Chapter 38 - The Daffodil Blooming Beneath the Hooves (8)

Chapter 38 - The Daffodil Blooming Beneath the Hooves (8)

The morning of the finals arrived.

"Today's the day of the championship race. How do you feel? Are you nervous?"

"Ernest never gets nervous."

"You're really riding Bereter today, right? Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Even Ernest, who was always calm and collected in thought and action, was admittedly excited; there was no way the other cadets could spend the day quietly. From the morning assembly for breakfast, a slew of cadets kept throwing questions at Ernest.

***

"Hartmann, if it's you, you can take first place."

"Yeah, show those upperclassmen what real talent looks like."

Ferdinand, too, was surrounded by his fellow first-years. But there was an obvious difference in the way people treated the two.

From the beginning, everyone expected Ferdinand to make it to the finals. He had the height and the broad shoulders that made it hard to believe he was a freshman, plus the radiant honor of being the eldest grandson of Brigadier General Heinz Hartmann. Ferdinand making the finals was certainly impressive, but it also felt inevitable.

In contrast, the only person who had believed Ernest could reach the finals was Robert. Not even Ernest's repeated horseback training had convinced anyone else. He had never properly ridden a horse while teaching Robert riding skills, and his own horse was the small gelding, Drek.

Yet, riding that little Drek, he completely overturned both rounds of the main competition. It felt as if a miracle had happened.

"I figured we wouldn't be able to concentrate today, but no one's even pretending to pay attention."

The cadets couldn't focus on the lectures at all. Honestly, the instructors in charge of today's classes weren't any different.

"Hartmann, Krieger. Are you confident?"

Even the instructor, who was supposed to be teaching loyalty—or rather, a History Lecture about the Empire—put his lesson on hold to ask the two cadets who made it to the finals.

"Regardless of whether I'm confident or not, I'll simply do my best,"

Ferdinand answered in his usual stern, resolute voice. Everyone admired his reply. But the cadet who shared a room with Ferdinand knew full well that, in truth, Ferdinand had been so excited and nervous that it took him quite a while to fall asleep last night.

"…I'm not all that confident,"

Ernest, on the other hand, replied in a rather dispirited tone. For everyone, it was utterly unexpected to see this side of Ernest—the same Ernest who always spoke his mind with a calm expression and voice, and overwhelmed his peers with an almost violent dominance during training.

"Krieger, is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Even the instructor, taken aback, voiced his concern for Ernest. Just give this tiny weapon of slaughter a small dagger for trimming nails, and he could fling every single cadet at the Military Academy straight into the fires of hell—yet here he was, looking so dejected!

"I'm fine, but…the horse I have to ride today…"

Normally, anyone who hesitated to answer a question from an instructor at the Military Academy would face a fierce reprimand.

"Ah…"

"Oh no…"

But right now, everyone in the lecture hall could only sigh deeply in heartfelt sympathy, united in the same feeling.

"It's that horse. That crazy horse."

"Yeah, Robert's crazy horse, Bereter."

Robert, the owner of that wild horse Bereter, sat slumped over his desk without moving an inch.

He had been shouting, "We're doomed!" since last night, until Ernest scolded him for being so noisy. After that, Robert sulked and clamped his usually talkative mouth firmly shut.

"Well… Uh, no, never mind… Yeah, um… Right, hang in there, Krieger."

The instructor struggled with what to say for a long moment, then ultimately offered the only encouragement he could give Ernest. Even he, after all, didn't have the courage to mount that crazy horse Bereter, let alone race it—so he couldn't really offer any advice.

"…How about tying yourself to the saddle for safety?"

Wilfried offered advice to Ernest in a cautious tone. Truthfully, Wilfried disliked and avoided Ernest, but that didn't mean he wanted Ernest to fall off during the race and be trampled to death.

"If you tie yourself too tightly, not only will you be uncomfortable, but so will the horse. But if it's too loose, it'll be worse than not tying yourself at all. You'll end up being dragged along, trampled underhoof again and again, until your body can't even be recognized."

When the instructor spoke firmly, a chilling silence filled the lecture hall.

The cadets looked over at Ernest. Even Ferdinand's face, usually calm, had turned a bit pale.

But Ernest didn't look particularly scared. In fact, he was sure he wouldn't fall off the horse.

