Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 467

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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 237.
Playing Oneself (13)
Anistan was not beside Theo. He had rented a house in the forest surrounding Jade Ring Castle. To be precise, he had simply occupied it, but the Duke’s son-in-law lending an abandoned empty house to a friend was something even the Forest Keeper overlooked. It was a dilapidated log cabin. Rain leaked through the roof where thatch had been laid over the rafters in several places.
Anistan did not return to Jade Ring Castle. He no longer conversed with Theo. He worked here alone, reversing day and night. Dozens of books were stacked at the doorway, and magical reagents filled the cupboards. Two large tables were covered with papers bearing complex experimental circles. He clung to this work with obsessive fervor.
Having left Nenyaple and conducting experiments he could not report to Nenyaple, there were almost no means of obtaining high-grade magical materials. When there was no time to go gathering, he could only procure items from the black market of mages, and the quality of such materials was entirely governed by fortune. With good luck, they were sound, but without it, he received worthless garbage. In severe cases, the materials were entirely wrong. If he discovered they were counterfeit after beginning the experiment, the situation often became grave.
Thus far, fortune had favored him. Anistan tested spells he would normally have refrained from attempting due to risk, without hesitation. He spared neither materials nor money. Only time did he economize. The answer was that urgent.
Yet he remained far from the answer.
Impossibly far.
Anistan himself knew this better than anyone. Had he been another mage, and had he been as he once was, he would have abandoned the pursuit long ago. There existed an insurmountable process before his hand could touch the answer, and to bridge that gap would require not months or years, but far more.
Yet he had no choice.
Because no one would help. Because no one but himself could help. Two souls he had cast into the abyss with his own hands—
Him and his puppet.
The puppet would not know. He did not wish it to know. If Anistan succeeded, the puppet would live knowing nothing. How long it could live, in what form it would exist, even its creator did not know, but it would live nonetheless. Without knowing that it was a replica of someone, a mere counterfeit.
Would his puppet possess a soul?
If not, he would create one.
The long summer days waned. Anistan worked as one who believed that will and effort could summon miracles. He thought, as in a dream, that he could excavate all the sand of the desert, that he could dry up all the waters of the river. Night and day, undefeated, he greedily exhausted them again and again, his hardened mind resting against the doorpost.
At times, he felt himself slipping into madness.
Yet he possessed one final hope. He would obtain either success or rest, one or the other. The imagination that this rest would be long and sweet gave Anistan his final endurance.
A crescent moon rose in the narrow, long window of the Grome School dormitory.
The school gates opened at seven in the morning. Yet there were several ways to enter and exit before then. Both knew such paths well. They had slipped out together and separately. When doing so, they naturally believed that when they returned, the other would be waiting. Having known each other for two years, they had recognized each other as comrades only this year. Counting the days, it was not a long time, yet why had everything felt so natural?
Yien, whose head grew muddled trying to calculate how many days it had been until today, shook his head. And he gazed at the back of Lanji, who was conducting a final inspection of the room. In the narrow chamber dimly lit by moonlight, countless books stacked precariously as always cast shadows.
To a stranger, the room’s appearance would be simply chaotic, difficult even to discern what lay where. Yet Lanji had never failed to find what he needed there, nor had he ever lost anything. Now, at the moment of departure, the places to check were limited to only a few. There was no need to search the entire room to ensure he had not accidentally dropped something that should be kept confidential.
“Done.”
Lanji carried almost no luggage. The studded trunk contained only a few books, confidential documents, ciphers, and a couple of sets of clothes to wear immediately. His only personal possessions were a pen and inkwell that Giscar had given him when leaving Rosa Alb. He had kept them not out of sentiment, but because they were sturdy and had not broken. He did not cherish objects by imbuing them with memories. Memories existed in the mind.
“I’ll go alone. Let’s part ways here.”
Yien pressed his lips firmly shut. His cheeks rounded prominently. Lanji, having observed his friend’s face, spoke.
“If the opportunity arises, I’ll contact you again.”
When would that be? From now on, their paths were meant to diverge. Lanji would depart while Yien and the other comrades remained at Grome School. Even though they belonged to the Friends of the People together, once paths diverged, meeting again would be difficult.
Until now, these individuals had not truly been an official unit. Forming units fell under the purview of the Organization Division. What they had shared thus far was because they were students of the same school and aware of each other’s existence. In other words, they were all individuals Lanji had recruited.
There was no need to manage those already known to be comrades under a different unit. Lanji, as the chairman of one district, was not in a position to manage a small unit, yet he had directly taken on these schoolmates and seniors and juniors without going through other subordinate officials. Thus, they existed as special entities within Keltika 3rd District—not a formal unit, but acting under the chairman’s direct orders, having remained with Lanji.
