Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 464

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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 234.
Playing Oneself (10)
5. Natang 7th Street Pastry Shop
A city is born where those who think only of what will happen today gather.
Summer in Keltika was brief, yet the midday heat rivaled that of the Southern Region. By five in the afternoon, the alley wedged between tall walls had fallen into shadow, growing pleasantly cool. At the point where the alley bent, the fair-haired Young Man in a round hat paused his steps. It was not merely the sun that gave him pause.
From where the wall ended, he had to pass before a gate dense with iron bars. The exposed paving stones had bleached white under the sun. Upon them, the shadows of the bars traced distinct patterns.
The Young Man cast his gaze briefly into the barred gate. Soon he turned his head and crossed the path. The soldiers within the barred gate saw the Young Man, but they did not see his face. A white mask concealed it.
“That mask of his. Doesn’t he feel the heat in this blazing sun?”
“It’s only until tomorrow anyway. They say it’s a festival that happens once a year—let the young ones play.”
The Young Man soon vanished into the next alley. After him, various masked youths passed before the iron gate. They all headed toward Grapevine Fountain Square, but the soldiers did not remember that the first Young Man alone had gone toward Natang Street.
About fifty years prior, a certain king had attempted to establish a postal service and, for the first time, sought to assign formal street names and addresses to Keltika. Even now it remained somewhat chaotic, but in those days, paths and houses had been tangled like a spider’s web. There were many dead-end alleys, and passages so narrow that scarcely one person could pass—whether they should be called streets or merely gaps beneath some house’s eaves was uncertain. Radial or grid-pattern streets were difficult to find.
Without tearing down houses and paving roads, it was impossible to organize addresses neatly. Thus, names were assigned mainly to major thoroughfares, while smaller paths were largely omitted. After doing such things and repeatedly correcting problems as they arose, it was not uncommon that the street names one had painstakingly assigned had to be removed or reassigned.
As a result, some houses bore multiple addresses—one house might be number 12 Cowan Street and simultaneously number 114 Clotaire Street, and in severe cases, overlapping occurred up to five times. Street names became so tangled that even the administrators who had originally assigned them could not find houses by those addresses. The newly introduced postal carriers of that era, much like the old errand runners, found it faster to ask people gathered on the streets for directions.
When the king who had pushed the plan died, this difficult and ineffectual scheme was naturally abandoned. Consequently, most of the street names created at that time were forgotten. Decades later, when the Republican Government came to power, another project to assign street names was undertaken. It was well enough that they divided the districts more efficiently than the Old Kingdom and assigned addresses by numbering. However, when the Divine Kingdom took power, these were discarded once more—merely as an “achievement of the Republic.”
Had they discarded the old system, they should have created a new one. But the Divine Kingdom Government, busy with other matters, paid no attention to that. As a result, Keltika’s citizens came to use a mixture of the Republic’s addresses, the Old Kingdom’s street names, and names that had naturally emerged over time.
Natang was a name assigned during the Old Kingdom era. It was rare for such a street to retain clear designations like “5th Street” and beyond.
However, true to its chaotic origins, Natang Street had no 1st through 4th Streets, had a 5th Street, then lacked a 6th Street. That 1st through 4th Streets had disappeared was itself an “achievement of the Republic.” When the Republican Government was driven from Keltika, they had made this district a key stronghold and erected barricades. After the royal army took control, they demolished every street where barricades had stood. Those streets were now merely overgrown clearings.
The 6th Street had vanished due to overlapping with Theamir 2nd Street beside it, but at some point, the name Theamir 2nd Street also disappeared, and nowadays people simply called it the “Charcoal Market Alley.”
In the gaps between these short-lived streets, Natang 5th Street and 7th Street had miraculously survived, and poor students gathered there in great numbers. This had been true even during the Republic era, but in the Old Kingdom times as well, students who came to study in Keltika from the provinces commonly rented rooms here. 8th Street was known as the street of poor painters and musicians, while 9th Street was where instrument repairmen, cobblers, and furniture repairmen shared the same tools and lived together.
The Young Man in the white mask turned onto Natang 5th Street. The street, lined mostly with single and two-story houses, wound crookedly until it reached the well and became a dead end. Midway along, there was one narrow alley that allowed passage to 7th Street without going through the Charcoal Market street.
The masked festival, held around the King’s Birthday Celebration (the official birthday, which does not change even when the king changes) once a year, was a game that students especially loved. Accordingly, 5th Street was filled with students wearing various masks.
The Tavern at the street’s entrance had spread tables in the open air, and the gathered students were already well into their cups. Blows that bordered on assault were exchanged as friendly pats, and terms of endearment indistinguishable from curses flew back and forth. Songs with strange lyrics echoed into neighboring streets. Around the well, a few musicians from 8th Street played violas with exaggerated flair. An elderly painter sat beside them, absorbed in sketching landscapes.
The Young Man in the white mask slipped away without drawing attention and, as soon as he turned onto 7th Street, rounded a corner. He climbed a staircase wedged between two houses and ascended to the second floor. On the first floor, a round wooden sign announcing a pastry shop swung in the breeze.
“Welcome.”
