Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 309

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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 76.
Finding the Cat in the Hearth (28)
“Joshua, you….”
That hand, which had looked so terrifying it might have been forged from steel, now hung limply with its wrist joint bent at a grotesque angle. Joshua had not lost consciousness. He had deceived the man—one who could perceive even the faintest sounds from beyond the window that Maximian could not hear—through nothing but his acting prowess. All while waiting for his moment.
Which meant Maximian had known it too. He had witnessed Joshua’s eyes opening in that final instant, his gaze conveying a silent signal. Of course, he had no idea what plan Joshua harbored. But sensing that he needed to draw attention, he had cried out.
The table slid sharply toward the wall. Then Joshua slowly rose from the man’s lap and retreated toward the wall. Yet, unexpectedly, the man made no move to stop him. Instead, he glanced briefly at his own hand, then wore a peculiar, sardonic smile. Was he thinking that his excessive talking had ruined everything?
It was not.
“Yes, I believe now.”
At first, I could not discern what question his answer addressed. The words I had shouted—”Do you believe in the existence of spirits?”—were merely thoughts spilled carelessly from my lips. Perhaps because this had been the question most troubling my mind before confronting him.
“Young Duke, nowhere in your body do I see the strength to break my wrist as you just did. Have you been possessed by a spirit?”
What struck me was that even in such a state, his tone remained unchanged from moments before when he had spoken with such self-satisfaction. As though the presence or absence of his right hand posed no obstacle whatsoever to dealing with us.
Then Joshua spoke.
“With this, your attempt today has lost its aesthetic harmony. It is like a poem whose refrain has grown so long that the rhyme scheme has collapsed. In other words, a musical drama without a finale. Were I in your position, rather than settling for these tattered fragments scattered about, I would prepare a new stage and attempt anew.”
While Maximian furrowed his brow listening to words that seemed utterly unworthy of attention, an unexpected development unfolded. The man demanded a specific explanation.
“Perhaps. Then what do you think is the rhyme I have missed at this juncture?”
Joshua raised his hand and slowly caressed his own neck as he answered.
“You should have broken my neck and killed me with your special right hand. Not with that tedious left hand, indistinguishable from any ordinary man’s.”
It was a conversation no ordinary person could comprehend, yet the man nodded and asked again.
“And then?”
Joshua glanced about the surroundings, then raised his hand and pointed toward the eaves beyond the Dining Hall window.
“What if you hung it there?”
Maximian nearly asked “Hung what?” but caught himself. It was not ignorance that made him hesitate. It was the difficulty of enduring such a deranged conversation.
“Not bad. No, excellent. You are truly an artist.”
Saying this, the man gazed regretfully at his own hand. Sensing what he was thinking, Maximian adjusted his glasses once more, his lips trembling slightly.
“The rhyme you mentioned is strong and elegant. But is there no variation in the final verse? It is not in the traditional Lugran style, but I favor it for the far more dynamic impression it creates.”
Joshua answered without hesitation.
“A modulation at that point would not be amiss. To give the impression of elevating the grand finale, why not set this room ablaze, or commit suicide yourself? Or perhaps you could drench the Grassland outside in blood to summon the crows. Though that would require quite a bit of blood.”
The line of jest had long been crossed. There are those who deliberately indulge in gruesome talk for amusement. But what manner of mind could discuss methods of killing oneself before one possessed of clear murderous intent, and the staging of that death afterward? I found myself curious.
“If one is insufficient, use several.”
“Well, I would argue that becoming an indiscriminate mass murderer causes one to lose refinement. If I understand correctly, your art requires far more meticulous selection, does it not? If you wish to spill much blood, cut my corpse into several pieces. But do it outside. Soiling this place would be nothing but noise.”
As Joshua finished speaking, his cheeks had become noticeably pallid. One could nearly see the capillaries beneath the surface. Yet in such a state, he concluded what he had begun to say.
“You are someone who works with direct confidence and efficiency—not the sort of artist intoxicated by absinthe.”
The man slowly rose from the table. Maximian quickly calculated whether he had any means of countering if the man took sudden action. The odds were slim, but better than before. The person watching from behind the curtain would emerge to help if it came to that….
Joshua’s clear voice rang out.
“Then, farewell. Shall we meet again in three days?”
“Make it four.”
As the man slipped past the table, he spoke as though the thought had just occurred to him.
“One piece of advice: if you are the Young Duke, you will remember my voice precisely as it is now. But it will be useless. I possess five or more entirely different voices.”
While Maximian remained tense and watchful, the man slowly crossed the Dining Hall and exited through the entrance. Should I feel relieved? Had he truly left? What exactly was this situation….
“Ah, wait a moment.”
Joshua suddenly called out to The Tall Man, who was already walking away on his own. A murderer, departing of his own volition!
“I’m not sure what to call you. If a name won’t do, I’d appreciate it if you’d at least share a nickname.”
