Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 73

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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 73.
The Island of the Survivors (15)
I had heard of such a tree before. Whether I had actually seen one, I couldn’t quite recall. Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have known it was a laurel tree.
“Laurel trees don’t grow on the Island. You have to go to the Continent to find them. People born on the Island who’ve never ventured beyond would have no idea what a laurel tree looks like. Even the Desi Priest who gave it that name probably doesn’t know, since he’s never left the Island either. It’s rather amusing, but in any case, the laurel is a beautiful tree. On the Continent, its verdant leaves are said to adorn the crowns of victors.”
“But why would people use the name of a tree they’ve never even seen as a name here on the Island? I once heard there was a Priest with a name meaning ‘fig tree,’ but the child who told me about it didn’t even know what a fig was.”
“The country where we originally lived was abundant with laurel and fig trees, so that’s probably why. But what does it matter now? There’s nothing left anymore. We can only see them in the letters of books. We are wanderers, far removed from our homeland. Now even our roots have grown faint.”
“What country was that?”
“I don’t know. But someone might. Perhaps The Regent or the Sage of the Tree Tower. But ordinary people like myself can only say we don’t know. Perhaps it doesn’t matter where it was anyway. The connection we share with the Old Kingdom has become exceedingly thin.”
“Then what does your name, Nauplion, mean?”
“A voyager.”
A voyager. The name suited Nauplion well. Whether one confined “voyage” to sailing ships or interpreted it as traveling far and wide, it fit. And if one understood it as never settling in one place, it fit even better.
I remembered when Enios had said to Nauplion during the storm on the way to the Island, “As expected, Elder Brother, you are truly a voyager.”
“It was a name given to me by a departed Priest long ago. Heh, when I look back on the years I’ve lived, my relationship with this name is remarkable. Do you understand that names like these aren’t simply made up on a whim?”
“Then how are they made?”
Clover petals were constantly plucked away and scattered on the wind. The sharp, fresh scent rising from the broken grass stems tickled my nostrils.
Nauplion reached out and tousled Daphnen’s shortened hair. Just as Yefnen had done long ago.
Daphnen’s hair was now much shorter than when leaving Jineman Manor, barely grazing the tips of his ears. It had been roughly cut with scissors during the ritual, leaving the ends jagged and uneven.
“By seeing the future. By looking at the future of the child who will receive the name, and then bestowing a name that suits them. When I first understood the meaning of my own name, I already sensed that I would live a life of wandering far from home. So what of your name? What do you think the laurel tree signifies for you?”
“I have no idea at all. I feel nothing about the laurel tree itself.”
Nauplion laughed.
“I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but… your name was not originally meant to be Daphnen. The Priest of the Staff gave you a different name at first. But for some reason, he came to me and spoke that name, asking for my counsel. So I advised against it. I said it would be better not to give you such a name.”
“What name was it?”
“Athanatos.”
“Oh my, that’s much longer.”
“No, it wasn’t because it was long. I myself didn’t know that Athanatos would change into Daphnen.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
Nauplion hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Immortality. Deathlessness. It means one who does not die.”
Does not die?
As Daphnen grew flustered, Nauplion shook his head gently and spoke softly.
“Forget it. Such a name doesn’t suit you at all. As for your second name, the laurel, I don’t know what meaning was intended, but the name that suits you best is still the one your parents gave you. For you, the name Boris—a warrior—fits perfectly. A warrior cast into life, forced to collide with it and fight through it.”
Daphnen, who had been lost in thought contemplating the strange concept of having almost been given a different name, asked after a long silence.
“Will you continue to call me Boris?”
“At least when we’re alone together, perhaps.”
They said they had come from some unknown land where laurel trees grew verdant and green. Did those laurels still stand with green leaves on the now-abandoned earth? Or had even they vanished, leaving only barren wasteland?
“I’ve heard that laurel trees planted at the entrances of castles in the Old Kingdom were often meant as a welcome to visitors. Perhaps your name becoming Daphnen was a sign that should you ever go there, you would be welcomed.”
Nauplion stopped speaking as if he knew something more but chose to keep it hidden.

