The Equestrian Trial's Hidden Allure
She had not said she had won.
She had not said she had won.
The disciplines of the mounted charge event were far more varied than most people imagined.
From straightforward races to team competitions that tested tactical coordination, and even the comprehensive horsemanship spectacle of dressage, the lineup boasted an impressive array of events.
Among them, the most popular was, naturally, the kind of race where competitors clashed directly against one another.
The obstacle course between walls, where three riders worked together to push the opposing team across the line, was simple yet thrilling, the cheers from spectators adding to the excitement that drew in so many.
Dressage, with its demand for total mastery of the horse’s movement and seamless communication, could feel less electrifying in comparison, leaving fewer fans.
The stands for this unpopular event were sparsely attended outside the families of the participants.
Yet the crowd gathered here, though small, held figures no one could ignore.
A closer look revealed members of renowned knightly orders or those in high military positions.
Simple races and individual skill-based charges drew specialists eager to test talent.
Dressage required a broader command of equestrian arts, making it a perfect stage to evaluate genuine ability.
Being one of the few events open to outsiders, it drew the attention of knightly units, military leaders, and nobles looking to recruit their own forces.
Some attendees showed no real interest in the competition itself, instead focusing on the students nearing graduation, seeing the event as nothing more than a showcase for hidden recruitment.
Regardless of their motives, the academy students poured everything into proving their worth at the mounted charge.
Philia Serios was no exception.
She had trained relentlessly with Agnes’s personal guidance, pushing her limits until she could guide Piyo with effortless grace.
The name she had chosen for the horse—soft, subtly endearing—gave a glimpse into her personal tastes.
“Let’s go, Piyo.”
Philia commanded softly, and Piyo snorted in response, shaking her head before stepping forward with light, confident strides.
Dressage demanded artistry, so the rider’s posture was crucial.
As Piyo’s gait shifted from walk to canter and back to a halt, Philia maintained perfect balance, guiding with subtle, precise control.
To outsiders, the performance might have seemed dull.
Those with real horsemanship expertise, however, studied every detail.
Piyo’s smooth passage through every obstacle was a testament to the rider’s meticulous command.
With no announcer present, the only sound was the rhythmic clip-clop of Piyo’s hooves.
Judges and spectators watched in silence as Philia crossed the final obstacle, then bowed to the crowd.
The applause that followed was steady, dignified, and measured—no wild cheers, only the quiet respect of those who recognized true excellence.
Philia had claimed the highest score.
“Congratulations.”
“Your skill is truly commendable. Few in our knightly order ride with such grace.”
“Thank you, Earl Grant. Chief Lieutenant Rowel.”
Philia’s victory drew a wave of ambitious figures.
Some, like Violet, Sozeta, or Diana, were already well-known and difficult to recruit.
Others, however, saw this as the perfect opportunity to approach promising students whose names had not yet spread.
Among them, Philia stood out—especially to those who disliked the Second Prince faction.
Many ordinary nobles also eyed her with interest.
Philia was no fool; she sensed the intentions and responded with just enough grace to raise her value.
She disliked playing games, but she would not break the plan Rai and Cesset had carefully woven.
Breaking free from her family’s influence and surviving their schemes required this kind of subtle maneuvering.
Though surrounded by envious glances, Philia watched the other students with quiet envy.
Those who had taken part in the event now surrounded their families, chatting happily.
Some wore deflated expressions after failing to place.
Others glowed with joy, hugging their mothers no matter the outcome.
Each family looked different, yet all radiated warmth.
“... ... What are you doing?”
Philia shot Rai a glare, annoyed that he had entered uninvited and was petting her head.
She had no idea he was watching the event.
“Just giving praise. Want me to fetch some flowers for the congratulations bouquet?”
“... ... No need.”
Despite her grumbling, Philia did not pull away.
In truth, she wanted him to keep stroking her hair.
She had never experienced this before.
If she went back far enough, perhaps her mother would have done it.
But Philia’s memories held no such moment.
One truth was clear: even as a baby, her father had never petted her.
Families like hers viewed people as tools of politics, not sources of warmth.
That was why she could not reject Rai’s gentle touch.
It was simply too warm.
“Philia has finally climbed the adult ladder...”
“Want me to prepare an oil barrel for tonight?”
“An oil barrel? I’ll buy plenty of magic scrolls too. Rai-kkang can’t be forgiven for this.”
Philia, listening in shock to the jealous chatter from the students planning to raid Rye’s house, nearly panicked.
Rai, however, ignored everything and continued petting her head.
The usually composed and confident Philia now blushed, lowering her head like a gentle lamb.
These new students found the sight strangely endearing.
Though the event had low popularity and little overall impact, the people present had clearly fallen for Philia.
And Rai’s list of rivals had grown noticeably longer.
***
“Ah! Thirteen stones shattered! One mounted charge with that kind of power—Aslan’s strength is truly limitless!!”
The lively announcer’s voice stirred the crowd into cheers.
Aslan, who had never received such a roar before, scratched his head awkwardly, but his eyes sparkled with delight.
The rules of the mounted charge were straightforward: break as many stones as possible in three charges.
Since they could not attack each other, the focus remained on raw power and spectacle.
The stands were packed with spectators, both outsiders and students, confirming the event’s growing popularity.
In truth, the final match felt a bit flat.
Each round required three charges, so fatigue crept in as rounds progressed.
Qualifying heats were actually the most exciting, with participants conserving energy by studying opponents.
Aslan, however, showed no such restraint.
He had thrown everything into every charge from the start, maintaining peak performance even in the final.
His form had grown even sharper, shattering the record with the latest strike.
“A monster? Did you use some secret medicine?”
“You still have plenty left. Maybe you should train your stamina a bit more.”
