Chapter 34 - The Daffodil Blooming Beneath the Hooves (4)
In the end, Ernest decided to enter the Silver Horseshoe Tournament with only Drek and Bereter.
Even after confirming this on Ernest's application form, Wilfried didn't say much.
Wilfried gathered all the applications and headed for the fourth-year dormitory.
"Are you going to see Ravid or Engel?"
"Yes, senior. The first-year registration is closed, so I'm delivering them now."
"If it's Engel, he's probably at the training ground, busy preparing for the tournament. Shall I deliver it for you?"
"No, that's all right. This is my responsibility, so I'll wait a little."
"Alright, as you wish."
Wilfried politely declined his senior's offer. The fourth-year cadet walked away with a smile, but Wilfried could sense the tinge of disappointment in his eyes.
Guys who would leap at the chance to do even the smallest favor for the Duke's son, Ravid, were everywhere you looked.
Wilfried had to be extremely careful in how he responded to the senior cadets who tried to curry favor with him.
Right now, his status as the Duke's son gave him power, but as time passed, more and more people would discover his true circumstances. Wilfried needed to maintain good relationships with those around him while also achieving great results, in preparation for when that time came
Wilfried stood quietly in the hallway, a stack of parchment application forms tucked under his left arm, waiting for Gustav. His arm began to ache from holding so many sheets of parchment, but he didn't show any sign of discomfort.
Standing there so still, Wilfried looked like an angel crafted by God with special care. Amid the big, sturdy fourth-year cadets, Wilfried's small and delicate frame, combined with his striking beauty, seemed almost unreal.
Since everyone already knew Wilfried was the fourth son of Duke Ravid, they all greeted him politely as they passed, and Wilfried returned each greeting with a gentle smile.
"Ravid. Sorry to keep you waiting. Have you been here long?"
After a long wait, Gustav finally approached Wilfried with quick steps. Gustav was truly busy—so busy, in fact, that his light brown hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to his forehead. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
"No, I haven't been waiting long at all,"
Wilfried replied with a smile, even though he actually had been waiting quite a while.
"Let me have those. You've worked hard."
Gustav took the pile of application forms from Wilfried's arms. As the tall, broad-shouldered Gustav strode over to him, Wilfried couldn't help feeling a bit nervous.
He wished he would grow taller soon; he still felt far too small and fragile. He might not be as tall as Ferdinand, but he wished he could at least be like Ernest.
Thinking this, Wilfried realized he was wishing for too much. Even though Ernest looked slim, he was actually one of the strongest in the first-year class.
"…Ravid, if it's not too much trouble, could you help me a bit more?"
Gustav, after quietly observing Wilfried for a moment, asked for help with a somewhat peculiar expression.
"Of course, as much as you need."
Wilfried answered with a very mature smile. Gustav popped back into the room for a moment to drop off the first-year application forms, then took Wilfried along to continue preparations for the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
Before long, Wilfried became so absorbed in the whirlwind of tasks that he didn't have the presence of mind to think about anything else.
To be honest, Wilfried wasn't much help to Gustav. Gustav had experience assisting with the Silver Horseshoe Tournament three times already, from his first through third years. All Wilfried really did was carry documents or relay brief messages.
"Ravid, would you care for some tea?"
"Oh, yes."
After wrapping up most of the day's work, Gustav offered Wilfried some tea. Wilfried, thoroughly exhausted, just wanted to get back and rest. Of course, as soon as he got to his room, he would be back to analyzing his rivals' tactics.
Seeming completely unaware of Wilfried's anxious mindset, Gustav borrowed a small room and ordered a servant to bring them tea.
"You may go."
"Yes."
As an awkward silence filled the room, the servant brought in the tea, and Gustav dismissed him. Now only Gustav and Wilfried remained.
Gustav poured the tea himself. Wilfried flinched in surprise, but when Gustav looked at him quietly with his green eyes, Wilfried sat back down and waited patiently.
"Take your time drinking it."
"Yes, thank you."
Wilfried drank the tea Gustav had poured for him, his posture as perfect as if it had been drawn. Gustav also took a sip, and silence once again settled over the room.
"..."
Wilfried found the situation rather uncomfortable. He was a boy who could read the room very well. Gustav was acting as though he was about to say something important but remained completely silent. Wilfried, waiting for Gustav to speak, couldn't bring himself to say anything first.
As time passed, their tea cups slowly emptied, and just as Wilfried was starting to sense that something was definitely up, Gustav finally spoke.