Diancord Sebo was a well-built young man with a dusky complexion who looked more like a farmer than a student. He had a rough jawline, a somewhat long nose, and blue eyes. His attire—knee-length breeches and cord sandals—was exactly like that of wheat farm laborers from the central regions. His white shirt bore smudges of flour.
With his sleeves rolled up, he was kneading flour, eggs, and fruit juice when he smiled at the masked visitor. When the visitor removed his mask, Diancord laughed again.
“This mask festival is quite useful.”
“Thanks to it, I can come during the day.”
Lanji set the mask on a shelf and approached the pot of flour dough to observe what Diancord was doing.
“Is it nearly finished?”
“Yes. Now I just need to knead it once more and we’re done. After that comes the pastry-making that someone is eagerly anticipating.”
Saying this, Diancord glanced at the door behind him. Lanji, with a rare expression of keen interest, smiled and asked.
“How is she?”
“She’s enjoying herself. When I told her that everything you made sold out, she was truly delighted. And it’s not even a lie.”
Lanji watched the flour dough fold in Diancord’s hands before speaking.
“Your help means so much.”
“What did I do?”
“I’m being serious.”
Diancord turned his head and sneezed once, then simply laughed. Shortly after, the two of them amicably carried the flour dough downstairs, wrung out towels and placed them in the oven, and wiped the board clean. As Lanji was about to bring down the bottles of fruit juice and salt containers arranged on the second floor, he suddenly noticed a painting board in the corner.
“Diancord, have you taken up the brush again?”
When Lanji set down the dishes with a comment, Diancord Sebo laughed awkwardly.
“I haven’t even gotten to the brushwork yet. As you can see, it’s just a sketch. My hands have gotten so stiff from all this idleness that I’m struggling.”
Despite his farmer-like appearance, Diancord Sebo was an art student. After a moment, he wrinkled his nose and asked.
“You recognized who the model is, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Truth is, I never got permission, but she just watched without saying anything even though she clearly saw. What do you think? If you don’t like it, she won’t either.”
Lanji paused to think, then shook his head with a smile.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Diancord Sebo hesitated before adding.
“She’s a good model, you know. She sits so still.”
Just then, a small bell chimed as the door opened and a woman entered the shop cradling grocery bags. Diancord Sebo quickly set down his towel and called out.
“Big Sister Victoire, Lanji’s here.”
Victoire, who had just passed thirty, had a weathered expression and a sturdy build like her younger brother. She set down the groceries and exchanged two cheek kisses with Lanji before brushing the dirt from her hands.
“Our Lanji, it’s been far too long. There’s someone here who’s been craning their neck waiting, yet you never come.”
“I kept thinking I would come, but I failed to keep my word. I’m sorry.”
“If you don’t visit soon, Diancord might just scoop up the little one and run away with her.”
Lanji laughed boyishly.
“I’m sure Elder Brother Diancord would take good care of her.”
“Don’t say such things, even in jest. You’ll bring disaster.”
Lanji lifted his chin slightly and shot back.
“Of course—in about ten years.”
Victoire divided the ground meat, eggplant, and tomatoes she’d bought from the butcher and grocer into a shallow earthenware dish, then went to the Backyard to pull up some green onions. Diancord Sebo began rolling out the dough evenly. Lanji went upstairs. Victoire and Diancord Sebo exchanged a knowing glance and continued their work.
After some time had passed, there was a sound from the Staircase. The door opened and Lanji came down carrying a girl on his back. The girl had hair a brighter gold than Lanji’s, but her beautiful brows and eyes were unmistakably his. She appeared several years younger than Lanji and was noticeably slighter than what one might call thin. Her calves, hanging limp against Lanji’s back, were nearly as thin as another person’s arm.
Lanji set the girl in a chair at the table. Her eyes were closed, yet a smile played at her lips.
Diancord Sebo reached to place his hand on the girl’s shoulder but stopped short, glancing at Lanji’s face. Lanji gazed quietly at the girl’s face and spoke.
“Lanzumi.”
“Mm.”
The girl, Lanzumi, twisted her shoulders as if stretching, then slowly opened her eyes. Her cheeks had flushed pink. A radiant smile bloomed and turned toward Lanji across from her.
“Brother.”
“Yes.”
The siblings didn’t exchange many words. As Lanji had always done, he had already told Lanzumi everything while she slept moments before. So Lanzumi didn’t reproach her brother for his infrequent visits, and Lanji likewise didn’t speak of what occupied his time these days.
Lanzumi was fourteen, but her small, delicate frame made her appear two or three years younger. The childhood polio had left her legs subtly mismatched in length as they hung beneath her chair. The shorter leg lacked strength, allowing her to walk only very little. Had she undergone consistent walking therapy, she might have improved, but the prolonged state of withdrawal had made that impossible.
Yet Lanzumi’s condition had improved greatly of late. After her voice returned several years ago through some catalyst, she could hold brief conversations with her brother. Since moving here and time passing, she had begun responding to the Sebo siblings as well.
For now, she only answered when spoken to, and only with a few people, but compared to her childhood, it was a remarkable transformation. After experiencing a traumatic event in her youth and losing her voice, Lanzumi had spent years in a state barely distinguishable from a living corpse, unable even to swallow food that was fed to her.

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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