Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 67

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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 67.
The Island of the Survivors (9)

“Come here! Try to catch me, will you? Hurry up!”
It sounded like chirping birds. Feeling the warm sunlight brushing against his eyelids, the Boy Who Knows Not Himself opened his eyes from the bed.
“I said give it back! Return it!”
“Catch me and I’ll give it to you! Catch me and you’re a genius!”
At first, he wondered if the children whose footsteps he’d heard in yesterday’s hallucination-shrouded ruins had now begun to speak.
But as his mind cleared, he realized the voices were coming from outside the window. A mixture of spirited and plaintive voices drifted in.
“I don’t like this… Give it back, I’m telling you. I can’t do it…”
“That’s why you’re a stupid ground squirrel. Hehehehe!”
As he sat up in bed, the blanket slid away.
A window stood right beside the bed. Bright light streamed through the partially open shutters.
Before looking outside, he first glanced around the room. Where was this place?
Roughly hewn beams were exposed overhead. A wooden door frame so low one had to crouch to pass through, a floor covered with straw matting, and earthen jars placed in the corners came into view.
It gradually came back to me. This was Despoina’s House, home of the Priest of the Staff.
Yesterday afternoon, under Despoina’s guidance, I had entered this room and hadn’t left since. I’d eaten here and slept here.
Despoina had said it would be better not to meet people until I had a name.
Through the shutters, three boys were running about, one fleeing from the others—or rather, they were teasing the one chasing them.
The fleeing boys gripped a leather pouch marked with handprints, running and tossing it to a friend whenever the pursuer drew close, tormenting him relentlessly.
The chasing boy was smaller than the others and painfully thin; despite his efforts to run, he couldn’t even brush the clothes of the fleeing children. His frightened eyes blinked incessantly.
“S-t-u-pid! Stupid ground squirrel!”
“Crybaby ground squirrel! Over here, over here!”
Again, the sound of the pouch cutting through the air echoed. The voice came from right beside the window.
“That’s right! This time it’s over here! Come and catch it!”
The boy called ground squirrel rushed to grab the approaching target but stepped on a piece of firewood rolling across the ground and tumbled.
After rolling about, he sprang up more quickly than expected and wrapped his arms tightly around one of the teasing boys’ legs.
“Give it back!”
“Tch!”
The boy whose leg was seized threw the pouch to another friend, and not satisfied with that, he kicked the small boy mercilessly with his other foot.
The small boy curled up like a hedgehog and whimpered. Yet the kicks did not cease.
It felt excessive for mere playful roughhousing among friends. There was no sign of mercy whatsoever.
After enduring the kicks, the small “ground squirrel” suddenly sat up, his eyes glistening with tears as he looked between the boys pleadingly.
“Haven’t you teased me enough? Please give it back now. I’m asking you.”
He didn’t protest the hitting or grow angry. Even if they weren’t friends, there was no reason for enmity. Yet the boys were cruelly relentless toward the small one.
“Not at all, I’m not tired yet.”
The boy who had received the pouch laughed wickedly and gestured to his friend. When his friend nodded, he opened the pouch and dumped its contents.
Thunk, pitter-patter, thunk.
From a distance, he couldn’t see what they were, but roughly a dozen stone-like objects scattered and rolled in all directions. One that rolled nearby reflected the morning sunlight with translucent clarity—they were semi-transparent stones.
The “ground squirrel” was startled and, forgetting his pain, rushed forward desperately.
Tears streaming down, I scrambled to gather the scattered stones when a boy suddenly rushed in and kicked away a fallen rock with a sharp sweep.
The stone flew into the brush and lodged there. The boy whistled and clapped his hands, then turned to his friends with a grin.
“How’s that for a kick?”
No further provocation was needed. Soon the other boys joined in, scattering the small stones the ground squirrel desperately tried to collect to every corner.
The helpless ground squirrel, stumbling about in a futile attempt to stop them, was no different from a stray dog being tormented by neighborhood children.
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself felt a sudden surge of emotion, leaping from the bed and grabbing his cloak. He started toward the door but abruptly stopped.
Should I interfere?
Despoina had clearly told me to avoid encountering people before my name was decided.
But when the ground squirrel’s voice—half-cry, half-whimper—drifted through the window, I cast aside that thought entirely and stepped outside. The brilliant sunlight momentarily blinded me, but soon everything came into focus.
“This is too much… truly too much. Do you find it amusing to destroy what others cherish? How can you trample on something someone cares for like this?”
One boy shot back.
“It’s your fault for lacking the strength to protect it. It’s only natural that weaklings like you can’t have anything.”
Another boy spoke up.
“Don’t you know the Moon Queen’s teachings? She said those without strength shouldn’t possess anything.”
“If you don’t hide anything from the start, nothing will be taken from you, right? From now on, whenever you get something good, just offer it up obediently. Then you won’t have to cry miserably.”
As the last boy finished speaking, the Boy Who Knows Not Himself replied.
“Then if someone stronger than you appears, it would only be natural for them to take what’s yours too, wouldn’t it?”
All three boys turned to look at the boy standing in the doorway. Two of them tilted their heads in confusion at the unfamiliar face, while the third grew angry.
“Get lost if you don’t want a beating!”
“Wait, who is that? Do you know him?”
