Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 9

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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 9
The Winter Sword (9)

He did not reach for the Winterer. Instead, he lifted his blue eyes and shot a piercing glare at those who mocked him. A few of those who met Yefnen’s gaze flinched, but most wore expressions of indifference.
“Would someone be kind enough to teach me how to eat this food?”
When no answer came quickly, Yefnen continued.
“By having me take a bite myself, that is.”
In the silence that followed, one man chuckled and spoke.
“I’m not so hungry that I’d beg for someone else’s food—what’s the problem?”
In the next instant, the onlookers doubted their own eyes. The man who had answered was seized by Yefnen’s hand in a blink and dragged forward, his jaw slamming against the table.
“Ugh… what the—!”
Yefnen remained composed.
“I wish to invite you as a guest to this table. Please do not refuse and partake.”
“Ngh…”
Yefnen pressed the back of the man’s neck, keeping his jaw pinned to the table, and reached for a spoon. The eyes of those gathered widened. Yefnen plunged the spoon deep into the bowl teeming with writhing insects.
“Ah… no, please…”
The man could never have imagined such raw strength emanating from the slender, beautiful youth who held him. With merely one hand pressing his neck, he found himself utterly powerless to resist.
Yefnen lifted a spoonful and brought it toward the man’s lips. The spoon held three insects.
“Please, forgive me! I was wrong! I was wrong, I tell you!”
The spoon drew closer to the lips of the man who pleaded so desperately. Sweat poured down his face as he clenched his lips shut, yet his head remained immobilized. He could see the insects writhing just before his eyes.
“Brother!”
The moment Boris cried out, Yefnen halted the spoon. The guests filling the inn’s hall had fallen into complete silence.
“Be grateful that I lack the fortitude to force insects into another’s mouth.”
The spoon was withdrawn. Simultaneously, the hand pressing the man’s neck released him. Even without Boris’s cry, Yefnen was not the sort of person to commit such an act. He was strong, and he made no effort to conceal it.
Released from Yefnen’s grip, the man staggered backward hastily. With an angry expression, he rubbed his neck and exchanged rapid glances with several others nearby. As they nodded in agreement, the situation escalated dramatically.
“Attack!”
Seven or more men vaulted over the table and rushed forward. Caught off guard, Yefnen quickly moved to shield his younger brother, but he had already lost the initiative. Had he drawn his blade, he could have subdued them easily—but it would have meant killing multiple men.
Yefnen lifted a chair and struck the first man to approach, then hurled it to topple another. But what came next overwhelmed him.
Three clubs came flying at him from behind. One of them struck Yefnen’s waist squarely.
…
No cry escaped him. Boris rushed forward and embraced his brother. The men knocked the brothers to the ground and proceeded to kick and stomp them mercilessly.
“What are you grateful for? Where did you get such nonsense?”
“Damn fool—spouting such ridiculous drivel!”
“A worthless bastard like this needs his face crushed in to come to his senses!”
Yefnen shielded Boris with his body and took the brunt of the kicks himself. The areas protected by the Snowguard remained intact, but elsewhere his clothes were torn to shreds. The exposed skin was scraped and bruised, blood trickling from the wounds.
The man whom Yefnen had spared was the most frenzied. Unsatisfied with merely kicking, he suddenly twisted his face into a grotesque smile and shouted.
“How delightful! You invited us and offered us what? Yes, let me show you the kindness of personally feeding these bastards a magnificent feast!”
As the man reached out and seized Yefnen by the collar, his gang rushed in, hoisting Yefnen upright and wrenching his arms behind his back. Another grabbed Boris roughly and pinned him against his side, dragging him toward the table. A third seized the spoon. At the sight of it, Boris’s face went pale.
“One generous spoonful… let me show such hospitality.”
The spoon dipped into the bowl and withdrew, now laden with seven writhing insects. Dead insects, yellowed and decayed, dripped between the spoon’s edges. The spoon moved toward Boris’s lips.
I thrashed my body wildly, shaking my head, but it was futile. The man’s grip on Boris was iron-solid. I couldn’t even speak words of refusal or protest—the moment I opened my mouth, those insects would surely pour inside.
Yefnen, struggling to wrench free from the men’s grasp, cried out.
“Leave my brother alone! What kind of cruelty is this to inflict on a child!”
The man holding my arm spoke in a probing tone.
“Then will you eat them instead?”
As though they’d posed some amusing riddle, the men turned to regard Yefnen. I saw the young man’s handsome brow furrow with anguish, and soon he was biting his lip as he gazed upon his brother.
They truly did not believe Yefnen would swallow those insects in his brother’s stead. They were merely savoring the torment of forcing him to deliberate.
Yet an anguish beyond the comprehension of such base creatures churned within Yefnen’s mind. What was the single hope he harbored? What little could he still do for his brother now?
At last, Yefnen spoke with resolute clarity.
“Very well. Bring them to me.”
“What… what?”
Silence fell. They glanced about, confirming they had heard correctly. Every face bore the expression of ‘What manner of creature is this?’ A moment later, one spoke.
