Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 85

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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 85.
The Island of the Survivors (26)
Hector was the son of The Regent’s sister, which placed him in a more exalted position than any other boy on The Island. And he was still young.
This could have been a disadvantage, yet it was simultaneously an advantage. Had Nauplion suddenly died at this moment, it would have been a setback. But if Nauplion could endure for merely five or six more years, that disadvantage would transform into triumph.
The Priest of the Sword demanded far greater physical prowess than any other priestly office. Thus, it was customary for such priests to retire between their fortieth and fiftieth years.
Appointing someone too advanced in years and then replacing them shortly after would only sow chaos. Should the Priest of the Sword die unexpectedly young, the practice was to select a younger successor and have the elders and other priests provide guidance and support.
In essence, the situation was straightforward: once Hector passed his twentieth year, the position of the next Priest of the Sword would be his.
Moreover, this boy demonstrated ever-increasing mastery that became the talk of The Island. Those prone to flattery and exaggeration even whispered that another like the Ilios Priest would be born.
Even Jilebo scoffed at such rumors. As if someone of the Ilios Priest’s caliber could be born so easily?
In any case, Hector himself was fully aware of his circumstances. This was precisely why he had clung so desperately to becoming Nauplion’s disciple—to solidify his position.
But everything changed when a strange boy arrived from the Continent.
Just as Hector regarded Daphnen with burning hostility, to Jilebo there existed no threat more dangerous than Daphnen.
He was Nauplion’s first disciple—the man Jilebo had thought would never take an apprentice. Moreover, Daphnen possessed skill that matched or perhaps even surpassed Hector’s. And he was younger than Hector.
What Jilebo needed was clear.
Either Nauplion would die prematurely, or Daphnen would perish quickly. One or the other.
Hector’s existence had not yet been entirely erased from consideration. It would be ideal to eliminate all three at once, but Nauplion’s prowess was incomparable to his own, so for now he had no choice but to set that aside.
The most promising approach would be to devise some scheme to eliminate both boys simultaneously. The fact that Nauplion seemed quite obsessed with this boy Daphnen was itself an opportunity.
Should Daphnen die, Jilebo reasoned, Nauplion might be so devastated that he would abandon his role as Priest of the Sword or return to the Continent altogether.
He did not understand Nauplion’s disdain for The Island’s children or the hope he felt upon seeing Daphnen, but his instincts had not failed to grasp that these emotions could be exploited.
Perhaps inciting them to fight, causing them to kill one another, would be most fitting.
If both perished, it would be ideal. And if one survived, applying murder charges would make elimination simple.
Hector’s station made complete removal difficult, but at the very least, the path to becoming Priest of the Sword would be barred. A corrupted heart in youth was the greatest obstacle to priesthood.
The objective was now clear; only the method remained. Jilebo had already devised several conspiracies and was now weighing their merits and drawbacks before execution.
In this regard alone, perhaps neither Nauplion nor anyone else on The Island could rival Jilebo’s cunning.
July arrived.
A young man crossed the bustling streets of Narnissa, the harbor of Lemme, with a brisk and cheerful gait.
He wore an Orlanne hat—fashionable in the north, with a flattened crown and upturned ends, named after Orlanne’s capital—tilted at a jaunty angle. His trousers were cut with a slight flare, and he wore a khaki leather vest over them. He was a slender youth, carrying a weighty-looking bag in his hand.
Upon reaching the docks, he stopped and glanced about. Then he spotted an elderly sailor waiting before a sailing vessel, waved, and approached.
“Well, hello there! It’s been ages, hasn’t it? You remember me, don’t you?”
“Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t young Yurichi Fredan! It’s been a whole year!”
The two embraced warmly in greeting. The youth called Yurichi Fredan soon brightened and asked eagerly.
“Still sailing, I see? You’re in fine form for your years. Where is this vessel bound?”
“Where else would a ship from this harbor go? We’re making a circuit around Elbe Island and back.”
“That’s perfect! I was just heading to Elbe Island myself. Could you take me aboard? I’ll pay my passage, of course.”
“Payment? Nonsense! Just come aboard! We’re short on passengers anyway. If you’re my guest, the captain won’t object. Come on, get in.”
Shortly after, Yurichi Fredan was seated in one of the ship’s two cabins. The vessel would set sail in an hour.
Once he confirmed the door was locked, he opened his bag and withdrew a bundle of black leather rolled tightly, which he placed upon the table.
With a single gesture, the cord binding the bundle came undone. Inside lay five gleaming short blades arranged in a row.
There was no distinction between blade and hilt; they were perhaps half a hand’s breadth wide and short enough to be concealed in a palm. Yet their edges were sharp enough to sever a finger.
He drew one and slipped it into his left sleeve, then carefully inserted the others one by one inside his vest. Satisfied, he rolled up the empty sheath pouch, returned it to his bag, and withdrew a map.
It was a hand-drawn map of Lemme. The topography and locations of major cities were quite accurate. A line drawn across the land of Lemme in red ink marked a path, and around it, even small villages were marked with specific detail.
Notes were written around the red line.

