Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 360

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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 130.
May Your Final Performance
Be Your Greatest (5)
In Hyacan, where the theatrical business flourished, it had become customary at some point to hold two performances daily. Most theaters had consequently equipped themselves with multiple practice rooms. With performances running every day, there was simply no other way to secure space for rehearsing the next show.
However, in Durnensa, where theaters were not as lucrative a business as in Hyacan, a single daily performance remained the norm. Even that was often interrupted by days of closure while the next show was being prepared, during which the space would be converted into a dining hall for additional revenue.
Kalayso, being a major harbor with prosperous small towns and wealthy estates nearby, was developing an atmosphere where some theaters began offering two daily performances. Yet because the quality of these productions was generally low, extensive rehearsal periods were rarely necessary, so few theaters in Kalayso possessed properly equipped practice rooms.
The Diamond Rush Theater possessed only one large practice room for dancers and two for actors—one of which was so poorly maintained it might as well have been a converted barn. The other was spacious enough for light rehearsals, though it appeared to have served as a materials warehouse not long before.
Yesterday, I had summoned workers to that space, cleared it out, arranged chairs and tables, and transformed it into something barely suitable for gathering people. There was the option of using the ballroom, but it had been repurposed as a dining hall while the main performance hall underwent repairs, leaving me with no choice.
The practice room had two entrances along the right wall, one at the front and one at the back. The rear door opened to the outside, while the front door connected to another smaller practice room. A piano stood against the right side of the front wall.
Along the left wall, four seats were arranged for the Theater Master and other staff members. In the center, I placed two large semicircular tables at angles facing inward, with five chairs arranged around each. Behind these, twelve more chairs were divided left and right.
Regardless of which seat one chose, sitting down naturally directed one’s gaze toward a single point at the front. In that spacious area cleared for a simple performance, there stood nothing but a single chair, solitary and bare. This entire arrangement had been orchestrated according to the wishes of one person alone.
Exactly twenty-two people in Kalayso had received invitations and scripts sent by courier yesterday. Callaimon and I had anticipated that fewer than half—in fact, less than a third—would actually attend, yet we had no choice but to arrange chairs according to the number of invitations sent. The “one person” whose opinion we could not possibly ignore was simply too confident in their convictions.
The scheduled start time was eleven o’clock. Yet by ten fifty, not a single guest had arrived—only the four of us seated in the staff section.
The atmosphere, however, remained buoyant. I, seated in the Theater Master’s chair, had been laughing loudly for some time now.
“What’s so amusing?”
Callaimon spoke with a note of complaint.
“Ha, hahaha, really, aren’t you the amusing one? I’m absolutely dying of laughter. Haha, hahaha….”
“Shouldn’t we perhaps take this more seriously rather than find it amusing?”
I managed to suppress my laughter and opened my mouth to speak.
“But consider this—that friend arranged for the hall renovations before even meeting with me that night to demand ‘full authority.’ Isn’t that absurd? It’s not even his theater, he has no money, he didn’t ask permission, yet he brazenly summoned workers, ordered the theater renovated, drew up blueprints, and then had the audacity to meet me and demand ‘full authority!'”
Even as I spoke these words, my expression remained oddly cheerful.
“So you see, when he met me, he must have already known exactly how I would respond. In other words, he was certain he could persuade me. He’d already committed to the work—didn’t he worry at all about what would happen if he failed to convince me?”
“You find it enjoyable because it’s predictable? You’re not angry?”
I shook my head.
“It’s not enjoyable or infuriating—it’s simply hilarious. The more I think about it, the more charming it becomes. How can someone be so utterly confident? A young person with no fear whatsoever—not about the performance content, not about managing people, not about making money. He acts without hesitation, as though whatever he decides will naturally come to pass. What would you even call such a thing?”
“Wouldn’t you call that audacious?”
At Callaimon’s retort, I burst into laughter again.
“Haha, hahaha, you’re right. That’s exactly right. Audacious—now that you mention it, where on earth did he come from? Didn’t you say he was some nobleman’s servant? It seems like a lie to me.”
Though I spoke half-jokingly, I had inadvertently struck at a hidden truth. Captain Callaimon shrugged and smacked his lips. It was Callaimon himself who had originally brought me into this venture. Had I been displeased at this moment, he would have found himself in far greater difficulty. Perhaps I should be grateful that I was laughing instead. This entire project would have been impossible from the start without Callaimon’s agreement, as he held an equal half-share with me.
When Callaimon offered no response, I shrugged and posed a counter-question instead.
“Are you anxious?”
