Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 42

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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 42.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (12)
Unlike that land where year-round cool weather stunted growth and left only shrubs flourishing, Anomarad—particularly southern Anomarad—was a realm where all manner of flora and fauna thrived in abundance.
It resembled Belnoir Castle itself, where resources overflowed several times beyond necessity.
Wine spilled from goblets without reproach, new dishes were brought to tables already laden with food without complaint—such was the opulent revelry. Fabric enough to craft three dresses was woven into a single gown with lavish pleats, and grain rotting in the warehouse was scattered across fields as fertilizer. I lived in such a place.
I despised how my body had adapted to this abundance. Though I harbored no love for my homeland, I remained a child of that land.
Longord—the plains of shrubs and needle grass—was Boris’s birthplace. It was the land where Yefnen’s memories dwelt.
“Hmm?”
Boris stopped turning the pages of his book and glanced over his shoulder.
Rosnis, who had taken to hovering about her older brother as he indulged his newfound love of reading, had uttered something peculiar while repeating her complaints of boredom. Lost in his book, Boris hadn’t caught it clearly.
“What did you just say?”
Rosnis pouted, pushing out her lower lip.
“I said it seems like I’m starting to like you more and more. That it’s a shame you might leave soon. That’s what I said.”
“…”
Boris regarded Rosnis’s green eyes intently. Memories of when I first met her surfaced.
Rosnis resembled Anomarad itself. For that reason alone, I had never warmed to her from the start.
As we spent time together, I came to understand her nature and recognized she wasn’t a bad child, yet familiarity never took root.
Honest Rosnis, a girl who wished to become beautiful, an arrogant yet forgetful young lady.
When she witnessed something amusing and couldn’t contain herself, laughing with unbridled delight, her arrogance vanished and she became nothing but a lovely girl.
Yet Boris had always maintained distance in his dealings with her. I had learned it was easier to indulge her whims somewhat, since I could neither quarrel with her nor behave rudely while remaining here.
Rosnis was merely one component of the arrangement I had made with Count Belnoir. I bore the obligation to treat her with propriety throughout the duration of our transaction.
But once it ended, that would be the conclusion. I would likely never look back. I would feel no desire to see her again.
Yet hearing her speak of having grown fond of me stirred something within Boris’s heart. A twinge of guilt arose.
“Even if you leave, you’ll come back later, won’t you? You’ll come to see me, won’t you?”
Rosnis gazed at Boris with a smile—one she revealed to only a select few among the many who dwelt within these walls.
Knowing this, Boris’s heart grew heavier still.
It was a smile suffused with the confidence that no one could fail to love her, so long as she loved them in return.
And precisely because of that… I cannot open my heart to you.
You cannot enter my cold world. You would flee in terror at the mere draft of chill wind.
“Yes. I’ll come see you.”
Even as I answered thus, I felt no guilt—strangely enough. Though I would surely never return, Boris smiled in response to Rosnis’s smile.
Rosnis pressed him as was her habit.
“Really? Promise me—you’re swearing to it?”
“I am.”
I knew not where I would go once I departed this place. Yet I could be certain of one thing: I would not return here. And…
I will forget you. Your very existence.
And you, too, will forget me in time.
Perhaps that is what growth truly is.
It was night.
A white bird perched upon the windowsill of Walnut’s room—a room whose window remained open regardless of weather or season.
With a flutter of wings, Yozrel quieted and gently bobbed its beak.
A figure rose from the bed.
“Yozrel?”
As Walnut approached the window and extended his hand, the white bird readily perched upon it.
A creature with a body the size of a man’s forearm, adorned in pristine white plumage and a golden beak. Its tail feathers were too long to call it a dove, and its bearing far more elegant. Its crimson eyes gleamed with the clarity of wine held up to candlelight.
“You’ve come yourself? What of your siblings?”
As Walnut raised his arm, the golden beak drew near his ear and chirped softly—not a bird’s cry, but something else entirely.
Walnut nodded slowly, his expression darkening.
“I see. I understand.”
Walnut bowed respectfully to the bird before extending his arm toward the open window. The creature took flight with a flutter.
Its white form vanished beyond the darkening sky. There was no moon.

