Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 601

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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 53.
The Velvet Invitation (14)
The carriage was nothing like the cheap post carriages that rattled through Keltika—it bore the refined appearance of a conveyance befitting a rural lord. In truth, a city this small would never possess such a thing as a post carriage.
“My, I’ve never received such treatment in all my life. It truly shows how important it is whom one befriends and travels with. Hehehehe….”
“I hardly know what to say. How fortunate it was to meet someone of such standing aboard that ship we happened to board….”
“Now that’s what I call flawless execution. Pleasance, you should marry that noblewoman at once.”
The Captain kicked the Second Mate’s foot once more, but Maximian was lost in thought and didn’t hear. The three of them clambered into the carriage one after another, and Maximian had no choice but to follow. While they chattered excitedly inside, elevating Pleasance to the status of the Kingdom’s most handsome man possessed of fatal charm, Maximian remained absorbed in his own contemplations.
“….”
Upon arriving at the harbor, the carriage fare had naturally been paid in advance. When Maximian tried to offer a tip upon disembarking, the driver declined, saying it had already been received. After Maximian entered the cabin first, the remaining three began spinning tales of adventure with the excitement of those who had found gold coins scattered by a lottery winner. Such stories are destined to grow in the telling, and so during the days it took the ship to reach Keltika, rumors blossomed: the noblewoman who sent gifts to Pleasance was said to be the wealthiest person in Keltika; it was said that when one falls in love at first sight, one sends gifts like that; someone claimed to have seen that noblewoman; that lady was supposedly a great beauty; they had a secret rendezvous last night; the Captain received an invitation to their wedding—and countless other variations besides.
Part 3.
1. Darkness of the Villa
The main gate of the Villa Contreport, situated at the foot of Alb Mountain south of Orlanne, stood firmly closed—a sign that its master was away. The visitor who had climbed the hillside saw the small window in that gate was shut and simply turned back.
2 AM.
A figure walked toward the villa. Though it was no hour to visit someone’s home, they approached the main gate without hesitation, neither knocking nor calling out, but simply gazed upward. The villa, devoid of any light, was merely a dim shadow. Yet the figure found the sign they sought—a scrap of curtain, apparently left open by a servant’s carelessness on the second-floor window, swaying slowly.
The figure nodded and made their way around to the rear of the villa. They vaulted the fence with ease, crawled beneath an old console table and a pile of torn lumber that appeared discarded, found a shallow half-window set flush with the ground, and slipped through the narrow gap. A click followed by the sound of a bolt being drawn echoed from within.
The corridor where the figure descended remained dark, but after advancing a few steps to the left, a door appeared from which faint light seeped. Upon knocking, a shallow cough sounded from within, followed by a response.
“Come in.”
Upon entering, a narrow chamber appeared, surrounded entirely by bookshelves with no window. An hourglass sat upon a small table in the center, and beyond it sat a man—the master of this house. The visitor bowed briefly and spoke.
“I apologize for the sudden notice, Councilor.”
“No, it is well. If you believed this necessary, then it must be truly important. Please, sit. There is not much time before dawn.”
The master appeared to be around fifty, with an aristocratic accent and a gentle expression, yet his clothing suggested otherwise. One might have taken him for a vagrant who had broken into an empty house rather than its owner—he wore a farmer’s shirt, trousers of indeterminate color that only laborers wore, a hooded robe, and wooden sandals on bare feet. Moreover, a thin sheen of perspiration covered his brow as though he had been walking hurriedly moments before. As if there were reason to steal into his own villa at 2 AM. But why?
Meeting a guest in such a place, at such an hour, rather than in the reception room above, was equally strange. All the more so considering he was Count Giscard de Natangsong, the Grand Lord of Rosa Alb, one of the foremost great nobles of Orlanne. Yet simultaneously, he was also a key operative of the Republican Faction’s secret organization, the Friends of the People—mere suspicion of involvement in neighboring Anomarad was enough to bring immediate arrest.
The visitor too had arrived in a manner peculiar for a guest. Beneath the leather outer garment worn by hunters, black clothing was visible—the attire of those who walked only at night. When the hood covering the head was pulled back, long hair tied behind flowed down, revealing the face of a woman in her early forties. Her cheeks were gaunt and sharp vertical creases marked her brow, yet the light that blazed from her large eyes was extraordinary.
The woman bowed deeply once more and spoke.
“The Master sends word that he wishes for your health and safety.”
“Please convey my constant gratitude. Liza, may you too know peace.”
The woman called Liza responded at once.
“A creature of the night such as I should not covet such luxurious treasures.”
Giscard did not argue but lowered his eyes with a bitter smile. He understood the reasoning behind his Master’s philosophy, yet sometimes he wondered if it was not too harsh. But he also knew he had no right to interfere.
