Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 90

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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 90.
Blood That Will Not Fade (3)
Nauplion stared at him in shock and bewilderment for a long moment, his eyes fixed upon the visitor’s face.
“Since my friend was ill and I had little else to offer, I brought some books—should he improve, they might ease the tedium of bedrest.”
Zero was considerably older than Nauplion, yet he treated the priest with utmost courtesy.
But Zero too could not meet with Daphnen. Nauplion had barely managed to send him away by using Morpheus’s insistence on rest as an excuse. At least the Priest of the Circle, who tended to the sick, was complicit in the deception.
And now, tonight, Liriope had arrived. Nauplion grew increasingly anxious, wondering who else might appear at the door tomorrow.
“May I enter?”
Morpheus’s voice came from beyond the threshold.
Nauplion rose quickly and opened the door, only to find that more than one person stood outside. Though not entirely unexpected, guilt made him fumble.
“Oh, goodness—Desi Priest, you’ve come all this way….”
Despoina offered no smile, merely bowed her head once before stepping inside.
Soon the three priests sat facing one another. Despoina spoke first.
“Morpheus told me everything. I see… you’ve done something quite difficult.”
It was Morpheus, not Nauplion, who had acted. Yet before Despoina—who had once cared for him like an elder sister—Nauplion fell silent like a scolded boy.
Morpheus spoke.
“Yes, I have done something grave. Nauplion bears no fault. All responsibility is mine.”
Despoina nodded and replied.
“For now, if the boy is still somewhere within the Island, I shall attempt a spell to locate him. We must wait for nightfall—we cannot afford to draw attention. Of course, delay itself carries risk… but I suspect the boy was drawn into an Alternate Space by the sword’s power. If there are no other dangerous entities within, he is likely sleeping peacefully.”
Nauplion exhaled slowly. If only her words were true.
Despoina understood why Nauplion and Morpheus had resorted to this deception. If word of this reached the Island’s people, Daphnen would surely be in danger. She shared their conviction.
Despoina knew of the Alternate Space’s existence and had partially experienced it herself. Yet she did not know what entities, if any, inhabited this Island’s Alternate Space.
She reasoned that since the Island had been empty before the Pilgrims arrived, the secondary spaces layered upon it were likely empty as well.
Unlike the Otherworld—a realm entirely separate from reality—an Alternate Space maintained deep connection to the real world’s form. If reality was an Uninhabited Island, then the Alternate Space was mostly an Uninhabited Island too.
Despoina turned to Morpheus.
“Morpheus, if Daphnen returns safely, will you abandon the experiment to uncover the sword’s secrets?”
Nauplion’s gaze also fixed upon Morpheus. When no answer came quickly, anger began to kindle.
As silence deepened, Nauplion finally spoke.
“Why do you not answer? How much more danger must you place that boy in before you are satisfied?”
Then Nauplion turned to Despoina and spoke with resolve.
“When Daphnen returns, I will make my wishes clear to him. I hope he will not become entangled in such dangerous matters again.”
Even in this situation, Nauplion did not say he would forbid it.
Daphnen’s ability to act according to his own will brought Nauplion immeasurable joy, and he would never dream of denying him that right.
Then Morpheus spoke.
“Though my words may sound shameless, I believe it would be wrong to cease this experiment.”
“What…!”
Morpheus raised his hand, gesturing for a moment’s patience. Then he continued toward Despoina.
“It is certain that Daphnen has been placed in danger by this affair. I have not failed to wish it had never begun. Yet upon reflection, this occurred precisely because the sword concealed its true nature while resting in a boy’s hands.”
Those words sent a chill through Nauplion as well. If it had hidden its true form, then the unknown power that had lain dormant beside the boy was…?
“I do not blame Daphnen. Rather, I mean to say the sword itself was dangerous from the start, regardless of whether this had occurred. Moreover, by my rash interference, the sword has recovered perhaps half of its true form. Though whether it is truly half, no one can say. As I mentioned, the sword consumed its hilt and scabbard entirely, transforming into white metal. It resembled a malevolent white serpent… indeed.”
The moment Despoina heard the words “evil white serpent,” her expression transformed entirely. Nauplion’s eyes hardened as well.
The “evil white serpent” referred to an ominous portent that the Pilgrims of the Moon had witnessed in the Old Kingdom.
Though the white serpent had not directly destroyed the kingdom, the terrible events that followed its appearance had ultimately cost them their realm, transforming them into Pilgrims as they were now.
Nauplion drew a rough breath, exhaled, then inhaled again before speaking.
“What are you saying! Why would you connect such an ill omen to that child? What exactly are you trying to imply!”
Morpheus shook his head.
“No. I merely sought to remind you of that object’s formidable potential. I harbored no intention whatsoever of maligning the boy.”
“Intention or not, you’ve already done precisely that!”
“Enough. Let it rest.”
Despoina grasped Nauplion’s wrist, then released it gently, her restraint tender. She felt a strange nostalgia watching the defiant boy she had once soothed and nurtured grow into a man now seeking to protect another child.
“Morpheus overstepped. Let us forget the matter of the white serpent. However, I fundamentally agree with his underlying point.”
Nauplion steadied his breathing, then started in surprise, turning to face Despoina.
“What do you mean? Which point do you agree with?”
True to Nauplion’s observation, Morpheus had not yet stated his true purpose—what he intended to do with the sword, whether he meant to continue researching it, and to what end.
Yet Despoina’s expression suggested she understood it all.
“That leaving a latent threat unaddressed is not the correct solution. Morpheus’s method may have been excessive, but his fundamental approach is sound. When Daphnen returns, I shall personally investigate the sword’s power.”
“But….”
Seeing Nauplion’s face, Despoina offered a faint smile.
“Nauplion Priest, you fear that Daphnen might be driven from the Island, or that he might be punished or isolated, is that not so?”
The sudden formality startled Nauplion slightly, but his expression soon grew serious.
“Yes. Moreover, I must add that taking the sword from that child is unacceptable.”
“Unacceptable? Why?”
Nauplion did not know how to answer.
Despoina’s expression showed incomprehension. Her words about directly investigating the sword’s power clearly meant separating Daphnen from Winterer.
“Because it is… that child’s way.”
Even as he spoke, he recognized the lack of persuasive force in his words, yet it remained an inescapable truth—and an unassailable stronghold.
Nauplion did not wish for Daphnen to live under command or constraint. He hoped the boy would be someone who walked into heaven or hell by his own feet.
Daphnen—or rather, Boris Jineman—regarded Winterer as the embodiment of his dead Elder Brother. Protecting the sword was the only way, however small, to repay what he had been too young to give his brother.
Thus, it could not be forcibly taken. Not until the boy came to understand it himself, not until he chose to set down that burden.
Of course, Nauplion loved the boy. Yet he did not wish for him to become someone who would cower and flee at the first sign of danger, even if what his will had chosen was a demon’s possession.
Though he had spent a lifetime denying it, Nauplion, raised as a Pilgrim on Moon Island, had inevitably inherited a spirit that valued will and ideals over pragmatic gain.
The boy was a mirror—a life Nauplion himself had failed to achieve. He wished to help protect that life. Hardship was not something to be fled from.
“His way….”
Despoina gazed upward at the ceiling, where the beams ran in parallel lines.
“Nauplion, you would make a fearsome teacher. Or perhaps a formidable companion who compels those beside you to shine. Had you been that child’s father, you would not have reached such a conclusion so easily. I, who have borne and raised children, know this well.”
A bitter smile crossed Despoina’s lips.
“You said that child endured immeasurable suffering across the Continent. Yet you refuse to let him rest for even a moment—not until he is further wounded, further worn away, until he becomes a true jewel.”
“That is not so.”
Nauplion shook his head, meeting Despoina’s gaze.
“I wish only for that child to decide everything himself. I seek merely to be a windbreak here, so that one still so young does not face the bitter gale directly. I hope he becomes someone who, before long, needs no single teacher—that he might realize all he requires dwells within himself, and that all of humanity becomes his teacher.”
Nauplion’s gaze turned toward the empty bed in the corner of the room. He spoke in that posture.
“That child still depends on me, but the end will come soon. Not because I reject him, but because he himself will shake me off and rise to his feet.”

