that matches your explanation.”
Joshua could have simply recited one of the poems learned in the previous lesson, but he did not. After a brief moment of contemplation, calculating silently, he composed an original poem on the spot. The other students exchanged glances with furrowed brows. ‘He could have done the minimum.’
Whatever he did seemed to mock them. It appeared unlikely that they would ever understand that Joshua had composed a new poem precisely to avoid demonstrating that he had memorized every detail of not just the last lesson, nor merely the one before, but truly every lesson ever taught.
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 this book’s content, 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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