Chapter 89 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky

Chapter 89 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky

"At last, the moment has arrived."

Robert said with a determined tone.

Well—he tried to sound determined, but his voice had taken an annoying turn thanks to puberty.

"Robert, don't step on the bed. It's rude."

Ernest said calmly to Robert, who was standing tall atop the bed.

But Robert had no intention of listening.

"Yes! That's right! It's about to begin! The Silver Horseshoe Tournament you've been waiting for!"

"Who exactly are you talking to right now?"

"Come, Ernest. This year, you'll win the Silver Horseshoe and gift it to your father."

"I mean, sure, but—wait, who are you even…"

"I knew it! Your heart is pounding too, isn't it?!"

"…"

"That's right. This year, we've got three horses! Your beloved Drek, my treacherous betrayer Bereter…"

Robert shouted dramatically into the air, as though he were having a grand conversation with someone invisible.

"…and the new horse my father sent—Spion!"

"Robert, please stop naming horses like that. Please."

"But the name fits perfectly, doesn't it?"

"I… guess…"

Finally, Ernest acknowledged Robert's response.

Ernest couldn't even refute it—Bereter was a Bereter, so a horse named Spion didn't seem all that strange.

For context, Spion means "spy."

Despite technically being Robert's horse, Spion had been with Robert only briefly before being placed under Ernest's care.

So the name—while dramatic—wasn't entirely inappropriate.

Spion had already trained with Ernest in several obstacle courses.

The horse followed Ernest loyally, and seemed completely enamored with his superior riding skills—wanting nothing more than to keep galloping with him on its back.

However, Ernest already had a kind and affectionate companion: Drek.

And because of that, Spion could never quite get what he wanted.

Whenever Ernest rode another horse, Drek would stare at him with watery eyes—but since Ernest always returned to hug and reassure him, Drek never cried in heartbreak.

Even if Ernest did end up choosing another horse and forgetting about him, Drek wouldn't throw a tantrum.

He might shed a few quiet tears, but that would be it.

Drek was well aware that he was smaller and less impressive than Beretter or Spion.

But from the start until now, Drek had been—and remained—Ernest's horse.

And he was set to ride Drek in this year's Silver Horseshoe Tournament.

The second event of the main round, horseback shooting, would be Drek's stage.

"That horse name is… No, never mind. It's Robert, after all."

"Yeah, Robert is just… Robert."

"What did I do?"

Wilred had been about to comment on Spion's ridiculous name but decided to let it go.

Ernest let it go too.

Robert did not let it go—but nobody really cared.

"Anyway, got it. Now get out of my room."

"Alright. You have a great day, too."

"I'm just too kind for my own good."

The three of them just said whatever they wanted. Watching from the side, it was hard to tell whether they were having a conversation or holding a group soliloquy.

It was only natural that Ernest would enter the Silver Horseshoe Tournament—but the news still stirred up waves.

"So he's really entering…"

"The winner's already been decided."

"Now that Neumann's graduated, Kruger's running wild."

"Even when Neumann was here, Kruger ran wild. He beat a fourth-year as a first-year, remember?"

Cadets already assumed the tournament was over. Ernest, who had essentially defeated the fourth-year champion Sebastian during his first year, had grown even stronger in his second year—and he had more horses now.

No upperclassmen were confident enough to say they could beat him.

And there wasn't some other Ernest-type prodigy hiding in the first years… probably.

If there was, well—too bad.

Basically, no one could stop Ernest from sweeping the competition.

"Hartmann, you have to beat Kruger."

"Yeah. If not you, who else can?"

Thus, one of the very few people thought to have a chance—Ferdinand—was hailed as a hopeful challenger.

People viewed him like a hero expected to defeat a demon king.

"Why am I being dragged into this? This is only my second time entering. I've never even gotten the silver horseshoe. I got the Silver daffodil last time. Wasn't that supposed to be an honorable award?"

"You're too strong. That's the problem."

