Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 355

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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 125.
Ninety-Eight Souls (38)
Callaimon’s cheek twitched.
“He does seem to sing well enough.”
“And his face isn’t bad either, is it?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then what are you hesitating about? Do you have any performers in your theater who sing better than this fellow? None at all, male or female?”
Callaimon replied flatly.
“But who would come to watch a man sing? Our theater’s main draw is the dancers’ shows and songs. In a harbor teeming with sailors, we don’t put on performances with men in leading roles.”
Maximian’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly he launched into a lengthy discourse.
“Oh, you’re mistaken. You can’t succeed by chasing only the customers everyone else knows. The sailors who enjoy such shows are constantly being fought over by other theaters, so monopolizing them is virtually impossible. The real success lies in the overlooked customers, the marginalized ones. Of course, they must have money to spend—that’s fundamental. Everyone knows Kalayso isn’t just a simple harbor. Don’t people from the small towns and manors in this region come here when they want to see something grand and entertaining? Sailors are the majority, yes, but they’re not your only customers. Moreover, isn’t a true impresario one who can sell anything? If the material you need to sell is a man, shouldn’t you be thinking about how to sell him brilliantly? Now, surely you understand who you should be selling to?”
“No. Who exactly?”
At this point, Callaimon had begun to take interest more in Maximian’s remarkable gift of persuasion than in the content itself, and Maximian suddenly clenched both fists and cried out.
“Gather the noblewomen!”
Joshua turned to look back at the distance he had just walked, then lifted his gaze forward again. Before him stood a gaudy signboard depicting a young woman in an ostrich-feathered hat and golden dress, one leg exposed, winking. But Joshua, who had never experienced genuine emotion toward women, merely thought the painting was rather poorly executed.
Beside the entrance, decorated with palm trees and crude jewel drawings, he saw “Diamond Rush! Your Fantasy Paradise” written in large red and yellow letters. Looking to the left, beneath text introducing today’s show schedule and tomorrow’s program, something odd caught his eye.
§ Today’s Recommended Dinner §
Clam cream soup, filet mignon, seafood tomato salad, and a glass of wine. Price: 5 goblins. Absolutely affordable.
Joshua couldn’t comprehend it. Dinner at a theater? Was this a restaurant?
At Max Cardi’s performances, not even a pudding was served. These weren’t shows where people ate and drank while chattering, applauding when a good song came along, and giggling amongst themselves. He had only ever performed for audiences who lined up solely to see Cardi, clutching handkerchiefs and raising and lowering opera glasses so as not to miss a single scene.
Yet the other theaters in the area seemed little different. The street was still quiet. Few people passed by, and only the actors who had worked late into the previous night occasionally came and went with languid, unmade-up faces. Joshua felt displeased. Max Cardi—or whatever name he would use—had decided to perform, yet the environment was at this level. It was intolerable.
He would not let a single person who wanted to eat while watching perform enter. If they wanted to dine, let them go to a dining hall!
There happened to be no one guarding the theater entrance. Somewhat indignant, Joshua strode inside without asking anyone. Because he entered so boldly, the people he encountered along the way simply stared blankly without attempting to stop him.
Passing through the reception hall and ascending the central staircase covered in crimson carpet, a large door leading to the performance hall appeared. The door was closed, but when he touched the handle, it wasn’t locked. Looking left and right, he indeed found waiting rooms for performers and dancers on both sides. At least the theater had the basics—surely this hall was filled with dining tables and chairs?
Though it was uncertain whether he could truly perform here, Joshua’s mind was already filled with thoughts of executing a perfect show. How well-trained were the performers? Were the dancers’ movements adequate? Were the costumes proper? The musicians? Was the stage backdrop painted better than the signboard?
Just then, from the left waiting room, about a dozen dancers emerged, having finished their preparations and changed into costumes for the upcoming afternoon performance. Joshua turned his head sharply to look at them. There was no other intention behind it—he merely wanted to see if the dancers’ costumes were acceptable.
The dancers noticed a strange young boy standing before the theater door watching them. And he was staring intently. It was natural for them to assume the boy had been captivated by their flashy, revealing costumes. After all, he was a boy in crude, oversized muslin clothes (which Maximian had purchased) that looked like they’d been hastily remade from burlap sacks, gazing up at the theater door like a country bumpkin.
They approached with giggles, intending to tease him. Amaryllis Crown, who stood at the front, felt a playful impulse and extended her fan to tap Joshua’s shoulder as she spoke.
