Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 38

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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 38.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (8)
Suddenly, I felt the pain of a thick needle still lodged in a corner of my chest—an emotion I had deliberately tried to forget and hide. I thought I had concealed it well all this time, but how did he know?
“You….”
“I was simply observing. Since I have nothing else to do.”
Slender fingers toyed with the hair near his ear. Lanji’s wrist, visible beneath the fallen sleeve, contrasted sharply with my own, which gripped a sword. Yet despite his physical frailty, I sensed something like an unshakeable core emanating from him.
“But now I have a family.”
Lanji suddenly stopped moving and looked at me.
Though his expression was blank, I felt a reproachful gleam in his eyes, so I steadied myself and composed my features into calm indifference.
“In time, I’ll grow accustomed to it. Father and Mother are good people, and Rosnis is endearing. I believe they’re all worth befriending. I’m confident about that.”
Lanji spoke without withdrawing that earlier look from his eyes.
“It would sound far more plausible if you said instead that growing up in the Count’s House will benefit your future.”
“What do you mean by that?”
On the surface, his words seemed to suggest: ‘You’re enduring these people you dislike because you want to become the young master of the Count’s House?’ But the implication ran far deeper.
If I interpreted it as ‘It would be more convincing to say that, so choose that version instead,’ wasn’t he already presupposing that I was lying?
“You lack honesty. Or rather, I understand there are always circumstances where one cannot be honest. I’ve asked an impertinent question.”
Lanji took a step back, but I did not retreat.
“I need more explanation. Are you suggesting I have some other purpose besides becoming a member of this household? What made you think that? Setting aside my displeasure, I want to hear your reasoning first.”
It was a gamble of a question—a demand that he confess if he knew any secrets.
“No. I know nothing. Only….”
This time, Lanji did not pretend ignorance and flee.
“I know that your demeanor falls far short of genuinely wishing to become part of this household.”
I swallowed silently and deliberately replied in a cold tone.
“That’s merely a personal matter. It may be true that I adapt slowly, but there is still plenty of time.”
“The greatest evidence is.”
Lanji’s voice stiffened slightly and rose.
“That you sometimes—in fact, often—forget that I am merely a servant. Just as you are doing now.”
My eyebrow twitched faintly.
“Perhaps it’s because I’m unaccustomed to having only one servant attend to me. When I lived in Trabaches, there was only the Nanny who raised me from childhood. You and I are the same age, yet the notion that you must move solely for my sake has not become so easily natural to me.”
Lanji lowered his head as if in agreement, then raised it again, his gaze piercing directly into mine.
Those shadowed violet eyes.
A liberated gleam I had never once seen revealed to anyone within the Castle—now fixed upon his young master.
Utterly unlike the eyes that always looked downward. The eyes of a true human being with boundaries that must not be crossed, pupils that grasped at the core of his nature so the other could not escape.
It was impossible for one who possessed such eyes to serve anyone…. Why had I not perceived what lay hidden in that gaze until now?
“Your words are kind. But do not deny that there is more to it than that. You have no intention of adapting whatsoever. You do not believe you have become the Count’s son, nor do you regard Rosnis as your sister. You do not wish to introduce yourself to relatives. It is only natural that you cannot treat a servant like me carelessly. Your demeanor within this Castle is like that of someone wearing formal dress borrowed for a single evening’s party. One cannot treat borrowed clothes roughly.”
In Lanji’s words, the person who had always been ‘my lord’ became simply ‘the Count,’ and Rosnis too was referred to by name alone, yet it did not sound strange.
It seemed as though that was how it should have always been.
“You must know Camia, Rosnis’s maid.”
I waited in silence. Now I wanted to hear all the reasons why Lanji thought this way. As a human being, he was both strange and wondrous to me.
“That girl once harbored affection for you. At first as a friend of similar circumstances and age, then as if gazing upon a prince who had suddenly risen in station. But it seems she no longer feels that way.”
Boris had no idea such a thing had even occurred. It was likely because, with so many people already under his watchful eye, Camia had simply never entered his sphere of concern.
“Camia instinctively sensed that you were neither one thing nor the other. You are not an object of admiration to be observed from a distance, nor a peer to befriend. You are simply someone who exists far away. It has nothing to do with your station being elevated or your demeanor being rigid. Your world is not the familiar landscape that people your age typically inhabit, nor is it one splendid or magnificent enough to inspire longing. It is nothing but a desolate foreign land—cold, barren, and difficult even to approach. Who would wish to go there?”
Boris spoke then.
“The meaning may differ somewhat, but… you are the same way, are you not?”
Langie smiled faintly.
“My world is one of warmth far greater than yours. Though you, it seems, dwell in a world of ice.”
It was a strange thing to say. Langie continued.
“Perhaps that is why I find myself curious about your world.”
Langie’s eyes held the color of flame—a deep crimson. And Boris possessed eyes like frozen mist—a pale gray.
“Why do you remain in this manor? Is it solely because of Lanzumi?”
Or were you, too, testing your own possibilities within these walls?
Langie answered.
“I have no intention of living here forever. One day, I will depart. Simply not yet.”
It would likely be later than Boris’s own departure. But he saw no reason to voice such a truth.
To trust Langie was dangerous. The more captivating a person, the easier it became for them to deceive.
“Why do you tell me such things? If I were to relay even a few words of this conversation to Father, you would be cast out. If you wish to remain here because of Lanzumi, should you not devote yourself entirely to that purpose?”
Langie laughed softly.
“People who would do such a thing do not ask me why before they leap to their feet, cry out a word or two, and leave.”
Boris briefly considered whether he should perform the very act Langie had just described.
Then Langie continued.
“And I am not the sort to broach such matters with someone capable of doing so.”
How much of Boris’s nature had Langie truly grasped? Why such certainty?
“In any case, very well. My next actions shall be determined as I see fit. But you must answer my questions. By your own account, I am truly someone with whom you share no connection. So what purpose could you possibly have in telling me such things? You gain nothing by taking such a risk, do you? Surely you do not mean to answer that you were merely bored?”
“You appeared to be in danger.”
The brief words struck Boris’s ear with force. Langie was about to say something more.
“Oh, Langie—you are here… Young Master, you are here too? What are you doing out here? Word is that a case of sixty-year-old Arajon white wine has arrived at the Party Hall, and everyone is in quite a stir. Will you not come taste it?”
A maid who had been passing by—though in truth had ventured out searching for those who had strayed from the Party Hall—had discovered them. She had no time to wonder what the two had been discussing before she hurried away into the shade of another tree.
Langie smiled at Boris.
“Shall I bring you a glass of white wine?”

