Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 037
Chapter Title: Man vs. Horse
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No one knew exactly when the people of Horais had begun devoting themselves to breeding superior horse breeds.
Perhaps as far back as the distant days when the Arman Empire still stood, or when the mighty magical nation of the Alto Empire flourished—or even earlier still.
The inhabitants of the plains had always strived to make their four-legged companions stronger by any means necessary.
Their efforts, which began even before the invention of writing, eventually transcended the realm of ordinary horses.
Unicorns, bicorns, kelpies, pegasi...
For hundreds of years, they had grafted anything resembling a horse—even monstrous beasts—in a relentless quest to harness their power.
Those efforts finally bore fruit five hundred years ago, during the schism between the New Faith and the Old Faith, when the Horais allied with the New Faith and borrowed the power of magic as a reward.
The Horais warhorse.
This magnificent breed, named so proudly after their nation, was stronger, faster, wiser, and hardier than any other in the world.
And as a bonus, it was ferocious enough to trample and tear apart even mid-tier monsters.
Of course, any creature this formidable had to have its flaws.
Horais warhorses were infamous for ignoring their master's commands.
No, they didn't even acknowledge a "master" in the first place.
They merely saw humans as servants who fed them tasty fodder.
The horse standing before Shan right now was no different.
It gazed down at him with haughty, arrogant eyes, as if to say, Who is this greenhorn?...
"From now on, your name is Awyn."
Ignoring it completely, Shan finally gave the horse its first name and wrapped his arms tightly around its neck.
This one was leagues beyond any ordinary mount that could be bought or sold on a whim.
He felt a twinge of guilt toward the black horse he'd ridden namelessly for nearly a year now—but
"Whoa!"
Crunch. Shan yanked his head back just in time; the horse had snapped at where it had been moments before.
The beast let out a disappointed whinny, then turned its head away as if nothing had happened.
Considering a horse's bite force, he would've had his skull crushed if he'd been even a fraction slower.
"...What the?"
"Well, the ceremony's over, so I'll be off."
The marquis, who'd been watching, quickly departed. Roden hurriedly took the reins from the marquis's squire.
Fortunately, the horse showed no particular attachment to its former owner and handed over without resistance.
"It tried to bite my head off right away! And this is supposed to be the finest warhorse!?"
"Taming a stubborn beast is part of a true knight's skill. You'll get used to each other in time... right?"
Roden chuckled awkwardly, trying to soothe Shan, who looked betrayed like a boy rejected by his first crush.
After exchanging greetings with the other knights—Lug chattered the most, as usual—the two led Awyn and the black horse from the joust back to the mansion.
Shan's old mount was bold enough not to cower before most monsters, yet even it submitted easily to the Horais warhorse.
"Gonna be busy taming this one for a while."
"You've got time before the princess's commission anyway. Think you can manage?"
"Doesn't feel like it'll be that easy."
Shan sighed softly at Roden's question.
That assumption proved wrong the moment they returned.
Taming "Awyn" wasn't just difficult—it bordered on impossible.
To start, it took one look at the stables—from the facilities to the fodder—and threw a tantrum, as if nothing met its approval.
Every time it stomped its massive hooves, feed troughs shattered. It headbutted a partition, splintering it with a sharp crack.
Even the brick outer wall couldn't withstand its rear kicks and ended up with gaping holes.
The other horses in the stables whinnied in terror and pissed themselves.
"What in the world..."
"Is there such a mad horse?!"
The stablehands and servants who'd come to help stared in dismay.
At this point, it was less horse and more monster.
To make matters worse, it wasn't raging blindly in excitement.
With a calm, almost coldly composed expression, it wrecked everything methodically, as if simply showing off its foul temper—mocking them with every glance.
"M-my stables!"
Even Kallion, who'd been beaming at news of Shan's victory, clutched his face in despair.
"Now I get why a Horais warhorse was the joust prize. It's a nightmare from the start..."
Roden muttered from a safe distance, shaking his head.
Come to think of it, the marquis had seemed relieved to be rid of the troublesome thing.
