Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 54

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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 54.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (24)
A pale moon hung in the sky. At four in the morning, the heavens pressed down like a heavy curtain, low and suffocating.
Boris quickened his pace. The men turned a corner and slipped into a house with a low roof. A guard stood at the entrance, and without a word, he let them pass.
Boris hesitated. These men were adults with connections—they might not betray each other—but there was no guarantee they would show him the same courtesy.
He had seen it more than once: those who wore pleasant masks among their own kind would turn vicious the moment they spotted weakness, eager to fill their own pockets.
And if they saw he carried four hundred Elso—a substantial sum—they might assume he had more and attempt to wring it from him by force.
Boris had no horse, little money, and most importantly, he had Winterer. He could not afford reckless gambles.
While he lingered in the darkness, the guard at the door yawned and stepped inside. Only a single lamp hanging from the eaves remained outside.
Moments later, Boris realized there was something else beneath it.
At first, he thought it was a heap of dirt or a small sack. But when he decided no one was watching, it stirred. It padded toward a wooden post, rubbed itself against it, and stretched with a shudder. Its tail curled upward, then fell.
It was a cat.
Cats were rare in Trabaches, so Boris’s eyes widened with curiosity. It was a gray and black striped cat with blue eyes.
The cat paid him no mind whatsoever. After grooming itself for some time, it walked into the lamplight and sat down with utter confidence, as if to say: look at me, you sneaking human.
Upon closer inspection, the cat was unusually large, yet it was battered from head to tail—scarcely a patch of unmarred fur remained. Its tail was only half there, one eye was crushed shut, and its body bore countless claw marks. Even its ears were bent at odd angles. Yet it showed no sign of pain.
It had burst from the darkness with such robust bearing and rough features that it startled the human more than the reverse—a cat possessed of an easy confidence.
It had the bearing of a seasoned warrior. A mercenary, or perhaps a wandering swordsman.
“….”
The cat opened its mouth wide but made no meow. It took a few steps, lapped at some stagnant water, and looked back.
In that moment, Boris felt the cat was beckoning him to follow.
For a brief instant, he felt like a child again. He pointed at himself with one finger and spoke softly.
“Me?”
The cat opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth, then closed it—still silent. And it began to walk.
Boris found himself taking a few steps in the cat’s direction. Then, moments later, he abandoned all hesitation and followed in its wake.
The cat did not look back again. It simply raised its half-tail high and strode forward with purpose.
Through alleys stacked with barrels, over crumbling walls, along narrow muddy paths, past streets where sleepy people were opening their windows.
Eventually it led him beyond the village’s edge and up a mountain path toward Rosenberg Gate. It never wandered off course or paused to investigate anything else.
Just as Boris was wondering where exactly they were, the cat made a sound for the first time—a strange, rasping purr, as if someone with a hoarse throat were imitating a cat’s cry.
“Come here.”
Boris started, his eyes snapping toward the figure that had appeared from nowhere.
A person wrapped entirely in a black robe, hood pulled deep so that no face was visible, stood in the mountain path. The cat approached and lay down quietly at their feet.
Boris hesitated. Only now did he wonder why he had followed the cat this far.
“What is your business?”
The unfamiliar voice posed the question. Boris decided to answer honestly.
“I only followed the cat. If it belongs to you, I apologize.”
“It is not my cat. This one belongs to no one, for it cannot belong to anyone.”
The answer was unexpectedly straightforward. Then came a question in return.
“If you are taking this path, you must be crossing Rosenberg Gate. Are you heading to Lemme, or have you come from there?”
There was no reason to hide it.
“I intended to go to Lemme, but I cannot proceed without a travel permit.”
“No travel permit? Then you could simply pose as a companion of someone who has one and travel together.”
It was a solution I had never considered. True enough—the dozens of laborers merchants brought along wouldn’t all possess travel permits.
I nodded and was about to thank him for the advice when he cut me off.
“It’s far safer than paying unknown people and being guided through smuggling routes.”
His words, as if he’d peered into my very thoughts, made me look up at him in bewilderment.
But the face hidden beneath the hood was impossible to discern. His only distinguishing feature was his considerable height.
“In any case, thank you for the information. I’ll be on my way now.”
As I turned to leave, the man spoke again.
“I only guessed it from seeing you follow this cat. This creature has a habit of trailing smugglers.”
He hadn’t asked anything in particular. Yet he continued.
“How about it? Shall I take you across the border?”
Suspicion flared instantly. I replied coldly.
“You’re also a person of unknown identity. How can I tell by appearance alone whether you’re more dangerous than a smuggler?”
Suddenly the man began to chuckle.
“Heheheh, tsk tsk, quite the clever little thing, aren’t you? But you know, carelessly offending someone of unknown identity like that is problematic. What if I cried out, ‘Comparing me to a smuggler? How dare you!’ and drew my sword? What would you do then?”
The man continued spouting increasingly strange remarks. I remained vigilant and responded.
“I would draw my sword as well. But since I have no wish to fight, I’ll take my leave. If I’ve caused offense, I apologize.”
“Ah, disappointing me like that won’t do. Well then, safe travels.”
Even as I descended, I couldn’t fathom what he meant by “disappointing me like that.”

