Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 385

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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 155.
May Your Final Performance
Be Your Greatest (30)
Joshua walked forward. Within mere steps, my wet clothes and hair dried completely—impossibly. On the seventh stride, I extended my left arm, then unfurled my right hand before me. Above my palm, a transparent current emerged—whether water or air, I could not discern. It coalesced into a sphere, warping space itself, then swelled into a vortex the size of a human head.
Maximian cried out.
“Joshua!”
His cry proved futile. The vortex extended unabated, striking directly through the cluster of Mercenaries gathered as if to pierce the very void. A tremendous pressure erupted, followed by a razor-sharp gust of air. The men flew apart like wooden splinters, hurled to either side and smashed against the ground. Those standing nearest the center had their garments shredded to tatters, their skin bearing wounds as though scoured by sandpaper.
“Tedious.”
I continued walking through the ranks of enemies who had already lost their will to fight. The resplendent jacket Riche had crafted for me, combined with the deep blue makeup still adorning my face, rendered my appearance all the more merciless and unforgiving.
I raised my left arm above my head once more, then drew it inward. To Maximian’s eye, the gesture resembled drawing something from the empty air into myself.
Then I seized one of the swords the enemies had dropped. I drew the blade and cast aside the scabbard, then, moving with perfect form, I slashed twice through the air and spoke.
“Well then, who shall be first?”
When a nearby man assumed a defensive stance, my blade extended instantly, dismantling his guard, then swept his legs from beneath him, dropping him to the ground. I stepped forward; another man brought his sword down in a two-handed strike, which I parried. As the blade shattered, I cast it aside and suddenly planted my foot upon the man’s hands, leaping lightly upward, spinning once through the air, landing gracefully while drawing the sword from the belt of a man to my right. In the same motion of rising to my feet, I drove the blade backward. My footwork exploited space with masterful precision, indifferent to the danger of being surrounded by multiple attackers—as though such concern were beneath me.
Soon I was encircled by enemies. I moved my left arm once more, drawing something from the void, then unleashed a terrible onslaught, slashing in all directions. Watching it all unfold, Maximian could not trust his own eyes. Joshua—who knew nothing of swordplay, who could barely swing a staff properly?
Those movements could not possibly be Joshua’s own. A sinister dread washed over him. This state was not normal. Then what was happening? Had he fallen into possession again?
Earlier, even if Maximian had plunged back into the water, there was no guarantee he could have rescued Joshua. Should he then rejoice in this situation? Yet something felt profoundly wrong.
In any case, it was certain that Joshua faced no danger among those men. One against thirty, yet the advantage was overwhelmingly his. Maximian decided: I must prepare for escape during this reprieve. That is far more important than standing here as a spectator. Though Joshua’s state unsettles me, I should ready the ship to depart at a moment’s notice and bring him aboard.
As though sensing Maximian’s thoughts, a figure emerged from the rail of Beauty’s Pinnacle.
“You’ve come? But what are you doing out there?”
The remark was made because Maximian was still submerged in the sea, yet Maximian grew angry nonetheless.
“I’m not playing around!”
Riche opened her eyes.
It was but a brief moment, yet her mind felt scattered as though from a nightmare. Simultaneously, everything around her swayed violently. The mane of the horse before her eyes shook with the motion. As her senses returned further, she felt arms encircling her.
Riche turned her head and looked upward.
….
Beneath a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, only the jaw and the bridge of the nose were visible. The eyes remained concealed behind a mask as before. Short golden hair swayed at the ears. The man guided the horse with his left hand. And with that terrifying right hand, he held her firmly so she would not fall from the horse. The moment she felt that grip, her entire body erupted in goosebumps. Simultaneously, she realized her hands were bound.
The man said nothing. Riche recalled that he had been a man of many words. Yet just before she lost consciousness, his final words had sounded as though he disliked speaking much. Which was true? Was it permissible to speak? In any case, he had not killed her yet.
When she lifted her head again to look, she noticed that his jaw and mouth were unexpectedly delicate in line, even refined in appearance. In her imagination, he had been a terrifying monster, yet his features seemed strangely distant from that image.
Though she was being carried away in the grip of the man she had feared so greatly, Riche found herself gradually regaining her composure. Then the final scene she had witnessed before leaving the Theater returned to her with perfect clarity. In that instant, her chest tightened, and something surged upward within her. Before she knew it, a whimper escaped her lips.
“Ugh….”
Then the man spoke.
“Is the horse swaying too much?”
The question, posed as though he were a considerate older cousin lending her his horse, was so infuriating that Riche could not bring herself to answer. Her chest remained heavy and oppressed. Her head spun, and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Whether from the horse’s motion or some other cause, she found it nearly unbearable.
“Huff, ugh….”
Suddenly, the horse’s pace slowed. As though for her sake alone.
Only when the tightness in her chest eased slightly, and she could breathe again, did Riche—as though fear had been forgotten—suddenly address him.
