Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 79

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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 79.
The Island of the Survivors (21)
Even if Blado Jineman had let his attention wander elsewhere for a time, he was once renowned as one of the Elector Khan’s most celebrated strategists.
The moment he began his investigation, he swiftly uncovered the path by which Boris had crossed to Anomarad, where he had stayed, and precisely when he had departed.
He even traced the route Boris had taken northward through Anomarad.
Of course, Count Belnoir himself had conducted a rough investigation up to that point as well.
The real problem lay beyond. Upon reaching Saspone, the gateway city cradled by Rosenberg Lake, the boy’s trail vanished without a trace.
Given that he had traveled that far, it appeared he intended to cross into Lemme, yet no one at Rosenberg Gate had seen such a boy. Either he had acquired companions along the way, or he had disguised himself with remarkable skill—one or the other.
Moreover, Lemme was not a land that an Anomarad native could investigate with ease. If he, a count, obtained formal credentials and entered Lemme, the local administrators would undoubtedly descend upon him for questioning. No matter how peaceful recent times had become, Lemme had long been Anomarad’s enemy nation.
Blado Jineman had reached the same impasse in his investigation.
Blado encountered his limits for a different reason—namely, the lack of personnel to conduct an investigation into Lemme itself.
Thus, he returned to Trabaches and requested support from the Khan Commander.
How that request concluded remained unknown. Yet Blado had departed the Khan Commander’s castle and recently reappeared in these parts.
Count Belnoir surmised that Blado Jineman had also returned to this manor without obtaining any information.
The scratches on the chain proved he had entered the manor, and the carriage tracks suggested he had not come alone. Had he deployed his subordinates and obtained even a single piece of intelligence, he would not have remained idle there.
Yet judging by the fact that he had wine transported by hand cart and consumed it leisurely, it seemed he had stayed for a time before departing.
“So… that black wolf did not return here.”
Boris had certainly not come back to Trabaches. Had he set foot here even briefly, it would have been difficult to suppress the desire to survey the vicinity of his homeland.
Yet from what Blado Jineman, a native of these lands, could discern, there were no traces of the boy’s presence in the territory. Since it was a matter between kinsmen, he thought it reasonable to trust his judgment.
The Count returned to his carriage. He instructed the coachman to drive toward the place where they were to meet the new mercenaries.
As the carriage departed, Hugh seized upon the Count, resuming his complaints about the female mercenary leaving a poor impression.
Yet the Count merely smiled faintly. He already possessed a grave plan.
Once he found a way to cross into Lemme, he believed he would soon locate the boy’s whereabouts. Unless Blado pressed ahead, he intended to set aside the Winterer for now and first search for the vanished Snowguard.
To accomplish that, the female mercenary’s strength was absolutely indispensable.

Daphnen received a summons from Priestess Despoina, a message requesting his presence at her residence.
Though he had once spent several days eating and sleeping there, he had been confined to a single room and knew little of the rest of the house.
Now visiting as an ordinary guest, he could see it was quite a spacious dwelling, with separate areas for receiving visitors and conducting business.
After a brief wait, a young girl came to invite him inside. Daphnen rose and entered the inner chamber beyond the hanging curtain.
“Welcome, come in.”
Beside Despoina sat a man I had never seen before. However, upon noticing the transparent crescent-shaped jewel set in the Circlet he wore, I deduced he was Morpheus, the Priest of the Circlet.
I had heard stories about this priest from others long ago. The Priest of the Circlet, who oversaw skills and medicine, was famous for shutting himself away in his home and rarely venturing out. Though I had been on the island for over two weeks without catching a glimpse of him, this was hardly surprising.
“Pay your respects. This is the Priest of the Circlet.”
Morpheus bore a fearsome appearance, hardly befitting someone who practiced medicine. His oily face, thick brows, piercing eyes, large mouth, and long jet-black hair that fell to his waist were particularly striking.
Standing beside him, even Nauplion might appear gentle by comparison. He appeared to be in his late thirties.
Yet absurdly, this stern and terrifying-looking man was often called “Blockhead Morpheus” by the people here.
“Call me Morphe.”
It was customary among these people to offer a shortened name when their full name was lengthy.
“Priest Morphe has something he wishes to ask you.”
It seemed Despoina was not the one with business for me today. Morpheus spoke directly without preamble.
“Your sword—might I see it for a moment?”
I hesitated momentarily. I wondered if this was related to the strange rumors that had spread throughout the entire village after I refused to draw Winterer during my fight with Hector.
However, Nauplion had told me that the Priest of the Circlet was his close friend. Though eccentric, he was not a bad person—his only problem was that his eccentricity was rather severe.
Believing his intentions were not malicious, I unbuckled my sword and laid it before the priests. Yet I did not take my eyes from it.
As Morpheus examined Winterer, turning it this way and that, he seemed to notice that the sword’s worn scabbard and elegant hilt were utterly mismatched. The moment he attempted to draw the blade, I suddenly spoke.
“Please do not draw it completely.”
Morpheus stopped. He then drew the sword only a hand’s breadth.
It was a white radiance I had not seen in a long time. Perhaps because of this, the light seemed all the more intense. It might even have been true.
“Hmm.”
Morpheus set Winterer down on the floor in that state, then withdrew from his robes a pearl-like orb strung on a silver cord.
Holding the cord, Morpheus lowered the orb toward the sword. Shortly after, the orb began to tremble.
Whiiiing….
With a strange sound, the orb and sword resonated with each other. The orb spun in a large circle where it hung.
I watched with wide eyes, both amazed and fascinated by what Morpheus was doing.
“You there, Daphnen.”
“Yes.”
Morpheus gathered up the orb and tucked it back into his robes. His eyes then gleamed as he looked at me.
“I heard a bit about you from Nauplion. You also do not know the origin of this sword, is that right? I am no sorcerer, but I possess the ability to discern the power and purpose of ancient objects. Would you be willing to lend me your sword for a time? Two days should suffice. Then I can uncover the sword’s origin and the abilities dwelling within it, and share this knowledge with you. Whether the power is malevolent or benevolent, this would be a significant and worthwhile endeavor.”
Without hesitation, I shook my head.
“That is not possible. This sword cannot be separated from my body.”
“Not even for a single day?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
Morpheus returned the sword to me. Then, adopting a contemplative expression, he tapped his fingers against the floor. His hands were very large, and his fingers were quite strong.
“Then what if you visited my laboratory every few days? I would examine the sword in your presence. Even once per week would suffice. Come for just an hour each time—how does that sound?”
Despoina spoke with a look of surprise.
“Morpheus, it’s hard to believe you’d let someone into that ramshackle laboratory of yours. That’s quite an unexpected decision.”
Morpheus merely shrugged without answering, his gaze remaining fixed on my face.
With the Priestess pressing the matter so insistently, I had no choice but to consent.
I too wanted to know what power the Winterer possessed, and whether it truly was an evil force. I nodded my head.
“Very well.”
It was a more consequential decision than I realized at the time.

