Chapter 33 - The Daffodil Blooming Beneath the Hooves (3)
"Hello, Wilfried. I'd like to participate in the Silver Horseshoe Tournament."
Wilfried welcomed Ernest, who had come to his room, with a slightly suspicious look at first, but when he heard those words, he returned to his usual smile and nodded.
The one organizing the Silver Horseshoe Tournament is Gustav Engel, the leader of the fourth-year Noble Faction. The leaders of the Noble Faction from each year assist him with running the tournament. Even though Wilfried is the Duke's son, since he is still a first-year, tradition dictates that he must personally gather the participants from his class to report to Gustav, as well as take on various other miscellaneous tasks.
"Alright. Wait just a moment."
Wilfried went back into his room and shut the door. After a short while, he reemerged holding a piece of parchment and a sheet of paper.
"This is the application form. Fill it out and give it to me. And this is the schedule and the tournament rules. Be sure to read them carefully."
"Got it."
The application form was made of high-quality parchment. You couldn't possibly make a form for noble boys to write their names and signatures—or affix their seals—out of crude parchment or ordinary paper.
Ernest thought it might be easiest to just go straight into Wilfried's room, fill out the form quickly, and hand it back to him on the spot. However, since many people dislike having others in their private space, Ernest just accepted it and went back to his room to fill out the application form.
"...Huh?"
As he started, Ernest had to stop with his quill pen midstroke.
"What's wrong?"
Robert, even more excited than Ernest, quickly came over to look at the form. Ernest had already written his year, name, and surname. But when it came to the horse's name, his quill froze.
"Aren't you only supposed to use one horse?"
There were three separate fields for the horse's name. Neither Robert nor Ernest understood why.
The two boys finally looked over the tournament rules. Robert hadn't really paid much attention to the rules, and Ernest had been completely preoccupied thinking about giving the Silver Horseshoe to his father as a gift.
"You compete three times."
"Yeah."
"And they're all different events."
"Yeah."
"And there's only one day between each, so the horse doesn't really have enough time to rest."
"..."
Ernest and Robert exchanged looks.
"Bereter."
The two boys said the traitor's name at the same time.
"What do we do?"
But that was as far as they got. Both Ernest and Robert had only one horse each.
"What if we borrow one?"
"Do you think anyone would lend us one?"
Horses are extremely expensive animals. Especially a well-trained horse fit to compete in a tournament like this—no amount of money can guarantee you'll find one. Bereter might be big, strong, and imposing, but they couldn't forget that his temperament was terrible and he wasn't properly trained. It wasn't that Robert just picked a flashy horse for show; it might have been the best his wealthy father could manage, all things considered.
"I'll try writing to my father and ask him to send us another horse," Robert said after thinking it over for a moment. But Ernest could only shake his head.
"Even if your father finds a horse and sends it as fast as possible, I doubt it would get here in time for the tournament. We need at least a bit of time to practice."
"Then our only option is to borrow one for now… But do you think we could manage with just Drek and Bereter?"
"Hmm…"
Ernest glared at the tournament rules.
First, there was a preliminary round. This is to ensure that participants have at least mastered the basics of horseback riding. All you have to do is ride the horse at a run or steer around simple obstacles.
However, once a cadet's horse has participated in this preliminary round, no other cadet can borrow it. Participating in the preliminary means you've already submitted your application form. Even if you try to borrow the horse of an eliminated cadet later, you can't go back and change the application.
The first event is the Obstacle Course. You have to go around the training ground, leaping over or weaving past the obstacles set up there. Not only does your time count, but touching or knocking over any of the obstacles—plus, even how impressively you clear them—all get factored into your score.
The second event is Mounted Shooting. While riding around the training ground, you have to shoot at the targets. But you can't use the Balt Gun or Balt Battery—instead, you're required to use a powder gun. You have to accurately hit the targets while galloping, handling both shooting and reloading on the move.
Scores from these two events are combined to pick the top ten.
Then comes the final event, the Race. Points earned in this final determine the overall ranking; since the race is weighted most heavily, the winner is almost always the one who takes first place in the race.
"If the first two events aren't too tough on the horse, I think Drek could handle them. Or maybe I could ride Bereter for the Obstacle Course, use Drek for the Mounted Shooting, and then switch back to Bereter for the last race," Ernest suggested.
Robert smacked his lips at the thought.
"I'll see if I can borrow a horse first. Ernest, check into those first two events for us. And if you spot a suitable horse while you're at it, see if you can borrow one, too."