“Listen to me.”
….
“Why did you do that?”
….
“There was no need for that. Why… why did you have to do that to her…?”
“There was no need.”
The casual tone of his response only stoked her fury further.
“There was no need, so why did you do it!”
“Not every action stems from necessity.”
“Such idle reasoning…”
The Tall Man suddenly moved his hand, seizing Riche’s arm before releasing it. Though the moment was brief, the pain was so sharp she nearly cried out.
“You still talk too much.”
Riche, entirely unintimidated, shot back with venom.
“You talk plenty yourself!”
A moment later, his response came.
“I dislike women who talk too much.”
The illogical assertion—that he could talk freely while women could not—was absurd, but that wasn’t what she’d meant to say. Before Riche could press further, the Tall Man spoke first.
“The moment I grabbed her throat, I realized my target was wrong.”
Of course, confusing Ines and Joshua would only be momentary. Riche had tried to ask—
“But…”
“Still, there seemed no particular reason to keep her alive.”
That was all. Before Riche could find her words, his continued.
5. The Confrontation
“I don’t understand. What gives you such certainty? What makes you so relentless?”
“I can see the end before my eyes. But if I don’t run toward that end, it blurs and vanishes from sight. Yes, you’re right. I must be relentless. Without relentlessness, everything crumbles.”
The Docks were devastated. Blood seeped through every crevice in the stone, and scattered about lay seven or eight blood-stained blades, while thirty men lay incapacitated, unable to resist further. Joshua drew a fresh blade and pointed it into empty air once before speaking.
“These swords dull far too quickly.”
He swung left and right, but no opponents remained. Joshua cast the blade aside, then lowered his gaze, surveying the fallen.
It had been truly instantaneous. The time it took to fell them all matched what it would normally take to face one or two opponents. And yet, despite such extraordinary swordplay—cutting and thrusting dozens, hundreds of times—he had not killed a single one. Had he done so deliberately? Or was it mere chance?
But in any case, it was finished. Now they had to get them aboard the Ship. Maximian called out, uncertain whether his friend would understand.
“Joshua!”
He turned. His eyes held a distinctly different light than usual, his lips curved in a faint, contemptuous smile. Maximian wondered if he still wouldn’t recognize him, when a response rang out.
“Yes.”
Maximian sucked his lower lip once, then shouted again.
“We have to leave now! Get aboard the Ship!”
Joshua walked steadily toward the Docks. He came to the water’s edge and stopped, looking up at Maximian with a broad smile.
“You’ll have to lower the rope for me to climb up.”
Setting aside the thought that he was being difficult after causing all this commotion, Maximian unfurled and tossed down the rope. Joshua, who had been waiting, caught it easily with one hand. Maximian muttered to himself that if he were always like this, how convenient it would be, and that this state of his didn’t seem so bad after all…
“I’m coming up.”
Rope in hand, Joshua lightly propelled himself upward, stepping on the Ship’s hull before launching himself again, repeating the motion until he reached the rail in moments. That was when Maximian, standing and looking toward the Dock, saw a horse galloping toward them in the distance.
His entire body went rigid.
At that very moment, Joshua stood directly before him, his face oddly composed as he asked.
“Where is Riche?”
Maximian watched. The horse, galloping at no particularly swift pace, paused briefly before the fallen men, then leaped over them and approached the Ship. He could see Riche, held fast in the rider’s grip.
Fortunately… he hadn’t died. But could he survive what lay ahead in those hands?
The conversation faltered.
Joshua didn’t board the ship; instead, he perched on the gunwale with his legs dangling over the edge. He would see the mounted figure approaching. The Tall Man dismounted, and Riche did the same. Riche’s hands were bound, but otherwise she appeared unharmed.
The Tall Man held the end of the rope binding Riche’s hands in his left grip. There was no urgency in his manner, no sign of alarm. He spoke a few words to those sprawled on the ground, and they dragged themselves away by sheer force of will. Then he raised one hand, touched the brim of his hat in a gesture of greeting, and lowered it.
“We meet again.”
Just as Maximian was about to speak, Joshua’s voice came from where he sat on the gunwale.
“Unfortunately, but you’re hardly a face I wished to see again.”
His tone was so cold that an ordinary person would have flinched, yet the Tall Man laughed softly.
“I’m the one who’s disappointed. I’ve been watching you for days.”
Joshua nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I’m sure you have. I received the burial clothes you sent quite well.”
“Ah, that white garment.”
The Tall Man looked up and studied Joshua for a moment before speaking.
“But you didn’t wear it.”
“Someone gave me something far more beautiful.”
Joshua raised his hand and pointed downward.
“She’s with you now.”
The first garment the Tall Man had sent was made by Riche anyway, but neither of them concerned themselves with such details.
“So it seems. But shouldn’t you reclaim what’s yours?”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months Publishing
The copyright of 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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