Chapter 39 - Daffodils Blooming Beneath the Hooves (9)

Chapter 39 - Daffodils Blooming Beneath the Hooves (9)

The moment the race began, everyone shot forward like arrows. And leading the pack, unsurprisingly, was Bereter.

"Waaaah!"

Having held back with extreme patience until now, Bereter now unleashed himself, thundering forward with such ferocity that it seemed almost violent—not just fierce, but bordering on wild brutality. Although fierce competition for position is normal right after the race starts, it's rare for anyone to charge ahead as recklessly as Bereter.

"Damn—!"

Like a creature gone mad, Bereter threw himself to the left to seize the inside course. Not only did he make no effort to avoid colliding with the other horses, but his wild swings of the head clearly showed he was ready to strike and knock down any rival that got in his way. In the end, those in positions 5 and 4, startled and intimidated, had no choice but to yield the spot.

As Ernest and Bereter cut sharply toward the inside, Ferdinand seized the opportunity to slip into the vacated space and take the inner course for himself. Ferdinand planned to stick close behind Bereter, letting him carve a path and make his own run easier—and it was working.

"These guys have lost their minds. All of them, horses and riders alike," muttered a Baltracher, arms folded behind his back as he waited inside the arena for any mishap. Witnessing the chaos up close, he could only shake his head in dismay.

Bereter looked absolutely deranged, true, but just as bizarre was Ernest himself, who had risen off the saddle and was almost lying flat on the crazed horse's back, his face a mask of cold resolve as he stared fixedly ahead. Neither of them could be called normal.

"Huff! Huff!"

A fourth-year cadet, who'd started in slot 3 and fought fiercely for the lead, now began to drop back and moved inward to prepare for the approaching corner, yielding the front position for now. Horseback riding consumes far more energy than most people realize. If neither rider nor horse manages their stamina properly, they're bound to lose steam in the latter half and fall behind.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

"Hey!"

Ignoring the upcoming corner completely, Bereter barreled forward at full speed, overtaking the third-place rider as if it meant nothing. Ernest showed no intention of slowing down at all.

"They're going to get themselves killed!"

This fourth-year cadet was less worried about losing his rank than he was about that young First-Year Cadet letting his competitiveness override his sense and ending up thrown from his horse.

Noticing the older cadet's concern, Ernest, for the first time since the race began, briefly averted his gaze from straight ahead and made eye contact. Then, looking forward again, Ernest charged into the corner at unbroken speed.

"He's completely lost it!"

The third-place rider realized that Ernest wasn't recklessly risking his life out of raw competitiveness—he was making a cold, calculated decision. Someone racing ahead with that expression, devoid of emotion, wouldn't throw his life away just for the sake of winning.

'That's as far as I can go.'

As the corner approached, Ferdinand also found he couldn't keep up with Bereter's pace without slowing down, so he settled in right behind the third-place rider instead. Still, thanks to Ernest and Bereter, he'd managed to climb from seventh to fifth place—not a bad outcome.

"Get ready! Ready!"

As Ernest and Bereter aimed to take the corner without reducing speed, all the Baltrachers waiting nearby tensed up, clearly on edge. To anyone watching, it looked like disaster was inevitable.

"Truly bold!"

Sebastian, who had started in first position and managed to keep the lead so far, couldn't help but praise Ernest, who had caught up right beside him. Ernest, however, was too focused on taking the corner and couldn't think about anything else.

"That lunatic! Has he really lost his mind?"

The crowd gasped in shock. Ernest, against all odds, snatched the spot between first and second place. Now, Ernest was in second!

But it was now the corner. With the first and third place riders firmly holding the innermost line, and the fourth and fifth place—Ferdinand—right behind them, Ernest faced a choice: either take the outside path around the corner or adjust his speed to claim a better position.

Of course, Bereter tried to increase speed and overtake the lead rider on the spot.

"..."

But Ernest had other ideas. As they entered the risky section, he seemed to lose focus, turning his head this way and that to quickly assess his surroundings. When they hit the corner and Bereter made his move to overtake, Ernest suddenly leaned hard to the left.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

It looked like Ernest would fall off any second, hanging almost from Bereter's side rather than riding his back—his head coming so close to the leg of the rider on the innermost track that they nearly touched.

