Chapter 35 - The Daffodil Blooming Beneath the Hooves (5)
The day after the preliminary match, all the cadets were buzzing with excitement from early morning. After all, the main competition would begin today.
"You're entering the tournament, right? Don't be nervous—give it your best shot."
"Yes, sir."
Even the Disciplinary Officer and the Instructor offered encouragement to the cadets who had advanced to the main round. Luckily, there was no lecture from Thomas today, so there was nothing physically demanding to worry about.
"During the tournament period, we'll only have indoor classes and mock combat, so don't worry too much."
"Yes!"
All the first-year cadets responded with cheerful enthusiasm to Norman, who had stepped in for Thomas to teach Military Science. By now, there wasn't a single first-year who didn't know Thomas was a Mad Dog.
"How are you feeling today? You're not nervous, are you?"
"I'm totally fine. Why are you more nervous than I am?"
"Of course I'm nervous! Why aren't you nervous?"
Robert stared at Ernest as if he couldn't understand how calm he was. On the other hand, Ernest found it strange how nervous Robert seemed. After all, he wasn't even competing in the tournament himself.
"Krieger, do your best. Don't make any mistakes."
"Shouldn't you be more worried about the safety of the other cadets than about whether Krieger will mess up?"
"Why?"
"What if he sets traps to attack the other cadets just to win? Especially since in the second match, they're even giving us guns."
"Hmm... That actually makes sense."
"What do you mean, it makes sense? I'm remembering this. I'll see you in the next mock battle training."
"Krieger's going to kill us!"
While he was still a bit different from the rest, Ernest had mostly blended in among the first-year cadets, and people said things to him that could be taken as encouragement or as criticism—it was hard to tell which. To them, Ernest's playful warning may have been just a joke, but to those hearing it, it might as well have been a death sentence. Who could predict what kind of traps that lunatic might set? And besides, Ernest was exceptional in close quarters combat, too. Pretending to make a mistake and breaking someone's arm or leg was nothing for him.
In any case, cheered on by those who'd been eliminated in the preliminaries, Ernest—just like the other cadets—headed to the Training Ground Turned Arena with Drek as soon as the afternoon free time began. Unlike the preliminaries, the officers had all come out to watch the main tournament and taken their seats. Even Headmaster Armin, Cadet Commander Gauss, and Chief of Faculty Division Kramer were present.
Although the Silver Horseshoe Tournament was run by the cadets, it was almost like an official event of the Imperial Military Academy. The only Baltracher cadet who didn't attend the tournament was Fiders.
"..."
But today, even Fiders was here. Marie was trying to spot Ernest among the passing crowd from under a tree just outside the training ground. However, Marie was too short, and both Ernest and Drek were small compared to the upperclassmen, so she simply couldn't find him. In the end, Marie crouched down beside the tree and decided to wait there until it was Ernest's turn.
"Marie Fiders."
"Yes!"
While she was crouched under the shade of the tree, staring at the ground, a familiar voice called out to her. Startled, Marie bounced up and answered firmly. It was Captain Max Grimm, instructor of the Baltracher Special Training Division, who sighed quietly with a slightly furrowed brow.
"What are you doing here?"
"…I came to watch the Silver Horseshoe Tournament."
Marie hesitated for a moment, but responded honestly without lying. Max looked her up and down and then, with a hint of irritation, spoke.
"You are a cadet of the glorious Imperial Military Academy. Don't sit around out here looking so pitiful—go up front and watch. That's your rightful privilege."
Marie's eyes widened in surprise at Max's words. As she looked past Max toward the arena, she spotted a few officers sitting among the seats quietly watching her. Among them, Headmaster Armin Mannheim was wearing a particularly warm, gentle smile.
Even if Max had acknowledged Marie's abilities, there was no real reason for him to come and personally urge her to stand proudly at the front. The truth was that Headmaster Armin Mannheim had chuckled and asked, "Why is that cadet hiding over there like that?" prompting Max—like a hunting dog leaping to obey its master's command—to swiftly dart out in response. Cold sweat broke out on Max's forehead for no real reason.
"Yes, sir…!"
Unlike her usual demeanor, Marie answered in a trembling voice, rebuffed by fear, then sheepishly made her way into the arena. No matter how aggressively and sharply she usually carried herself, the moment she caught Headmaster Armin's gaze, she would turn into a frightened little kitten.
As Marie Fiders carefully entered the arena, many boys from noble families frowned in displeasure.
"Marie Fiders! Over here!"
At that moment, Wilfried—the duke's fourth son and head of the first-year noble faction—quickly called out to her. After glancing around to judge the mood, Marie headed over to Wilfried.