"Ravid. It's good to work hard, but you mustn't lose your composure."
"..."
Wilfried looked as though he'd been stabbed in the lungs.
"If you lose your composure, you end up acting blindly. And when you act blindly, mistakes follow."
Gustav set down his teacup and looked quietly at Wilfried.
"I understand how you feel. After all, once I graduate, I'll also have to live as a soldier rather than as a count's son."
A gentle smile appeared on Gustav's tired face. In truth, all the cadets who became leaders of the Noble Faction shared the same problem. If they stood to inherit their family or even a small territory, they wouldn't have entered the Military Academy in the first place. Most of the noble cadets at the academy had little or nothing to inherit from their families.
Even as the second son of a count, Gustav had no choice but to become a soldier—just like Wilfried, the fourth son of a duke.
"I won't tell you to take it easy. But I will say this: don't wreck things by overdoing it."
"That's…"
"It's already late, so you should head back. Ending the day well is how you find strength to rise in the morning."
Wilfried realized that this seemingly meaningless time had actually been Gustav's way of giving him a chance to rest.
He couldn't meet Gustav's gaze directly. Somehow, he felt a little embarrassed—but unlike when Ernest had called out his weaknesses, he didn't feel any unpleasantness.
Perhaps it was because Gustav was in the same position as Wilfried, a predecessor who had faced the very same concerns before him.
"Thank you"
"Well, I just repeated what my senior once told me."
Gustav let out a quiet laugh. He, too, had once received the same advice from an upperclassman during his own first year. This was almost like a silent tradition, quietly passed down among the leaders of the Noble Faction. After all, in every other place, they could never show weakness—so the only people they could truly be themselves around were senior students who had faced the same situations before them.
Wilfried bowed politely to Gustav and then left the room. Returning to the First-Year Dormitory, he paused halfway up the dim staircase to gather his thoughts for a moment.
"For now…"
Wilfried murmured softly to himself.
"I need to first see the Silver Horseshoe Tournament through to the end."
He realized he had been trying to take on more than he was capable of. Sorting out his priorities, he decided to focus on running the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
With just that, the suffocating tightness in his chest eased a little, leaving enough room for a breath of air to pass through. Smiling faintly, Wilfried climbed the stairs toward the hallway where the still-young and immature first-year cadets ran around making a racket.
"They're holding the Preliminary Matches for the Silver Horseshoe Tournament today, right?"
The Silver Horseshoe Tournament attracted the attention not only of the cadets but also of the instructors, the Disciplinary Officers, and even Headmaster Armin himself. It was only natural that Thomas would ask about it with interest.
"Yes!"
The first-year cadets, excited by the tournament, responded with enthusiasm.
At their reaction, Thomas gave a warmly pleasant smile. Because of the burn scars curling his lips upward, his expression looked unusually gentle today.
"This is a special occasion. Today's Mock Battle Training will be cut a bit short so it finishes by noon. I'll give you plenty of time to rest before the Preliminary Matches."
Thomas spoke as if he were doing them a great favor, grinning as he did so.
"..."
However, instead of cheering, the first-year cadets only clammed up and glanced at each other uneasily, like they had their mouths glued shut.
After all, today's Military Science class had been scheduled for the morning anyway, and it wasn't Mock Battle Training, but rather Mock Combat that had originally been planned.
"What's this? Don't like the arrangement? Should we extend it until the evening, then?"
"No, sir! Thank you, sir!"
"Good. Hurry up, get yourselves ready, and get moving."
With his hands clasped behind his back and a bright grin on his face, Thomas walked out of the lecture hall.
Seeing the faces of the excitable first-year rookies fall flat in disappointment over the upcoming Preliminary Matches made it impossible for him to hold back a chuckle.
"…What a bastard."
Someone muttered a terribly disrespectful insult about Senior Instructor Captain Thomas Kohler of the Imperial Military Academy—a man they were supposed to admire—but no one called them out for it. After all, they all felt the same way.
After spending the morning sprinting across fields and through forests in their mock battle, and then fighting off relentless drowsiness during their afternoon Empire history lecture, the first-year cadets somehow couldn't quite grasp that today was actually the day of the Silver Horseshoe Tournament's Preliminary Matches.
"Whoa… There are so many people…"
But the moment they saw the throngs of people and horses bustling around the stable, everyone snapped wide awake. Unless they had a specific reason not to, every cadet wanted to take part in the Silver Horseshoe Tournament. In other words, just the number of cadets participating in today's Preliminary Matches easily exceeded a hundred and fifty. And every single one brought their own massive horse. The chaos was overwhelming.
