Children of the Rune: Winterer

Chapter 9

He didn’t reach for Winterer. Instead, he raised his eyes and glared at those who laughed at them. A few flinched at his gaze, but most didn’t seem impressed.

“Won’t one of you teach me how to eat this?” Yevgnen asked.

No answer was forthcoming, so he added, “By eating a bite of this yourself.”

A silence fell, and one of them snickered and said, “I’m not hungry enough to eat someone’s leftovers, I’m afraid.”

What followed the next moment caused everyone to doubt their eyes. The man who’d responded was dragged over to the table in the blink of an eye, and his chin was slammed down on it.

“Gah! What the hell?”

Yevgnen was still calm. “I would like to invite you as a guest at this table. No need to refuse. Now eat.”

“Ugh...”

Yevgnen pushed his neck down, keeping his chin pushed against the table, and picked up the spoon. Those standing around them went wide-eyed, and Yevgnen took a large spoonful of the bug-infested contents of the bowl.

“Oh no…”

The man hadn’t imagined that this slim lad with a pretty face could be capable of such strength. Yevgnen was only using one hand to pin him down by the neck, but the man could not resist at all. Yevgnen moved a spoonful of stew over to the man’s mouth. There were no less than three bugs on the spoon.

“P-please! Forgive me! I’m sorry!” the man shouted abjectly, but the spoon almost reached his lips. He was sweating hard, and he closed his lips tight, but he could not move his head. The bugs squirmed under his nose.

“Yevgnen!” Boris shouted, and his brother stopped moving the spoon.

The guests in the inn’s dining hall had all gone silent.

“You should be grateful I’m not cruel enough to force insects into someone’s mouth,” Yevgnen said, taking the spoon away and releasing the pressure on the man’s neck. He wouldn’t have gone through with it even if Boris hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t try to bluff or pretend to be what he was not.

The man swayed unsteadily on his feet and quickly backed away, feeling his neck with an angry scowl. Then he exchanged a quick glance with a few others around him. When they nodded back, the situation changed rapidly.

“Get him!”

Six or seven men lunged forward, clambering over the table. Caught unawares, Yevgnen quickly stepped in front of Boris, but he was a moment too late. He could have subdued them easily if he’d had his sword drawn, but that would have required him to kill multiple people.

Yevgnen took up a chair and crashed it into the man at the lead. Then he threw it, downing another man. That was about as far as he got. Three cudgels swung at him from behind, and one of them slammed right into his back. He couldn’t even scream.

Boris ran up and threw his arms around his brother, and the men kicked and trampled them as they lay on the floor.

“Be grateful, you say? What a load of crap!”

“You nobodies! You don’t get to talk to us like that!”

“We’ll tear your stupid faces up and teach you a proper lesson!”

Yevgnen covered Boris with his body and took most of the kicks himself. Snowguard provided some protection, but his clothing was torn badly. His exposed skin was scratched and kicked by the men’s boots, and he started to bleed.

The man that Yevgnen had been generous enough to forgive seemed the angriest. Kicking didn’t seem to cut it for him, since he gave a nasty grin and shouted, “Look at you now! What was that about inviting me to your f*cking table? Well, I’ll be so kind as to feed you this banquet myself!”

He reached out and grabbed Yevgnen by the collar, and his companions rushed in, forcing him to sit up and pinning his arms behind his back. Another man took hold of Boris, put him under his arm, and approached the table, and another one of them picked up a spoon. Boris went pale.

“I’ll give you a nice and generous spoonful.”

The spoon surfaced with seven bugs wriggling inside, and dead bugs that had turned yellow fell away into the liquid. It moved toward Boris’ mouth. He twisted as hard as he could, shaking his head, but it was no use. The man who gripped him was strong. He couldn’t talk out loud to refuse this treatment, since the bugs would probably be pushed into his mouth the moment he opened it.

Yevgnen did his best to shake off the men and shouted, “Leave my brother alone! He’s only a kid!”

A man who had grabbed his arms inquired, “Well, will you eat it for him, then?”

They turned to look at him as if this was a fascinating question. Young Yevgnen’s handsome brow was furrowed with pain. He bit his lip and stared at his little brother. They didn’t really think he would offer to do it—they were simply enjoying watching him think about it. But the thoughts going through Yevgnen’s head were not of the sort these foul men could understand. Boris was his only hope, and there was precious little now that he could do for him.

Yevgnen soon said resolutely, “Yes. Bring it here.”

“Wh-what?”

