Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 57

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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 57.
Breaking Through the Trap, Into the Storm (27)
Boris couldn’t afford to laugh outright, so he substituted strained groans for genuine mirth.
This time, it was Boris’s turn to cry out.
“What are you talking about! Rosnis and I have nothing between us!”
“Nothing? Weren’t you sworn siblings once?”
“That’s not what I meant….”
A moment later, Isildor San shouted again.
“That’s absurd! If I’d run away because I didn’t want to teach you, why would I be meeting you again now? Back then, I was forced to leave because of an event I absolutely had to attend….”
“Oh my, you were preparing for a wedding?”
“I, I suppose… cough! Hack!”
Isildor San had choked on the chicken he was eating. While he coughed pitifully for a while, Boris struggled to maintain a composed posture without laughing.
I was surprised by how much I enjoyed making jokes I’d never made before. I wanted to express my joy somehow.
The meal finally ended. They exchanged glances, though neither was truly angry. As Boris laboriously climbed back up to this floor, Isildor San followed slowly behind, chuckling softly to himself.
They entered the room and sat facing each other. Isildor San removed his robe, and its lining was the same leaf-green color as before, which stirred unexpected feelings in Boris.
I didn’t ask if he’d turned the robe inside out.
“You’re not a lovable fellow at all.”
Isildor San spoke first, then fell silent for a while. Even someone like him apparently needed time to consider his words.
Instead, Boris asked.
“How on earth did you find me?”
The answer came swiftly.
“Find you? Do I look like someone with nothing better to do than search for you?”
“I wouldn’t know whether you have things to do or not….”
Boris smiled broadly. He hadn’t realized before how easily he could smile like this.
“You certainly know how to appear at the crucial moments. You’ve shown up twice now. Thank you.”
It wasn’t meant to be sarcastic. Yet beyond sincerity, there was unmistakably a playful edge. Isildor San stared at Boris for a long time, but finding nothing to say, he lifted his chin and shook his head as he spoke.
“It was coincidence. Pure coincidence.”
“And you even sent the cat….”
“I said it was coincidence!”
Pfft… Boris laughed silently instead. There was so much he wanted to ask.
“But why did you curse me so much at the Rosenberg Gate? Did you really hold so much against me?”
When I was being cursed by a stranger, I was furious and didn’t know what to do. But once I realized that person was Walnut—no, Isildor San—it actually felt pleasant.
The bitter regret that had lingered after our poor parting seemed to evaporate completely with those curses, leaving me refreshed. It was as if a long-standing debt had been settled without my knowing.
“You deserve to be cursed. I’ll keep cursing you from now on.”
This time, despite the wound on my back, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ah, so you’ve decided to travel with me after all? Pfahahaha… Ow!”
Had I gained some composure?
The self that once lived with ‘Walnut’ at Belnoir Castle and the self that now faced ‘Isildor San’ again were vastly different.
Perhaps back then, I was a ‘false self.’ A fake can never be treated with genuine sincerity. So how fortunate it is to meet this person again as my ‘true self.’
The journey from that tension and wariness to this current attitude of hiding nothing wasn’t made in a single step. I hadn’t realized it in my haste to get here, but now, looking back at that path for the first time, I felt the true magnitude of the distance I’d traveled.
I’m grateful to have crossed over. I never want to return to those days.
How long has it been since I met someone I could truly trust?
“Why do I have to be so incredibly kind?”
Isildor San muttered in displeasure, then stretched his back with an arm pillow propped against empty air.
He was not merely a man whose name had changed from Walnut to Isildor San. Once a tutor to Count Belnoir’s adopted son, he was now a wandering swordmaster without allegiance or home.
Where Walnut had been somewhat eccentric and reckless, Isildor San was naturally carefree. He possessed leisure, and it suited his true nature.
“Right, I should finish the conversation from yesterday. How will you repay your savior? I’m a meticulous person who doesn’t overlook what’s owed. I’m not your teacher anymore, am I? Which means I have no obligation to save you.”
If that were true, why had he secretly followed me after parting at Rosenberg Gate, watched over me, and appeared at precisely the moment I needed help?
But Boris showed nothing and asked seriously.
“How should I repay you?”
“Hmm, well.”
It seemed he hadn’t thought that far ahead before asking so bluntly.
After a moment, Isildor San narrowed his eyes and spoke.
“How about that black blade instead? Return it to me.”
Boris immediately straightened and shook his head.
“That’s impossible.”
“You must have felt how that blade changed yesterday?”
“Pardon?”
So it wasn’t a misunderstanding after all?