Clearly, they'd planned to use an uncontrollable beast as a "generous" prize from the outset.
Had a prince's knight won, they'd have thrown in experts to handle it.
The servants whispered among themselves.
"What do we do? Even ignoring how long it'll take to break it in, where do we house the other horses tonight?"
"At least it's summer. Winter would've been a disaster..."
As everyone panicked, Shan silently watched the rampaging horse before instructing the head stablehand beside him.
"Prepare a saddle."
"A saddle... for the horse, sir?"
"Yeah."
It was hard to fathom what he planned in this chaos, but the stablehand obeyed without question.
This Altoin boy had become like the family's little brother since Roden brought him home—and now, something even greater.
Awyn paused its rampage as Shan approached with the saddle, staring him down.
As if swaggering, Well? See? I'm no easy ride. Got it?
Meeting its gaze steadily, Shan spoke in a calm tone.
"Impressive, huh? How about we take the rest outside? This place is too cramped for you, right?"
Horses didn't understand human speech, but Shan murmured anyway as he saddled it up and took the reins.
Surprisingly, Awyn complied meekly and followed as led.
Everyone gawked as the boy and horse walked side by side toward the front gate.
Roden hurried after Shan.
"How'd you tame that brute in one go!?"
"Didn't tame it. It just agreed to my proposal."
"Proposal? What?"
"A contest? Hard to explain... Remember what Master said? About handling horses."
Darakal the knight had taught horse care during combat drills.
A good warhorse was a knight's partner, so treat it with utmost care—though the man himself rode cheap nags post-retirement.
One tip: lock eyes with your horse.
A true knight could instinctively sense and empathize with its desires that way.
Awyn wasn't his yet, but Shan felt a connection in that gaze.
It hated being shuttled like luggage, forced to obey frail humans.
Yet it followed because it couldn't escape this massive human city on its own.
Shan had challenged it politely but firmly—and it accepted.
Two speechless beings communicating via subtle gestures and eyes: a milestone in interspecies relations.
"No way... Even a Horais warhorse thinks that deeply?"
"Not exactly. Just the vibe. A feeling."
As they chatted and walked, capital residents did double-takes at the metallic sheen of the warhorse striding down the avenue.
"Isn't that...?"
"Sir Shan! The joust champion!"
"That's the prize? From Horais? They weren't kidding about the world's most beautiful horse."
"Where's everyone headed?"
Once outside the gates, Shan glanced at the broad road ahead, then back at Roden and the others.
"Might take days. Head back and rest."
"Days? For what?"
"This one's call."
With that, Shan vaulted onto Awyn's back. It exploded forward like a loosed arrow—not a creature's gallop, but a shot from full draw.
Everyone's jaws dropped as Shan shrank to a dot in seconds.
Fast!
That was the only thought in Shan's mind as Awyn bolted.
It was brutally swift.
The world rushed backward in overwhelming speed...
The wind stung his eyes; surrounding objects blurred past.
Ordinary horses' gallops were mere strolls by comparison.
Peonil's mount from before? No Horais warhorse.
Fall here, and I'm dead.
Awyn, sensing it couldn't shake him, suddenly leaped skyward.
His viewpoint soared; gravity lost its grip as they floated.
"Ugh—"
Then a dizzying drop.
Thud. His spine screamed as he slammed into the saddle.
Without absorbing the impact, it'd have been a sprain at best.
Vicious...
Awyn rampaged beyond Hasra's walls: roads, fields, hills, forests—no path too wild.
It ignored scratches on its glossy coat from branches.
Didn't care about the clinging rider, desperate only to drink in more scenery, to trample freer ground.
Shan understood.
Like his first wild runs from Willow Village, reveling in endless mountains and plains.
Freedom: the sheer joy of an boundless world.
Born and raised in Pendia, thousands of kilometers from home, Awyn had never tasted such liberation.
No backstory needed; instinct told him.
Perhaps their eye-contact rapport stemmed from shared spirits.
Shan clung neck-and-crop to Awyn's back, arms around its neck.