"Are you sure this'll be okay? Really? Isn't Drek just too small?"
"It's only natural he looks small compared to the other horses. But for us, Drek is plenty big enough."
Robert felt intimidated by the upperclassmen's imposing builds and their huge horses. But Ernest didn't pay it any mind. A horse isn't necessarily better just because it's big and strong. Drek was a clever horse with a great personality, and the perfect size for Ernest, who was still young, to handle.
Ernest led Drek out of the stable and headed to the training ground like the other cadets. The training field was already lined with obstacles, carefully arranged by the hardworking servants.
"First-years, over this way."
Wilfried gathered the first-year cadets together. After checking their application forms and handing each cadet a number tag, he spoke in a clear, bright voice.
"All you have to do is come forward in numerical order, mount your horse, and ride the course. This Preliminary Match is mainly to prevent the kinds of accidents that could happen in the main event, so it's not too difficult. But we'll be focusing on how well you can control your horse. Even if you're fast and clear the obstacles smoothly, if you lose control of your horse at any point, you'll be eliminated right away."
The main tournament consists of three events: the Obstacle Course, Mounted Shooting, and the full-speed Race. All three are events where a serious accident could happen. If you fall off at the wrong moment, you could lose your life. If someone who can't control their horse slips through the Preliminaries and makes it to the main event, and there's a fatal accident, it would be no laughing matter.
"Of course, you'll also be evaluated during the Preliminaries. For each year, only up to ten people can advance to the main event. If fewer than ten meet the standard, then only those who qualify will move on."
So, even in the Preliminary Matches, cadets are filtered based on performance. Otherwise, with over a hundred and fifty cadets, everyone would have to compete, and there'd be no way to finish in a day or two.
The first-year cadets, joining the Silver Horseshoe Tournament for the first time this year, looked around at one another, nerves tightening. Only ten from here could make it to the main event. In a way, these Preliminaries were even more fierce than the main tournament. In the main events, at least you get two chances. In the Preliminaries, even a small mistake could knock you out of contention before you have a shot at the finals, leaving you no choice but to swallow your disappointment.
"The scores from the Preliminary Match won't count toward the main event. So, just because you pass the preliminaries with a high score doesn't mean you can let your guard down, and if your score is low, there's no need to be discouraged. Now, we're about to get started—any questions?"
After finishing his explanation, Wilfried looked around at the first-year cadets. The senior students, who already knew everything, had started their preliminary matches long ago.
"Alright. Number one, step forward."
The first-year cadets' Preliminary Match began.
Ernest was number 49, meaning he would go last—a rather distinguished spot. He hadn't planned on entering the tournament at all, and because he'd wasted time searching for a horse, he ended up submitting his application form at the very last minute.
The first cadet stepped forward, visibly tense as he mounted his horse. He hooked the reins onto a peg and set off, slowly following the course laid out with ropes fixed to the ground.
"Hmm…"
Watching as the first-year cadets simply circled in place a few times before setting off, and seeing the course included only a few very low obstacles to jump or avoid, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It really didn't seem difficult.
"W-wait!"
But then, just as things seemed to be going smoothly, the cadet's horse suddenly stopped and backed away. It wasn't that the obstacle was too high—it didn't even reach the cadet's knees. The horse balked because the rider, tense with nerves, couldn't guide it forward.
Right now, the training ground was filled not only with participants but also with cadets helping to run the event, and spectators as well. In fact, almost all the cadets were out at the training grounds. There were also over a hundred and fifty horses present.
Naturally, it was noisy and crowded. For sensitive and skittish horses, it was no surprise if they became startled.
The first-year cadet who went out first whipped the horse on the hindquarters and spurred it on. But although the horse seemed about to surge forward, it stopped again and backed away.
"Enough! Dismount and come back!"
Watching this, Wilfried stopped the Preliminary Match.
"No! I can still do it!"
"Get off the horse right now!"
As the first cadet protested to Wilfried in frustration, a fourth-year cadet shouted in a booming voice. Startled, the first-year quickly dismounted. He tried to lead his horse off the course, looking intimidated, but the already agitated horse refused to obey its owner.
"Why—why won't you listen?"
"Let go of the reins and step back!"
Even as the horse tossed its head in agitation, the first-year cadet stubbornly held onto the reins and, instead, tried to pull the horse along. Seeing this, the fourth-year cadet ordered him to let go of the reins and back away, then dashed over and swiftly pulled the first-year away from the horse.
