Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 487

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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 257.
Playing Oneself (33)
“Who said I needed a tutor? I can manage perfectly well on my own, so stop worrying and don’t presume to interfere.”
“You dare refuse guidance from my daughter, who is as kind and beautiful and brilliant and conscientious as an angel? Any other man would bow and scrape to study under such a teacher!”
Maximian flinched for a moment, then cried out.
“I don’t care about that! I should tell the master of this house not to take you in!”
“Heh, I live wherever I wish to live. If you think anyone can drive me out, you’re sorely mistaken.”
To declare oneself an uninvited guest at the castle of one of Keltika’s most prominent noble families, and to brazenly plan to bring another along—such audacity could not have arisen from nowhere. Juspian left the bewildered Maximian behind and turned to Hispania.
“In any case, have rooms prepared. Two of them—one for our Tichiel. I harbor no intention of rejecting the earnest desire to lavish attention upon me, a rare guest whom one might scarcely encounter once in a century, yet I possess a fundamentally refined nature and prefer modest, unadorned furnishings. Though truthfully, whatever the chamber looks like, I shall refashion it to my liking, so it matters little. And does the Duke’s Study contain any interesting books?”
4. Guitar and Violin
The dead who perished with summer
Slumber through winter in the depths of hell.
To summon him to the surface,
One requires butterfly wings…
The leaves before my eyes trembled.
Or perhaps my feet were unsteady. Or perhaps the world itself was shaking. Or perhaps only the world within my mind wavered so precariously.
Creak, creak.
In any case, something was trembling. I did not know what it was.
Below the slope, rooftops bearing scattered traces of snow stretched in succession. In this wind-swept place, such a sight was common even in winter, but this time the patches were truly from melting snow. Though it was still February and the weather might pass quickly, that day the sunlight was warm enough to seem like spring.
The Rural Territory of Magran lay in the morning’s stillness. Even the wind had fallen asleep. I descended the slope, everything still trembling around me.
My feet knew the paths in this region well. At the slope’s end, they naturally turned toward the well. I drew water from the well and drank, then approached the City Gate. People were already preparing to open the Market. I stopped. A feeling arose that I should not draw near. The moment I tried to remember where this place was, someone struck my shoulder.
“My, who is this? Isn’t it Annie?”
Anistan saw the face of the person before me. Guard Cox. The name came mechanically, and I bowed in greeting.
“You left so suddenly without a word. Everyone was curious about you. But setting that aside, why does your face look like that? Are you unwell? Your complexion looks positively sickly.”
“…Yes.”
I did not know why I had come here. I had never thought I should return. Not here, nor anywhere else—I had no particular destination in mind. Magran, where I once served briefly as the lord’s Mage… No, it was not so long ago. Perhaps only half a year.
“Linda was often asking about you, wondering if there was any way to find out how you were doing.”
Though he spoke thus, a suspicious light flickered across Cox’s face. The figure before him was too changed from the Anistan he remembered. It was difficult to believe they were the same person. What had the humble and obliging young Mage Anistan endured to become like this?
It was pitiful, yet when one encountered someone who had suffered greatly, there arose an inexplicable reluctance to approach them. Cox’s feelings were much the same. He was merely surprised to meet again, harboring no desire to inquire deeply into the circumstances. Had Anistan appeared as before, he might have asked whether I had eaten, but such words did not emerge.
“So, you’ve returned?”
I rolled my eyes about before shaking my head. Cox’s probing gaze eventually fell upon the rope I held. Following the rope’s length to the suspicious object bound at its end, he furrowed his brow.
“What are you carrying?”
It was a long hexagonal box. Though painted a different color on the outside, it was unmistakably a coffin at first glance. Only its size was small. The edges were thoroughly worn from being carried for a long time. At the bottom, there were traces of newly affixed planks.
“….”
When I did not answer, Cox slowly retreated and returned to his post. He wished no further involvement in a matter that might become the subject of gossip. It was a thoroughly ordinary response.
It is difficult to escape the eyes of the world. The place where I had resolved to spend the winter was not entirely untouched by human feet. That was why I had emerged from my refuge dragging this coffin. Nenyapl School had sent over a dozen people to gather medicinal herbs, combing the Mountain. Recently graduated friends who had become researchers must have brought two students each. I knew well. I had once done the same work myself.
Unwilling to encounter them, I had hidden in the Mountain throughout the winter and descended. Only today did I realize that the place where I had settled was near the Territory of Magran. I considered what feeling might have drawn me here, but ultimately it held no great significance. Like Cox, others would be much the same. In the place where I once hid, unwilling to encounter the Puppet, I had merely gained some favor from people through exaggerated cheerfulness.