In that instant, Bereter instinctively adjusted his pace. Instead of trying to accelerate, he maintained just the speed Ernest intended—fast enough to round the corner well, but no more.

They took the curve at the outside line, controlling their speed. As a result, Bereter ended up slipping past the third-place rider and dropped back behind him. However, Bereter wasn't running wild with rage or rolling his eyes in anger. In fact, Bereter felt more comfortable running now, even with a rider, than he did when running alone.

"Wow!"

Even at such incredible speed, Ernest was almost performing a stunt, hanging off Bereter's side and using his body to counteract the centrifugal force as much as possible. The crowd let out cries of astonishment. Even the tense Baltrachers couldn't help but marvel at the competitors flashing past right in front of them.

"What a tenacious guy!"

After the turn, the course straightened out again. But aside from Sebastian, who was in first place, and Ernest, who had rounded the corner on the outside, no one else could charge ahead comfortably. Because Ernest and Bereter had caught up on the outside of the course, there was simply no way through for the others.

Although Ernest and Bereter fell a little behind as they took the long way around the curve, they didn't lose much ground, ending up just slightly behind the second-place rider. And the moment they exited the corner and entered the straight, Ernest and Bereter surged forward, completely boxing in the second-place rider. On a straightaway where you're supposed to pick up speed, the path ahead was blocked by Sebastian, and now the side was blocked by Ernest—there was nowhere to go.

"He's clever, too!"

Sebastian glanced back and exclaimed loudly in admiration. Then Sebastian and Ernest locked eyes. Neither said a word, but everything they meant to say was perfectly understood.

"Damn! Neumann! Get out of my way right now!"

"Hahaha! I didn't think you'd actually come out and tell me to give you first place like this!"

Even though it was a straight stretch, Sebastian didn't speed up. Ernest, who was firmly blocking the outer side of the course, also maintained his pace. After experiencing Ernest's skill through the last corner, Bereter now trusted Ernest. Bereter was carefully adjusting his speed according to Ernest's intentions.

Sebastian, in first place, and Ernest, who was blocking the outside of the track, were both controlling their speed, completely closing off the course. The only way to pass was to go even wider than Ernest, but that would be a big disadvantage in the next corner.

With the front runners stuck tightly together, those who had fallen behind now had a chance to catch up. The front was in utter chaos, while those at the rear could take it easy.

"These maniacs…"

Seeing the lead group barreling into the corner all bunched up and out of order, the Baltracher riders' faces turned pale. At this rate, an accident really could happen. In the end, a few frightened contestants clenched their teeth and reluctantly gave up their spots. By the time the confused leaders rounded the corner, things had sorted out somewhat.

"Waaaaah!"

But Ernest still maintained his position on the outside through the corner, and now even Ferdinand was sticking close to his tail, rounding the turn on the far outside as well. As the leaders exited the corner and hit the straightaway, the cadets who were close enough to see them up close roared like mad.

Even after completely clearing the corner, Sebastian still held onto first place. The rider in second place was right behind him—number 2. Ernest was in third, number 3 was fourth, and Ferdinand was in fifth.

However, since all five of them were dangerously close together, the only ones who could really run freely were Sebastian, leading on the inside, and Ernest, who held third on the outer side. The rest couldn't afford to let their guard down.

"Oh my god! That lunatic is taking off!"

As soon as they exited the corner and hit the straightaway, Bereter suddenly exploded with speed, accelerating out of nowhere and overtaking even Sebastian, who was in first.

"Gasp!"

Sebastian tried to keep his position, striking his horse's hindquarters with the whip to speed up, but he couldn't immediately match the pace of Bereter, who was now running wild as if he'd lost his mind.

In the end, by the time Ernest and Bereter finished the first lap and returned to the starting point, they had taken first place on the inside course.

"Waaaaah!"

Now, not a single cadet remained seated. Everyone was on their feet, fists in the air, shouting with excitement. The match was just too exhilarating for anyone to worry about dignity or composure.

"That First Year! Krieger! He's absolutely insane!"

Even most of the officers were up and yelling, despite Headmaster Armin and Major General being in attendance.