"Alright. Thanks for handling it."
"What are you talking about? I was the one who volunteered in the first place."
Robert replied with a smile and left the room. For things like this, Robert—who was much more sociable than Ernest—would definitely have the advantage.
First, Ernest wrote down the names of Drek and Bereter on the application form, then left the form behind as he stepped out of the room.
"Have you seen Ferdinand?"
"If you mean Hartmann, he probably went to the meeting."
"Got it, thanks. Oh, by the way, are you entering the Silver Horseshoe Tournament?"
"Hm? Of course."
"Then, do you happen to have a spare horse?"
At Ernest's question, the cadet, picking up on the situation, grinned.
"Oh, Krieger. Sorry to break it to you, but hardly anyone brings three horses to the Military Academy, no matter who they are. Any horse worth borrowing has already been promised to someone else."
"Figures..."
"Then why didn't you do anything? That's not like you."
"I wasn't planning to participate in the first place, you know. Oh, and do you happen to know the details about the tournament?"
"I'm not exactly an expert either, but it'll be tough with just two horses."
"Ferdinand would know, right?"
"Who knows, maybe not. Wouldn't Wilfried know better?"
"Ah, right. Thanks."
Ernest headed over to Wilfried again. Fortunately, Wilfried was still in the room.
"Wilfried, are you entering the tournament too?"
Wilfried slowly blinked his blue eyes at the unexpected question, especially since Ernest hadn't handed him the application form.
"No, I'm not participating—and I won't be in the future either."
He had to help organize the tournament, so there was no way he could take part. Still, Wilfried didn't seem disappointed. That's because once he reached fourth year, he would be able to host the tournament under his own name.
"Then can I borrow a horse?"
"..."
Ernest spoke with such excitement that Wilfried found himself getting a bit annoyed for no real reason. But there was no need for Wilfried to be petty.
"Sorry, well, actually, I don't have anything to be sorry about. I've already lent my horse to someone else."
Wilfried's horse was considered the best among all the first-year cadets' horses. Naturally, it had already been promised to someone else even before the tournament schedule was announced. And Wilfried only owned one horse.
"I see..."
Ernest looked genuinely disappointed. Seeing this, Wilfried let out a barely audible sigh.
"You're planning to borrow Robert's horse for one of the events, right? That big, wild one."
"Oh, yeah. Bereter."
Wilfried had once wondered about Robert's character because he'd named his horse "Traitor," but he decided not to comment on it.
"In the first and last rounds, make sure you ride Bereter. The obstacle course doesn't put too much strain on the horse, but if it's too small, you or the horse could get seriously hurt trying to clear the barriers."
"Alright. Thanks. If I can't borrow another horse, I'll do that."
"Yeah, just make sure to fill out the application form and hand it in by the day after tomorrow, so there's no rush."
After giving Ernest his advice, Wilfried returned to his room, closed the door, and sat down at his desk. He had forced himself to appear calm in front of Ernest, but in truth, he was quite tense. The fatigue was so bad that his head was pounding.
Wilfried began once again to analyze and record the mock battles carried out by the other cadets. He was already busy, and the added burden of dealing with the minor tasks involved in running the Silver Horseshoe Tournament left him with no time to rest. But he thought, if not now, I might never get another chance. While the other cadets were distracted by the Silver Horseshoe Tournament, he needed to catch up as much as possible.
Wilfried was especially tenacious in analyzing Ernest's tactics. Ferdinand was excellent as well, of course, but his strategies were distinctively those of the Imperial Army. They stuck to the path to victory, but never produced surprises by introducing unexpected elements.
In contrast, Ernest's tactics were highly practical—he used everything available to him, and if necessary, he wasn't afraid to retreat. Through various experiences, Wilfried had concluded that studying Ernest's tactics would be more beneficial.
That was why Wilfried found himself getting nervous every time he saw Ernest. He couldn't help but feel like he was doing something rather underhanded.
"…I have to win."
Wilfried muttered this to himself, covering his eyes with a tired hand as he sat in silence. Then he picked up his quill and resumed writing. Under the white light created by the merging of Balt Lighting's blue rays and the yellow glow of candlelight, Wilfried sat alone in gloom, unlike the other cadets who were buzzing with excitement over the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
***
"Woohoo! We're doomed!"
"Calm down, Robert."
"······."
"Could you not calm down that suddenly? It's kind of unsettling…"
"We're finished, Ernest. Everyone else gets to compete in the tournament with three horses, and we have to make do with two."