Huff! Huff!
The horse circled around the center of the course, and once it finally calmed down, it heaved rough breaths and trudged back to its owner with a subdued gait. With its head hanging low, it kept glancing sideways, as if it knew perfectly well it had messed up.
Things had gone off the rails right from the start. Watching the tense first-year cadets, the fourth-year cadet who had just handled the situation spoke in a calm voice.
"If you make even a single mistake, you're as good as eliminated in the preliminaries, so don't push your horse too hard, and pull back if necessary. Otherwise, you could fall and seriously injure yourself."
"Yes."
The fourth-year cadet stifled a sigh. Even if they all replied obediently, he knew that, driven by competitiveness, more of them would turn stubborn and refuse to give up.
He understood that they wanted to show off the fine horses their families had bred, but for these first-year boys, whose bodies hadn't finished growing, such large horses were just too dangerous. Admittedly, when these fourth-years were in their first year, they too had brought the biggest and most impressive horses they could find.
The first-year cadets, tense and on edge, competed in the preliminary match—but, unfortunately, far fewer of them completed the course safely and without incident than anyone expected.
"It's Hartmann."
"Hartmann! Show us what you can do!"
And when the first-year preliminary match was about halfway done, it was finally Ferdinand's turn.
Ferdinand nimbly mounted his large black horse. Thanks to his height—which already matched that of the senior students—he looked every bit a dignified knight astride his steed, a stark contrast to how the other first-years seemed like little boys perched awkwardly on their horses.
"Begin when you're ready."
Seeing this, Wilfried spoke with a slightly relieved and gentler tone. The fourth-year cadet in charge, who had also been tense and hyper-focused to prevent accidents, finally relaxed a little as well. No one expected Ferdinand to make a mistake.
"Let's go, Obsi," Ferdinand said in a low voice to his horse, Obsidian—Obsi for short—before urging him forward and breaking into a run.
Unlike the other cadets, Ferdinand didn't walk slowly along the course—he immediately picked up speed. Riding smoothly in sync with Obsi's galloping rhythm, Ferdinand looked perfectly steady, and Obsi raced forward quickly and confidently, showing no signs of nervousness.
"Wow, that's impressive."
"As expected from Hartmann."
The others watched in amazement. Ferdinand really was not lacking in any way, even compared to the fourth-years. He cleared and dodged the obstacles in a flash, completing the course with a time that surpassed even most of the seniors.
"Woooow!"
Clap, clap, clap!
Everyone applauded as Ferdinand finished the lap and returned. The tense atmosphere among the first-years, strained by a string of mistakes and disqualifications, eased a little. Thanks to him, mistakes sharply decreased from then on.
By the time it was finally Ernest's turn at the very end, fewer than twenty first-years had met the qualifying time for the preliminary round—a strikingly low number compared to the older students, most of whom passed with ease.
"All right, number 49, Ernest Krieger."
At last, Ernest's long-awaited turn had arrived. Ernest led Drek forward.
"Wow, he really is small when you see him up close."
Drek was easily the smallest horse among all those at the Imperial Military Academy, a place where boys from noble families gathered. But no one dared look down on Ernest or Drek—they had all seen them running through the training ground during practice.
"Start whenever you're ready."
"I'm starting now."
As soon as Wilfried finished speaking, Ernest replied and nimbly mounted Drek's back. The moment Ernest put his foot in the stirrup, Drek began to run.
"Wait—!"
A startled fourth-year cadet tried to stop him. Seeing Drek take off before Ernest had given a command, the cadet naturally assumed something must have gone wrong. Now that he looked again, Ernest didn't even have a whip or spurs!
But his worries quickly proved unfounded—Ernest and Drek seemed to move as one, running fluidly and gracefully through the course.
"Wow..."
When Ferdinand had ridden Obsi, the crowd erupted in cheers, but as Ernest rode Drek, the mood shifted; a gentle murmur of awe quietly spread among those watching.
By now, the sun had set and darkness had descended on the training ground, making the ropes marking the course hard to see. Even the obstacles could be easily missed in these conditions. But Drek, racing through the course, showed not the slightest hesitation.
Drek knew exactly what he needed to do and simply focused on that, nothing else. Ernest would be the one to guide Drek through the course, telling him exactly what he needed to know. Even the slightest movement of their bodies in contact was enough for Drek to sense it.
And Ernest was a Flag Bearer who could let Drek run freely, the way he was born to run. Drek ran as if he were completely alone—utterly free. But because everything was under Ernest and Drek's mutual control, what looked like recklessness was, in fact, pure freedom.