“Hmm?”
“Worried that no one will come?”
“Well, not exactly….”
Callaimon attempted to evade the question, but I lifted my chin lightly as though I had already heard everything he meant to say, and drew my conclusion.
“Whether a few come or even just one, that person is certainly someone worth working with, isn’t that true?”
I still did not know exactly what reasoning had led Callaimon to invest in this project. I knew he had met separately with Hispania, the person in question, but it seemed unlike his usual approach to commit investment based solely on appreciation for a single actor, however talented.
Yet he had authorized me to oversee everything—the script, the direction, the music, the staff selection, and even the actors. He had even agreed to this unusual idea of conducting auditions for staff members.
What I had said moments ago certainly meant: “Any competent staff member would not refuse an invitation after reading this script.” Of course, Callaimon had read the script as well, but being essentially ignorant of artistic matters, he had merely found it entertaining without possessing the eye to recognize its true merit. A bundle of scripts, one rather handsome actor with a good voice—what other advantage did this project possess?
Of course, Callaimon had already asked me once. At that time, I had answered this way.
“Actually, Hispania outlined a plan that makes this performance’s success inevitable. In the end, success and failure both come down to that final step—a matter of luck. With such a plan in place, I’m not afraid of failure. I have a feeling this will succeed. Hehehehe.”
Etern’s confidence was so absolute that Callaimon couldn’t bring himself to object, merely scratching his chin.
“Someone seems to be approaching.”
Etern tilted his head to listen, rose from his seat, and prepared to greet the visitor. The sound of footsteps grew steadily closer from beyond the corridor, audible now to Callaimon as well. When a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, Callaimon was startled. Could that be Rigi Strauss, one of the most respected musicians not just in Kalayso, but in all of Durnensa?
Strauss accepted Etern’s greeting and, catching sight of Callaimon standing beside him, smiled broadly.
“I have long heard of your reputation, sir.”
“Pardon?”
Though he was certainly well-known in this region, it was surprising to hear such words from someone so unexpected. Strauss smiled again.
“When I heard that ‘Callaimon of Kalayso’ had brought ‘the Swordmaster of the Capital’ to his knees, I felt quite pleased myself.”
The elderly musician spoke of an anecdote from some ten years past as casually as if it were yesterday, then turned and claimed a chair for himself.
Callaimon had no time to compose his bewildered expression before Giovann Hantke poked his head through the doorway.
“Everyone’s running late, it seems?”
He glanced at the empty seats, then strolled in as if he’d simply come to play cards with a neighbor. He greeted Master Strauss and settled into a seat at the very back.
Though his parents were from Durnensa, Giovann Hantke was born and raised in the Rugran Kingdom, where the arts flourished greatly. There, he had organized a unique theater company centered on dancers and earned considerable renown. He was known as a master of ensemble choreography, having once performed a two-hundred-person spectacle at the Plaza of Grace on the occasion of King Lugran’s birthday.
The reason for his return to Durnensa remained unclear, though rumor had it that his unbridled temperament had incurred the displeasure of some high official. After his return, he had involved himself in performances at several theaters for a time, but now, disappointed by the standards here, he had withdrawn and was spending his days in leisure. The people of Kalayso lived lives too grounded in practicality to truly understand the refined arts of Rugran.
After a brief pause, an elegant woman in her mid-forties, dressed like a noblewoman, appeared with two young girls and greeted Etern.
“Lady Sui de Molt! How wonderful that you’ve come.”
The noblewoman raised her shoulders, revealing her firm collarbone, and let out a delighted laugh.
“Truth be told, I hadn’t planned to come, but that script was rather entertaining. You know I’m busy, though? Keep it brief. Still, I do want to see the face of whoever wrote that script.”
Lady Sui de Molt took a seat toward the back because of her two students. Until seven or eight years ago, she had been the most famous actress in this region, and now, living like a queen in the estate bearing the name of her late husband, Count Molt, she occupied herself by taking in aspiring actors to teach.
Just then, a petite woman in a short jacket and a felt skirt reaching to her knees started to enter but stopped at the doorway, exclaiming in surprise.
“Oh my, Sui is here?”
“Selma! I had no idea you’d returned to Kalayso!”
“That’s because you’re always shut away in that manor! Sui—or should I say Countess Molt now?”
“Oh, are you trying to make an old friend laugh? Let the title of Countess go to some pretty fiancée of the young Count Molt. Just let me keep the family name, will you? Come now, sit beside me, dear Rayslink.”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months Publishing
The copyright to this book belongs to the author and 14 Months Publishing.
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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