He was only worried that Bereter might go wild, get disqualified, or be unable to finish the race properly.

From the moment he first got on a horse's back with his father, Ernest had fallen in love with horses. And every horse he had ever met had loved him in return.

Even Bereter was no exception. Although Bereter did whatever he pleased, from the very first meeting, he had allowed Ernest to ride him.

Bereter would never try to throw Ernest off.

Instead, he'd probably be more interested in pushing aside or kicking down any cocky challengers who dared to get ahead of him.

For Bereter, this race wasn't about speed. To him, it was a fair fight to drive off anyone who challenged him, the leader.

"…Don't die, Ernest."

"Yeah, don't die."

Hearing these words of encouragement and concern—which may have been a bit much to say to someone about to participate in an equestrian tournament—Ernest considered things seriously.

Just how was he supposed to convince Bereter?

"Bereter, listen carefully. This is a race. The fastest one wins. Today, we're going to go around this course five times. Five laps. The first horse to complete five laps is the best and most outstanding horse, understand?"

Nod, nod.

"Good, glad you understand. And listen, Bereter. Today's competition is all about speed—nothing else matters. The fastest horse wins, that's it."

Nod, nod.

"So there's no need for you to kick or shove the other horses with those magnificent hooves of yours."

...

Ernest, meeting Bereter's black eyes that stared at him in confusion, hurriedly added,

"Because you're already the fastest, right? You're going to win without having to pull those kinds of tricks. This is your chance to clearly show everyone that you're truly the quickest and most outstanding horse out there. But if you start doing things like that for no reason, people might even doubt whether you truly are the fastest and greatest horse."

"What on earth is he mumbling about over there by himself?"

The people who had gathered in the arena to watch the finals were whispering to each other, staring curiously at Ernest, who was absent-mindedly stroking Bereter's head and neck and muttering to himself off in a corner.

"Krieger, hang in there! You're the only one who stands a chance of convincing that crazy horse…!"

"Don't die, Krieger!"

In contrast, the first-year cadets weren't cheering—they were desperately hoping Ernest would come back alive.

"Ernest! If it looks bad, just withdraw from the race! Or strangle that crazy horse if you have to! Don't let that crazy traitor kill you!"

Robert was especially vocal, warning Ernest far more passionately about the dangers of the crazy traitor horse Bereter than he ever did when he pushed Ernest to enter the Silver Horseshoe Tournament in the first place. He truly didn't want Ernest to compete because of him and end up dying at the hooves of his own horse, Bereter.

"······."

Once again, Robert had been pushed by the other first-year cadets to stand by Marie's side, so as he spoke, Marie felt incredibly confused, embarrassed, and scared all at once. Reading the tense mood, Marie glanced nervously around with a pale face, then clutched tightly at the lapel of Robert's uniform with her small hand.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

Robert was taken aback, completely caught off guard that Marie would be the one to speak to him first. For a moment, he froze. But since he was well aware of the ambiguous relationship between Ernest and Marie, he realized, albeit belatedly, how this situation must be coming across to her.

Robert hesitated, unsure whether he should tell Marie the truth. Yet with everyone around them saying whatever crossed their minds, he knew he couldn't possibly deceive her.

In the end, flustered and stumbling over his words, Robert explained the situation to Marie.

"······."

Marie stared at Ernest with a face drained of all color. Ernest was still struggling desperately to convince Bereter—who just couldn't understand why he shouldn't knock over the other horses.

Watching Ernest earnestly talk to an animal that couldn't even speak, pleading and reasoning, made him look completely helpless and uneasy. Still, if anyone had been close enough to actually listen to what Ernest was saying, they would have been shocked.

"Alright, let's start over from the beginning. Bereter, you understand that today, the first horse to complete five laps is considered the best horse, right?"

Nod, nod.

Bereter seemed to nod as though he actually understood Ernest's words. It looked like they really were conversing.

But despite all his efforts, Ernest still couldn't get Bereter to understand why he shouldn't knock over the other horses.

'I have no choice now but to take the lead from start to finish!'

Ernest realized he had to go with his backup plan. No pacing himself—he would have to burst out at full speed right from the start and leave no room for any other horse to get ahead of Bereter.