A rock jutting abruptly from the Green Meadow basked in sunlight.
It was already afternoon, so it must have been warmed thoroughly. I considered touching it but stopped. I simply stared at the blindingly white rock without tiring. Without—
The rock was empty.
On the first day, I thought perhaps he had something urgent to attend to. On the second day, I merely sensed something slightly amiss. Was it because a familiar routine had vanished? I simply felt a little hollow.
Staring at the vacant rock, I moved only my lips and hummed a few words of a song.
It was a chant I had tried to teach him days ago, but hearing it today, it sounded somewhat parched. Was today simply a day when my voice wouldn’t cooperate?
“Didn’t you say this would never happen again?”
I spoke aloud as though someone were listening. My tone was distinctly clear in a way that felt unfamiliar.
Though I had merely spoken alone like an actor without a scene partner, the words rang more vividly than the song, more vividly than anything I had done all day.
I called out once more.
“Answer me.”
Daphnen opened his eyes.
「My name is Endymion.」
A single phrase that lingered at the edge of my hearing. When was that? It felt as though I had heard it just moments ago, yet also as though it were a name from the distant past.
Between then and now lay a long dream.
‘Is that so? Then what should I call you?’
That is what I must have asked. It was a thoughtless remark, born from having grown accustomed to the islanders’ habit of shortening names.
But Endymion had worn an expression of incomprehension.
「Just call me Endymion. Why would you need another name? A nickname?」

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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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