That was because Armin himself had also risen from his seat and was now standing at the closest spot to the Arena, watching it all unfold.

As the saying goes, no matter how gray a man's eyebrows turn, there's always a child with a heart full of innocence hidden somewhere inside him.

Armin was by far the oldest there, and he was a true knight who'd ridden into battle and killed enemies with lances and swords even before Walter Ulrich Mihahil had founded the Empire with the power of the Balt Gun. With such a background, there was no way Armin could just sit still when faced with such a nail-bitingly intense race.

"Go! Go!"

"Waaaaah! Ernest!"

When Ernest took first place, the First Years went absolutely wild. Even though only one of the five laps had been completed, they'd already fallen into a frenzy.

"I can't see…!"

Meanwhile, little Marie couldn't see anything in the Arena amid all the cadets leaping to their feet and going wild. For her to even glimpse the race, she would've needed to jump up about half her own height.

"Ernest is in first! Ernest is in first place!"

Thankfully, Robert—the merchant's son who was always so attentive to everyone and their relationships—noticed Marie's red hair bouncing at the edge of his vision as he jumped up and down, and started commentating the race for her.

"That maniac actually did it! Ernest is in first now, and since Bereter's completely crazy too, as long as he just keeps running, he's going to win!"

Forgetting his usual discomfort and fear of Marie, Robert shouted with a flushed face. He was already acting as if Ernest had actually won the whole thing, and in truth, considering the strength of that mad horse Bereter, as long as nothing went terribly wrong, Ernest could very well finish first and take the victory.

"They're heading into the corner. Corner! Corner!"

Robert tried his best to give Marie a play-by-play of the match. But he was so worked up that his language skills had completely deserted him, and he couldn't properly explain what was happening.

"Run! Run! Aaaah! Ruuuuun!"

Robert's cries echoed through the arena, somewhere between a cheer and a scream. He was probably the most excited person watching the Silver Horseshoe Tournament finals.

It was Robert who had talked Ernest into entering the tournament, Robert who'd lent him the wild horse Bereter and put him in mortal danger, and, aside from the champion himself, it would be Robert who had contributed the most to Ernest's victory if he won.

Now, with Ernest on the verge of winning, Robert—already half out of his mind with worry that he might end up killing his friend—finally threw the last shreds of rationality to the wind.

When Ernest, now in first place, rounded the track for the second time and returned to the starting line, the only one tailing him was Sebastian in second place. Third place belonged to the rider wearing number two, and right behind him was Ferdinand, close on his heels. However, there was a significant gap between second and third place.

"Isn't the leader about to lap the riders at the back?"

"No matter how fast they are, I don't think it'll get to that point."

The spectators couldn't help but worry that with first and second speeding so far ahead, the leaders might catch up to the slower riders and create problems for the race. Normally, the trailing group is expected, as a courtesy, to either speed up or slow down to clear a path, but nobody could guarantee that would happen.

"Damn it! I wish I could just relax and enjoy the race!"

The Baltrachers, who were on high alert to prevent injuries or casualties from any accident, felt resentful that they couldn't watch this thrilling match with peace of mind. The competition at the front was so intense that there was a constant risk of crashes.

"Krieger! Are you planning to keep running like this?"

Sebastian, right on Ernest's tail, shouted out. Even through the deafening sound of pounding hooves, sharp wind, and the roaring crowd, his strong voice reached Ernest loud and clear.

"In the end, this race is between us! How about we work together until the final lap?"

Ernest didn't answer Sebastian's suggestion and instead leaned into the corner. Sebastian hugged closely behind, taking the turn right after him. When the track straightened out again, Ernest naturally moved slightly toward the outer edge, making room on the inside. Bereter shook his head, clearly displeased, but thankfully didn't throw a fit.

"Yes!"

Ernest gave a short reply to Sebastian, who overtook him on the inside.

"Let's compete with honor!"

Sebastian answered, flashing a grin. Sebastian once again took the lead, with Ernest sticking right behind him in second place.

No one knew the precise reason, but apparently, when there's a horse running ahead, the one right behind can race while catching less wind. The horse running in the very front has the hardest job. That's why, in horse racing, being in the lead isn't always the most advantageous position.

