Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 44

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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 44.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (14)
Boris spoke without a smile.
“You took my sword secretly at first, Teacher. Since I learned from your example, you should praise me for it.”
Walnut Teacher remained silent for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“Yes, I’ll praise you. You did well.”
On the first day we arrived at the Manor, he had seized Boris and delivered a lengthy lecture about deception. Boris had remembered it all and put it into practice.
The previous night, the relentless assault without a moment’s respite had surely been meant to exhaust his opponent into collapse. Moreover, Walnut Teacher had drunk brandy while Boris, who drank water, would have remained sharp and alert.
Given that Boris had known about the brandy’s existence beforehand, there was no guarantee that something hadn’t been added to it. Setting aside the question of how he had obtained such a thing in the first place.
Since when had he been planning this?
….
Boris extended his hand. The short sword that Walnut Teacher had entrusted to him lay there.
The Winterer was nowhere to be seen. But then again, he wasn’t foolish enough to carelessly brandish a blade he had fought so hard to reclaim.
Walnut Teacher approached and picked up the short sword. He noticed his own hand trembling slightly.
“I understand that you were concerned for me, Teacher. But that sword is the only keepsake left by my brother, who died for me. It is also the only object connecting me to the family I was born into. No matter how dangerous it may be, I cannot be separated from it. I regard that sword as I do my brother.”
Boris’s voice was composed. Though this was the first time he had spoken these truths to Walnut Teacher, he no longer stammered or choked on his words.
“Yes, that’s how it should be.”
Walnut Teacher opened his mouth. His voice too had grown quiet and subdued.
“Always conduct yourself that way. Behave like someone who would never break a promise or oath, and then, at the critical moment, strike them once from behind. Then you will not fail. Just as you have now.”
It was not a gentle parting. Walnut Teacher did not rage, but neither did he conceal his emotions.
What Walnut Teacher felt was unmistakable. He had said that one must be skilled at deception to survive and grow stronger, but in truth, he did not favor such people. He had taken a liking to Boris because he believed Boris was not that sort of person.
Even knowing all this, Boris could not abandon his plan. The Winterer was a sword he could not surrender. He had believed that words alone would not persuade Walnut Teacher. This was the only way.
Just as he had thought through over the past months, Boris had succeeded.
Walnut Teacher left no farewell. Rather than exit through the door where Boris stood blocking, he went to the window and leaped out immediately.
Boris did not rush to the window in alarm. A man who could jump from the third floor without injury was not one to worry about.
The two parted in that manner. The teacher of his childhood departed, carrying away a child’s heart that could never be reclaimed.
Spring had arrived in full.