Aslan grinned at his opponent Gonzalo.
He was not being arrogant; he truly still had energy.
The crowd’s interest had also helped him rise gradually through real-world experience.
“You’re too full of yourself. Watching you makes me feel like I’m the dumbest person alive.”
The words were meant to be insulting, but Gonzalo was performing just as well.
He had analyzed opponents early, conserved strength wisely, and benefited from favorable matchups.
Unlike Aslan, he alternated charges with his rival.
“Kwak-kwong!”
“Gonzalo’s player! Eleven stones!! Unfortunately, this has widened Aslan’s lead! Currently four stones ahead—what happens in the final if it stays this way?!”
While the announcer spoke, Rai munched on snacks as Rules approached.
“Instructor Rai? May I have a moment to speak?”
“Ah, Rules-sama. Of course.”
Having already endured several “interviews” with parents, Rai greeted him smoothly.
He had once tensed meeting Duke Andres, but since the man showed no interest in anyone but Aria, the encounter had been uneventful.
“First, I must apologize for my brother’s rudeness to you.”
“It’s not too bad. The boy listens well.”
Rai’s honest reply came naturally.
Though he had to endure Aslan’s behavior because of the family arrangement, he had no real grudge.
Rules, however, still looked guilty, as if the Scape family had shown him kindness.
“I heard you even provide personal training. Demian spoke highly of your abilities. Thank you for guiding Aslan.”
“I’m just teaching him along with the others.”
A few days earlier, Demian had visited, initially to complain, then bowed respectfully and left after seeing Rai.
Aslan had mocked him for running away in fear, but admitting someone else’s skill and showing respect was no small feat.
Rai simply stated the facts, but Rules saw humility in it and gazed at him with deep admiration.
While Rai ignored the heavy gaze, he soon turned to Aslan on Black Horse.
“He carries the family’s highest expectations. His grandfather, his father, and I—all of us worry about him.”
“He seemed to hate being watched.”
“Precisely. You’re the only one treating him fairly.”
Rai continued ignoring the look of respect.
He must have been completely fooled.
“Receiving expectations since childhood must have been burdensome. I, who lacked that sense, was the real failure as an older brother.”
Rai now looked at Rules.
Having a brother like Aslan was unimaginable.
“My father never received such expectations. He lacked talent, and perhaps that is why he clings too tightly to my brother, as if trying to heal his own unhappy childhood through him.”
“Even so, that does not justify it.”
“You’re right. It is wrong. I will not ask for understanding. I’ve been trying to persuade my father and repeatedly tell him the same thing. But perhaps Instructor Rai should know it anyway.”
Accusations against the duke were being voiced.
Exposing the family’s secrets took courage no ordinary person could muster.
Rules trusted Rai enough to share this and possessed the boldness to face his mistakes.
As the conversation deepened, Rai began to respect Rules more.
“This is a small gift, but I hope you will accept it.”
“No, I can’t accept money—”
“Please don’t refuse. It’s not a bribe. It’s Aslan’s living expenses while staying at your house. By easing your burden, the Scape family can finally relax.”
The pouch Rules offered was surprisingly heavy.
The Scape family was not the kind to skimp on silver coins; every coin inside was gold.
Rai noticed the weight immediately and nodded solemnly.
“I understand. I will cover Aslan’s living expenses.”
“Please spend it however you like.”
Despite his stern expression, Rai’s face lit up with sudden fortune.
He naturally pocketed the pouch.
He had been promised the freedom to spend as he wished.
Unaware of Rai’s momentary regret over receiving the money a day earlier, Rules gazed at Aslan on horseback with renewed emotion.
“You never learned the basics, yet your skill has risen dramatically. Your horse doesn’t listen, but it’s all thanks to the instructor.”
“No.”
Rai shook his head, denying the praise.
“The Scape family believes Aslan is lazy. But he’s far more diligent than they think.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Though his attitude makes him seem unreliable, Aslan works harder than anyone. Yesterday, I had to stop him from training on the mounted charge until dawn.”
“Ah... He really works that hard?”
Rules, who knew Aslan’s usual habits, stared at his brother in astonishment.
He had received a large sum; now was the time for lip service.
He had only smacked Aslan’s backside to silence him, but words could be chosen freely.
If the service was excellent, more money might follow.
Aslan, having received the crowd’s cheers, prepared for his next charge.
Gonzalo had struck first, so this would decide the victor.
The gap was four stones. Aslan’s average had been eleven; even with mistakes, five more would suffice.
The stands already hummed with the certainty of victory.
“Even if you seize the reins, water-drinking is the horse’s will. Aslan reached this point because his own will refused to break.”
“I don’t know my own brother well enough... I’m ashamed.”
“I thought the same at first. But he has worked harder than anyone, and look at the proof before you. See who wins.”
Rai stared at Aslan with confidence.
Aslan proved Rai’s words correct by displaying genuine skill.
Rules, moved by the sight, gazed at his brother with fresh eyes.
Excitement, joy, and emotion stirred within him.
“Let’s go, Black Horse.”
With bold words, Aslan charged toward the towering pile of stones.
The towering figure of the young warrior, broad shouldered and fierce, resembled an immortal knight.
“Yaaaaah!”
“Kiiiieek—”
Black Horse suddenly halted inches from the stones, causing Aslan to fly forward into the air.
He crashed hard on his back, and the arena fell deathly silent.
“Ah! This damn horse!”
Aslan sprang up in fury, but the attack opportunity had vanished.
Winner: Gonzalo.
Laughter erupted from the stands, and Rules’s face flushed red in proportion.
The laughter grew louder as Aslan and Black Horse fought.
“... ...”
“I never said I won.”
Rai avoided Rules’s silent gaze and offered the excuse.