"Is something going on with the first-year cadets? They seem a bit off,"

It was clear to anyone that something was wrong with the first-year cadets. But when even Headmaster Armin Mannheim, the Major General himself, raised the question, it instantly became the academy's top priority to diagnose and resolve whatever was affecting the first-year cadets.

"They're worried that Ernest Krieger's horse, the first-year competitor, is so wild there might be an accident."

The instructors, fully aware of the situation, quickly passed the information on to Armin.

"Hahaha, it's good to see them looking out for their classmate. But we can't have any accidents. Chief of Faculty Division."

"Yes, Headmaster."

Armin called out gently to Kramer Schaefer, Chief of the Faculty Division, and moments later, under Kramer's orders, academy-affiliated Baltracher staff came rushing over and gathered in a hurry.

"I know this tournament is hosted by the cadets, but at times like this, we can't just stand by and do nothing, can we?"

"That's right."

"Hmm… For future Silver Horseshoe Tournaments, we'd do well to work more closely with the cadets. Of course, we mustn't undermine the significance of the cadets hosting it themselves."

"Yes, we'll do so."

With just a few offhand comments, Armin had effectively issued new directives regarding the hosting and operation of future Silver Horseshoe Tournaments.

"Our mission today is to prevent any casualties. Do not allow a cadet to fall off or get trampled. But don't act too hastily. We can't let our intervention affect the outcome of the tournament. Only move when you're certain a fall is imminent."

"Yes, sir"

Fourteen Baltracher staff members were assigned to guard the cadets' safety and were promptly stationed in the arena.

'If we're supposed to keep them safe, then just let us do that—what's with all this nonsense about only acting when we're sure someone's going to fall…?'

While carrying out their orders to protect the cadets, many of them were silently cursing this contradictory command to refrain from acting "too hastily."

"With that settled, just proceed with the tournament as planned."

"Yes, understood."

The message was also relayed to Gustav. He paused to consider how this might affect his reputation and honor before readily accepting the arrangement. After all, he couldn't reject Armin's order anyway. Besides, he certainly didn't want any casualties at a tournament he was hosting. More importantly, if they successfully prevented any accidents this time, it would mark the beginning of greater cooperation between the cadets and the Military Academy in future Silver Horseshoe Tournaments—and his name would be remembered for it.

"All competitors, to your places!"

It was time for the competition to begin. As ten finalists would be racing simultaneously, the event would start and finish while the sun was still up.

"Wow!"

The competitors made their way to their positions amid roaring cheers. The starting spots for the ten finalists were assigned according to their combined scores from the two previous rounds—the higher the ranking, the closer to the inside track.

So, Ernest, in 6th place, and Ferdinand, in 7th, ended up side by side.

"Ernest."

"Yeah. Ferdinand."

Ferdinand called out to Ernest in a low voice. When Ernest turned, Ferdinand looked at him with a grave expression and said,

"Let's make it out of this alive."

"...Ah, right..."

Ernest had nothing more to say to that awkward comment. More than anything, he was too preoccupied with figuring out how to keep Bereter from losing control to pay attention to anything else.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Clever—and just as ill-tempered—Bereter quickly figured out that these position assignments weren't made for nothing. The horse kept trying to surge forward, and when Ernest calmly held him back, Bereter stuck out his neck to size up both sides.

Snort!

"Whoa, easy!"

Spotting five horses lined up to his left on the inner track, Bereter grew agitated and began to prance, even raising his front legs high in protest. This clever horse had just realized the terrible truth—that he was in 6th place!

"Aaah! That crazy horse is going wild!"

"Get out of the way! Move!"

The competitors, who had already been eyeing Bereter warily even before the start, were startled and yanked on their reins. Naturally, their own horses wanted nothing to do with that mad beast, so they quickly followed orders and bolted away.

Even among the large, strong, and fast horses specially prepared for the finals, Bereter stood out as an especially powerful horse. Seeing Bereter rear up on his hind legs like that was so intimidating, it sent chills down everyone's spine (literally, their knees felt numb out of fear).

"Calm down, Bereter."

But Ernest, the one actually on Bereter's back, clung firmly as if glued in place, sitting on the horse with impressive stability. Without panicking, Ernest gently stroked Bereter's neck and whispered,

"If you act up now, you won't even get to start the race—you'll be disqualified before you can do anything. You don't want to end up the worst horse of the day, do you?"