"That's where the first-years sit. Go over there."
Wilfried whispered hurriedly and sent Marie over to the first-years. As Marie approached, the first-year cadets quietly edged away and made room for her. They knew just how aggressive Marie could be and that she had come for Ernest.
"Robert."
"No."
"Robert. You don't have a choice."
"I-I said no! You jerks!"
Robert resisted fiercely, but with every first-year cadet desperate to avoid associating with Marie, he had no way to withstand them all pushing him from behind. In the end, Robert was forced to stand next to Marie.
"...Uh, hi..."
"..."
"Ernest's turn is coming up later... so, uh, we might have to wait a bit..."
"..."
"..."
Robert wanted to cry.
"Well done, Ravid."
"Nah, it was just... the atmosphere, you know."
Gustav grinned broadly, complimenting Wilfried. Wilfried shook his head with a faint smile, but it was certainly praiseworthy how he'd handled the situation. With the senior students busy preparing for the tournament, Headmaster Armin himself had been watching as Instructor Max called Marie into the arena, and Wilfried's quick response was exactly what was needed.
Armin gave his approval, so Max called Marie into the arena. However, if any cadets who didn't understand the situation behaved inappropriately toward her, there could be some serious consequences.
The fact that Wilfried, the Duke's son, personally called Marie over also helped. No matter what anyone said, the status of being the Duke's son held immense power. Even those who disliked Marie stopped paying attention to her the moment Wilfried summoned her, as if nothing had happened.
Gustav gave Wilfried a friendly punch on the shoulder and marched forward to begin the tournament.
Wilfried felt as if he'd gained an older brother. Not a brother in name only, like Ravid, whose blood he shared but whom he despised, but someone he could truly trust and rely on.
"Now, the Silver Horseshoe Tournament will begin!"
Gustav shouted in a booming voice. The once-noisy arena instantly fell silent. Among officer cadets trained at the Military Academy, there wasn't a single fool who would chatter at a time like this.
"Since the founding of the Imperial Military Academy, the Silver Horseshoe Tournament has been a cherished tradition, held every single year without fail."
Thanks to the quiet, Gustav was able to continue with a much calmer tone than before.
"Just as our predecessors claimed glory, you must also do your best to showcase your valor and seize glory for yourselves."
Gustav spoke with a presence so commanding that he barely seemed like a cadet at all. He appeared every bit the dignified officer. It was only natural—he had led others as the leader of the Noble Faction from his first year up through all four years.
"But let me caution you: don't let your thirst for glory cloud your judgment and lead you to reckless bravado. The honor of the Silver Horseshoe shines brilliantly, but it is never worth risking the life of an officer cadet destined to become one of the Empire's distinguished officers."
Gustav added in a stern voice.
Equestrian tournaments are far more dangerous than one might expect. Especially in competitions like the Silver Horseshoe Tournament, where various skills are tested, the likelihood of accidents is high—and naturally, so is the rate of casualties.
At the Silver Horseshoe Tournament, it's not uncommon for someone to die after acting recklessly out of excessive competitiveness. If you're injured and survive, you can be treated by Baltracher, but if you're trampled or struck by a racing horse and die instantly, that's the end of it. And those bodies are never a sight anyone wants to see. Besides doing your best to restore the remains and send them back to the family, there's nothing more you can do.
"Be careful not to get hurt, and compete with honor. The Silver Horseshoe Tournament begins now."
With Gustav's announcement, the Silver Horseshoe Tournament finally began, and everyone applauded.
At a typical noble society equestrian event, if someone loses their life, most people simply find it unfortunate and move on, seeing it as fate. But when a fatal accident occurs at the Imperial Military Academy, the weight of it is on another level, because this is a military institution.
Thanks to Gustav's repeated warnings, the cadets were on high alert.
Even so, accidents happened every year, which just proved how hard it was to rein in the wild spirit of these young cadets.
In truth, the very reason Armin and the other officers came to watch the Silver Horseshoe Tournament was, in part, to help prevent accidents. In front of high-ranking officers like Major General Armin Mannheim, there are 'almost' no idiots eager to show off recklessly and get themselves injured.
Non-combat losses are something every commander must absolutely avoid. There's no way Armin would ever approve of that.
"Last again, huh"
Ernest brought Drek to the front of the first-year cadets' area. He was scheduled to go last—events were run from fourth-years down to first-years, and within each year, in the order of their preliminary numbers.
