Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 616

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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 68.
The Velvet Invitation (29)
6. The Salon’s Lady
In Keltika, “East Bank” referred to the southeastern region beyond the Bluet River, though it carried another, more frequently used meaning.
Even during the Old Kingdom, the area had housed many noble estates, but when the aristocrats returned after the Republic’s collapse, they gathered daily to commiserate with themselves for having endured such terrible times.
Cursing the Republican Faction, recounting the ridiculous incidents that had occurred during the chaos, and gossiping about the shameful conduct of fallen nobles—there were never enough hours in a day for it all. With so much to discuss, their bonds naturally deepened, and before long, East Bank had become synonymous with “Keltika’s high society.”
The East Bank’s social circles contained a well-mixed blend of deeply rooted Family Clans and newly ascendant nobility. Though the influence of traditional aristocrats remained strong, the salon was equally sensitive to the trends brought by these new nobles. Exotic goods and toys incorporating novel technologies always drew attention.
Consequently, some who sought popularity in high society began collecting curious objects, only to become excessively obsessed, and occasionally suffered unexpected accidents as a result. Two years prior, Baron Felgrave, who had collected items called “automatons,” fell into precisely such circumstances.
Automatons were toys that had enjoyed great popularity roughly sixty years earlier, crafted to move of their own accord using mechanical systems including springs and gears. The most common were figurines that repeated predetermined motions—dancing, writing letters, bowing—and it was said that mechanical instruments such as self-playing pianos had also been created.
Initially, the mere fact that they moved of their own accord generated tremendous fascination, and families competed to acquire new automatons and display them proudly. However, toward the end of the trend, development took a somewhat unsettling direction. They began recreating the deceased—both people and animals.
One person dressed an automaton resembling their dead daughter in the girl’s clothes, even affixing hair that had been cut before her death, and positioned it in a chamber to draw pictures. Another took an automaton fashioned to resemble their dead dog for walks through the Garden.
Such pieces required meticulous craftsmanship to resemble their models, demanding considerable time and effort, and they were extraordinarily expensive. Since the number of artisans was limited, the lighter entertainments produced as automatons gradually disappeared. Most decisively, when the Monarchy collapsed, these costly pursuits lost nearly all their demand.
After the Restoration, wealthy collectors sought automatons once more, but since the workshops had closed during the Republic era, the technical lineage had been severed, and what was produced now was said to be inferior to the past.
People in the prosperous era preferred a brighter atmosphere, so the eerie figurines that had been hastily replicated at the end of the Old Kingdom, despite their technical superiority, enjoyed less popularity. Conversely, the witty and humorous automatons created earlier saw their values skyrocket astronomically.
Baron Felgrave, fond of automatons, had amassed nearly a hundred of them. In doing so, he had squandered a considerable portion of his inherited fortune.
Among his collection were quite a few of the gloomy figurines that people did not particularly favor. Those who had the opportunity to view his collection expressed admiration in his presence, but elsewhere they whispered, “The figurines seem positively possessed by spirits,” and “The Baron himself seems rather mad.” Strange rumors circulated—tales of him conversing with the moving figurines.
One day, the Baron was discovered as a corpse in the exhibition chamber where he kept his automatons. The cause of death was unclear. The Doctor, observing the condition of his face, suggested he had died of respiratory failure, though there were no signs of strangulation. Some proposed it was a heart attack, but since the body was not discovered until a full day had passed after death, that too remained uncertain.
According to the servant who discovered the corpse, the Baron lay in proper posture on the exhibition chamber floor, as though he had simply died in his sleep.
Yet it made no sense that he would have slept lying on the exhibition chamber corridor rather than in a bed. The exhibition chamber had been locked from the outside, just as the Baron normally maintained it. That was why it took so long to discover the body.
People began spreading rumors that a figurine had killed the Baron. There was no evidence whatsoever; the story was simply fascinating.
Some said a spirit had inhabited the automaton figurine, fallen in love with the Baron, and claimed his soul. Others claimed the Baron had attempted something disrespectful to the figurine, which, enraged, murdered him. Still others suggested the Baron had transferred his own soul into the figurine to remain with it eternally. All manner of creative tales emerged, but most people dismissed them with a scoff as mere ghost stories.
Yet despite this, the rumors did not easily fade. Again, purely because they were fascinating. The fact that the Baron had lived alone without spouse or lover, devoting himself solely to his automatons, marked him as a somewhat eccentric figure, which only added fuel to such gossip.
As the Baron’s death transformed into bizarre fodder for conversation, the matter of finding the murderer receded into the background, and eventually the Keltica Security Bureau’s investigation concluded entirely.
His parents had died long before, and he had no significant relatives, so the distant cousin who became his heir concerned himself solely with inheriting the Baron’s wealth. Once the inheritance was settled, he sold most of the Baron’s collection to the antique market.