“It’s about Walnut Teacher.”
When Lanji opened his mouth, Boris was gazing out the window.
The peach blossoms that had been in full bloom were falling. A few petals caught in the fading light, burning white. As my eyes traced their scattered path, they began to sting.
When I turned my head, Lanji wore an expression caught between a smile and something else.
“It seems you know why he left.”
Boris nodded. The crown of his head, touched by sunlight, was pale.
“But you don’t know where he went?”
Another nod. Today, I had brought out the Winterer and laid it across my lap, stroking it. A familiar chill traveled up my arm.
Since Walnut Teacher departed, life had lost its vigor. I still trained, but with that hour each night gone, progress seemed to have stalled. I found myself envying Lanji’s position—at least he could simply read books.
No, I corrected myself immediately.
Except when reading with me like this, Lanji spent his days catering to someone’s whims. He had to swallow his pride multiple times daily.
“I have a feeling….”
Lanji’s hesitant smile finally appeared. He set down the book he’d been reading and turned to face me.
“Young Master and Walnut Teacher must have exchanged hostages in a very special way.”
Lanji had been present when I first lost the Winterer and received Walnut’s short blade. But he hadn’t seen how it ended. He’d only witnessed the Winterer returning to my hands.
I considered telling him, and Lanji seemed like he would understand. Yet despite that, I didn’t want to expose myself so honestly.
“That blade seemed to carry quite a story. In the end, it returned to your hands.”
I gripped the Winterer and assumed the stance just before drawing. Thanks to my recent growth, the posture looked quite refined even at my waist. It wasn’t so heavy that I couldn’t manage it.
But I was still too young to wield such a blade with complete freedom.
Lanji watched me dispassionately. A sword truly didn’t suit this boy. Suddenly, I wondered if that was really true.
“Want to see?”
I suddenly handed the Winterer to Lanji.
Lanji accepted the blade without thinking, but he had no idea how to grip it properly.
His appearance suited the Winterer’s aristocratic white gleam, yet unlike when it rested in my hands, it seemed nothing more than decoration on him.
After a moment, instead of adopting a proper stance, Lanji simply laid the blade on the table. Then, as if measuring its length, he spread his arms and grasped both ends.
Suddenly, his expression hardened.
I watched Lanji without understanding why. His hand slowly traced the scabbard upward to the hilt. He extended his index finger to measure the width of the blade’s base.
It wasn’t admiration for the sword’s beauty or craftsmanship. His gaze was that of someone searching for something hidden.
What? The malice I’d felt from the blade before?
“Forgive me for a moment.”
Lanji rose and suddenly drew the blade with a swift motion.
“…!”
In that instant, Lanji’s movement was utterly different from moments before, when he’d seemed never to have touched a sword. Regardless of whether he could truly handle a blade, his draw was unmistakably that of someone who had mastered this single technique.
It was unexpected. I had never considered him such an opponent.
Lanji’s gaze swept down the blade. His demeanor was serious. The Winterer’s edge, which I hadn’t seen in some time, remained pale and dizzingly sharp.
Yet Lanji showed no fear. Rather, his expressionless face seemed to share the same cold essence as the Winterer itself.
“Forgive me, Young Master, but is this blade unique unto itself? Or does it perhaps share a name with something else?”
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. But I soon grasped it. I started to answer without thinking, then reconsidered and spoke.
“I’ve heard there is, but I don’t know what it is.”
“I see.”
Lanji sheathed his sword again. His posture was flawless. As he returned the Winterer, he spoke as though conscious of Boris’s gaze.
“There are only two things I can accomplish with a blade, sir.”
“How could you only learn those two? That’s not a stance practiced once or twice.”
Lanji wore a self-deprecating smile.
“It’s the amusement of noblewomen. There are many ladies with questionable tastes—they favor servants who look like girls, yet sometimes desire a touch of masculine charm as well.”
Lanji’s words were often far too cutting to come from the mouth of a thirteen-year-old boy, leaving Boris bewildered.
Lanji sat down, his expression shifting completely away from the subject of swords.
“You once asked about my past, didn’t you, sir?”
That was why I understood what Lanji had just said—about those unpleasant memories of being a noblewoman’s servant.
“Yes.”
“Would you tell me something of your own past, sir?”
I didn’t understand why he was asking so suddenly. When we first met, it felt like facing an ice wall, but after some time had passed, there were moments when he spoke with such honesty.
“My story… there’s not much worth hearing.”
“Isn’t every life filled with stories worth telling?”
Surprised by his unexpected retort, I soon let out a faint smile. It was a rare smile, one that seemed genuinely at ease.
“No one lives merely to become the subject of others’ tales. I’d like to hear about your ordinary life, sir.”
Having already heard a story he likely hadn’t wanted to share, refusing such a request seemed unfair. After a moment, I nodded.
And so the story began. In my effort to stay within the bounds the Count had set, naturally the older memories came forth.
How old was I then? Five? Or six?
When the story of Yefnen—a presence I could never erase from my life—came up, I trembled at first, but soon steadied myself.
I found myself concentrating carefully and naturally on describing Yefnen. Without realizing it, I strove to ensure that the light he had carried would not fade through my clumsy words.
The young Yefnen I remembered was a boy of deep thought.
I would wander for half a day to find my brother whenever he hid away in some corner, lost in contemplation.
When my younger brother appeared with a bright smile saying “I finally found you!”, the reclusive Yefnen would reluctantly rise to his feet.
Then, half in jest and half in complaint, he would ruffle my hair before dashing off to play with me.
Lanji seemed to sense the emotion with which I was speaking.
Whenever I mentioned Yefnen, he listened with a sympathetic expression and careful attention. Soon I realized this about him. The consideration visible on Lanji’s face was something I had only seen in his eyes when looking at Lanzumi.
Perhaps Lanji was accustomed to caring for someone in pain.
The story gradually moved toward more recent events. At last, the day I left Jineman Manor came to be mentioned.
I hesitated for a moment, but ultimately spoke of my father’s death in an accident in the Swamp, leaving out any mention of Blado.
Once I said it that way, Yefnen’s death became difficult to explain. Without the skill to fabricate stories, I stumbled and faltered.
I couldn’t very well say I didn’t know how my brother, whom I’d just described in such detail, had died.
After a moment, Lanji spoke.
“So… your older brother also passed away, and you were so grief-stricken that you don’t remember the circumstances clearly.”
That wasn’t the reason. When I abandoned my brother in the Swamp and ran away to save only myself, I had unconsciously erased those memories. Because I didn’t want to acknowledge my own fault.
Yet my brother, who knew all the truth, never blamed me for it or mentioned it again.
For Yefnen, it was not a matter of forgiveness or otherwise. He believed a frightened child would naturally do such a thing.
“Y… yes.”
Lanji was usually cold, but at times he could be remarkably considerate. I calmed myself and looked at him intently. Then he spoke.
“I actually envy those who remain in someone’s heart even after death. Because people sometimes die in another’s heart while still alive.”

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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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