In a voice that was neither too agitated nor too calm, Robert explained why they were in trouble. There were no more horses to borrow. The ones left were either sick or injured and could not participate in the tournament. All the healthy horses had already been reserved.
"I can't believe you're saying we're doomed before it's even started—you've never changed, not then and not now."
"Oh, then let me put it this way: I'm doomed. I can say that, right? There's nothing else I can do."
"All that's left now is up to your riding skills and our horses."
"You're the one who started this. Don't give up—help out."
"Well, I'll help, of course."
Robert, who had just been grumbling pessimistically, suddenly shrugged his shoulders with a bright attitude, as if his complaints had been a lie. He had no intention of just standing by and watching, either.
"Borrowing from the senior students is even harder. They say they're even more fired up than we are."
"We're not particularly fired up, though."
"Oh, Teacher Ernest, that's a lie. If it meant winning a Silver Horseshoe for your father, you'd probably point your gun at another cadet, not just at the target!"
"No matter what, I'm not that crazy."
"No, really. If we just shot all the other cadets and made them forfeit, wouldn't we win?"
"It's a powder gun. While you're reloading, you'd either get overpowered or shot yourself."
"······."
Realizing that Ernest was giving the idea a bit too much serious thought, Robert shivered and took a step back from him.
Was he actually thinking it might work if he used the Balt Gun?
"We'll just have to do our best with Drek and Bereter."
"Yeah. …When you say 'do our best,' you mean in the race or something like that, right?"
"Of course. What else would I mean?"
"You're not going to shoot anyone, are you?"
"Are you insane? Do you really think I'd shoot someone at a competition?"
"…Yeah."
"I'm telling you, absolutely not! Never!"
However, Ernest was secretly thinking, "It would be easier if this were a duel." Maybe that was why his denial came out a bit too strongly.
It's actually harder to hit a moving target while riding than it is to hit a stationary one. For Ernest, who was confident both in marksmanship and horsemanship, the tougher the Mounted Shooting Competition, the more advantageous it was for him.
Of course, he could always change the bullets so no one would die if he had to...
"He's seriously thinking about shooting someone!"
"I'm not!"
When Ernest began to seriously ponder, Robert recoiled in horror.
Vehemently denying Robert's shock, Ernest decided he'd better practice some more with Bereter first.
To get straight to the point, although Bereter generally obeyed Ernest's commands, it was obvious to anyone that entering him in the Obstacle Course was out of the question.
This ill-tempered horse would approach the obstacle as instructed by Ernest, then, as if insulted by anything daring to block his path, lash out with his front hooves and knock everything aside before charging forward with tremendous swagger.
"If only this weren't the Obstacle Course, it would actually be great."
"Yeah, I know. He really does look impressive though."
Bereter, as if reveling in his own magnificence, lifted his legs extra high and strutted with pride. With his long neck and legs, solid muscles, and a mane flowing in the wind—he was truly a horse that could set a man's heart ablaze.
But in the Obstacle Course, you don't score points for having a horse that dramatically knocks down every hurdle in its way. You only earn points for clearing obstacles gracefully, not demolishing them.
Bereter didn't destroy every obstacle in his path, though. When he came across one that was clearly impossible to knock over, he would simply jump it. But obstacles like that are almost never used in the race, since both horse and rider could be seriously injured if things went wrong.
Like people, horses come in all temperaments. Bereter was never meant to be a gentleman's riding horse; he just didn't have that docile disposition. But as a warhorse, he was the absolute best—fearless to the core, and clever to boot.
"Bereter's…just not going to make it."
"Now can I say I told you so"
"Go ahead, say it."
"We're screwed!"
With Ernest's permission, Robert cried out in defeat. At this point, it was fair to say they were doomed. Because of Bereter, Ernest was bound to end up with the lowest score in the Obstacle Course, so there was no way he'd make it into the top ten who'd qualify for the final race.
"Krieger won't even get the chance to start."
"Yeah, unfortunately."
The other cadets practicing for the tournament at the Training Ground looked at Ernest and Robert with sympathy. Still, deep down, they were relieved that such a strong competitor had run into trouble.
"Are these the highest obstacles we'll face?"
"Probably."
"Hmm… Alright. Drek."
Ernest jumped lightly down from Bereter's back—the horse was basking in his own triumph, having knocked over every obstacle, thrilled with how impressive he was. Then, Ernest called for Drek, who had been quietly standing beside Robert, gazing longingly at Robert as he sat atop another horse, his gentle eyes fixed on him.