The Tall Man turned back and offered a smile that had become as much a part of his mask as his face itself.
“Salary Man.”
The Tall Man’s figure vanished, and the sound of the entrance door opening and closing echoed through the space.
“….”
A brief silence fell. Neither Joshua nor Maximian moved from where they stood.
Moments later, Joshua’s gaze shifted to Maximian. When their eyes met, Maximian saw his friend’s expression crumble into a hollow smile—as though he might dissolve entirely and slip into sleep.
“I’m relieved you’re safe.”
The composure he’d maintained until the very end had drained him completely. The only strength that had allowed him to endure facing someone capable of killing while laughing and trading quips was pure performance—a performance more exhausting than any he’d ever given before.
Beneath the mask of that performance lay a fragile person, trembling because his friend had rushed toward certain death to save him, someone who couldn’t afford to waver even slightly if he was to keep that friend alive. Now, with the performance stripped away, his face hung vacant and hollow. Because now, at last, he could allow himself to break.
Maximian’s brow furrowed as he stepped forward and caught Joshua, who was swaying on his feet. Unable to contain his fury, he cried out.
“You! You actually—you sat there composing poetry with the assassin who came to kill you, as though it were nothing! What kind of reckless nonsense was that!”
His true feelings were far different, yet these were the only words that would come. Maximian had endured the same ordeal, staking his life to buy time against a murderer.
The trembling transmitted through the hand gripping Joshua’s arm. Even as he was helping him to his feet, a tear fell from the back of his hand resting on the table. Maximian lifted Joshua’s chin.
“Crying like an idiot.”
Though he spoke those words, he wasn’t truly angry. Joshua clenched his jaw, trying to hold back, but it was futile.
“…She’s dead. Mutia doesn’t matter, but my sister, someone like me….”
Joshua’s words trailed off as he clenched his fist until it trembled, twisting his wrist. More tears spilled down his cheeks and onto the edge of the table. His rage at himself was as consuming as his guilt. Maximian muttered bitterly.
“Damn it. I warned her enough, and still she left.”
Maximian released Joshua’s shoulders. Standing with his hand braced against the table, head bowed, everything he’d endured came pouring out at once—his breathing came in stuttering, broken gasps for a long time. Maximian neither comforted nor pressed him. He simply let him cry.
After a long while, Joshua’s voice emerged as his breathing steadied.
“We have to leave this place. Quickly… Where is Riche? And Miss Montplayne… We need to get as far as possible in four days.”
Tears still clung to his long lashes, but Joshua understood they couldn’t afford to remain like this.
4. The Boundary Between Madness and Reason
You may call me mad,
But I cannot forgive you for leaving me behind.
If I am mad,
Then you are evil.
The forest path was slick and muddy. It seemed the rain had fallen only within the woods.
Even stepping carefully around puddles, mud seeped into their shoes with each step. Riche, wearing shallow-soled footwear, suffered the worst of it. Yet unlike her usual self, she walked forward in long strides without complaint. At her waist hung a wooden practice sword Caesar had given her, and across her shoulder was slung a sturdy canvas bag. Inside were carefully packed provisions: a bundle whose contents she’d kept secret to the end, round loaves of bread, thick wedges of cheese, and portions of ground meat that had been roasted and wrapped.
Though the hems of her trousers were caked with water and mud, Maximian’s only concern was cleaning his spectacles. Even now, after removing them to wipe them once more, he looked carefully in all directions before quickening his pace.
Joshua, dressed in half-boots and a waist-length cloak, had wrapped his leggings before entering the forest, making the walk relatively easier. Yet his wet hair kept falling into his eyes, forcing him to brush his forehead back repeatedly. Lost in thought, his gait seemed somewhat unsteady.
The sun, which had glimmered dimly through the branches, gradually began to glow red like a grate held over flame. Caesar, who had been leading the way with a pack on his back, came to a halt and turned around.
“Let’s rest and eat something here.”
With nowhere suitable to sit, the men leaned against nearby trees. Riche opened her bag and distributed bread to each of them, then cut portions of meat and cheese to share. After that, she herself rose slightly on her toes and settled onto a low-hanging branch. Caesar, unconcerned about getting wet, selected a rock to sit on and consumed his entire portion in the blink of an eye.
The others finished their meal in silence, taking barely five minutes in total. Joshua ate little; after consuming only a portion, he broke his bread in half and handed it to Maximian. He said nothing, but it was clear his appetite had abandoned him. Knowing that scolding would be pointless, Maximian accepted it and finished it in two bites, then stood and stretched his legs. Joshua drew his cloak closer around him and spoke.
“It’s cold for a summer night.”
“If you eat and put on weight, you won’t feel the cold.”
Maximian, responding in kind, was little better off than Joshua—he too was gaunt as a rail. Joshua smiled faintly.
“An investment like that wouldn’t even break even for me.”
Children of Runes – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months of Books
The rights to this book belong 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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