Four days later, Daphnen received a summons to Scoli.
Climbing the gentle slope that extended northward from the village, one would eventually arrive at a broad tableland where Scoli, the school for the Island’s children, stood.
Scoli taught the duties of the Pilgrims of the Moon, the teachings of the Moon Queen, a bit of history, and staff combat—a traditional martial art where practitioners wielded only a long staff to subdue armed opponents, something every Islander learned to some degree.
By now, Daphnen understood that “Moon Queen” referred to the moon itself hanging in the sky. Yet when simply called the moon or the Moon Queen, the meaning took on an entirely different character.
The Moon Queen was an arrogant yet captivating woman. Capricious and wise in equal measure.
Her nature was divided into two aspects: one was the crescent moon’s temperament—favoring the strong and despising the lazy or weak—while the other was the full moon’s nature, governing foresight and magic, dispensing ancient wisdom.
To understand the Queen’s contradictory nature well and to live a life that would satisfy her was the path the Pilgrims of the Moon pursued.
It was never an easy path. Since the Moon Queen’s two natures were opposed, sometimes one would be favored and sometimes the other would be displeased. It was not simply a matter of walking the middle way. The Moon Queen despised the indecisive.
Her emotional expressions were subtle, yet sometimes brutally direct. She rarely acted directly to punish those who displeased her. Yet certain evils flourished for long ages nonetheless.
The ancestors of those who settled on the Island had been moon-worshippers even in the Old Kingdom. With such ancient lineage, this faith was anything but simple.
“How could a lowly human hope to understand the contradictions of a transcendent being? We can only strive endlessly to draw closer to her. That is all we can do.”
Daphnen heard such words from an old man he met at the entrance to Scoli. The man had once been a teacher at Scoli but was now retired, tending to the garden.
Daphnen greeted the old man and entered the low, single-story building. Following the narrow corridor to its end, he found a door. He knocked and entered.
“So, you are Daphnen.”
The headmaster of Scoli held the rank of a monk, just below that of a priest. But I was startled to find a familiar girl sitting in the room. It was Liriope.
Yet today Liriope wore a long skirt that reached her ankles and bore a demure smile.
Only in her hair, tied in two braids, did a hint of childish mischief linger. Truly, she was a girl of many faces.
Once the greetings were finished, the headmaster spoke.
“Liriope, being familiar with Scoli, has volunteered to serve as your guide so that you might adapt with ease. Be friendly with her and show your gratitude.”
Daphnen looked at Liriope and said, “Thank you,” and Liriope smiled and gave a slight nod. So far, things were proceeding well.
“Now, go and look around. Today is a day of rest, so take your time exploring. Classes begin tomorrow. Liriope will tell you all about your classroom and what you need to prepare.”
The two left the headmaster’s office and retraced their steps down the corridor. That was when things began to fall apart.
“You don’t have to call me ‘older brother,’ do you? I absolutely can’t believe you’re older than me. You have such a cute face. Hehe.”
“….”
Had I ever heard the word “cute” except from Elder Brother Yefnen? Since losing him, I had never even thought of such a thing, so it felt not just absurd but downright rude.
Yet she was smiling so brightly despite saying such a thing that it was difficult to get angry.
“…I don’t like that kind of talk.”
Did I dislike it? I had only just thought of the words, but it seemed like a reasonably appropriate response.
Yet Liriope was no easy opponent.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll try not to call you cute anymore. Anyway, you’re allowing me not to call you ‘older brother,’ right? Thanks, generous older brother. This is the last time I’m calling you that!”
Before Daphnen could even respond, Liriope darted ahead and cheerfully opened the first door on the left.
She stepped inside first, then leaned back out with just her upper body, gesturing for me to follow. Of course, I had no choice but to go along.
“Here we are—the largest and finest classroom in our school. Well, not that we have more than two classrooms anyway.”
A round table sat in the center of the classroom with chairs arranged all around it.
Liriope walked briskly around the table in a half circle, spinning and dancing as she went. As her wide skirt fluttered, her ankles and calves were revealed through the slit.
Stopping before one of the chairs, Liriope tapped her finger down and spoke.
“You can sit anywhere, but this is the prime spot! The sunlight comes in beautifully, and you don’t have to look directly at the teacher’s face. So sit here, understood? And I’ll sit next to you, right here. We have a deal, yes?”
She decided everything arbitrarily with a tap-tap-tap and continued speaking.
“In this classroom, Idmon teaches reading and writing, and Philomela teaches simple magical incantations. Genesis tells us about the path of the Pilgrims and ancient history, and he also gives us chances to voice our own opinions. Anyway, almost all the classes for the older students happen here.”
The second classroom was directly across the way. It was smaller than the first, but similar in design.
The floor was smooth, faded wood. Sunlight streamed through small windows aligned in neat rows, making the worn brown table look like freshly baked bread.
But an unexpected figure sat within. Liriope spoke in an unkind tone for the first time.
“My, isn’t it the ground squirrel? What are you doing here alone?”
Oizis, who had been lying down, startled awake and stood up, then grew even more flustered upon meeting Daphnen’s eyes.
His shrinking posture seemed to suggest he believed that if he made himself small enough, he might become invisible. But in the end, he merely tried to hide behind the chair’s backrest.
“Well, being here is free, isn’t it?”
Liriope spoke curtly and led Daphnen toward the left wall. About forty worn books were arranged on a modest bookshelf. That was the entirety of what could be called a library here.
“You can read any books here freely. Though hardly anyone looks at them anyway. You’re not particularly interested in books either, are you? You’re the Priest of the Sword’s student, after all! Sigh, seeing many books makes my head ache. This place seems like too many as well. It feels like someone’s urging me to read them all before graduation. Have you ever seen so many books gathered in one place?”
Daphnen looked up at the modest collection of identical books, damaged from being thrown and played with rather than read frequently.
He had seen Count Belnoir’s Library, vast as the sea, and had once spent a winter reading there. Even Jineman Estate held more books than this.
The books with tattered spines, arranged haphazardly without order, were thinner than those he had read in such places before, and their titles seemed simpler.
Thinking of Belnoir Castle’s library, an image of Langie naturally came to mind—the boy sitting by a sunlit window, turning thick pages, his quiet voice and calm gaze as vivid as if I had seen him yesterday.
But I might never see him again. He would still be living in that beautiful Southern Land across the sea.

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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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