“Handsome traveler, do you have time this evening?”
Joshua looked at the dancer’s shoes one last time and concluded that their costumes were altogether terrible. The fabric was cheap, the stitching was sloppy, the jewels were fake, and they were even worn! So he lifted his head to say something, and at that moment his eyes met Amaryllis’s, whose face was suddenly very close.
“Oh my!”
It was not Joshua who was flustered. Few people his age were as familiar with stage costumes as Joshua was. But Amaryllis, who had assumed the boy was a country bumpkin, was startled to find him far more handsome than imagined, and his gaze resembled that of a stage director on the verge of delivering a scolding.
With their noses nearly touching, Joshua opened his mouth.
“The hat is too small, the hair should be pinned up entirely, the stitching is so sloppy the body’s curves don’t show, and the exposure is clumsy. The skirt should be shorter, and wear silver stockings instead. If the costume is poor, even good dancing won’t shine. Or rather, to stand on stage in such a costume, you’d need to dance exceptionally well, wouldn’t you? Let’s see everyone’s skill. All of you, get inside the theater! Right now!”
“No. That is not so. I am not where you are aiming at me. Here I stand, smiling like this, looking at you.”
– Michel Foucault
(Michel Foucault,
1926~1984)
Children of Rune
Demonic
Act 7. Headreach
1. The Question of Who Gave the Order
The army you command is pathetic. Do they listen to orders with deaf ears? Half a day has passed since I sent messengers, and still they laugh and chatter like nothing matters. They’re no different from children playing in the countryside. What gives them such confidence? Why do they show no fear of punishment? From where I stand, you’ve made friends of them. A band of companions willing to stake their lives for you alone.
A woman waited for someone at the Black Dock, that jagged protrusion jutting into the night sea.
From the sea—or rather, from beyond the horizon obscured by darkness—a cool breeze swept across her face. She thought of it as the Island’s breath. Somewhere far out on the water, there existed an island perpetually surrounded by storms, unreachable by any ship. Her father had told her this when she was young, a tale every harbor dweller spoke of at least once. She had lived in this harbor for forty-two years and was no exception. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this story was that her father had been the one to tell it. He was from Kalayso, a man who cared not a whit for sailors’ legends—less than a discarded seashell on the roadside.
They said the Island could not be reached even after sailing for a day or two. Of course, no one had ever tried to go there, and no one had ever returned. This very impossibility made it easy to believe in—the notion of an island so distant, wrapped in storms, from which all winds originated. Because it was so far away, the breeze that reached here had grown soft enough to caress one’s cheek.
As her thoughts came to an end, the person she had been waiting for approached. A slender silhouette backlit by the flickering lights of the harbor. Confident yet light-footed. As he drew closer, his face became clear. Beneath a forehead framed by disheveled gray hair, eyes as dark as the night sea gleamed. The lamps hung along the railings surrounding the dock cast a rosy glow across his cheeks and lips.
“Lucy Eterne?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Joe Hispanie. I apologize for asking you to meet in such a place.”
“It’s fine. Quite nice, actually.”
At her words, Joshua ceased his apologies and stood beside her against the railing, gazing out at the sea. After a moment, he spoke.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Neither can I.”
“Then what were you looking at?”
The lamplight had made Lucy’s figure visible even from a distance as she gazed seaward. Rather than answer, she posed a question in return.
“What do you think lies in that darkness, Hispanie?”
“The sea, I suppose.”
“Correct. Your thoughts align with mine. Then you understand now what I was looking at?”
Joshua’s lips curved subtly before he let out a soft laugh.
“To know what exists without seeing it. That’s why you wanted to meet me.”
“Yes.”
Joshua fell silent, tilting his head slightly, then turning to regard Lucy. For a moment, his elegant eyes—hidden in shadow—caught the light, then scattered it, like sparks igniting and fading.
Her gaze followed his. Just then, though unseen above, the cry of a bird echoed once. Joshua glanced upward and spoke.
“What’s up there?”
“A gull that couldn’t make it home.”
“Don’t you think I might be of a similar kind?”
This time, Lucy laughed.
“Then I should send you home. Where is it?”
Joshua opened his empty hands.
“I’ve lost it.”
“A gull with no future plans whatsoever. Precisely the sort that suits someone like me. My father always said to gather such people and work them for cheap until they’re wrung dry.”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months Publishing
The rights to this book belong to the author and 14 Months Publishing.
To reuse all or part of this book’s contents, 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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