Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 414

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 184.
In the Name of Loyalty and Vengeance (26)
4. Duke Periwinkle
Your golden hair carries the scent of wind,
Not of earth nor water, but of wind alone,
Whispering like a dove from the lowlands,
Flying like a hawk from the heights,
When moon fades and stars dim in the murky night,
Beneath your feet, thousands of layers of wind are trodden,
To the world’s end where sky and earth converge,
A sky-sailor upon the celestial sea.
Across the Continent, the title of Duke belonged either to royalty or to one or two nobles who stood at the pinnacle of power. In Anomarad, only two families held the rank of Duke outside the royal bloodline. Yet considering that Duke Fontina’s sister was the Queen, there was truly only one Duke without ties to the Royal House.
This exceptional Duke possessed no territory anywhere within the Kingdom. In Anomarad, all that Duke Arnim held was Jade Ring Castle and a small forest nearby—nothing more. One could hardly fault the assumption that poverty was destined for this Duke’s House, grand in name alone. There were ways to become a bureaucrat and draw a salary, but Duke Arnim did neither.
Yet Duke Arnim was never strapped for coin. He lived in abundance, no different from nobles who commanded vast estates. His lifestyle was far from profligate, but he spent enough to maintain his authority. He even kept a considerable private army. No one knew precisely where the money came from—only rumors that he reaped substantial profits through commerce.
In the South Sea south of Anomarad lay islands that belonged to no kingdom. There, titles granted by any king held little consequence. They called themselves as they pleased, and whether the King of Anomarad approved mattered not to them.
Thus, even if the King of the Continent were to visit, these people would marvel perhaps, but the thought of submission would never cross their minds. One among them once spoke thus:
“Anomarad is the Continent, and Periwinkle is the Island. The Continent cannot become an Island, nor can the Island become the Continent. So the Continent is the Continent, and the Island is the Island. If we have no interest in the Continent, then the Continent should have no interest in us.”
On the Island, there was no other Duke, no Count, no Baron—none at all. When islanders spoke of “Duke,” they meant only one person: their ruler. The one Duke who commanded the surrounding islands, the South Sea, and all of them.
They called him “Your Grace the Duke.”
The Mountain Woman, rising early in the morning, saw that the weather was fair and decided the bed sheets needed washing. It took her about an hour and a half to bring out the old sheets, wash them, and hang them on the clothesline in the yard. As she stood satisfied before the white sheets fluttering in the morning sunlight, stretching her back and gazing upward, something strange caught her eye.
At first, it appeared as a black speck. Its movement seemed oddly still for a distant bird. The speck grew larger. Soon it grew larger still, and by the time she had brought the laundry basket inside, it had transformed into a shape she could no longer mistake for a bird.
Around that time, her Granddaughter, also awake early, came running out to gaze at the sky alongside her. Before the girl could ask what it was, the Mountain Woman blinked once and murmured,
“Is a tuna flying through the sky?”
Considering the speed at which the speck grew, she should have realized it was an object incomparably larger than any bird or tuna. But the wind had caused the clothesline to sag, and the sheets touched the ground, robbing her of the chance to see the identity of the flying tuna. By the time she retied the line and looked up again, the speck had vanished—it had disappeared beyond the hill toward the sea.
Beyond the hill, at the shoreline, dozens of people craned their necks in even greater astonishment than the old woman. It was no longer a speck. It was a massive shadow plummeting at incredible speed. Had they believed in gods, now would have been the time to pray. Some among them regretted their stubborn disbelief from years past, though not for long. One man pointed at the shadow cast upon the ground and spoke.
“That’s a ship, isn’t it?”
The rapidly descending speck—the ship—suddenly slowed as it became unmistakably a vessel to all eyes. The closer it came, the slower it moved. Thus, instead of the catastrophe everyone anticipated, it descended quietly, like a feather, and came to rest upon the water’s surface. Only gentle waves rippled outward in all directions.
“Ohhh…”
Seized by the awe that anyone witnessing such a sight would feel, the people cried out. From the distant sky, a sailing ship that seemed absolutely incapable of flight had not plummeted but glided onto the water’s surface like a waterfowl. Had only one person seen it, they might have doubted their senses, but dozens around them wore identical expressions of wonder.
The ship floated quietly several hundred paces from the shore. The people dared not approach hastily and could only watch. As word spread, more and more islanders gathered at the coastline. Children, the elderly, young people—all came rushing out. It seemed as though every soul on the Island had assembled.
Whose ship was it? Everyone craned their necks in curiosity. Yet the ship gave no sign of life. It had descended through the clouds, bathed in morning sunlight, and floated in silence as though it were a revelation sent from the heavens.
Within the ship, however, the situation was far from quiet.
“What in the world is going on? Why aren’t the sails unfurling on their own today?”
“How should I know? There’s only one person who understands how this ship moves the way it does.”
“That one person must have set it up somehow, which is why the sails unfurled on their own last time, right?”