To possess an identity in the world above, yet abandon it whenever necessary. Never to maintain any identity for more than three years, even if there is no cause. Family, friends, lovers—all are but promissory notes with three-year expiration dates. Among them are those who have abandoned seven names, those who have three empty tombs. Some who knew their parents were dying yet pretended ignorance, others who knew where their children grew yet never once visited. The moment a new identity is assumed, everything that came before is discarded. The longer one has dwelt in a place, the more one must avoid even its vicinity. Only the night world is true life, and their faces and names dissolve into darkness. That is why they are Nightwalkers.
Their organization, Nightwalk, is led by a Master who embodies this philosophy in practice, never stepping beyond the shadows. No one knows the Master’s origins or history, age, gender, or even whether they are one person or many. Not even Giscard, who holds the highest information clearance within the Friends of the People.
Does Liza know? As far as Giscard understands, Liza is the Master’s closest confidant. That Liza has come means the Master’s will is involved in this matter. Yet there is no way to confirm to what extent.
Liza sat in the chair across from him. Then she spoke rapidly.
“First, I must ask—please do not inform the Friends of the People that I came to see you today. This matter is unrelated to them.”
“Unrelated?”
Liza nodded and repeated with peculiar emphasis.
“Unrelated.”
Giscard also knew that Nightwalk, though a subordinate organization of the Friends of the People, was not merely that. Yet he had always believed he had no right to pry into internal affairs. When the Friends of the People had launched their republican revolution in Keltika, only to collapse a decade later with most key figures dead or missing and the organization facing annihilation, Nightwalk had arrived as an already-complete organization. For years, they had supported the Friends of the People with their superior intelligence. Without them, the Friends of the People could never have recovered to their current strength after such devastating losses. Thus, it had become an unwritten rule that if Nightwalk acted somewhat independently of the parent organization without causing problems, one did not interfere.
Though Giscard knew this, he had never summoned a Nightwalker for matters unrelated to the Friends of the People. He had heard that some of the organization’s officers accepted Nightwalker assistance for personal errands, reasoning “it’s not for anything wicked, so what does it matter?” But Giscard had never done so. He understood well that the Nightwalkers’ personal lives had been surrendered to maintain the magical network of Nightwalk. To use an organization sustained by such tremendous sacrifice for personal convenience was something his nature could not abide.
“Then there would have been no need to seek me out. Is there perhaps some personal matter for which you require my assistance? If so, I would of course be glad to help.”
Liza shook her head.
“That’s not quite the case. Rather, it’s the opposite.”
“The opposite.”
A somewhat ambiguous smile crossed Giscard’s face. They were members of a secret organization with the same objectives, yet in the outside world, their stations were as different as heaven and earth. It was not easy for a commoner to be of service to a Grand Duke.
However, Liza was a Nightwalker. Giscard soon nodded in acknowledgment.
“Then, you’ve come all this way at dawn for this one person. I’m both grateful and sorry for the trouble. I’m afraid I’m a man who has grown old yet often behaves like a great child, which is most inconvenient. I do hope this isn’t too grave a mistake on my part.”
A faint smile bloomed across Liza’s stern face. She had long admired Giscard’s humble nature. Yet rather than respond with similar modesty, she cut straight to the matter at hand, as befitted a Nightwalker.
“No, sir. It’s not your mistake. It concerns your daughter. Do you happen to know if your daughter possesses any works by Nuovo?”
Giscard hesitated slightly upon hearing this unexpected question.
“Nuovo? Wait… do you mean Nuovo, the automaton craftsman?”
“Yes. Works by either Benito Nuovo or his daughter Rosalinda Nuovo.”
Giscard pondered for a moment, then tilted his head thoughtfully.
“I’m not certain. At least, I don’t recall passing such a thing to her. Of course, it’s difficult to regard an automaton as a family treasure, so I may simply have forgotten. If necessary, I could ask my daughter directly. But why would an automaton be a matter of concern?”
“If your memory doesn’t serve you, perhaps something of this size…”
Liza opened her right palm and spread the index and middle fingers of her left hand to demonstrate a size that would fit snugly within it.
“Have you ever seen an automaton pistol?”
Giscard furrowed his brow for a moment, then suddenly relaxed his eyebrows and murmured.
“Ah, that one? Tiny like a toy, but inlaid with jewels and the grip finished in cloisonné enamel…”
At the same moment, tension blazed blue in Liza’s eyes. She asked urgently.
“Yes. Have you seen it? Does your daughter still possess it?”
“She likely does. I’ve never asked, but given who sent it as a gift, I doubt she would have disposed of it.”
“Bernard sent it, then?”

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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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