My lessons with Isildor San were far from easy.
After exhausting myself both body and spirit enduring Skoli, I would climb to the Grassland only to find Isildor San already waiting there. Yet it was not for my sake. It was simply a place where she spent much of her time.
When I arrived, Isildor San would sit upon a rock in silence for a long while, occasionally singing a song or two for reasons I could not discern. They were ordinary melodies, not sacred chants.
Sometimes she behaved as though I were not even present before her eyes. Conversation did occur at times, but mostly it was Isildor San who would break the silence first, rising to leave.
After the dining hall incident, the frequency with which the children tormented Oizis noticeably diminished. And they kept their distance from me all the more.
Only when Hector was absent would Ekion and his companions approach to hurl unpleasant remarks before departing. Occasionally, Liriope would speak to me at Skoli, and then all the children would stare.
There were moments when the suffocation became unbearable—times when I thought solitude would have been preferable.
Nauplion, being the Priest of the Sword and having spent five years on the Continent, departed on a journey to revisit various parts of the Island.
He planned to tour not only Memory Island but also Silence Island, where none but sentries dwelt, and would visit Loss Island and Origin Island as well, making for quite an extended itinerary. Thus I found myself alone at home.
Parting from Isildor San and returning to the house, I could not even muster the will to prepare an evening meal.
I would lie down clutching my hungry belly, thinking of those days traveling with Isildor San—or rather, with Lemme. How happy those times had been. All these people around me could not ease my loneliness for even a moment.
On a day when even Oizis did not come to school, having spent the entire day without exchanging a single word with anyone, I sought out Isildor San in a state of utter exhaustion.
And sitting before her in her continued silence, something suddenly welled up inside me, and I buried my face between my raised knees.
I could not hide my emotions without concealing my face. My head grew hot, and the hard knot that had been compressed in my chest struggled to rise through my throat.
I stifled it with held breath. Anger swirled in the depths of my heart—anger toward the silent ones, those who might as well not exist, or rather, those whose very existence made me all the more wretched.
I did not notice that Isildor San had been watching me for some time.
When I could bear it no longer, I stood abruptly and descended the Hillside without so much as a farewell.
And for several days afterward, I did not return to see Isildor San.
Isildor San made no effort to seek me out either. The Headmaster never learned that I had ceased attending the chant lessons. It seemed as though I would not mind never receiving such instruction again.
Confined alone in my home, my eyes suddenly fell upon a single book.
It was a volume I had brought from the Library during a visit with Oizis. I picked it up and began reading through it aimlessly. Suddenly, tears streamed down my face.
The boy who could never become my friend, the conversations I had shared with Lanji—I longed for them beyond measure. Even if our opinions differed, even if I was anxious about secrets being revealed, I wanted to speak.
Was Lanji still caring for his younger sister and attending to someone at Jineman Manor? Or had he chosen a different life as he had once mentioned, leaving that place behind?
I wiped my blurred eyes and only then examined what I had been reading for the past dozen pages. The cover bore no title, but the inside did.

『A History of the Migration to Ganapoli』

Seeing the word “history,” I suddenly burst into laughter even as I wiped away tears. If Langie had been here, would he have recommended this book to me as well?
Perhaps he would have.
That evening, I devoured the book with fervent intensity. As darkness fell, I was desperate enough to borrow moonlight just to finish reading it.
The book wasn’t particularly thick, so I completed it the next day after returning home from Scoli. But the ending seemed slightly odd. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that several pages had been torn away from the back.
So I tucked the book under my arm and made my way to the Library.

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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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