Unlike his usual calm demeanor, Drek hurried over to Ernest, yet all he did was gently bump Ernest's chest with his head and carefully rest his neck on Ernest's shoulder.
"Yeah, Drek. I know. I get it, alright."
Ernest soothed Drek, gently stroking the horse's neck, then swung himself up with ease onto Drek's back.
"Drek's small. It'll be dangerous."
Robert spoke up, his voice tense.
The Silver Horseshoe Tournament was meant for young cadets, but that didn't mean it was child's play. It was plenty challenging.
Most cadets at the Imperial Military Academy owned large, impressive horses. By third year, they themselves had grown tall and sturdy too. For a first- or second-year cadet to place high enough to make it to the final race of the Silver Horseshoe Tournament was no easy feat.
"I'm just going to take it easy. Nice and easy."
Ernest spoke quietly, then, noticing the servant resetting the obstacles, he whispered,
"Let's go, Drek."
He didn't strike Drek's hindquarters with a whip or dig at his sides with spurs. While other cadets wore flashy boots adorned with gold-plated or gem-studded spurs, Ernest's boots didn't have spurs at all.
Yet, with only that quiet whisper, and the subtlest movements from Ernest in the saddle, Drek knew exactly what Ernest wanted from him.
"Whoa...!"
Robert exclaimed in awe. For the first time today, he saw Ernest truly ride Drek at full speed.
Drek was a gelding with a small build. Yet as Drek ran in perfect harmony with Ernest, his stride was remarkably light and spirited.
It wasn't just that he was fast and strong. Everything about him seemed right—and at the same time, wonderfully free—like the wind racing across the Field.
"Whoa!"
Those who had been secretly watching Ernest, pretending not to be interested, now couldn't help but voice their admiration.
Drek, despite his small frame, leaped nimbly over high obstacles—something almost unbelievable to witness. His speed hardly dropped at all.
Drek never jumped higher than necessary. He soared just high enough to clear each obstacle without snagging his hooves. Only a horse that was extremely well-trained could do such a thing.
"He's not actually that fast."
"But… isn't he amazing?"
Because of his smaller frame, Drek inevitably ran slower than the bigger, stronger horses. Even so, his agile sprinting made him look far faster than he really was.
Unlike tall, heavy horses that had to slow down and leap carefully to avoid injuring their legs on the jumps, Drek was small and light, so he raced forward without hesitation, his legs moving quickly as he jumped.
"Drek, take it easy."
After clearing a few obstacles, Ernest stroked Drek's neck and whispered to him. This wasn't the pace Ernest had intended. It seemed Drek was jealous after seeing Ernest ride Bereter. Drek wasn't particularly excited, yet he trotted in place, shaking his head as if to protest: How could you ride another horse when I can do so well?
Ernest soothed Drek and returned to Robert.
"I think I'll enter the Obstacle Course with Drek."
"Oh! That's perfect! He's amazing at jumping!"
"There's that, but also, I think Drek would get sulky otherwise."
"Wow! Drek is the best! I knew it—there's no one for Ernest but Drek!"
Robert kept showering Drek with praise to make sure he didn't get jealous. Even the usually calm Drek bounced around happily at Robert's compliments. Drek could more or less understand people and was clever enough to pick up on the mood.
Bereter, on the other hand, completely turned away from Drek. Bereter also knew full well this was a competition for jumping over obstacles—he could tell because everyone was doing it. Bereter was a very smart horse, but he was so clever that he had a stubborn streak all his own. Another problem is that he's got such a nasty temper—he simply can't stand anything getting in his way.
In other words, the final event, where all you have to do is run hard and overtake the rest, suits Bereter perfectly.
This hot-blooded stallion is far too tough to just let another horse run ahead of him.
"Ernest! You're going to be the first first-year to win the Silver Horseshoe Tournament!" Robert exclaimed.
"Robert, we haven't even started yet," Ernest replied.
Ernest calmly tried to rein in Robert, who was getting even more worked up than he was.
"So you can give your father the Silver Horseshoe as a present!"
"Yes! I'll definitely give it to him!" Ernest replied just as enthusiastically as Robert.
He wanted to win as soon as possible and give the Silver Horseshoe to his father.
But Ernest had yet to receive a reply from Haires about their outing plans, even though it had been over ten days since he'd sent his letter.
Was Haires away from Grimman again this time, off somewhere else? It would be a relief if this was just a trip and not something serious.
Ernest thought about his father for a moment, then recalled the content of their previous letters, letting the small worry that had crept into his heart drift away. Everything will be fine.