Though I knew this, my feet would not turn back. I was so starved for human contact. There was a day when I considered seeking out the Friends of the People. Of course, I abandoned such thoughts before even half a day had passed. They had helped me escape from Jade Ring Castle, but that was merely part of the contract that existed until then. Without Theo, there was no relationship beyond that.
What would have happened if, that day when Theo came to find me here, I had held firm and not gone with him?
Of course, I would not have been able to hold firm….
The bond between two former friends began to shatter from that moment onward. It wore thin, fractured, and finally crumbled entirely. Anistan had tried—desperately tried—to prevent things from reaching this point. The day he surrendered that effort, he made a different choice: he would abandon himself rather than abandon Theo. He would support Theo to the very end, but when that ended, he would grant himself rest at last.
The rest he had placed in the goblet with the green stem never became his own. Even that felt like a curse.
Now all that remained to Anistan was this coffin and a small, terrifying object contained in a box barely larger than his palm. Aunt Anelli came to mind. When she had retrieved this from Belvedere, had she imagined it would lead to such an outcome? No—she could never have foreseen that it would cost her life.
Back then, he had wept so bitterly. Now, he sometimes found himself envying her. More than once. Aunt Anelli, you left well that day. There was nothing good waiting for you had you lived longer.
He had even imagined returning to Belvedere, but abandoned the thought. They would never forgive Anistan for taking a forbidden object. And because of it, Belvedere itself might have suffered consequences. Anelli had said she would return it to its proper place immediately after creating the Doppelgänger, but that opportunity never came. Anistan was no different—he never even learned exactly how Anelli had retrieved it in the first place.
He could have left the coffin behind at the hideout. But he could not. He could not set it down. Ever since leaving Jade Ring Castle, he had carried it in wagons, lashed it to donkeys, even dragged it behind him on ropes.
His child, his Doppelgänger, remained beyond his reach. Anistan had tried to restore the severed connection but failed. Now this coffin felt like his final duty as a father.
Sometimes when people asked what it was, when he could not avoid answering, he said this:
An innocent young soul, departed from this world.
I wander the earth with it to appease its restless spirit.
The sound of a violin drifted through the air.
Flower buds slumbered on branches still damp with melting snow. Scattered across the limbs that had endured the heavy weight of winter’s snow, they stood pointed and eager—concealing white petals, cradling spring’s invitation, counting down the remaining days.
The Young Girl opened the window with her own hands, wanting to hear the violin more clearly. The air in the chamber, warmed all night by the hearth, grew fresher still. Leaning out and looking down, she glimpsed the back of a Young Boy seated on a garden bench. The violin bow moved with sprightly grace. A gavotte with a quick tempo seemed somehow to suit the season—though the worn coat draped over the boy’s shoulders did not.
She rested her chin on the windowsill and listened to the violin for a long while, humming softly along. When the performance ended, she considered applauding, but knew the boy would not welcome it. He was so averse to her presence that he would flee the moment she appeared from any distance. The Young Girl did not know what she had done wrong, but she persisted in her kindness, believing it would eventually improve things.
The window had been open too long, and too much cold air had entered. It might not be good for the patient. She reached to close it, then turned her head toward the bed almost without thinking.
And their eyes met.
“….”
Perhaps because she had never seen him this way before, something felt wrong. Was this not the person who always kept his eyes closed?
For a moment, they simply stared at each other. The initial shock faded quickly. On both sides. He gazed at her as though he had merely woken from an afternoon nap.
The eyes she saw for the first time were black.
The violin music began again from outside.
Without asking who this girl was, without attempting to rise, he spoke.
“Will you bring me the guitar? It’s in the wardrobe.”
Maximian heard the sound of a guitar from above his head. At first he paid it no mind, but as the melody began to weave intricately around his violin, a strange feeling took hold. He had been at Jade Ring Castle for half a year now, yet he had never seen anyone play guitar. He had never even seen a guitar itself.
Moreover, who else could possibly play like this?
Maximian’s head snapped around. The strings caught precariously and slipped. With a discordant twang, they snapped back. The bow fell to the ground and the music stopped.
Someone sat on the windowsill of the second floor. Bare-chested save for a jacket casually draped across his shoulders, he plucked the guitar strings in sequence with long fingers while regarding Maximian. Between the fluttering collar, a healed scar stood stark and clear.
The guitar fell silent.
“You’re back.”
Moments later, the bow Maximian had retrieved flew toward the second-floor window. The guitar was raised quickly to block it. Then a bundle of sheet music came flying. The pages, covered in someone’s scrawled annotations, did not reach the window but scattered across the garden in all directions, dancing as they fell.
Along with the sheet music, curses—words never before heard in the Duke’s House garden—scattered into the morning sunlight.
“Have you slept well your entire miserable life? You rotten butterfly chrysalis of a wretch! I’ve wanted to beat you awake with a broom this whole time, and do you know why I held back? It’s because….”
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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