Langie did not return quickly. Boris sat alone, lost in thought.
Perhaps Langie had obtained information from somewhere. If so, where had it come from? I had to suspect, one by one, those who knew the circumstances of my arrival.
Setting aside the Count and Countess and their secretary for now, Rosnis also seemed unlikely. She disliked Langie’s demeanor so intensely that she would never have sat down for a lengthy conversation with him.
As for the accompanying knights, there was no need to mention them. They were the sort who would never deign to treat a mere child servant as a person.
That left Willa and Camia as suspects. Based on what Langie had said, it seemed quite likely that Camia had revealed something.
The phrase “a peer in similar circumstances” that Langie had used troubled me. It was the sort of remark that suggested Camia had disclosed how Boris had appeared when she first met him.
If I imagined the contents of their conversation—something akin to romantic counseling—it would be no surprise that Langie had discerned that Boris was deceiving those around him.
Yet I still could not decide whether this matter should be reported to the Count.
What did he mean by “curious about your world”? How should I interpret it? As I recalled his words, which seemed to pierce through my very nature, a chill ran through me.
Perhaps it had been a mistake from the start to take on someone as perceptive as Langie as a servant. I knew myself well. Even if Langie said something more damning, even if he and his unfortunate sister were cast out, I was not the sort of person who could inform the Count and betray them.
To have one’s nature so thoroughly seen through was the same as having one’s weakness exposed.
Finally, what did he mean by saying I appeared “precarious”?
Did it mean my acting was so clumsy that I could not even deceive Langie? Or was there another meaning?
The more I thought about it, the more I hesitated over whether it was safe to leave Langie as he was. Since Langie’s own safety and that of his sister depended on it, he would not carelessly divulge what he had discovered. Even if, by some chance, it reached the Count’s ears, I could simply shift the blame to Camia and be done with it.
If Langie were cold enough to do such a thing, he could feign innocence, ensnare both Boris and Camia, and slip away himself.
Of course, that was assuming I did not counterattack. But what if I did?
It was as though I held the winning hand but was too afraid of reducing my opponent to a beggar to play it, and so I was losing instead.
Even by the time I had thought this far, Langie had not returned. That was enough time to make three round trips to the Party Hall and more.
Boris rose and began to leave. There was no obligation for me to wait.
Just as the light from the Party Hall began to touch my feet, I heard a familiar voice from beyond the grass.
“You won’t listen? Have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing?”
I did not know the person well, but I recognized the voice immediately. It was Silviet, the daughter of Marquis d’Argenson.
Yet her tone was entirely different from the Silviet I knew. She was not the woman who had always spoken with downcast eyes and measured words.
Had this manner of speaking not seemed so natural, as though she had done it a hundred times before, I might have thought she was imitating someone. It was so arrogant and sharp. Even mockingly self-assured.
When there was no response, Silviet’s voice grew louder.
“You apologized just now, didn’t you? If you want forgiveness, then kiss my shoes! Then what will I do? What do you think I’ll do? Does my word sound like a joke to you?”
At first, I had not intended to intervene. But the moment I heard the response, I found myself moving toward the sound without thinking.

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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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