Which, of course, meant Ernest was now being treated as the demon king.

His overwhelming skill made the tournament feel less like a competition and more like a coordinated effort to stop him from steamrolling everyone.

As word spread to the first-years, the story got more than a little distorted.

"I heard that Kruger guy almost killed a senior during last year's finals."

"They say he went nuts when he didn't win because of it."

"And they made the Silver daffodil just to calm him down."

That was… more than a little exaggerated.

Yes, Sebastian nearly died during last year's race.

Yes, Bereter rampaged after the loss. And yes, it was so obvious Ernest should have won that they scrambled to make the Silver daffodil to appease people.

So… not entirely untrue.

"Hey, hey. That's the ruthless Kruger over there."

"Don't make eye contact. He'll probably charge us with his crazy horse, Bereter."

"…"

When second-years heard what the first-years believed, they couldn't resist teasing Ernest relentlessly.

It was the only way to get a rise out of him—he was otherwise the flawless front-runner.

"Ernest, are you just going to take that? Show them who you are! This is a challenge! That silver horseshoe belongs to you! You're not giving it to anyone else, right? Right?"

Robert egged Ernest on relentlessly.

Part of it was just excitement at seeing Ernest fuming, but mostly he was fanning Ernest's competitive fire—no, his malicious fire—with singular focus.

"Fine. I'll give them exactly what they want. Let them smell Bereter's horse crap all day."

"That's the Ernest Kruger I know!"

Robert's plot worked.

Ernest was now fully determined to crush everyone and win the tournament decisively.

"What's wrong with him? Why can't he do anything normally…?"

Wilfried, who kept himself separate from the chaos, observed the madness with a sigh.

'What's wrong? Everything. That's just how he was born.'

Wilfried let it go.

That's just who Ernest was.

The training grounds were packed with cadets for the preliminaries.

Ernest had submitted his entry the moment registration opened and was assigned number 3.

Unlike usual, many officers and instructors were also present—not a common sight for the preliminaries.

And none of the cadets were clueless enough to wonder who they came to see.

"Number 3, Ernest Kruger."

"Booooo!"

"Boo! Get off! Boooo!"

As Ernest stepped forward much earlier than last year, a chorus of jeers erupted.

The first cadet in academy history to receive both cheers and boos in the same tournament last year, Ernest climbed onto Drek's back with a cold expression.

Drek turned slowly.

Ernest raised a hand to his ear, pretending not to hear the noise, as he looked at the booing crowd.

"Booooooo!"

The jeers only grew louder, echoing through the arena.

Cadets from other years and even curious passing officers started gathering to watch.

What had this boy done to be booed so fiercely?

Of course, the booing wasn't serious. It was all in good fun. No one truly hated Ernest—he had saved Sebastian's life at the cost of his own win.

But being cheered by girls?

Unforgivable.

That had to be booed.

"Start it," Wilfried said calmly.

He figured there was no point in watching—Ernest would obviously pass.

"Drek."

The horse looked at Ernest with big, glistening eyes.

He understood what Ernest wanted but seemed reluctant to act.

"Drek. Now."

Reluctantly, Drek obeyed.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

"Ahh!"

"What the hell?!"

Drek, facing away from the crowd, kicked dirt at them with all his might. The second-years at the front shielded their faces and shrieked.

Then the gentle, kind Drek dashed into the course.

Though he seemed guilty for flinging dirt at people, he galloped quickly through the obstacles and returned to his place.

"Wooooah!"

"Boooo!"

The crowd, now clearly seeing that Ernest had passed with flying colors, erupted into cheers.

But some dirt-covered second-years still clung to their jeering.

"Boo all you want."

Ernest raised a fist at them.

The display of charismatic defiance from the strongest candidate earned him a wave of applause and cheering.

They all wanted him to play the villain.

"…How did this happen?"

Robert pondered for a moment—

"…I don't know."

And gave up quickly.

He ran up to greet Ernest and Drek, showering Drek with praise.

"That guy's a total toady."