At those intolerable words, Bereter's bloodshot eyes looked like they might roll back in anger. All the horse could think about was smashing those arrogant humans with his hooves, right here and now.

"So, Bereter. Show everyone you're the fastest and most exceptional horse, so no one can dare question your victory."

Ferdinand, the only one who managed to stay calm despite being startled, was close enough to hear Ernest's murmuring.

"Prove to everyone, with your own ability, that you're the best Bereter. Don't act like a coward."

...

And then, as if nothing had ever happened, Bereter, who just moments ago had been standing on his hind legs about to smash another horse's skull with his front hooves, quietly lowered his legs and began to steady his rough breathing.

The cadets who had been horrified at the accident that seemed about to happen, and even a Baltracher—who had been ready to use Balt to restrain Ernest—let out a sigh of relief, their pale faces showing how scared they'd been. Everyone's hearts had nearly stopped, thinking that the mad horse would bounce around on two legs, shatter another horse's skull, and throw Ernest off to trample him underfoot.

"...A-are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. And Bereter is fine too. He won't act up anymore."

To the training instructor's worried question, Ernest answered in a steady voice. There was even a relaxed smile on his face.

"Are you really okay, Ernest?"

"..."

But Ferdinand, who was right next to him, could clearly see that in just a few seconds, Ernest's face had broken out in a cold sweat. Ernest forced a small smile at Ferdinand, whose concern was obvious, but his own face had turned slightly pale.

'Aaaaaaah...!'

Despite the smile on his face, Ernest was screaming non-stop inside. But it wasn't because he was worried about his own safety.

Ferdinand had stayed in place even while Bereter was rampaging. Right next to Bereter!

If Ernest hadn't managed to calm Bereter down, by now not just Ferdinand's horse, but maybe even Ferdinand's own skull would be dented and soft.

"Hahaha! Things sure got interesting right from the start."

"I-I'm so sorry…!"

"Hahaha. There's nothing for you to apologize for."

Armin started chuckling after witnessing the scene, making everyone else feel like they were going to lose their minds. Only Cadet Commander Gauss and Chief of Faculty Division Kramer seemed to realize just how much Armin was enjoying himself right now.

They had almost had a fatal accident—or rather, a murder scene—right at the start. It took a while to get everything back under control. But nobody complained; they'd already experienced more excitement than they needed.

"Ugh…! I can't watch…!"

"Robert! That's your horse! Do something!"

"If I could do that, I'd be the one riding Bereter instead of Ernest!"

"Damn it! Fair point! You useless bastard!"

"Shut up! You can't even get near Bereter!"

"Bereter is your horse! Can't even handle your own horse!"

"Keep running your mouth and I'll give Bereter to you!"

"…"

The cadets who'd been criticizing Robert all went completely silent, as if someone had flipped a switch, at the mention of having to ride the crazy horse, Bereter.

"Uh, Ernest! You can do it!"

And just as all the first-years fell silent, gripped by an almost sacred seriousness, a sharp voice suddenly rang out.

The voice wasn't particularly loud, but aside from the female Baltracher riders waiting by the arena—who, at that moment, were silent—there was not a single other woman present. In an arena where only the voices of young men and grown men echoed, the sound was shockingly piercing.

"What the—"

"Is that a girl?"

"There's a girl here?"

A wave of astonished murmurs swept through the arena. Everyone's gaze turned toward a single spot.

"…"

Marie crouched on the ground, her arms covering her head, utterly still.

She truly hadn't expected that the first-year cadets would suddenly fall silent, nor could she have imagined that her voice would attract this much attention.

For the first time in the long, storied history of the Imperial Military Academy's prestigious Silver Horseshoe Tournament, a cadet—Ernest Krieger—heard a woman's cheer in public. The situation left him thoroughly flustered; the burning stares aimed at him rained down like bullets.

"Booooo!"

"Boo! Get out! Boooooo!"

While the other cadets didn't know it was Marie who had cheered for Ernest, they knew it was a woman. And in their eyes, Ernest, who had received a woman's support during the sacred Silver Horseshoe Tournament, deserved a torrent of jeers.