Without that, each bound would've flung him off.
Minutes, then tens of minutes of frenzy later, Awyn plunged into a nearby river—the Hasra River's downstream.
Gasp—!
Just before submerging, Shan inhaled deeply and clamped his mouth shut.
A foul stench invaded his nostrils despite not breathing.
Mage academy waste from potions, probably. Or capital sewage.
Minutes underwater, his lungs burned like fire.
He wanted to breathe, but that'd end it.
One hand sealed his mouth; the other gripped the saddle.
Please... just a bit more...
Right as he thought he couldn't hold, his head broke surface.
Awyn had given up first.
Its massive frame demanded massive air.
"Gah, ha... kuh."
Shan gulped air greedily. Awyn heaved too, lungs inflating and deflating.
Despite his own gasps, Shan laughed—did Awyn take it as mockery? It bristled and charged back to land.
Pendia was Pendia, even near the capital.
Stray monsters blocked paths, but Awyn pulped them effortlessly—Shan didn't lift a finger.
Water ghosts, nightmares to riverside folk, were bitten or crushed fleeing a horse. Pure comedy.
Their endurance duel raged from dusk through dawn.
By the time Awyn tired, Shan was near collapse too.
Both foam-white from sweat: ridiculous sight.
Sleepy...
Before nodding off, Shan pulled out his Thousand Forms Bracelet, stretched it long, coiled it into a rope, and bound himself securely to the saddle and Awyn.
True silver: unbreakable under normal strain.
"Night."
Awyn eyed him incredulously, then dropped its head, dozing standing.
Shan woke to Awyn shaking him loose.
The unbound body swung—but the silver rope halted it.
He reshaped it back to bracelet.
Necessary for sleep, but cheating otherwise.
Now Awyn escalated: bucks, rolls, wall-slams.
Shan countered with agile flips, 360 spins atop its back, or dangling opposite impacts.
No pit stops, naturally.
Big jobs he held; small, not so much. He pissed right there, dangling.
The warm trickle hit the saddle; Awyn recoiled in disgust.
"Hate it? Surrender then!"
Awyn snorted defiance and leaped.
Bound, dive, gore monsters mid-stride, even mid-flip—Shan endured all.
Another full day-night cycle: Awyn finally collapsed to its knees, spent.
Shan realized minutes later.
Three days starved and clinging to a mad beast: his mind half-gone too.
"...You down?"
Awyn's weak snort: no sneer, no rage—just clear resignation.
"Ha, haha..."
Joy bubbled up; Shan laughed, tumbling off into the dirt.
Victory achieved, yet Awyn didn't flee—just watched.
Its pale blue eyes held respect, not arrogance.
"I win, right? Man to... well, you know."
Curious, Shan checked under the tail.
"A girl, huh. Fine, man to mare—you submit!"
Smack on the rump. Awyn whinnied pitifully.
With Awyn subdued, Shan rode a circuit, found a village, bought bread and milk.
Three days' first meal: sublime.
"Ahh..."
Villagers eyed the ragged noble-look: beggar clothes, fine fabric; godly horse.
Runaway aristocrat?
In a backwater, they'd rob him blind. But this was near civilized Hasra: enough sense and conscience to leave him be.
Lucky for them, not him.
"Thanks for the meal. Here."
"My, such generosity from nobility! Thank you!"
Sated, Shan paid the chief in gold—covering his feast and Awyn's obscene fodder pile.
A bit steep, but happy eater? Worth it.
Awyn wolfed premium legume-oat-barley hay despite its sulk.
Fueled, rider and mount headed northeast organically—no clinging now, true harmony.
Shan marveled anew.
So comfy...
Blazing speed, yet the saddle was paradise.
Its gait? Match the rhythm, and it beat walking—no waist or thigh strain.
Ludicrous after days dangling.
Run-rest-repeat: they covered three days' distance in two hours, back to Hasra.
Walking it'd take two days. Insane.
"You...?"
"Back, Roden. Late?"
Roden, sleepless at Webers mansion for days, gaped at the chummy pair.