"Absolutely."

Robert only realized he'd become the demon king's sycophant once they were back at the dorms.

"Sycophant?! You think that's what I am?!"

"…"

"I'm Ernest's investor! His sponsor! Both Bereter and Spion are my horses! I'm on top!"

"…"

Robert flailed.

Ernest had already given up on trying to argue.

He just didn't know anymore.

Marie came to watch starting from the main round. She was stunned by the wave of boos that greeted Ernest as he entered the obstacle race with the new horse, Spion.

"Wh-why is this happening?"

Though she was no longer ostracized by the second-years, Marie's closest companions were still Ernest and Robert.

She grabbed Robert's sleeve and asked.

"Marie, boo him! Hurry!"

"Why?!"

Robert urged her to join in—but Marie, confused, hesitated.

Trying to escape his image as a sycophant, Robert's efforts only made him look like a flip-flopper.

He ended up getting booed by the second-years right after Ernest.

"Hohoho. The cadets are quite lively."

"They certainly are."

Starting from the main round, even Headmaster Armin came to watch.

Seeing Ernest receive wave after wave of playful jeers, Armin chuckled.

If it had been real booing, instructors would have stepped in. But this? Just harmless fun.

"Aaaaaah! Ernest! Show them your strength! Shut them all up!"

Unable to take the booing anymore, Robert began shouting encouragement, only for second-years to laugh and nudge him playfully.

"…."

Marie wanted to cheer Ernest on too, but remembered last year and wisely kept quiet.

Drawing attention could lead to trouble.

It was the right choice.

Cadets from other years were holding their breath, waiting to see Ernest's brilliant new run.

Ernest mounted Spion—technically Robert's horse, but practically his—and approached the starting line.

The blackish-brown horse with white markings danced toward the start, lifting its legs high in excitement.

"Don't get too fired up, Spion."

Ernest worried the overly eager horse might mess up—not for points, but for their safety.

A misstep during an obstacle run could break a horse's leg or kill a rider.

Even with healers on standby after last year's incident, they wouldn't waste high-grade Balt healing on a horse.

Snort!

Spion shook his head energetically in response, clearly too excited to settle.

"You Robert-like idiot."

Ernest muttered with a sigh.

"Begin!"

Though Spion hadn't calmed down, no one thought it necessary to delay for Ernest. The race started, and the moment Ernest leaned forward, Spion shot out like an arrow from a bow.

"Wooooah!"

The crowd that had been booing seconds earlier instantly burst into cheers.

Last year, Drek had been fast but small—lacking impact. And it had been too dark to see well.

But now, under bright daylight, Spion's thunderous speed sent chills down everyone's spines.

He wasn't a light, nimble horse—he was large and powerful, yet still blazingly fast.

Most riders wouldn't even try what Ernest was doing—it was terrifying.

But Ernest stood in the stirrups, his seat off the saddle, riding Spion with flawless rhythm. He didn't just cling—he shifted his weight, added force with his body, and helped Spion pivot, jump, and land with perfect timing.

"He's turning! He's turning!"

"Whoa!"

"He barely slowed down!"

"Whoa!"

"He's jumping! Jumping! Jumping…!"

"…"

"He did it! I swear, he almost scraped it! That was insane!"

"Woooah!"

Short and with no reason to show her face, Marie stayed hidden. She couldn't see the race directly, so Robert narrated the whole thing like last year.

Luckily, he'd improved over the past year—and gave an exciting play-by-play.

"Unreal! He's even better than last year!"

"Kids grow fast!"

Even the instructors stood up in excitement. A fifteen-year-old cadet riding like this? Unbelievable.

"That horse is good too. Light-footed."

"Too light, maybe. Could be dangerous."

"Where does he find these lunatic horses?"

Some, experienced with horses, were worried.

Spion's lively steps were perfect for obstacle racing—but his personality was too hyper. If a rider couldn't control him, disaster was guaranteed.