Drek leapt over the low obstacles, barely clearing them as though he was dragging his hooves; it seemed as if the tips might have brushed the top. Naturally, he did not lose any speed. Then, when they approached the obstacles that had to be avoided, Drek quickly maneuvered with swift, nimble steps and passed them in an instant. With less weight to carry, his movements could be that agile.
While everyone watched, completely captivated, before they knew it, Ernest and Drek had circled the entire course and returned to their starting point.
Clap. Clap. Clap. ...Clap, clap, clap!
As someone began to applaud, the cadets snapped out of their daze and joined in, giving their applause as well. It truly looked like a run straight out of a painting. A run—that was the right word. It really was a run. How could someone move so lightly, even on a course full of obstacles?
"That's a new record."
As expected, the top score in the first-year preliminaries went to Ernest and Drek.
"How do you ride so well?"
"Wow… even a small horse can be that fast."
The first-year cadets, now snapping out of their awe, started praising Ernest. If the gap between them had been within a reasonable range, maybe they'd have been jealous, but what they had just witnessed was so far beyond them that all they could do was admire him.
"I wish horsemanship counted toward our grades."
"Well, only those barbaric Alliance Army guys still use horses for combat now anyway."
The other cadets seemed even more disappointed than Ernest that horsemanship wasn't part of the Military Academy's evaluation system—that's how impressive Ernest and Drek's run had been.
Of course, Ernest easily made it through the preliminaries. He was the indisputable first place qualifier.
Coming in right behind him in second place was Ferdinand. And the cadet who ranked just after those two in third had a score that looked pitiful in comparison.
"Looks like a first-year might actually make it to the finals this year."
"Maybe both of them will."
"That's possible. I knew Hartmann was good, but I had no idea Krieger could ride like that."
"Part of it's because they're riding horses that suit their build, but honestly, their horsemanship is just on another level"
Because so many problems cropped up during the first-year preliminary matches, progress was slow. As a result, the senior students who had raced earlier were able to watch Ernest run in the final preliminary of the day.
"Well done. Great job, everyone. Get some good rest, because tomorrow the main tournament begins with the Obstacle Course."
Wilfried was content that the preliminaries had gone off without any major issues, and with a satisfied smile, he declared the day over and dismissed everyone. From tomorrow on, the main tournament would be led by the senior students, so Wilfried's responsibilities and duties would decrease.
"Ernest! You're going to be the first first-year champion ever!"
"We haven't even started the main tournament yet. Calm down."
"We're going to pull this off!"
"I said calm down."
Robert seemed even more excited than Ernest and couldn't contain himself.
"Drek! You were amazing! Let's just do what we did today! See? Drek really is the best! Way better than a troublemaker like Bereter!"
Drek seemed happy with Robert's praise. After all, whenever Ernest had to ride Bereter, Drek would stare at him with those sad, moist eyes, watching him endlessly. Of course, Ernest was happy to have made it to the main tournament.
"······."
"······S-sorry···."
But when he returned to the dormitory after taking Drek to the stable, his heart nearly stopped at the sight of Marie standing motionless in front of his door, hanging her head. If he hadn't been taking the tonic, his heart might have really given out.
"······."
Marie looked up quietly at Ernest, her face pale. Ernest hesitated for a moment, then gave her an awkward smile.
"There were preliminary matches for the Silver Horseshoe Tournament today. So, because of that······."
"Did you forget about me?
"······Yeah···."
At this moment, Marie's voice matched her expression perfectly. Like her face, her voice was cold and sharp.
"I-if you want, would you like to come watch the tournament? The main events start tomorrow and go on for three days."
Ernest spoke hurriedly. Marie stared at him without blinking, then, very slowly, nodded her head.
"Okay."
Thankfully, her reply was calm and steady.
"Alright, good job today, Marie. Stay strong tomorrow too."
Greatly relieved, Ernest encouraged Marie more warmly than usual. At that, Marie finally blinked.
After a brief silence, Marie whispered softly,
"You too, Ernest. Do your best."
Then, with a terrifying confidence, as if she might tear someone apart at any moment, Marie strode proudly across the hallway and disappeared.
"It's true—you should have told her in advance."
"Be quiet."
Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Ernest replied to Robert's accurate comment with irritation, then went into his room.
He had no idea how to deal with this strange relationship.
For now, it was best to focus on the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
That was the only way he could give his father the Silver Horseshoe.