“Yes, I am striving to demonstrate good results.”
I sat across from Count Belnoir and his wife in the sun-drenched Reception Room—a rare occasion.
The fragrance of peach blossoms drifted through the open windows on this afternoon. After exchanging pleasantries, the Count inquired about my training progress.
“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you and your teacher get along so well.”
“I am always grateful.”
In the past, even if my training were progressing well, I would have hesitated before answering.
But now it was different. I responded clearly, whether it was true or not.
Of course, I felt the pressure. The Count had informed me days ago that the duel was set for May 17th.
He said my opponent was a boy with the skill to prepare for the Silverscull Tournament that Walnut Teacher had mentioned.
The Count might have fabricated this rumor to spur me on. But such details hardly mattered.
I was growing stronger rapidly. Though I still hadn’t claimed Winterer.
I now understood how a single hour out of twenty-four could magnify tension and focus so intensely.
The remaining twenty-three hours seemed to exist solely for that one hour.
I ate regularly, rested methodically, and slept soundly—all to maintain my physical condition. Outside of training, I avoided anything that might excite me.
And when night fell, I faced Walnut, who had become an entirely different person.
At some point, Walnut had begun facing me with a sword instead of a staff. Our conditions had become equal.
Though the gap in our abilities remained stark, I was beginning to understand how to move my body.
It was not merely a matter of learning a few sword techniques or building strength.
I was pursuing a certain flow—countering it, cutting across it, finding the intersections where these movements converged.
Whether maintaining the current state, breaking a deadlock, feinting pursuit before striking back—everything began with understanding the flow.
Only by knowing that direction could I resist it, evade it, or transcend it.
Though I lacked the skill to respond with finesse, I was steadily grasping how to read the flow. Walnut recognized this change in me.
“But about that matter…”
The Count smiled faintly and broached a new topic.
“The reward I promised if you won the duel. If you don’t desire anything else, there must be something you truly wish for.”
“What is it?”
I had heard about the reward several times since before spring arrived. He had asked me to name what I wanted, but nothing came to mind, so I had kept postponing it. Did the Count know what I desired?
“You wish to help your family.”
Boris raised his eyes slightly, wondering what she meant, then spoke quietly.
“I have no family remaining.”
“Of course, I’m not speaking of the Uncle who seized the estate that should have been yours. I’m referring to someone else entirely—do you think you might guess who?”
Was there another family member?
It was possible that relatives I’d never known of existed somewhere in this world. But I held no interest in such people. Whether they lived or died, whether they existed at all—it was of no consequence to me.
“I apologize, but I don’t understand what you’re referring to. Would you please explain?”
Count Belnoir turned to his wife beside him and smiled faintly.
The Countess wore an expression unusually gentle for her. It was clear the two of them had already discussed this matter between themselves.
“You have an older brother, don’t you?”
The shock struck Boris like a physical blow. An older brother?
The Countess opened her mouth to speak.
“Your father doesn’t frequent Trabaches often, but we’ve made inquiries about House Jineman to a considerable degree. If you wished, we could even tell you recent news of your Uncle. But surely you’d rather hear about your brother? Upon learning that the Jineman Family had two sons, we’ve been searching for his whereabouts ever since last winter. We don’t know why you were separated, but we thought—blood brothers as you are—wouldn’t you wish to see him? Good news should reach us soon.”
“Actually, there’s already good news.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Boris stood rooted to the spot, unable to find words.
My only brother was Yefnen, and Yefnen was dead. I had witnessed his death with my own eyes and scattered earth upon his face with my own hands.
What were these two people before me talking about?
“We received word today that a young man has been found whose appearance matches what was known of him, and whose age fits perfectly. However, he appears to have lost his memory—when we mention House Jineman or your name, he shows no sign of understanding. It seems he hasn’t lost his mind entirely, so he should recover soon enough.”
“How wonderful! When can he be brought here?”
They were speaking of a dead man. It was impossible.
Yet in that moment, a contradictory emotion surged through me—a desperate, fervent longing that it might be true, that it could be true—and it filled my chest completely.
I could barely breathe. The painful wish I had tried so hard to forget came rushing back to life.
If I could see Yefnen’s face just once more, smiling at me, I would gladly surrender all the years remaining to me.
But it was not true. It was an impossible desire.
“That person… is not him.”
How I wished this were a lie, that I were mistaken.
“What?”
Count Belnoir regarded Boris with suspicion. They hadn’t even met the man who supposedly resembled him yet.
“My brother is dead.”
Count Belnoir and the Countess both looked shocked. The Count, flustered, even stumbled over his words.
“Already… he’s… dead?”
Boris’s gaze left them both, turning toward the window. His eyes were expressionless and unfocused.
Though it was a simple fact, it had required an immeasurable struggle to speak it aloud. Suddenly, all strength drained from me.
“I buried him with my own hands.”
The Count and Countess fell silent. Neither could speak easily. In mere moments, Boris’s cheeks had taken on the ashen pallor of a corpse.
My brother is dead.
The dead do not return.

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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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