So, for both the Obstacle Course and the Mounted Shooting, Ernest was assigned the final slot. For the final race, spots would be assigned according to ranking, and everyone would start at once. Only then would he finally escape this very conspicuous last position.
"Ernest!"
Hearing someone call his name from behind, Ernest turned around. Robert was wildly waving his arm, looking desperate.
As Ernest turned, Robert lowered his raised hand to point downward. Ernest then spotted little Marie standing next to him. Even though she was fourteen, among the sturdy officer cadets, Marie looked so tiny that she was barely visible.
Ernest's eyes met Marie's. Instantly, her face twisted up in a fierce scowl. Though he couldn't hear her voice from this distance, Ernest was reminded just how sharp her expressions could be.
Hang in there.
But Ernest could read her lips as she mouthed the words, and despite her fierce face, he could see the worry shining in Marie's pale blue eyes.
Hang in there.
Grinning, Ernest mouthed the same words back at her. Marie's scowl grew even more intense. She looked like a wild beast hunched over, ready to rip out someone's throat.
The fierceness of her expression made the cadets around Marie slowly back away. But Robert couldn't retreat—because the other cadets had chosen him as an offering to appease Marie, quietly pushing him forward as they themselves slipped away.
Robert shook his head desperately, pleading silently, but in the end, he had no choice but to take his place by Marie's side again.
'You bastards. I'll get my revenge. I'll have Ernest crush every last one of you in the Mock Battle Training.'
Robert swore revenge in his heart.
"Waaaah!"
Meanwhile, the first competitor finished the obstacle course and entered the arena.
Cheers and applause erupted.
"That guy really can't focus, can he."
"You mean that scatterbrained one..."
Ernest was the only one unable to focus during the first obstacle race, which only made him stand out even more. Many whispered about how pathetic Ernest's concentration seemed, but he had already proven his abilities across various fields.
When the second competitor entered, Ernest was finally able to concentrate on the tournament and study the course.
'Those are some pretty high obstacles.'
Ernest compared the height of the barriers to Drek's own. Unlike the preliminaries, the final round's obstacles were set quite high. Even the taller horses would have a tough time clearing them. However, Ernest knew very well that Drek could clear those obstacles. With Drek, there would be no mistakes. He would put on a spectacular display.
Ernest examined every obstacle on the course—their number, their height, and their design. He ran countless calculations in his head.
From that moment on, Ernest stood completely still, silent as a statue, watching the senior students race through the course.
Every now and then he would glance elsewhere, gaze up at the sky for no apparent reason, or idle his foot against the ground, leaving some wondering what on earth he was looking at. But whenever a cadet with obvious talent took a turn, Ernest displayed an almost chilling intensity, studying their every move with razor-sharp focus.
"Hey, Krieger, what's with him? Is he nervous?"
"Let him be. Ernest isn't the type to get nervous and make mistakes."
The first-year cadets whispered about Ernest's demeanor, but Robert paid it no mind. He knew that when Ernest got like this, he was tapping into his own way of concentrating at the highest level.
It took quite some time for the first-years' turn to come. There were forty participants in the main event. Not until all thirty upperclassmen—from fourth to second year—had finished did it finally become the first-years' turn.
"..."
And when it was time for the first-years, Ernest—who had observed the competition like an unmoving statue—slowly leaned against Drek. Ernest already knew the skill level of the first-year cadets. Now, there was only one person left for him to pay attention to: Ferdinand. The rest of the first-years would almost certainly be eliminated in this obstacle course.
"Drek."
When Ernest called softly, Drek gently moved his head and rested his neck on Ernest's shoulder.
"Just do as I say, alright?"
Ernest whispered.
At his words, Drek nudged Ernest's chest with his head as if to say he understood.
Ernest stroked Drek's neck.
"Number 34! Ferdinand Hartmann!"
"Waaaah!"
When it was Ferdinand's turn, Ernest watched the arena again, leaning close to Drek. Ferdinand strode in, dignified atop his large black horse, Obsidian. Thunderous cheers for the eldest grandson of Heinz Hartmann, Brigadier General and Corps Chief of Staff of the 2nd Corps, boomed through the early evening sky as darkness began to fall.
Ferdinand circled the arena at a slow pace, hand over his heart, bowing his head in a stylish salute to the crowd. When he had completed a full round, Ferdinand took his place at the starting line. After a brief silence, Ferdinand gave a nod.
"Begin!"
The call to start rang out, and at that very moment Ferdinand and Obsidian burst forward at full speed. It was late evening; the sun dipped, burning red as it melted into the coming darkness, and the sky deepened to indigo. Ferdinand, wearing his dark blue cadet uniform and riding his black horse, looked like a heroic figure straight out of an old legend.