Finding work as a laborer proved far more difficult than I’d anticipated.
Since I lacked an outgoing temperament, I couldn’t easily say things like “If you’ll take me across the border, I’ll pay you two hundred Elso,” nor could I bring myself to genuinely flatter someone into taking me along.
As the morning approached ten o’clock, I encountered that man again. The Warrior Cat had vanished somewhere.
“Hey, did you find a group to travel with?”
Had he not spoken first, I wouldn’t have recognized him as the same person. Despite summer approaching and the day being bright, he still refused to lower his hood.
I found myself responding with unexpected fluidity.
“No. That’s why I was considering becoming part of your group.”
“Hmm, my conditions are rather demanding. If you’re willing to hear them, I might tell you.”
His oddly mischievous demeanor reminded me of someone, but I dismissed the baseless speculation.
“Do tell. I can offer some money if needed.”
“I don’t need money. Instead, my nature is twisted—I enjoy tormenting people. So while crossing the border, you’ll pretend to be my disciple and endure all the curses and physical blows I heap upon you. No matter what happens, you must not resist, object, or dodge my strikes. Only until we part ways after crossing the border. Do you understand?”
It was an absurdly strange condition.
Yet paradoxically, I felt convinced he didn’t intend to deceive me.
Those who mean to swindle someone typically offer favorable terms at first, but this man was the opposite. And what benefit could he possibly gain from such actions?
“Very well. I accept.”
The contract was sealed.

“Come here! What are you dawdling about like some street urchin? Can’t you move faster? Why are you so sluggish? With that pathetic whimpering, did you never even manage to beg for a proper meal?”
“You wretched bear cub! I told you to stay put, so why are you wandering off on your own? You’re even more useless than a bear itself…. Who else is doing that? Huh?”
“I told you to keep your robe fastened properly! For someone who’s eaten as many years as you have, can’t you even dress yourself correctly? Because you’re incompetent at everything, the elder beats you every other day, understand? And then you whine like an idiot about it….”
“By now you should have stopped wetting the bed. How much longer do I have to endure the inn staff’s glares every morning? You’re worse than a three-year-old child—stop that! I told you to stop!”
“When will you finally learn to read? You still don’t know what’s written here? I’ve read it aloud and taught you every time you came, you fool! Ro, zen, burg, gate. It says Rosenberg Gate!”
The conditions seemed far more difficult than I had anticipated.
Before even reaching the gate, I had heard more curses than in my entire life and been struck dozens of times.
I had never known there were so many varieties of insults. Yet there was an enormous difference between simply hearing such words and having them poured directly upon oneself.
Several times my anger surged so intensely that I nearly abandoned the contract altogether, but I forced it down with all my strength. Though my hands trembled with indignation, I suppressed it with every ounce of willpower.
I discovered that my pride ran deeper than I had realized. Having endured countless hardships at such a young age, I had thought mere insults would be trivial—but that was dangerously naive.
I could have endured the curses themselves, but when he spoke falsehoods while clicking his tongue in disapproval, that was cruelty beyond measure.
As we approached the gate, the people around us began to glance and whisper. They spoke of a fool who looked perfectly normal yet couldn’t read letters he’d been taught multiple times, a pathetic wretch who still couldn’t control his bladder.
I wished I had a hood to hide my face, flushed crimson to my ears. The Mysterious Hooded Man had given me a dark, tattered robe, but unfortunately it lacked a hood, leaving me no choice but to display the face of an idiot.
“Come here, you simpleton! Stand still here!”
Before the gate, the man produced an unusual travel document—the mark of a Prava Pilgrim, one who spent their life in service while making pilgrimage across the entire Continent.
On a flat silver plate was engraved the image of a single dragon, but it bore none of the standard requirements of a travel document—no expiration date, no visa of any kind.
Nevertheless, the gate guards nodded and looked toward Boris. Then the man spoke.
“He’s still an apprentice, so he has no mark yet. He needs to complete the full circuit before he earns the qualification.”
With that, the guards allowed Boris to pass without incident.
It was absurdly simple, yet the ordeal was far from over.
The moment the man thought he would soon part ways with Boris, he refused to close his mouth for even a second. He pinched my cheeks, struck my shoulders, kicked at my legs—he gave every insult and humiliation he could devise.
Yet I endured it in silence. In truth, now that we had passed through the gate, I could have fought back or simply pretended not to understand and fled, but to me, a contract was a contract.
There was no such thing as aid without a price in this world. Since he had guided me safely through without deception, I was prepared to bear any humiliation.
The time of endurance had finally come to an end.
“One last thing—kneel and bid me farewell respectfully. Then we’re done.”

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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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