There was a brief lull, and the men looked around, wondering if they’d misheard. They all seemed to be thinking he had lost his mind. One of them said,

“Tsk. Enough of this. I hate people like him.”

“He’s ruined the fun. He’s not kidding, damn it.”

Most of them seemed to feel the same way, all except for one. It was the man that Yevgnen had gone easy on earlier, whose name was Gwitt.

“You want to leave these rude bastards be? Don’t you realize they’ll only laugh at us if we stop here? We’ll see this through to the end!”

Gwitt went over to one of his companions and took the spoon. Spilling the contents, he scooped up a new spoonful and moved over to Yevgnen with a scowl. He and his friends had a habit of being particularly unwelcoming to outsiders, but he hated Yevgnen’s sort most of all—those who had pretty faces, polite manners, good clothes, and a fair bit of money, almost like they were nobles themselves. In his opinion, such people did not need to leave their cozy homes or lands. Why would they come to an inn full of shoddy people like this?

What he found most offensive of all was the calm, unfazed look in Yevgnen’s eyes. They seemed to say, I know your sort. This is the only way that scum like you know how to behave. Men like Gwitt desired above all to see such people shocked and in despair.

“Now open up,” Gwitt said.

Yevgnen said nothing.

“What? Having second thoughts?”

Yevgnen still said nothing.

“Then I’ll have to give it to your brother.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he turned toward Boris. That was when Yevgnen spoke. But contrary to Gwitt’s expectations, there was still no emotion in the voice.

“Stop.”

Goddamn it, you obnoxious boy! Gwitt grabbed Yevgnen’s chin and forced his mouth open. Then he shoved the spoon inside. The stuff looked so gross that even Gwitt averted his gaze for a moment. He then found himself speechless when he looked at the spoon as he pulled it back out.

Yevgnen was chewing slowly. He gave a slight, mocking smile and swallowed it all.

“What… I don’t…”

Those who had grabbed Yevgnen let him go in their shock. Perhaps he could have thrown them off and spat out what had been forced into his mouth, but he’d chosen not to do so. Now with his arms free, he took a step toward the man, who watched as Yevgnen’s hand fell on the hilt of the sword at his waist. He said in a frosty voice,

“I officially challenge you to a duel. I am Yevgnen Jineman, the eldest son of Yulken Jineman, the lord of the Longgord Fields. State your name.”

No one dared to touch Yevgnen again. They all gazed at his sword and finally started to look anxious. It was no ordinary sword. The simple scabbard didn’t even have any patterns, but there was a mysterious white glow around it. And this was the son of a lord. He spelled trouble, no matter the outcome of the duel.

Gwitt backed away uncertainly, unable to answer, but everyone in the hall was watching him. Unlike Yevgnen, who was just a traveler, Gwitt had lived as a ruffian in this village. If he yielded now, he could never raise his head in the streets again. His companions would laugh at him—in fact, the entire village would do so, and he would be forced to leave.

“I am Gwitt... Filone.”

Yevgnen did not react, other than to turn to the man who was holding Boris. The man set him down, even though Yevgnen said nothing. He gestured to his little brother to come and stand beside him. He continued in a complacent tone, “I will kill you, of course.”

Gwitt’s face slowly drained of color.

“There is one thing you can do if you wish to live. Admit your defeat and prostrate yourself at my feet. If you do so, I will spare you. In return, however...” Yevgnen pointed to a bowl on the table. “I swear on my family name that I will force every last drop of what remains in that bowl down your throat.”

There was no way out. Gwitt breathed hard, turning to his companions, but they all looked away. Yevgnen spoke to the arrogant clerk at the counter.

“The yard out back is available for a duel, I presume?”

Yevgnen had been an awkward, inexperienced traveler when he’d asked for a room and paid for it, but he was different now. Sword fighting and duels were a big part of his life, something he’d learned and experienced from an early age. Now that he had spoken his family name out loud, he showed no trace of hesitation.

The clerk’s smart tongue seemed to have stuck in her throat, since she simply nodded.

Yevgnen gave a glance around the hall and approached a group of merchants who seemed to have no ties to Gwitt’s gang. Then he requested that they stand witness. They were already intimidated, of course, and they did not refuse. According to the customs of Travaches, it was not a crime to kill someone in a duel overseen by a witness from each side.

Yevgnen walked out to the backyard with Boris and the witnesses, and people tumbled out after him, eager to watch the spectacle. Gwitt and the others came out a while after that, though he didn’t dare run away.