"Wow!"
As Ferdinand demonstrated his skilled riding, Obsidian leapt gracefully, soaring over the obstacles. Though he wasn't galloping at top speed, with the darkening evening sky as a backdrop, Obsidian's black mane and tail streamed behind him like drifting mist, so beautiful it looked like a painting.
Ferdinand cleared each obstacle with steady speed and impeccable form, tackling the course without difficulty. He may not have been the single best, but no one could deny that he had secured a spot among the current top ten.
Having completed the course flawlessly, Ferdinand returned to his starting position. Applause and cheers erupted for him.
"Mmm…"
Watching this, Ernest let out a long sigh. Only he knew what thoughts were circulating inside his small but keen mind.
After Ferdinand's round ended, it had grown so dark in the arena that they had to turn on Balt Lighting to illuminate the field. During the preliminaries, simply walking the course hadn't justified using the precious Balt Battery, but for the main event, the obstacles were too dangerous to run in deep night without the lights.
The first-year cadets who followed Ferdinand performed at no more than a typical first-year level. They tried hard, but that was all. The applause they received was meant as encouragement, so they wouldn't be too disheartened, and the audience's interest wasn't much stirred.
"Number 40! Ernest Krieger!"
So, when it was finally the turn of Ernest—the last competitor of the night and a famous face at the Military Academy—many in the crowd had already lost interest and were chatting among themselves.
"Waaaah!"
But the first-years gave Ernest, who could be said to be the academy's other star alongside Ferdinand, a rousing welcome. They all knew just how spectacularly Ernest and Drek could run.
Ernest swung onto Drek's back in a single motion. Unlike the other competitors, he didn't even take a moment to greet the crowd, heading straight to the starting line instead. To be precise, Ernest simply didn't have the luxury to bother with such things right now. His focus was entirely on the race. Greeting the spectators wasn't part of the event.
As Ernest stood perfectly still at the starting line, a bit of a stir rippled through the audience.
"Let's begin," Wilfried said.
Not heeding the advice offered to him, Wilfried frowned slightly at Ernest, who had arrived riding Drek, but then turned to Gustav and calmly signaled that it was time to start.
Gustav watched Ernest—who looked as though he'd frozen stiff from nerves—with mild concern. But it was already so late that there was no room for further delay. At Wilfried's words, Gustav nodded.
"Begin!"
The moment the call to start rang out, Ernest's body pitched forward instantly. Like an arrow shot from a bow, Drek accelerated in a flash, racing into the obstacle course.
"Whoa!"
"That's dangerous!"
People gasped—the speed was far too fast for an obstacle race. Ernest was out of his saddle, his body leaning forward deliberately, urging Drek on to even greater speed.
In everyone's mind's eye, a vivid vision flashed—like a premonition—of the terrible accident about to unfold: They saw Drek, clearly much smaller than the other cadets' horses, losing control at that speed, crashing into an obstacle and collapsing, Ernest being thrown off and falling hard.
"Ah!"
It was as if Drek was mocking everyone's worst fears—he leaped just high enough to clear the obstacle, gliding over it as smoothly as if he were flowing across its surface. Very few people noticed that, just before takeoff, Drek had smoothly decelerated to a more stable speed.
Drek seamlessly sailed over the relatively lower obstacles at the start and pressed on to the next part of the obstacle course. Following the winding path, he had to dodge and weave past set barriers.
"Wow!"
Though Drek slowed down a bit to follow the course, he was still moving much faster than the other horses. Thanks to his small build and light weight, he easily overcame the inertia and changed direction smoothly.
"My goodness. He's running sideways!"
Drek's hooves pounded the ground in a rapid tempo. He wasn't just changing direction—reading the subtle cues in Ernest's movements, he even ran sideways. Only a very clever, well-trained horse could run sideways. No one had ever imagined that a fourteen-year-old boy and his little gelding could race with such skill.
Now, everyone was utterly captivated by Ernest and Drek's run, their eyes glued to them. Fists clenched, the crowd cheered them on; even the officers who had been seated shot to their feet. Many had already begun to think, perhaps a bit prematurely, that this young first-year boy was going to win the Silver Horseshoe Tournament.
Then Ernest, having reached the final stage of the obstacle course, quietly fixed his gaze on the high barrier blocking his path. Just as Drek prepared to bravely leap over it, Ernest's body suddenly tilted.
Drek, who had been running so well, faltered. But Drek quickly resumed his swift gallop forward.
"Drek."