“Do you think you can keep carrying it around? That blade savors killing. If you grow accustomed to it, while it may protect your body well, you will become someone different. You’ll grow numb to blood, and before long you might find yourself seeking slaughter.”
Boris’s brow furrowed as he recalled the strange sensation from yesterday. Isildor San shook his head again.
“No. Perhaps it’s not such a simple matter. In any case, that blade seems to possess magical power—objects imbued with unknown magic tend to be more curse than blessing. Some are created for destruction from the very beginning.”
Boris was taken aback by this unexpected revelation. But after a moment, he gathered his thoughts and spoke.
“That may be so. But this is a blade I’ve resolved to protect for my entire life. It’s not a vow I’ll break easily. A blade is merely a blade after all—isn’t it meant to be wielded by human hands? No matter how malevolent the magic that grips this blade, if I steel my resolve, I don’t believe human will can be overcome by the will of mere metal.”
Isildor San regarded Boris with an expression that could have been admiration or mockery.
“It’s a fine thought, and I do hope you’re right, but I’m not certain it will work out. Rather than judge hastily, perhaps you should ask someone who truly understands such matters. What do you know about that blade? How did your house come to possess it?”
Boris hesitated slightly about whether to mention Snowguard. But not for long.
“There is a matching set of armor. It’s called Snowguard. Together they’re called the Winterbottom Kit. But I no longer have it. It vanished to a place I can never reach again. Beyond that, I know nothing. Not where my ancestor found this blade, nor what power it holds.”
Isildor San didn’t press about Snowguard’s whereabouts. He merely wore a somewhat relieved expression.
“Then at least that blade’s power will be weakened. Its matching piece will never appear again.”
A smile rose to Isildor San’s lips—the same smile they had exchanged during their midnight duel at Belnoir Castle.
“Good. Let’s see whether human will or blade will prevails. I can’t tell you to give up without even trying. But don’t draw that blade carelessly. Even if you must draw it, watch carefully that no other thoughts arise in your heart while you wield it. If you sense any troubling changes, tell me at once. Keeping the blade sheathed is best of all.”
Boris nodded. And he savored the joy slowly welling up in his chest.
He wondered why he was so happy, how he’d come to care for someone this much—but a more primal joy took precedence.
That I’m no longer alone. That I can lean on someone again, and they on me.
“The fact that you’re telling me to speak suggests you’ll stay with me, doesn’t it?”
Isildor San held up one finger.
“Do you remember when I proposed traveling together at Rosenberg Gate? You rejected me quite coldly. That’s right—you said we should never meet again, didn’t you?”
Boris chuckled softly, thinking that this man was pouting like a child.
“I apologize.”
“No, no. This isn’t something an apology can fix. When you miss the first opportunity, the same chance never comes around again. Besides, you owe me a debt, don’t you? Fine, let’s reapply that contract from yesterday.”
Boris’s eyes widened.
“Surely you’re not going to insult me like that again?”
The eccentric Isildor San was precisely the type who would do such a thing without hesitation. Yet he smiled faintly, his expression shifting to one of contemplation—wondering if there might be something more entertaining.
“Honestly, if I had to do something like that every day, even I couldn’t manage it. So this time, you’re neither a young master of the Count’s House nor an equal colleague. You’ll serve me like a disciple serves his master. I’ll protect you, and you’ll run my errands. How does that sound?”
Boris answered with surprising ease, even surprising himself.
“Very well.”
“I’ll work you hard. Can you endure it?”
Boris laughed softly.
“You were never easy to deal with to begin with.”
Hearing this, Isildor San spoke abruptly.
“Don’t call me that anymore. We’re not in that kind of relationship now. It feels awkward somehow.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Use my name. That works fine.”
“I can’t do that. It would be uncomfortable for me.”
Isildor San pondered. After deliberating for a long while, he finally replied with an expression of resignation.
“Call me ‘you’ then. There’s no better alternative anyway.”
That word reminded me of the ‘you’ that Langie had once used. Though it wasn’t particularly intimate, somehow it felt like a way of addressing someone much closer.
Around that moment, Boris realized that Isildor San had never asked why he had left the Count’s Castle and was wandering in a place like this. As if he already knew the circumstances.
But surely he hadn’t known when I left the castle?
Then Isildor San suddenly reached out and cupped both of Boris’s cheeks in his rough hands, gazing into his eyes while caressing them gently.
Boris suddenly felt it. The memory of one person who had held his face like this, the feeling he had experienced from that person. It wasn’t identical, but it was certainly similar.
Isildor San spoke softly.
“Ah, what a pathetic child. Can’t bear it when you’re out of sight, can you? How utterly pathetic. Really, truly.”

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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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