“We’ve been sailing and touching the ship here and there, so maybe the original settings Juspian made have changed?”
“So there’s no way to restore the initial settings?”
“We didn’t just touch one or two places—how are we supposed to undo all that?”
Maximian pondered for a moment, then shouted,
“Try turning it off and back on!”
Riche made an exasperated face and pointed at the crucible filled with gold.
“How do you even turn it off? If you know, why don’t you try, Maximian?”
“Maybe it’ll go out if we remove all the gold? Hey, Joshua! What do you think… Wait, he was just here. Where did he go?”
As Maximian and Riche emerged from the cabin, Milestone pointed toward the rail. They moved to the side of the ship and discovered Joshua standing there, gazing out beyond the sea as if entranced—but they saw what he was looking at before they saw him.
“An island?”
“How long has it been there?”
Milestone replied as he moved toward the mast.
“Probably since before any of us were born.”
In Joshua’s precise memory, the island existed as dozens of sketches. Within the large double-page book he’d seen in Father’s Study, there were sketches of the island in spring, then in summer, autumn, and winter. The island from the east, from the west, from the south and north. The island at dawn, the island at night. The island amid storms, and the island floating like a green cake upon tranquil blue waters. The island where only seagulls flew lazily seemed like an uninhabited place. Yet the island surrounded by a hundred ships was the finest harbor in the world.
The island drawn only in black ink, as if unfinished, looked like a place that didn’t exist in this world. But on the next page, it invariably sparkled in dozens of colors. In one corner of the sketch were two emblems—the coat of arms representing House of Arnim, and beside it, a small flower.
The flower was the island’s name. A blue-violet flower with five petals like a pinwheel bloomed beneath the soft brushstrokes.
Periwinkle.
How deep must one’s attachment be to repeat a single subject dozens of times? Jade Ring Castle, where Joshua was born, and Ring-shaped Forest were beautiful, but he held no memory of loving them desperately. Moreover, any longing he might have felt because of Ivnoa’s death had vanished cleanly. Even after leaving the castle and living in Hyacan, he’d never felt the desire to return.
Turning through the double-page book bound with dozens of sketches, he dimly gauged the obsession one person held for their homeland, the depth of it. The one who had drawn the island again and again was Schouan Oblivion, the sworn ally of Icabon and the one who had drawn House of Arnim’s coat of arms.
Schouan must have spent a long time on the continent after leaving Periwinkle. During his absence from home, he drew the island whenever he had time. Since he drew from memory, the islands mostly had identical outlines. Yet it was clear he had tried to capture the hundreds of forms he had witnessed as he grew.
The island sometimes appeared with the sun, with the moon or stars, with schools of flying fish, and even with angels that didn’t exist. Each drawing carried his voice. Periwinkle across the distant sea, my Periwinkle.
Joshua possessed memories as countless as grains of sand on the White Sand Beach, and those drawings were merely one among trillions of bookmarks. Yet each one was vivid to him, and in this moment, he recalled them all at once. The island that had existed as dozens of sketches now lay before his eyes. It was summer, and it was morning. The man who had loved that island had turned to dust and was no more.
“Periwinkle across the distant sea….”
Though he had never heard it spoken aloud, the words flowed out as if he had. The island greeted Joshua. Born on the island, having liberated it, honored by it—he, its successor, had come to the island for the first time in his life. This clear morning was the island’s smile.
Soon, a smile appeared on Joshua’s lips as well.
“I’ve dropped anchor. The water’s shallow here. The dock seems to be on the other side of the coast, so it’d be better to lower the boat and go from there. Anyone can go to the island and ask for a tow. There seem to be quite a lot of people on the shore.”
Milestone’s voice came from behind. Joshua turned and smiled at him.
“Understood. Should we lower the boat now?”
“Already done. Go on and board. I’ll stay with the ship.”
Only Milestone remained aboard as the three of them boarded the boat. The sea was calm, making it easy to row. The ship floated in water so shallow it would have been difficult to enter by sea route.
From a distance, it was hard to gauge how many people stood on the shore, but as they drew closer, it became clear. Whether it exceeded expectations or fell short—since he’d had no expectations to begin with—it was difficult to say. In any case, being greeted by hundreds of people with nothing but silent gazes as they docked and disembarked was a rare experience. Maximian’s expression suggested he never wanted to experience anything rare again.
Riche, on the other hand, seemed somewhat excited.
“Those people definitely came out because they saw our ship, right?”
“When a ship falls from a clear sky like lightning, anyone would drop what they’re doing and run out.”
Though he spoke as usual, Maximian was tense. A crowd of people could do anything, after all.
The people didn’t approach within a certain distance, but they showed no sign of leaving either. Their expressions were ambiguous—neither quite friendly nor openly hostile. It seemed they would have to speak first. Riche was about to say something like, “Hello, we’re just harmless travelers passing through.”
“I have returned.”
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 this book’s contents, written consent from both parties is required.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————