Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 7

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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 7
The Winter Sword (7)

“Now is the moment. Go.”
Tulk’s voice held no tremor, no passion—as calm as if he were simply telling someone it was late and time for bed. Yefnen’s jaw twitched slightly as he regarded Tulk. He had never grown accustomed to him, and now there would be no more time to try.
In the next instant, a brilliant light swept across their surroundings—a radiance that held absolute meaning for all of them.
“Good fortune.”
“I’m not going.”
A flicker of change crossed Tulk’s expressionless face. He shook his head without bothering to ask why.
“Go. If you understand your father’s will.”
“If Father has his will, then I have mine. My father’s existence means far more to me than any mere artifact.”
Yulken’s head moved ever so slightly. His gaze turned toward his son. They locked eyes with one another.
“….”
Yefnen spoke into the silence of his father’s refusal to answer.
“No matter what you say, my resolve will not waver.”
Tulk still understood what his master wished to say from the light in his eyes alone. He spoke quietly.
“Do not stake your will on something without hope.”
“Did Father not stake his will on hopelessness? I speak of Katsuya Elector.”
Yefnen looked directly at his father, as though Tulk were merely a translator and nothing more.
“The Jineman Family does not raise children who break their resolve simply because there is no hope, do they? Is not a true artifact preserved so preciously precisely to stand beside us in our darkest hour?”
Yulken had no answer. Boris watched the fierce blaze in his father’s eyes and the unwavering determination in his brother’s gaze. He was but a child, unable to step into that space. Yet he understood, dimly, what lay beneath it all.
Without tearing his eyes from his father, Yefnen called to Boris.
“Boris.”
Boris stepped forward. His brother’s hand reached out and gripped his wrist.
“You understand, don’t you?”
“I….”
Boris wanted to say that he too was a child of the Jineman Family, one who would not break his resolve. He wanted to say that he valued his brother as deeply as his brother valued their father. That he could not imagine surviving alone in a world without his brother and father.
Yet not a single word crossed his lips. His mouth remained clamped shut, weighed down by the heaviness of the moment.
“At least we can choose to die together. Let us call that honor, Boris.”
Those words were unlike his brother’s usual manner. Boris knew this too. In any other circumstance, his brother would never speak such words. The Yefnen he knew was not one to speak of death when a path to survival existed. In this moment, his brother had simply failed to find a way to save him.
Unable to speak further, Yefnen forced a smile toward his younger brother. Watching that face, Boris felt once more the blue of his brother’s eyes. It had always been the same, so why was he suddenly aware of it now?
No…. Only then did he understand the nature of that strange premonition he had felt since rolling through the Meadow with his brother. It came from his brother’s smile.
Today, his brother’s smile—so different from its usual warmth—resembled the dead mother in the portrait.
“Let us go now.”
Yefnen spoke with blood burning in his veins and rose from his seat. Tulk helped Yulken to his feet. He had thought no more words would come, yet a voice sounded once more.
“The two of you must separate. Do not step forward until you see me fall.”
Yefnen was left speechless. Was it seven years ago? From the moment he first became steward of the Jineman Family, Tulk had been like a shadow rather than a person—a shadow that lingered where substance had passed. In other words, he had never possessed presence beyond that of a shadow. He had only ever helped his master’s will be carried out, or carried it out in his stead.
One could not feel personality or emotion from a shadow. Neither could he. Even as Tulk spoke of dying for his father and for himself and his brother, he could not summon even a sense of camaraderie.
“There!”
He thought he heard such a cry. But it was soon swallowed by the screams of dozens. Without understanding what was happening, the four of them drew near the marshland.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh… Boom!
Flashes of brilliant light and the thunderous roar of explosions continued without pause. Yefnen suddenly grasped something crucial. Such aggressive magic was not meant for isolated, wounded prey like themselves. It meant his uncle faced another adversary in this place.
I would see soon enough.

Blado’s eyes had turned crimson as he pushed through the soldiers and stepped forward. In truth, there was no need to push—many soldiers were already fleeing in panic, as though deaf to any command.
There was one reason Blado remained composed before the swamp that stretched before him: he knew what would emerge. To claim otherwise would be a lie.
Yet he possessed the will to look directly into its face—the red eyes of the specter that had stolen away the angelic Yenichka.