Rosenberg Gate. Passage around late May.
Jarobali Village. Lodging on July 21st.
Ganero. Departure on July 27th.
Devolchi Mine. Passage during October.
Dantibo. Passage on November 12th.
Morider Mountain. Passage around mid-November.
Hebebro Village. Arrival on December 2nd.

Yurichi Fredan took out ink and pen, extending the line that ended at Hebebro Village toward Tibow Bay in a smooth arc. At its terminus, I drew a crimson dot and inscribed a single line in elegant script.

Narnissa. Arrival around February.

The map was rolled up again and tucked into the bag. With all preparations complete, I settled comfortably onto the bed and spoke to myself with evident satisfaction.
“No matter how brilliant a tracker Elder Brother Ryusno is, he couldn’t have moved faster than this.”
I was Yurichi Fredan, the Fourth Wing among the Khan Commander’s Four Wings. My Trabaches name had become Yuritchi since arriving in Lemme.
Having once lived in Narnissa for several months gathering intelligence, I easily located acquaintances I knew.
Coming directly here after the trail went cold was precisely because of these connections, and fortune smiled upon me unexpectedly. The boy in question had come here as well.
By combining information gathered through my contacts, the picture became clear. The boy’s party had met another member of their group here, boarded a ship that circled Elbe Island, and returned to Narnissa.
Most passengers on this route disembarked at Elbe Island unless their purpose was sightseeing at Tibow Bay.
To call it a pleasure voyage seemed unlikely—the Altan Sigmor, the ship they supposedly boarded, was weathered and, more decisively, a merchant vessel that moved with purpose.
Ryusno and I initially worked together, but after passing Morider Mountain and going through a small village, the target’s trail vanished, so we split up to continue the pursuit separately.
It took me a full ten days to rediscover Boris’s party’s traces in Narnissa.
The fact that they continued traveling through Lemme’s bitterly cold winter was remarkable, and they barely stopped in villages at all. That’s precisely why tracking them proved so difficult.
“From Rosenberg Gate to Narnissa—what in the world are they after, wandering so relentlessly? Didn’t your feet get frostbite?”
But good news seemed imminent. I lay down on the bed and finally claimed some long-overdue sleep.
Yet that very afternoon—
What awaited me on Elbe Island was an unexpected turn of events.
There were only so many places where ships could dock around Elbe Island, and I disembarked at the largest harbor. Before I’d even taken twenty steps, I ran directly into Ryusno.
Being someone who detested losing, it irritated me to be overtaken, but Ryusno delivered the thunderbolt news with his characteristic melancholy expression—the pursuit was over.
“Over? What do you mean by that, Elder Brother?”
“I confirmed they purchased a small sailboat here. But after that, there’s nothing. There’s no trace of them returning to any other harbor on Elbe Island. I’ve visited every place in the Crystal Archipelago where people are known to live, but the results are the same.”
Ryusno had apparently already searched through all the nearby islands thoroughly—I couldn’t even guess when he’d arrived.
I felt a mixture of grudging admiration for my Elder Brother’s uncanny abilities and bitter resentment toward these quarry who’d vanished without a trace, and I couldn’t help but cry out.
“What, did they drown in the sea? Beyond the Crystal Archipelago lies only the frozen North Sea—where exactly are they supposed to have gone?”
Had I spoken this way before Marinov, I might have been struck and sent reeling, but Ryusno paid it no mind.
“Perhaps they sailed to Sansruria. But I doubt a small sailboat could have crossed the notorious Sansru Peninsula with its fearsome tempests. Maybe you’re right and they drowned. In any case, it seems I’ll have to visit Sansruria at least once.”
“San… Sansruria? Ha!”
Yurichi Fredan was so exasperated that he spun around in circles right there on the spot. Then he vented his frustrations loudly at the empty air.
“Good grief! Are you planning to circle the entire Continent? Once you go around, you end up back where you started, don’t you? Maybe it would be better to just camp out in Trabaches and wait for you to finish your sightseeing tour and come back. This isn’t like training a dog….”
Ryusno turned and began walking. Yurichi Fredan shouted after him.
“Are you really going? To Sansruria?”
Instead of answering, Ryusno said this:
“The sea route is too dangerous. Let’s head straight south from here, cross the Saeulrip Strait, and return to the Continent. From there, it will be a long journey.”
And so the Khan Commander’s Assassins found themselves on an entirely wrong path. Though in truth, it would have been impossible for them to even suspect the existence of Moon Island, hidden beyond the North Sea.
Perhaps if Boris had not departed for that place, it would not have been so easy for them to escape his grasp.

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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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