At that moment, Ernest let go of the reins with his right hand and gently stroked Drek's neck, whispering softly. Moved by that affectionate voice and touch, Drek hesitated for a moment but ultimately did as Ernest wished.
"Ah…"
The crowd gasped in disappointment and confusion. After charging so fiercely and bravely toward the high obstacle, Drek suddenly turned aside just before reaching it. He brushed right past the barrier instead of jumping over it.
Drek had tried to clear it. He was certainly capable of doing so. And Ernest knew that, too. But Ernest didn't want his dear friend to risk getting hurt.
Even if a horse can manage to make such a leap, jumping over such a tall obstacle is always a great strain on the animal—especially for one as small as Drek.
So, without even attempting the highest jump, Ernest and Drek passed it by and, instead, skillfully cleared the two remaining, relatively lower obstacles.
"Whoa!"
Clap, clap, clap, clap!
Even though they hadn't attempted the highest obstacle, Ernest and Drek delivered a performance worthy of cheers and applause. It wasn't just an obstacle course—they raced with such speed and spirit, it looked as if they were charging through rugged terrain on a real battlefield.
"Krieger! Krieger! Krieger! Krieger!"
As Ernest returned, the first-years in particular erupted with an almost fanatical enthusiasm. Aside from Ferdinand, Ernest was the only first-year who had successfully completed the obstacle course.
Ernest knew very well that if he had cleared that obstacle, he could have earned the highest score. Still, he gave it up without hesitation and didn't feel the slightest bit of regret.
"Thank you, Drek."
He stroked Drek's neck as he whispered. Drek, who had been frustrated about not jumping over the obstacle, snorted heavily but eventually accepted Ernest's gentle touch.
It's as if he was saying, 'Fine, who else would ever indulge your stubbornness if not me.'
That's what the sigh seemed to say.
As a result, Ernest ranked only 14th. When this was announced, not only the cadets but even some officers jumped to their feet in protest, unwilling to accept it.
"This is an obstacle course, and any contestant who doesn't even attempt to clear an obstacle must face a significant penalty,"
Gustav himself stepped forward to explain the scoring standards, and after hearing his explanation, everyone had to accept it.
In fact, if a competitor gives up on clearing an obstacle midway, it essentially means giving up on reaching the finals. The penalty is so severe that it's almost impossible to catch up in the next event, the mounted shooting.
In other words, despite the massive penalty, Ernest and Drek still managed to place 14th—an impressive ranking that kept their hopes for the finals alive.
"Ernest!"
After the first main event ended, as they were returning to the stable, Ferdinand called out to Ernest, raising his voice a bit more than usual. He started to say something to Ernest, who turned around, but when he saw Ernest gently stroking Drek's leg with a worried look, Ferdinand closed his mouth.
Ferdinand had believed that Ernest and Drek could clear that obstacle. Others might have thought Drek got scared at the last moment, but those truly knowledgeable about horses—including Ferdinand—knew better.
"...Did you avoid the obstacle because you didn't want to put too much strain on the horse?"
"Yes."
They could tell from Ernest urging Drek on that it was his decision to give up and go around the obstacle. Still, they couldn't quite understand why he did it. For someone to give up so easily after proving, with such style, that he deserved first place—all because he was worried about the strain on such a small, unremarkable horse's legs—seemed unthinkable.
"I see... Well, if that's the case, that's good enough."
Ferdinand looked a bit confused for a moment, but then he nodded, seemingly satisfied, and took Obsidian toward the stable. His large, rough hand patted Obsidian's neck a bit more gently than usual.
"Let's do well again tomorrow, Drek."
Ernest whispered into Drek's ear. Drek nudged Ernest firmly in the chest with his head—apparently, he was still a bit sulky.
"I want to give Father the gift of a silver horseshoe, but I don't want you to get hurt."
Ernest hugged Drek's head and soothed him, gently stroking his mane. Drek shook his head for a moment, but soon accepted Ernest's touch and settled down.
After indulging Drek's sulking and playful behavior, Ernest ended up having to return to the dormitory a bit later than usual.
14th place. He'd dropped out of the safe zone, so his ranking was cutting it close, but with the mounted shooting event tomorrow, it was a position he could easily overturn.
However, there was one problem.
Ernest was skilled both at riding and at shooting, but he had never actually tried mounted shooting before.
On top of that, he would have to fire a powder gun and reload it while on horseback. It was by no means an easy task.
Still, these noble boys likely weren't nearly as familiar with the 'barbaric' powder guns as Ernest was, so in a way, he would have an advantage.
...And if not, there's nothing he could do about it.