Only someone like Ernest, who guided a horse without whips or spurs, could manage Spion.

Ernest and Spion cleared the course in a flash. It was even faster than last year's run with Drek.

They didn't hesitate—even at the final, tallest obstacle, which Ernest had once avoided for Drek's safety.

Though they slowed slightly, the speed was still enough for serious injury if something went wrong. The healers on standby flinched, ready to act.

Right before the jump, Ernest bounced his weight upward.

Though light, his movement added momentum and perfectly assisted Spion's leap.

Wham!

Spion jumped—a smooth, beautiful motion, like flowing water.

"Wow…"

Even the healers, hands raised in worry, could only watch in awe.

A creature that large, jumping that high and clean—it was breathtaking.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Ernest absorbed the impact smoothly, minimizing the strain on Spion's legs.

Spion didn't even slow down. He galloped onward with unbroken rhythm.

"Wooooaaaah!"

Only after he cleared the final jump did the audience explode in cheers.

Spion, excited by the applause, tried to charge back into the course—but Ernest pulled him back.

Snort! Snort!

Denied another run, Spion instead bounced proudly in front of the crowd, flapping his neck with joy as people clapped and laughed.

"That horse is just as crazy as Bereter, in a different way…"

Even so, the audience couldn't help but be impressed by Ernest, who had just completed a flawless obstacle race on this energetic and unpredictable steed.

If it had been anyone else, they might have thought Robert had lent them this wild horse to get them killed.

"Th-that's enough."

Snort!

"Enough, Spion. I said stop."

Ernest wanted to throw a triumphant fist into the air to show the crowd just how decisive his win had been.

But with Spion still riled up from the cheers and attention, he had no choice but to give up on the idea.

Spion basked in the applause for quite a while. Eventually, when the tired crowd quieted down, he stopped prancing, and only when Ernest dismounted did he finally settle down and return to his place.

Other cadets also performed impressively.

Notably, Ferdinand, Ernest's most serious rival, had a faster and more refined run than he did the previous year.

Still, no matter what anyone said, Ernest was the undisputed star of the day.

With a clean, unrivaled performance, he secured first place.

"I thought he was just some cruel upperclassman, but he's seriously amazing!"

"Yeah, seriously!"

Thanks to that, some of the first-years' misunderstandings about Ernest were finally cleared up.

But still, the label of "Ruthless Kruger" wouldn't disappear so easily.

Ernest knew he'd have to explain things to the younger students himself sometime.

"Drek, I'm counting on you for tomorrow."

Later, he went to the stable to return Spion and didn't forget to comfort Drek, who had been staring longingly at the gate ever since Ernest left with the new horse.

As Ernest stroked him, Drek leaned into his chest, rested his head on Ernest's shoulder, and wrapped his neck around to embrace him.

"Don't worry, Drek. You'll always be my best friend."

"Yeah, yeah. Who else would be friends with a guy like you if not a sweet and kind horse like Drek?"

"…"

"Hey, I thought we were comforting Drek here."

Robert added a completely unnecessary comment, but at least Drek seemed comforted now.

Tomorrow would be the horseback shooting event.And for that, no horse could be a better partner to Ernest than Drek.

***

Haires began the day like any other.

It was the same routine as always in the Kruger household.

That is, until he returned from the market and checked the mailbox.

"…."

Inside was a single, pristine envelope—no name, no seal.

Just a blank, white envelope sitting in the corner.

Click.

After staring at it in silence for a while, Hires quietly closed the mailbox again.

As if he had seen nothing at all.

He turned the key in the lock, entered the house, and closed the door behind him.

"Haires."

Just as the lock clicked shut, a soft voice—polite and tinged with amusement—drifted into the modest Kruger home.

Hires froze, his hand still on the door, his face contorting into a grimace.

"You're not going to read the letter?"

The voice was unnervingly calm, courteous, even cheerful—oddly so, given that Haires had never heard it before.

And then he knew.

The moment he had tried so hard to keep away……had come for him again.