Tulk arrived at the swamp’s edge and gazed down at Yulken cradled in his arms, offering a faint smile. As if asking whether I was ready.
Yulken did not answer. The wounds ran deep, making it difficult to speak, though had I truly wished to, I could have managed. Instead, I rose without a word and grasped my sword.
Yet upon facing the lake, a sound like a groan escaped Yulken’s lips.
“Yes, at last….”
Emera Lake was a chasm designed to swallow all things eternally. Beyond the fence of damp brush, half-melted trees swayed precariously.
Step by step, I approached the hidden depths. The foul stench of death’s end permeated the air. Rotted corpses must have accumulated in layers all the way down to the abyss below.
At first, it was a small voice. I called out a name.
“Yenichka….”
Was she somewhere in there? How many layers down? The monster’s claws lacerate both the human spirit and flesh simultaneously. Once the mark is made, all is lost. A soul seized by the specter remains trapped where it can never receive solace….
When I brought Yenichka’s corpse to the swamp to dispose of it, neither Yulken nor Blado had come to witness it.
From the opposite side came a voice lower but unmistakably clear.
“Yenichka!”
Perhaps the brothers had always despised facing one another. But now, seeking forgiveness was futile—our sister’s virtuous soul had rotted so thoroughly it had transformed into a malevolent spirit.
She will not forgive us. Now the ancient debt must be settled between brothers!
Yulken gripped his sword and walked forward, relying on the mysterious power slowly rising within him. Into the Black Forest that encircled the swamp.
Even as he did, the soldiers’ screams did not cease. The single cry from Blado that had rung out vanished.
“Ugh, ugh, uuuaaagh!”
“Help me…. Please!”
Emera Lake—or rather, the swamp—which I had not seen in ages, was half-filled with filthy refuse churning up from the bottom. The refuse was corpses. A secret of Longord that some knew and others would never discover.
When people killed and were killed without drawing the eye of the world, the lake took on its duty once more: to rot the cold flesh until it became compost. Such years passed—one year, ten years, twenty years….
Who would believe that this lake was once called “Emerald” for its jade-green, crystalline waters?
“It is the resentment of the unjustly slain that has corrupted this lake.”
At last the brothers found one another. The second time Blado’s voice rang out, it was exhilarated.
“Come now, shall we search among those corpses for Yenichka’s golden hair?”
Tulk cast a spell to shield his master’s body. Seeing his brother’s face pale within the translucent barrier, his wounds still unhealed, Blado bared his teeth in a grin.
“Then shall we join forces and return those resentful corpses to the swamp’s depths?”
Behind Blado stood Jonggenal. With flames dancing in both his hands, he incinerated the corpses and swamp creatures that drew near. Creatures similar to the one that had attacked Boris burst with wet, crackling sounds each time the flames touched them, spewing filthy liquid.
“Or perhaps we should measure the depth of ancient resentment until the ‘Red-Eyed’ one appears?”
Blado rotated Hagrun, the black-day blade, half a turn and assumed a thrusting stance. His demeanor was utterly composed.
By now, nearly all the soldiers had fled. Corpses that had risen from the black waters watched the brothers with hollow, vacant eyes. Yulken’s sword trembled slightly, then fell still.

Yefnen felt a chill bordering on fever as he gazed upon the green sludge filling the swamp and the putrid heaps of corpses.
He saw soldiers fleeing in panic as though his existence meant nothing to them. He also noticed his uncle drawing his sword, glaring at his father across the expanse of the swamp.
The tension felt ready to shatter. Because of an entity that had yet to appear.
When would it show itself? When would the Red-Eyed Spirit—growing stronger by devouring corpses—reveal its form?
Standing back-to-back with his brother, Boris contemplated his own helplessness. If there was one thing he could do, it would be to stand behind his brother and take the first blow in his stead.
Boris focused his entire will on that singular duty. He harbored the same thought as his father: if there was anyone in this household who must survive to the end, it was his brother.
Glancing back, his brother gripped the hilt of the Winter Sword so tightly his wrist trembled. Before Yefnen could even notice, Boris felt the silver-white radiance of the Snowguard armor worn by his brother beginning to glow faintly. Had something drawn near?
The wind howled with a hissing cry. Boris spoke softly.
“Brother, the Snowguard is….”
Soon Yefnen noticed it too. The brilliance emanating from the armor grew ever brighter, transforming into a frenzied, blinding light. Even Yefnen’s cheeks flashed white. He grasped the reason instinctively: the armor had caught the scent of death.
Grrrrrrr….
He heard it. No… yes, he heard it.
It was not sound, yet there was no other way to describe it.
Something approached from beyond the swamp. Engulfed in black flames, its red eyes blazing….
As Yefnen pierced through the darkness to glare at it, Boris remained rooted to the spot, hearing a chilling voice that burrowed not into his ears but into his very mind.
He could not move a single step. Even as the entity he had dreaded so greatly drew near.

What a beautiful child. Hehehehe.

Boris opened his eyes in the Grassland.
All around him was bright. It was midday. His face felt warm from prolonged exposure to the sun. He carried only a single sword, his body otherwise bare. No one was near him.
Boris rose and surveyed his surroundings, realizing the landscape was unfamiliar.
Where was this place?
He soon recalled the events of the previous night. The scene of standing back-to-back with his brother came to mind. The breathlessness, the heat rising even to his jaw. But what came after?
As though his mind had been stirred with a ladle, everything else was chaos. Boris found the absence of memory strange and disorienting. Had he perhaps lost consciousness then?
It seemed he had witnessed something terrifying….
“Boris! You’ve awakened?”

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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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