Therefore, on the very night the Baron died, no one noticed that several small automatons from among the hundred-odd pieces in the exhibition chamber—which only the Baron himself held the key to and maintained—had vanished.
“You remember the Baron Felgrave incident, don’t you? Everyone said his soul had entered the figurine because he’d fallen in love with it. But truthfully, there’s no way a soul could simply depart from someone lying motionless before a figurine unless something like that were the reason.”
“I’ve heard that story too, but it was probably just a heart attack. If I were alone in the middle of the night surrounded by automaton figurines and one suddenly lurched to life, I’d probably have a heart attack myself. Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s what people who fear figurines would say, but the Baron loved his figurines. So why would he have a heart attack?”
“Come now, what are you saying? Do you actually believe such rumors? That’s clearly a crime motivated by inheritance. The rural cousin who received the estate sold off all the automatons the moment the investigation ended. He was definitely destroying evidence.”
On the second floor of Count Schnibald’s Mansion, one of the most popular salons in East Bank recently, some twenty-odd young nobles had gathered that evening.
Two poets had recited stories befitting the evening’s theme of “Legends of Winter Nights,” and there had been a round each of violin and song. Thus it was an ideal time to sip the recently fashionable grape wine infused with anise and discuss eerie legends, then receive gifts prepared by the salon’s proprietress if one’s story garnered favorable response.
Then someone began telling a story featuring figurines, and the conversation momentarily drifted toward the Baron Felgrave incident.
“Baron Felgrave’s collection consisted of automatons, which are entirely different from the figurines mentioned in the story. Moreover, not all automatons are figurines. Most of the automatons created by Nuobo, the most renowned artisan, were music boxes and perfume bottles.”
“I have one of Nuobo’s automatons myself. Actually, the automaton crafted by his daughter Rosalinda is renowned for its delicacy compared to her father Benito.
I’ve long wanted one, but I missed the ‘Blooming Pistol’ when it appeared at auction recently for the first time in ages. The price climbed so steeply I was quite shocked. It sold for exactly four times the estimated price. I should have acquired that perfume bottle two years ago.”
“I’ve heard that the prices of automatons from the Old Kingdom have been rising sharply lately. I wonder if someone is deliberately doing this….”
“There may well be a faction attempting to inflate prices and resell them. With collectibles that have enthusiasts, such manipulation is possible. About eight years ago, someone attempted something similar with illuminated manuscripts….”
Nicolette von Schnibald, known as Colette, the proprietress of the salon, watched with a smile as the connoisseurs each endeavored to display their own specialized knowledge and hidden backstories.
Her salon had rapidly gained popularity precisely because it provided an appropriate stage for those who wished to show off their sophistication.
Everyone harbors the desire to display their own knowledge before others, yet to do so indiscriminately, regardless of time and place, risks being dismissed as vulgar or eccentric and utterly discredited. Particularly for those with relatively uncommon interests, the body aches to speak of stories connected to what they love, yet such opportunities rarely present themselves.
Colette’s Salon had mastered the art of selecting intriguing subjects that gave her guests an elegant context for their refinement, while carefully steering conversations to prevent them from veering too heavily in one direction—creating an experience that was genuinely enjoyable to witness. The result was a salon where those who had never quite managed to become part of high society’s mainstream now found themselves popular and thriving.
People with unusual interests began arriving of their own accord, and among them were many from the great noble houses who, despite their elevated birth, lacked the social finesse to truly enjoy themselves at conventional gatherings. When word spread that this salon produced an abundance of rare and fascinating conversations, even the mainstream figures of high society began making discreet appearances.
As the salon’s proprietress, Colette listened attentively to their stories—many of which she had heard before—while gauging precisely where to cut them off and guide the conversation back to her original topic. It was then that a remark caught her attention.
“I heard that Rosalinda Nuovo’s most famous automaton series, the ‘Forest’ collection, will be coming to the auction market next month or so. If you admire Rosalinda’s work, you absolutely cannot miss it. It’s truly one of the finest masterpieces of our age.”
“The Forest series—do you perhaps mean the set of five pistols that produce birdsong?”
“Yes, exactly that. ‘Morning Forest,’ ‘Canary,’ ‘Summer’s Blood,’ ‘Perfect Noon,’ ‘Night’s Breath.'”
Mirabelle von Atbald’s eyes sparkled as she recited the names from memory in a single breath. She had buried herself in books since childhood and possessed no talent whatsoever for dancing, horseback riding, or witty conversation, so until just a few years ago she had been utterly unpopular in high society.
But since she had begun displaying her knowledge at Colette’s Salon, she had recently made several kindred friends. These days could truly be called the golden age of her life.
Robertan, the Young Marquis who owned one of Nuovo’s automatons, spoke with an expression of admiration.
“Wow, that’s certainly the most fascinating news I’ve heard all evening. But might the young lady also be interested? If I were to find myself in competition with you, I would be quite willing to gracefully concede.”

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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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