Ernest knew this too, but with Bereter being so wild, he had no other option. Still, at this moment, Bereter trusted Ernest, and even though he didn't like it, he showed a tiny bit of respect for Sebastian and his horse, who, while not quite his equal, managed to keep up right behind. So Bereter decided to show a bit of leniency.

Ernest and Sebastian took turns helping each other with every corner, swapping places and sharing the burden as they went.

"How honorable!"

"They're just young cadets, but what a proud sight!"

Officers familiar with horse racing seemed deeply impressed by what they saw. After all, one could easily trick the other, seize first place, and refuse to relinquish the lead out of distrust. Yet, as if they'd made a promise in advance, the two took turns switching positions at every bend, always working together.

"Whoa! Ernest has retaken first place!"

"Wow!"

"Aaah! Ernest is back in second!"

"Oh no!"

However, some cadets who were clueless about horse racing tactics—especially Robert, the merchant's son from a commoner background—had no idea this was a strategy for victory. Naturally, Marie didn't know either.

The two found themselves repeatedly cheering in excitement, then despairing, and then cheering again, caught up in the wild shifts of the race. They did this at every turn.

There's no competition here. It's overwhelming.

Ferdinand clicked his tongue in disappointment.

Even keeping up with the distant frontrunners was a struggle now. And to think, Ferdinand's horse was considered top-class for racing as well.

Of course, Bereter was simply superior to the others. The fact that he hadn't been killed, despite his wild and vicious temperament, was proof enough.

He was so unmanageable that most would have thought it better just to put him down. But because his natural abilities were almost unbelievably remarkable, people couldn't bring themselves to do it out of sheer regret.

Robert's father had paid a hefty sum to purchase him, and now, as Ernest's horse, Bereter was dominating the race in every sense of the word.

Still, in terms of pure ability, there wasn't that much of a gap between the horses. The difference was so slight that it could be chalked up to stables or daily condition and easily overlooked.

The real reason for such a dramatic difference lay entirely in the skill of the jockey.

Sebastian, unrivaled even among the fourth-years, and Ernest, whose abilities were hard to believe for a first-year—among all the current cadets at the Military Academy, there was no one who could match their horsemanship.

What's more, Sebastian had already placed second overall in the Silver Horseshoe Tournament as a second-year, and he claimed victory when he was a third-year. Now, he was aiming for his second championship in the Silver Horseshoe.

So far, only one cadet had ever managed to win the Silver Horseshoe Tournament twice. The Military Academy had been founded just over ten years ago, and the tournament's history was still very short.

If it's Ernest, he might even win it four times.

Ferdinand glanced over at Ernest, who was running on the opposite side of the arena, and nodded to himself. The gap between them had grown to nearly a third of the arena's length. Even so, neither Ernest nor Sebastian showed the slightest sign of fatigue.

Catching up was clearly impossible.

But giving up just wasn't an option.

Even if he never won a single championship because of Ernest until graduation, Ferdinand couldn't bring himself to give up.

This year, third place was the best he could hope for, but starting next year, he was determined never to finish below second.

Ferdinand vowed that in the finals of next year's Silver Horseshoe Tournament, he would compete for the lead with Ernest, just as Sebastian was now.

"Final lap! This is the last one!"

The race continued in a blur, and finally, the leaders—Ernest and Sebastian—entered the final lap. At this point, Sebastian had taken the lead, with Ernest running just behind in second place. The two horses charged toward the corner.

"Neumann! Neumann! Neumann! Neumann!"

The crowd began chanting Sebastian's name in unison. But this wasn't just simple cheering. Right now, the only reason Sebastian was in first place was because the two competitors had made an agreement, and Ernest had yielded the lead to him. And now, in this final lap, Sebastian was still supposed to yield first place to Ernest as they rounded the corner.

The reason everyone was chanting Sebastian's name at once was to warn him to act honorably.

"Waaaaah!"

Living up to those expectations, Sebastian rounded the corner and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, gave up his lead to Ernest.

As they passed each other, the two riders locked eyes. Sebastian flashed a broad, cheerful grin, and Ernest, ever so slightly, smiled back.

On the straightaway, Ernest eased his speed a bit. Although he should be sprinting at full power for this last lap, he wasn't worried. There was a comfortable gap between him and the trailing cadets, and he knew Sebastian wouldn't attempt to overtake him now.

