Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 34

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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 34.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (4)
Boris, having arrived from a foreign land not long ago, could not possibly have known such things. When he shook his head, Walnut spoke.
“A narrow-minded fellow, aren’t you? It’s Kangpir Marquis. They say he wields a lance with the skill befitting a knight, and none can match his horsemanship. Though he approaches forty winters, the kingdom still boasts no knight who surpasses him.”
The name was entirely new to Boris.
“The Marquis serves as Captain of the Guard for King Checel himself, and the king’s favor toward him runs quite deep. I glimpsed him from a distance once—he cultivates his mustache in two sharp points, giving him a most dignified appearance. I’ve heard tell that he conducts himself with courtesy toward the ladies and never strays from the righteous path.”
I could piece together what manner of man he was. Walnut continued.
“Next, there is Orlanne to the north—a territory of no small size, yet it has chosen to style itself a duchy while acknowledging the King of Anomarad as its liege. It seems they grasped the conveniences of such an arrangement early on. I speak of the Grand Duke of that Orlanne.”
I wondered if he was digressing again, but fortunately he was not.
“The Grand Duke’s son, Bernard, is said to be the finest swordsman in all that land. Not yet twenty winters old, they say? Young swordsmen tend toward arrogance, but he is remarkably humble—a rarity that has earned him renown for that very quality.”
As the son of a Grand Duke, he would be little different from a prince. I found myself wondering if most of the continent’s renowned warriors possessed such lofty stations.
“Bernard won the championship at the ‘Silver Skull’ held in Emgrand, Hyacan, not long ago, yet he attributed that honor to the young Queen of Hyacan, the host nation. He declared that had she risen to compete, such glory would never have come to him. Thanks to such humility, rumors swirled for some time that the young prince intended to propose marriage to the queen.”
“Silver… Skull? What is that?”
When Boris asked, Walnut’s expression turned bewildered.
“You don’t know the Silver Skull? It’s a martial arts tournament open only to children from fifteen winters until they pass their twentieth birthday! The champion receives a silver skull of pure silver bestowed by King Lugran himself and gains renown across the entire continent. Kangpir Marquis must have won it in his youth?”
Though it was said to be such an ancient tournament, I had never heard of it before.
“Originally a tradition of Lugran, it became a continental festival at some point. Surely the people of Trabaches do participate? Though I’ve never heard tell of anyone from Trabaches winning the championship.”
My brother Yefnen excelled at swordplay from childhood, yet he never once mentioned such a tournament.
It seemed that participation in such contests was not a common practice in Trabaches.
“In any case, shall we move on to Lemme next? There are two fearsome warriors there—one is Princess Jinapa, the king’s sister, and the other is a barbarian warrior of the Kamzak tribe, scattered across places like the tip of the Nim Peninsula and Elbe Island.”
The rain intensified. Even Rosnis, who had been preoccupied with the matter of the girl Chloe, began to grow absorbed in Walnut’s tale.
“A princess and a barbarian—how incongruous, yes? That is Lemme’s way. To the north of Lemme, four large tribes like Kamzak roam freely, along with more than twenty smaller barbarian tribes, and the king turns a blind eye to them. So long as they do not encroach upon the kingdom’s territory, the barbarians naturally serve as guardians of Lemme’s borders.”
Walnut appeared to have traveled widely across the continent.
“The barbarians possess sense enough to know they cannot prevail in direct confrontation with the kingdom’s armies. In any case, thanks to this peculiar coexistence, merchant caravans bound for Lemme make it standard practice to hire guards native to Lemme. The barbarians will ransom those they capture if they are Lemme-born, but if they capture someone from another land…”
Walnut fixed his gaze upon Rosnis and continued.
“They skin them with the hair still attached and fashion the hides into sled decorations.”
“Good heavens!”
Rosnis, startled, instinctively seized Boris’s arm before hastily releasing it.
Still uneasy, she glanced about before pulling Camia close and gripping her hand tightly, then exhaled a long breath.
Walnut merely smirked. It was not a particularly satisfied smile.
“Princess Jinapa, following the traditions of Lemme’s royal house, is a natural-born warrior. When barbarian tribes once united to oppose the King of Lemme, Princess Jinapa led the vanguard of the suppression force, and she became famous for the countless barbarian skulls she split open with her weapon—the princess’s flail, ‘Savage Eater.'”
The very name of the weapon spoke of its formidable nature.
“The princess despises barbarians who resist her. Yet there was one barbarian who never yielded to her—a warrior of the Kamzak tribe named Sigonu.”
He was known as “the Unbreakable Sigonu”—a man who needed no weapon, for his bare hands and body were weapons themselves.
“He wields extraordinary fists and kicks. The princess and the barbarian warrior had the chance to face each other directly in the Fourth Elbe Battle, but neither could claim final victory. Thus it remains unsettled who is truly supreme. Though there is no direct hatred between them, they can never be reconciled.”
“Thank goodness the barbarian did not defeat the princess.”
Rosnis exhaled with relief and spoke. Though she knew nothing of Princess Jinapa, the thought that a barbarian might have scalped the princess sent a chill through her.
“Finally, there is the Federation of Lugdunens. Well, it’s obvious they hail from Recordable. The mercenary commander is a man named Durgana, and the ‘Bronze Lightning’ he leads surpasses the armies of many royal houses in both scale and combat strength, or so they say.”
The Recordable Mercenary Company—I had already encountered them once. Boris tensed without realizing it.