The higher the cadet's year, the longer it had been since they'd been anywhere near a woman. Their outrage was both deep and widespread.

It felt as if a riot might break out at any moment.

"Enough! Enough! The match is about to start, so be quiet!"

Thankfully, Gustav stepped in, and the uproar quickly died down.

Damn it! That cursed first-year brat!

Still, Gustav, the second son of Count Engel, cursed Ernest under his breath. In his eyes, Ernest was constantly stirring up unexpected trouble and ruining the Silver Horseshoe Tournament he himself had organized. At this point, he was so frustrated he could barely contain himself; for the sake of dignity or not, he was half-tempted to leap down right then and drag that troublemaker out of the arena.

"Senior…"

Wilfried looked at Gustav with a sympathetic gaze, feeling a sense of camaraderie with him. For some reason, it made Wilfried feel even closer to Gustav.

"Number 1! Sebastian Neumann!"

"Neumann! Neumann! Neumann!"

The introductions of the competitors began. Number 1—Sebastian Neumann, the fourth-year cadet who had achieved the highest overall score in the preliminaries—turned to face the crowd and raised his hand high in the air.

He offered an impressive salute in the direction of the seating area where Headmaster Armin and the officers were located. Armin smiled and applauded him, and the other officers joined in, clapping sincerely for Sebastian.

Even among the fourth-year cadets, Sebastian was among the very best. Beneath his curly black hair, his dark brown eyes shone with intelligence; physically, he was fully matured, and his character was outstanding, making him extremely popular.

After the introductions of the other cadets, it was finally Ernest's turn.

"Number 6! Ernest Krieger!"

"Wooooaaah!"

"Booooooo!"

The first-years cheered for all they were worth, but their voices were drowned out by the boos from the senior students. For the first time in the history of the Silver Horseshoe Tournament, Ernest was met with boos during the athlete introductions. He raised his hand weakly, then turned his gaze forward again.

"I have to win. No matter what."

Fueled by a burning desire for revenge against this unfair treatment, Ernest leaned in close to Bereter's ear and whispered passionately.

Fine, so I'm the villain here, is that it? I'll show you what a real villain can do. Stick close to Bereter's rear and enjoy the smell of horse manure as much as you like.

Snort!

At those words, Bereter was absolutely delighted. The horse decided that this soft-spoken, timid human had finally found the true spirit required to ride on his back.

Ferdinand glanced over at Ernest, looking a bit anxious.

"Number 7! Ferdinand Hartmann!"

"Yeeeaaah!"

"Hartmann! Hartmann!"

Ranked seventh, Ferdinand received nearly as much enthusiastic applause as Sebastian, who was in first place. But Ferdinand was too preoccupied with Ernest and Bereter beside him to enjoy the cheers.

These two… they really seem like they're about to cause trouble.

Before he knew it, Ferdinand was now as wary of Ernest as he was of Bereter. No, Ernest had always been this kind of person from the very beginning. He only managed to hide his wicked claws by getting along well with his peers.

Once all the athletes had been introduced, the Flag Bearer raised the Red Flag high. The noisy arena instantly fell silent.

"Ready!"

Gustav's shout sliced through the silence. The competitors crouched low in their saddles and raised their whips. Of them all, only Ernest gripped the reins with both hands, without a whip.

Ernest had tried using a whip and spurs just once before. It was when he learned to ride alone for the first time, under the guidance of his father, Haires.

"You don't need things like these, Ernest."

At that, Haires gently took the whip from his young son's hand and personally unfastened the spurs from his boots. Ernest had never wanted to strike these beautiful animals he loved with a whip or jab them with spurs, and he had never needed to.

It was as if rider and horse were one being—this young boy's heart was somehow always understood and acted upon by the horse.

As Ernest lowered his stance in preparation, Bereter tensed beneath him. But Bereter did not bolt out immediately; instead, he waited quietly. Ernest's black eyes gazed ahead, eerily calm and composed. Bereter, too, was silent, staring steadily forward, not restless or agitated.

"Begin!"

Flap!

At last, the shout announcing the start of the Silver Horseshoe Tournament finals echoed throughout the arena. The Red Flag was waved vigorously, and at the same moment, ten horses burst into a gallop.