"Krieger! Krieger! Krieger! Krieger!"

Now that Ernest was running first on the straight, everyone started chanting his name.

After rounding the next corner, they would enter the final straight. This last straightaway stretched from the starting line all the way up to just before the next corner. If he managed to hold the lead through this corner and block anyone trying to pass, the victory would be his.

All eyes were on the so-called reckless First-Year Cadet, Ernest Krieger, and his wild horse Bereter. Maintaining their speed, they charged into the corner. Everyone forgot to even call Ernest's name, watching the pair in breathless silence.

"...Waaaaaaah!"

Then, as Ernest rounded the final corner, he held his speed and claimed the outside track, just as everyone had hoped. Cheers crashed through the arena like waves.

Sebastian took the spot Ernest had left open for him. Now, the two riders raced side by side at the same speed.

"..."

"..."

Ernest and Sebastian met each other's eyes and nodded at the same time.

"Go for it!"

"Waaaaah!"

To the roar of the crowd, both horses began accelerating to their maximum speed at once.

At this point, there was nothing left to concede. This was the final straightaway. All that remained was to pour everything into the finish!

"Huff! Huff! Huff! Huff!"

Along the last straight of the fifth lap, the horses' ragged breathing mixed with the heavy breaths of both Ernest and Sebastian.

The shouts from the crowd barely registered anymore. Ernest focused solely on charging forward, as if he were being pulled inexorably toward a single point.

At some point, the only sound reaching their ears was the harsh, ragged rhythm of their own breathing.

"Ugh...!"

It wasn't just the horses—both riders were reaching their limits. While running with intense focus, Ernest was struck by a sharp pain in his head, as if a nail had been driven into his skull. His face twisted in agony as he squeezed his left eye shut.

It felt as if something had attacked the left side of his head, and before he knew it, Ernest jerked his head sharply to the right.

Bereter grew agitated when Ernest's balance shifted at full speed. Quickly, Ernest recovered his posture.

But that one small movement cost them dearly: Bereter missed the perfect chance to overtake his rival. If not for that, Bereter could have clearly passed Sebastian to secure an undeniable first place.

The two horses thundered down the track, neck and neck. It could have been anyone's victory.

"Ah...!"

Just then, Sebastian's panicked voice pierced through Ernest's pain-addled focus.

Ernest instinctively rolled his eyes to the left. It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Sebastian's horse was lifting its right foreleg unusually high. Panic swept over Sebastian's face, which had just seconds ago been focused intently on the race.

Sebastian's horse had set its foot down wrong.

But it wasn't a simple mistake. After circling the arena five times, the course had finally begun to show its flaws. It seemed Sebastian's horse had stepped on a small stone or into a patch of uneven ground. In that instant, thanks to his outstanding horsemanship, Sebastian realized like a bolt of lightning that something had gone wrong.

But there was nothing Sebastian could do in this situation. With his horse running at such a breakneck speed, there was no way he could simply stop with its right leg midair, ready for the next stride.

Ernest's dark eyes took in the whole scene in a single glance. As if time had slowed to a crawl, Ernest could see it all with perfect clarity. There was not even a second to process or judge what was happening. That's why it wasn't thought or reason that guided Ernest's actions.

Ernest suddenly leaned his body to the left, thrusting out his left arm that was holding the reins. Bereter lost balance and lurched, his body tilting sharply to the left. Sebastian's horse tried to stop but couldn't; unwilling to land his injured right leg, the horse completely lost its balance. The horse collapsed to the right.

Ernest's outstretched hand reached for Sebastian. But he fell just—just a tiny bit—short of touching him. The moment Ernest's hand seemed poised to catch only empty air, Sebastian's right hand, letting go of his whip, brushed past and then grabbed hold of it tightly.

Got him. Ernest thought he had done it.

But in truth, he shouldn't have caught him. Because there was no way Ernest could withstand that much speed and weight. Sebastian realized his mistake the moment he grabbed Ernest's hand, knowing what would happen. Ernest, too, spun around after Sebastian, only then realizing he had made a mistake.

Ernest's body toppled along with Sebastian's. Screams echoed throughout the arena.