“No. How would I know something like that?”
“How is a child we don’t know here on The Island?”
Then the last boy’s expression shifted as recognition dawned.
“Ah, you! You’re that guy who arrived on The Island yesterday, aren’t you? You’re an outsider, right? You came from the Continent where there’s nothing but weaklings and fools?”
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself didn’t argue against that. He simply pulled a cord from his pocket and slowly tied back his hair, which had come loose from sleep, before responding calmly.
“Where I came from doesn’t matter. But what I just said was clearly your own philosophy, wasn’t it?”
The three boys exchanged glances, and the last one spoke again.
“You like to meddle, don’t you, you twisted brat? Your logic is sound! But to be stronger than us, you’d have to beat all three of us at once. Helping each other is our strength too!”
The other two boys’ eyes gleamed with newfound confidence. They seemed eager for this new game.
One of them shouted.
“That’s right! If you want to fight, come on! We’ll take you on all three at once!”
They had heard this morning that a boy around their age had arrived from the Continent. They hadn’t expected to find him here, but it seemed quite appealing to be known as the ones who broke his spirit first.
Of course, they weren’t fools. They noticed that despite the boy’s lean frame, his build was solid and his gaze sharp.
But what did they have to fear when there were three of them?
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself showed no reaction to their words. He pulled his cloak back slightly and replied without emotion.
“What you say is certainly true.”
There is no room for fairness in the logic of power.
It was something I had felt abundantly over the years. In this world, neither adults, nor powerful Nobility, nor seasoned warriors ever showed mercy to powerless children.
Of course, strictly speaking, by the boys’ own logic, I might be a fool for throwing myself into a pointless fight.
Yet in the ground squirrel’s voice of despair just now, I saw the shadow of myself from two years ago.
If one lacks strength, it’s perhaps inevitable to suffer bullying. Yet just as there was someone who protected me with all their might despite my weakness, why should that small one not have such a person in their life?
Though I didn’t fully comprehend it, this was the first time I genuinely wanted to help someone weaker than myself.
“Chipmunk” spoke in an anxious voice.
“I, I… You don’t need to risk danger for someone like me….”
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself replied without turning around.
“That’s got nothing to do with you. Go find your own things.”
I thought I didn’t want to receive that difficult, overwhelming affection I once harbored for my Elder Brother….
The moment the first boy lunged forward, I seized him by the scruff of his neck and hurled him toward another. The grip strength built from years of wielding a heavy sword was incomparable to that of boys my age.
The boys who tumbled backward, unable to maintain their balance, quickly scrambled back up and counterattacked.
I waited for the third boy to charge, then kicked the inside of his thigh, and as he staggered, I drove my heel hard into his stomach. Then, using only the edge of my open palm and my elbow, I easily brought down the other two boys.
It was hardly worthy of being called a fight. The three boys were no match at all. They were children who had only grappled among themselves in groups, knowing not even the fundamentals of combat.
Yet the Boy Who Knows Not Himself had learned various martial techniques while traveling with Nauplion. Though incomparable to seasoned adults, the reflexes forged through real combat experience far surpassed those of my peers.
What seemed to be the end met an unexpected reversal. As the boys prepared to charge again, they caught sight of something firmly fastened at my waist as my cloak fluttered.
“He has a sword!”
“He’s carrying a sword!”
Suddenly, a palpable tension descended.
The boys no longer rushed forward, but instead gathered together, their eyes now hostile and utterly transformed from their earlier childish gleam.
One of them cried out.
“To carry a sword on The Island, you need permission from the Priest of the Sword!”
It was not a forced accusation. They were genuinely indignant.
“If you carry a sword without permission, you’ll face severe punishment! Didn’t you know? You’re as good as dead now!”
“Let’s tell the adults right away! Let’s go to the priests!”
The excuse came at a perfect moment. The initial confidence born from just a brief scuffle—knowing these boys were no match for a Continent youth—had already evaporated.
Yet they hesitated, fearing they’d be branded cowards if they retreated before their friends, when this problem conveniently erupted.
The boys, their fight forgotten, began shuffling backward and then bolted away.
What remained was a boy in an awkward position, scattered pebbles, the sun climbing toward its zenith, and Chipmunk sitting dazed, staring up at the boy.
After a moment, Chipmunk hesitantly got to his feet. He spoke while trying to hide his frightened expression.
“Um, I… My name is Oizis. It means ‘pain.'”
The Boy Who Knows Not Himself was startled for two reasons.
First, I still had no name to introduce. Second, I was astonished by the ominous meaning of the young boy’s name.
Which parent on the Continent would name their child “pain”? If they wished their child to live happily, why give them a name with such a terrible meaning? Was that truly his real name?
Lost in thought, the Boy Who Knows Not Himself failed to grasp the sentiment behind the other’s revelation of his name’s meaning.
On The Island, revealing the “true meaning” behind one’s name from the very first meeting was an act of considerable trust.
“Then… who gave you that name?”

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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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