“Recordable boasts powerful mercenary bands that even sway governments, yet even among them, ‘Bronze Lightning’ is always ranked first or second. It’s famous how all those holding key positions in Bronze Lightning have challenged Durgana at least once and submitted to him in loyalty. Durgana is both cruel and relentless—once he makes an enemy, he will hunt them down and kill them without fail. However, with age, he rarely takes the vanguard in ordinary battles anymore. So his skills may have grown somewhat rusty.”
The conversation seemed to be drawing to a close, yet Trabaches had not been mentioned once.
I harbored no shallow patriotism, but it struck me as peculiar—almost shameful, if I were honest—that a land consumed by constant strife had not produced a single renowned warrior worthy of note.
“Disappointed your country didn’t come up?”
Walnut spoke as though he had peered into my very thoughts, then leaned back against his chair with casual indifference.
He glanced between his two disciples’ faces before letting out a low chuckle. Boris could not fathom why he kept laughing.
“Curious creature, aren’t you? Tell me—when you hear tales of the strong across the Continent, what runs through your minds? Hmm? Rosnis, you first.”
Rosnis rolled her eyes as though uncertain what he meant, then shrugged her shoulders as she spoke.
“I suppose it would be nice if our nation’s warriors were stronger than those from other lands? Something like that?”
Walnut let out a soft laugh and turned his gaze to Boris.
“And you?”
Boris remained expressionless.
“They are who they are, and I am who I am. I have no particular thoughts on the matter. So long as I do not face them as enemies, it matters little.”
Walnut’s expression grew somewhat more serious.
“That is precisely the problem. You have no desire to become stronger than them? No wish to learn from their skill? You resolved to study the blade, yet harbor no ambition to become the greatest?”
Boris heard Walnut’s words, yet still felt no surge of desire. A response escaped him unbidden.
“What purpose would such strength serve? The likelihood of my ever meeting them is infinitesimal, and the chance of becoming their enemy even less. I am content merely to live without great peril. Would not drawing their attention with mediocre skill only make death more certain?”
“Ha, ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha….”
Walnut released a hollow laugh, his face plainly bewildered.
Then he fixed his gaze upon Boris’s face, searching every corner as though seeking to extract something from his features before he spoke.
“Is your sole aim merely to survive, then? Nothing more?”
It was a question easily answered.
“Yes.”
“Even if you were to survive in the same manner, you harbor no wish to do so more splendidly, more satisfyingly?”
It was a question far graver than his light tone suggested.
Boris sensed that Walnut was attempting to draw something forth from within him—something strong, something solid, something like the kernel at the heart of a seed.
Yet what that something was, he could not yet discern with clarity.
“I do not know if such things are permitted me. That is why I seek the path of living longer, with less danger.”
“Permission is an ambiguous word. Do you mean to say you will not defy fate, will not draw its gaze, and will live quietly with bowed head?”
When Boris did not answer, Walnut’s voice grew louder.
“Even if your life be brief, do you harbor no desire to accomplish deeds that will dwell in all hearts? Do you not find beauty in a flower that blazes brilliantly before falling at its zenith?”
Boris began to draw forth an answer that had seized his heart—feelings about life he himself had not known, taking shape in words.
“When one dies, it ends there. No one will reward it. What remains in the hearts of the living seems far more trivial than merely surviving in squalor.”
What was the worth of being remembered by a mere foolish younger brother?
“A dead man’s life stops there. Like a taxidermied thing—brilliant but meaningless. I do not wish to burn brightly for a moment and then cease. Bringing satisfaction to others holds meaning only when one is satisfied oneself. Once one can feel nothing, what comes after matters not.”
Then Walnut posed an unexpected question.
“How many have died for you thus far?”
“….”
I was rendered speechless.
There was no one I could truly say had died for me. Even Yefnen—it was more accurate to say he had chosen rest in a situation beyond remedy.
Yet despite this, I had felt acutely the contrast: that others had died while I lived on.
Father, Mother, my aunt, countless soldiers…. And my brother was dead, while I remained alive.
Did I truly need to die for someone else here? To die and linger in another’s heart—it sounded noble, but perhaps it was merely a burden upon the living?
“…There is no such person.”
“You are living far too many lives at once. Very well, suppose you live quietly as you wish. Do you truly believe you will live as long as the combined lifespans of all those dead? You are no immortal. All humans die. And.”
Walnut’s irises were the color of dead wood—a dark, ashen brown. They carried the faint scent of sap and ash, the smoke of burning corpses.
“The moment a human dies is precisely when desire dies.”
Boris recalled when Walnut first spoke of hunger. He had wondered then—hunger has an end, but where does the end of other desires lie?
“Yet so long as one lives, desire cannot be denied. Knowing that death comes eventually, the yearning to fulfill present desires with care only grows fiercer. But here is the thing—the easier it is to satisfy desire, the more one picks and chooses, leaving behind mountains of refuse. The paths where such people have lived are littered everywhere with half-eaten scraps. But those who cannot easily satisfy their desires are different. If they never know when hunger will strike again, they devour whatever comes before them without hesitation.”
Even then, Boris did not fully grasp what Walnut was driving at.
It was then that Walnut’s voice grew louder.
“That is why I say your thinking is absurd! You are a starving man. Then you must devour whatever falls to the ground, whatever others have left behind—anything within reach. Greed is no flaw when life itself is the object of desire. Yet you stand back from the table, gazing only at the covered dishes, while claiming you wish to live long. You should know—if you do not starve to death, count yourself fortunate!”

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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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