“Tch, forget it. I can’t stand types like that.”
“My mood’s ruined. Damn it, this isn’t entertainment anymore.”
Most shared this sentiment. Yet one man stood apart—the one whom Yefnen had spared. His name was Guert.
“You’d let such arrogant bastards walk free? Don’t you understand that half-measures like that are nothing but a laughingstock? Once you start, you see it through to the end!”
Guert approached his companion, snatched the spoon from him, dumped its contents, and scooped a fresh, heaping measure.
He approached Yefnen with a contemptuous glare. It was the habit and pastime of this gang to lord their dominance over strangers, but Yefnen’s type was precisely what Guert despised most—those who carried themselves like nobility, with their handsome, refined features, courteous speech, respectable attire, and sufficient coin.
Such men should remain confined to their manors and estates, living quietly. Why did they venture into squalid inns where filthy wretches like himself dwelt?
Most galling of all was the composure in Yefnen’s eyes. Eyes that seemed to say: I understand perfectly what you do, creatures like you have no choice but to act this way, that unflinching face—he despised it.
It was the desire of men like Guert to witness such types brought to shock and despair, to see them collapse in hopelessness.
“Now, open your mouth.”
“…”
“What, having second thoughts now?”
“…”
“Then I’ll feed it to your brother instead.”
The instant Guert turned with exaggerated flourish, Yefnen opened his mouth. Yet contrary to Guert’s expectation, his voice remained steady and unshaken.
“Stop.”
Damn, what an infuriating wretch.
Guert thrust out his left hand without hesitation, seized Yefnen’s jaw, forced his mouth open, and shoved the spoon inside.
“Mmgh…”
Even Guert himself had to avert his gaze for a moment. Yet when he withdrew the spoon and beheld Yefnen’s face, he was struck speechless by a sight beyond his imagination.
Yefnen was slowly working his jaw, chewing what lay in his mouth. And moments later, he swallowed it cleanly, a faint, contemptuous smile playing at his lips. Completely swallowed.
“That… that… that…”
The men restraining Yefnen released their grip in shock. Perhaps Yefnen could have wrenched free and spat out the contents of his mouth from the start. But he had not. Slowly withdrawing his arms, Yefnen took a step toward Guert.
Guert watched as Yefnen’s hand came to rest upon the hilt of the sword at his waist. He heard the icy tone of his voice.
“I formally challenge you to a duel. I am Yefnen Jineman, eldest son of Yulken Jineman, Lord of Longord. Declare your name.”
Not a soul dared lay hands upon Yefnen again. Only now did they regard his sword with uneasy eyes, examining it closely.
It was no ordinary blade. The scabbard was plain and unadorned, yet it bore an inexplicable white radiance. Moreover—the son of a lord! Whether they won or lost, either way spelled disaster!
Guert could not answer. He stumbled backward in confusion. Yet every eye in the hall was fixed upon him.
Unlike the traveler Yefnen, Guert had made his living as a thug in this village. If I backed down here, I would never be able to hold my head up again. I would become a laughingstock not only to my gang, but to the villagers as well, making it impossible to establish myself here once more.
“I am Guert… Filoneda.”
Yefnen showed no particular expression. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the man holding Boris. With merely a look, the man released his younger brother without hesitation.
Yefnen gestured for Boris to approach and positioned him at his side. His voice continued, utterly composed.
“Of course, I will kill you.”
Guert’s face grew progressively pale. Yefnen continued speaking.
“There is one way for you to survive. During our duel, before I kill you, acknowledge your defeat and prostrate yourself on the ground. Then I will not kill you. Instead.”
Yefnen pointed with his left hand toward the bowl still resting on the table.
“I swear upon my family name that I will force you to consume every last drop remaining in that bowl, without leaving a single drop for anyone else.”
Now there was no way to escape. Guert breathed heavily and looked back at his companions. But they all avoided his gaze. Yefnen addressed the insolent waitress at the counter.
“Can we conduct a duel in the Backyard?”
From the moment Yefnen entered the Inn and asked for a room until he settled the bill, he had been an inexperienced traveler unfamiliar with everything. But now it was different.
Sword and dueling were the life I had learned and experienced since childhood. Now that I had invoked my family name, there was no room for hesitation. The waitress’s tongue, which had been quick with jests, seemed to have stiffened, and she merely nodded.
Yefnen surveyed the hall and approached a group of merchants who appeared unrelated to Guert’s Gang, politely requesting that they serve as witnesses. Already intimidated by Yefnen’s presence, they could not refuse.
According to the customs of Trabaches, when both sides appointed two witnesses and conducted a duel, killing a person was not considered a crime.
Yefnen departed to the Backyard with the witnesses and Boris. People seized by curiosity rushed out after them. Guert’s group came outside much later. Yet they dared not flee.

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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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