Now these individuals would be reorganized into a new unit under Yien’s command. It was Lanji himself who had decided the organizational restructuring and obtained approval from the Organization Division. Yien understood the reason. The plan they had executed had encountered minor complications. The moment Lanji judged there was potential for crisis, the first action was to minimize ripple effects. To protect the organization within Grome School, Lanji had decided to remove Yien and the other students from this matter and handle the remainder alone.
However, Hailjer, whose face had been exposed, was scheduled to be sent elsewhere with a time delay. Lanji was more troubled by Hailjer ceasing his studies than by his own failure to graduate. Yet there was no choice, as his face had to remain hidden for some time. Though it was to avoid revealing the identity of the 3rd District chairman, Lanji felt some guilt about bringing Hailjer to the meeting point with Theostid da Moro rather than dispatching another organization member.
The alliance with Theostid da Moro had been a decision of the Exile Council. Because it had been a reckless move from the start, it remained unclear whether information had leaked as a result. Lanji did not seek to assign blame. Because the plan was necessary, orders had been issued, and if problems arose during execution, one simply handled them. He possessed clear judgment of his own, but he believed that revealing it could wait.
Yien was different.
“Today, I resent the Exile Council.”
One corner of Lanji’s mouth lifted slightly, creating a simply bitter expression.
“No one bears responsibility.”
“You’re the one bearing it.”
The shape of his lips transformed into a smile.
“Are you disappointed at being excluded from an important mission?”
“Don’t joke.”
Langie picked up the trunk and extended his hand.
“Don’t forget that I’ve entrusted you with the remaining friends.”
“….”
After shaking hands with Yien, Langie turned and pushed the door open. Since he had decided not to follow, he could do nothing more than approach the doorway.
“I’m not confident.”
Langie moved toward the staircase as if he hadn’t heard.
“I’m not confident, I’m telling you….”
Unable to shout, he repeated it under his breath. The dormitory was filled with sleeping students. Langie’s figure soon vanished beyond the landing, without once looking back at Yien, who stood with both fists clenched, struggling to compose himself.
Behind the school grounds lay a woodshed where firewood for the winter was stacked. He crossed the empty lot where a few bundles of leftover firewood from last year lay scattered, and circled behind the chimney built of red brick. He pulled out two boxes and touched the fence slightly—a metal rod fell with a soft clang. Langie slipped through the gap in the fence. Anna Eisenelmo was waiting there.
Langie adjusted the fence back to its original state and turned around. In the shadow cast beneath the brim of his hat, illuminated by moonlight, Anna’s rigid face came into view. Langie softened his expression.
“Let’s go.”
7. Keltika Bay
The Bluet River, descending from the mountain, divides Keltika east and west before flowing into Keltika Bay. Since ancient times, Keltika Bay has been blessed by its name—the king would come to the bay and proclaim the names of new ships and new palaces, and did the same when sons and daughters were born. True to its blessing, every large and small reef around Keltika Bay bears a name. People regard these reefs as forty daughters born of the Sea Queen, and whenever they pass through the bay, they cast dried figs, apricots, plums, and raisins to appease them. The reason is that while all maidens in the world love sweet fruits, the underwater palace where the Reef Princesses dwell contains only salt.
Riche sat leaning against the rail, nodding off in drowsy intervals. As sunlight began to creep into the shadow he had chosen to escape the harsh rays, he stirred and shifted his position, struggling to continue sleeping. Had the violin’s languid melody not suddenly ceased and two boys begun their clamor, he would have managed a deeper sleep.
“Why, for heaven’s sake! Why does the north wind keep blowing like this!”
“It was a south wind just a moment ago—what’s changed?”
“It hasn’t been just a moment—the north wind has been blowing for quite some time now!”
“The melody doesn’t seem off. My ear is certain.”
Maximian, showing clear signs of exhaustion, threw the violin and bow he had been holding into an empty barrel nearby. He even kicked the barrel.
“My shoulders are about to dislocate from playing the same tedious melody over and over. Like some rotten, worthless scrap!”
Joshua quickly bent over the barrel to retrieve the violin, examining it carefully for any damage, but Maximian himself paid no attention. From his long experience carrying “Capriccio,” Maximian knew that despite how fragile the violin appeared to the touch, it was actually quite sturdy.
It must have been difficult for the temperamental Maximian to stand in the middle of the deck, sweating profusely while playing that notoriously finicky Capriccio. Had it been a respectable piece, perhaps the performer could have endured it. But what Maximian kept repeating was merely four measures—something akin to the nursery rhymes children sing when teasing—so both player and listener were bored to death. No wonder Riche, driven to exhaustion, was struggling to stay awake without waking up. Milestone, who remained below deck despite the greater heat, surely felt the same way.
“There are dozens of scores, aren’t there? Please, I’m begging you—can’t you give me anything else but this? I’m not joking. I’m asking you sincerely. It’s already been two hours, and I’m going to lose my mind at this rate.”
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 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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